Page 15 of Killer's Obsession
We stare at each other for a beat before both of us break into a fit of giggles.
“Oh, you’ve got jokes?” she snorts, but links her little finger with mine anyway.
“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” I confirm, smiling.
“I’m starting to see that.” She smirks.
I wave my hand for her to get on with it and fill me in. “Spill.”
Pinky rolls her eyes dramatically and sinks onto the end of her bed. I follow her and drop down beside her. She glances at the door, then back at me. “I have an ex. He’s a real piece of work. The crazy asshole wants me dead. This just seemed like the safest place for me to hide until I figure things out.”
My stomach drops. “How can you be sure he won’t find you here?”
She shakes her head. “He’ll never look for me here. That’s the beauty of it—who would think to look for little Savannah Williams in a biker clubhouse, with pink hair, calling herself Pinky?”
Savannah Williams.
I smile. “It suits you—you’re name, I mean.” That she trusted me with her name feels like a gift.
“The Cherries thing,” she continues, “it’s part of the cover. I sleep with the guys, but only because I want to. No one forces anything here. I mean… you’ve seen these guys.” She waggles her brows. “They’re hot as hell.”
I study her delicate features, trying to imagine anyone wanting to hurt someone so inherently sweet. But then, I know better than most that monsters walk among us every day, wearing masks that nobody would ever think to look behind. Goosebumps rise on my arms at the thought.
“Anyway!” Pinky claps her hands, clearly done with talking about her ex. “Enough sad shit. I have the perfect outfit for you.”
She bounces up and returns to the closet, emerging with a pair of black leather pants and a white crop top. She holds them out triumphantly. “Ta-da!”
I eye the pants skeptically. “I don’t think I can pull those off.” I’m small in most places, but I got a little bit of junk in the trunk. And those tight pants don’t look like they’d give an inch.
“Bullshit,” she declares, tossing them onto my lap. “With your ass? These were made for you.”
My ass is exactly what I’m concerned about.
Pulling the top from the hanger, my lips twitch when I read the words printed across the front.PROPERTY OF SAINTS MC.
“Isn’t this a bit... presumptuous?” I ask, heat climbing into my cheeks.
Pinky snorts. “Girl, please. Who are you trying to kid? It’s only a matter of time before he makes it official.”
My stomach flutters at her words. Is it that obvious? The memory of this morning flashes through my mind, sending a wave of warmth through me.
“What size shoe do you wear?” Pinky asks, already digging through the bottom of her closet.
“Seven and a half.”
She squeals, glancing back with a mischievous grin. “Me too!” She tosses a few shoes around, then comes back out with a pair of black stilettos sporting wicked-looking spikes and hot pink soles. “These are my favorites. They're Louie knockoffs, but they’re still HOT!”
I stare at the heels uncertainly. “I’ll break my neck.”
“Please,” she waves dismissively, “you’ll look sexy as hell in them. And if you do fall,” she shrugs her shoulders, “at least you’ll look hot when you do.”
Before I can protest further, she grabs my hand and pulls me toward her vanity. “Sit. Your first outing in weeks deserves a full glam experience.”
For the next thirty minutes, I surrender to her ministrations as she applies makeup with an expert touch. Her fingers are nimbleand sure as she blends the smoky eyeshadow, brushes on a thick layer of black mascara, and outlines my lips.
“Close your eyes.” I do as she says and feel the soft tickle of false lashes being applied.
“This is a little much, don’t ya’ think?”
