Kiss Me in the Dark Anthology - Monica James Page 0,40
and top I brought to the station to change into. That was for before, when I thought maybe my husband and I could talk. I’d even had a fantasy about a little out-of-the-way dive, just the two of us. That didn’t happen, and now I don’t want to take the time to change clothes. I just want to go home and go to sleep.
As I reach for my purse that’s secured in the cabinet near my desk, I see the note:
Don’t leave without the red heels.
I swallow as my pulse quickens. Slowly, I turn and look around the room as a chill prickles my skin. No one is supposed to be in my dressing room without me, much less in this cabinet.
Who left the note?
I shake off the uneasy feeling the note gives me, chalk it up to sleepiness, crumple the post-it into a ball, and toss it into the trash bin. Reaching for my purse, I head out.
The hallways clear fast after the late news. There’s just a skeleton crew down in the bull pen keeping an eye on the happenings of the world so that the early morning team is up to date. Even the elevator is empty. A short ride down and I’m in the parking garage. I scan the floor where I parked my car. There are considerably fewer cars at nearly midnight than when I arrived in the late afternoon.
I search left and then right.
Where’s my car?
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(Chapter 1-3)
Bonus Content: Eli’s transition
Killian
When I was ten years old, I told the world to go fuck themselves. I mean, I literally stood up in the center of the ring, made Ky hook up a video, flipped the camera the bird, and told every motherfucker while holding my junk, “Fuck you!” Now, I know what you’re thinking. How the fuck could you do this at the tender age of ten?
Well, I’ll tell you how. Ky is abnormally smart. I mean, textbooks couldn’t even figure out his shit—smart. We made the video, and then Ky hacked into some survey and uploaded the video.
It went live.
Spread through all news channels.
Across every single thing that was televising live during that very minute.
How’d I reach this point, you ask, well, a funny story… I mean, I could go back and tell you from the day I entered this world, but let’s be honest, no one, aside from my sex crazed best friends who like fucking her, wants a descriptive image of my mother’s vagina, so whatever. Long story that doesn’t have anything of importance short, I’m hard-wired to be this way. I was born human but crafted to be this.
Trickster.
The fucking Mayhem in Midnight. The motherfucker that would push all of your boundaries and make you feel good while doing it.
Speaking of Midnight Mayhem: Our family. Our unit. A bunch of fucked Romanians that are living the good life in America. I mean, shit, to be fair, we’ve all been living here since our parents moved over when we were young. Never found out why. Never asked.
“What are you doing?” King glares at me from across the booth.
I wave my hand up, grinning. “Listening to music. That cool with you?”
It was Christmas only a few weeks ago, and we all had a long enough break. Now we’re kicking off our new year with our first international show in Australia. Delila always has her reasons, whether we see them or not. It can be frustrating when she starts being cryptic, which is exactly what she has been lately.
I lean forward, lowering my voice so P doesn’t wake, but her mouth falls open slightly and a snore escapes. I smirk.
“Don’t say it, motherfucker. Leave her alone.”
My eyes fly up to King. “Fine, moody bastard. I was just going to—”
“—Killian, get to what you were going to ask me and leave her alone. She’s probably still tired as fuck from New Year’s Eve, which by the way… are we going to talk about that?” King’s attention shifts over my shoulder. I don’t have to look to know who he’s talking about.
My smile drops. “No. We don’t. As I was about to say before your sweet little angel distracted me with her snoring, have you asked Delila why we’re doing an international tour this year?”
We do international shows, but we do them every five years because of the time and cost that comes into it. We take on more staff and are away for fourteen