Kill Game (The Devious Games Duet 1)

“Is it ever a good time if you’re not invited? I repeat, what the fuck? No. Hold that thought a second. Step aside.”

Moving sideways, she takes me in from head to toe.

I’m in a ponytail, jeggings, sneakers, and a ski jacket. I didn’t put any makeup on today. I literally threw a coat on to leave with barely two mouthfuls of coffee into me this morning.

And she’s looking at me like I’m sorely lacking.

This woman looks like a Victoria’s Secret angel just off the runway with her long, sleek black hair, her bright red lips, her perfect winged eyeliner and her mysterious trench coat with the collar standing up. She pulls the belt tighter, and it occurs to me that she might be naked under it. I see no sign of a skirt. Or a blouse. Just skin.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” she whispers, sounding like her feelings are hurt.

“No. You and I ended months ago. What’s the point?”

“So, you’re busy tonight?” She looks me up and down.

“Yes, I am, Kenya.” He turns to me. “Baby, I’ll be right in. Hit the alarm, would you?” He opens the door and passes me the tray of milkshakes.

As soon as I’m inside, I hear her ask. “Baby? Is that serious?”

“Yeah. It is,” he says, and I look over my shoulder at him. His eyes are on me. “This won’t take long, Violet.”

He closes the door. He’s just saying that to her for the sake of getting rid of her, right? That it’s serious with me?

What’s my alarm code? Shit. What is it? I stare at the panel. It’s doing a low and slow beeping. I rush the food to the kitchen island and hurry back. The pace of the beeping is picking up. Shit. What’s the code?

My mind is blanking. How is it blanking? I used it every day last week when he wasn’t here. Twice a day. What the fuck is the code?

The beeping gets louder and faster to warn that the alarm is about to blare and the door flies open. Killian looks confused, obviously hearing that sound. His eyes dart from me to the panel.

“Ahh!” I make a panicky sound and wave my hands. Frazzled.

He leans over and presses four digits into it.

“I forgot my code. Sorry.” I wince.

He shakes off a perplexed look. “I’ll be just a minute. Set us up for food?”

I nod.

She’s standing there, eyes on me, arms folded across her chest and a pout on her mouth.

He shuts the door.

I sigh heavily and then go to my room and kick off my shoes as well as take off my coat. I go into my bathroom and yep, I am a walking disaster. I pull the elastic out of my hair and fix my hair into a new knot and then strip out of my clothes. I head to the closet and reach for the most non-sexual clothing I own.

Forgetting my code? I used it twice a day the whole almost-week he was gone!

Well, no wonder, him acting like he and I are a thing – a serious thing.

He erased my common sense with that kiss outside the hospital, that’s got to be the explanation.

I change into a hot pink plush zip-up hoodie that has a unicorn horn and ears on the hood. And trackpants that are three sizes too big. I push my sleeves up and head back out there and set the food up on the table.

He’s coming in, looking annoyed.

“Do you need to go? It’s okay if you do,” I say.

He stops and stares at me.

“Or, if you want me to go so you can have her in here, I can go to Sus-”

“Nice hoodie,” he says.

I gulp.

“She went to a lot of trouble, it looks like, to surprise you, and-”

“I’m starvin’.” He shrugs his coat off and sits at the table across from me, setting two keys down.

Was that her copy of his apartment keys?

Okay, so he sent away the beautiful supermodel who was clearly here for a booty call. And maybe took her key back. But-

My phone rings. “Oh, it’s my mom.”

Saved by the bell. Or… uh oh!

“Mom?” I greet, belly dipping with panic. “What’s wrong?”

“Everything is okay, Violet. Grampa’s doing okay. How are you?”

I exhale with relief. “I’m… I’m okay. How about you? What’s up?”

“You forgot your charging cord in the waiting room at the hospital. It was still plugged in beside your chair. Uncle Hugh says it’s yours. We were going to pop by and drop it off to you.”

“Oh. I’m not home.”

“Oh?” she inquires. And she sounds delighted.

“I’m… I’m at Killian’s.” I move to stand in front of the terrace doors and stare out at the view.

“Oh. Well, we’re nearly to your building, so we’ll just maybe try to stick it under the door.”

Oh God no. No, no.