Changing Beauty (The Deadly Beauties Live On 2)

After making sure it’s clear, I sprint out of the room, holding the bottom half of my hideous Greek goddess attire. A faded, chipped sign points in the direction of the stairs, and I don’t slow down while barreling down them. Well, not until a woman screams and drops two bags of ice in front of me.

She grabs her necklace, holding it out until I see it’s rosemary beads and a crucifix. Or at least I think that’s what it is. Her eyes are wide and fearful as she backs up and starts speaking rapidly in Spanish.

I’m actually glad I don’t know Spanish, because I’m fairly sure she’s probably calling me a few names I don’t want to hear.

I practically race by her, ignoring her as she gets louder. One word is spoken in English. One word.

Demon.

I turn around as she narrows her eyes at me, and then I turn back to run to Jenny’s car. Maybe it just sounded like demon. She might have still been speaking in Spanish.

All I know is that I need to get the hell out of here.

The keys are still dangling in the ignition, and I don’t pause long enough to be thankful for that. Instead, I crank it up and speed away. It’s not until I see the gas gauge that I realize I have to make a stop.

Searching the car, I find my purse. I really did grab it just like my dream.

Twenty bucks is all I find. I usually don’t keep more than that on me—another r

eason I know I didn’t pay for that room last night. But in my dream, I was planning on running away. A lot of good that twenty would have done me.

I groan when I see the gas station ahead, especially when I see the sign stating that it’s the last one until Pine Shore. No way will I make it back home with this small amount of gas.

That’s not why I’m groaning, though. There are cars everywhere. I swear I’ve never seen a gas station so crowded.

And I’m wearing a sheet.

Hesitantly, I take my spot in line for a pump, waiting impatiently as several leering eyes find their way toward me. Adjusting the sheet, I do well to avoid the prying eyes of the morning assholes.

Letting my hair veil my face, I slowly pull up to the pump as the other car pulls away. I really wish I had a credit card or debit card of some kind. But no. I’m that weirdo that keeps all her money in her sock drawer.

I try summoning my courage to go inside, considering there’s a prepay demand. Maybe I could talk someone into going in for me.

Peeking up, I realize there are a lot of eyes on me. Is it that obvious that I’m wearing this? I’m in a car. Surely they can’t tell.

Well, they’re about to get a show, so I might as well get it over with.

With all the dread in the world, I force myself out of the car, noticing how the squeaky door draws even more unwanted attention my way. One woman drops her bag as she walks out of the store, staring at me with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.

I pad across the hot pavement of the parking lot, moving by the stunned woman as though she’s not there. Holy shit, this pavement is burning my toes.

Several snickers emerge, and a few catcalls find my ears. This is so humiliating.

My mouth feels like it’s full of cotton balls right now, and I’m dying of thirst. Once inside, all eyes turn to me, and my desert mouth gets even drier. Even the cashier seems to be momentarily stunned by me as her hand stays suspended in the air and forgotten with some guy’s change.

“Long night,” I mumble awkwardly while moving away from them and toward the back where the coolers are.

Might as well spend some of my twenty on my parched throat. That line is going to take a while to get through, and I don’t feel like breathing fire when I try to talk again.

After walking by the endless rows of beer, I finally find the water, and I twist the cap off before guzzling it. She can ring up an empty bottle. Judging by the length of that line, she will be doing just that. Hell, I could probably drink two.

“Mornin’, Darlin’,” a male voice says close to my ear. “Need some assistance?”

I jump, sputtering water in the process before clutching the top of my sheet to make sure it’s still secure. Turning around, I see a short, bald guy in a suit as he eyes me with too much interest.

After clocking his wedding band, I roll my eyes. Not only is this guy sleazy; he’s married and sleazy. “I’m fine.”

“Really?” he asks with a creepy, I’m-peeling-off-your-sheet-with-my-eyes look. “Because I was just thinking that—”