Page 66 of Beguiled

And I certainly didn’t care about the consequences.

I’d learned over the past few years that very little mattered.

Death. Sex.

Money.

Power.

Only one thing had managed to cause a stirring set of emotions and needs.

Her.

CHAPTER 15

Saige

Disappointment had quickly shifted to anger.

I was beside myself with far too many emotions, my skin prickling with heat. With my breath barely contained and the wild look I’d seen in my eyes after taking a shower, I had a feeling small children would be terrified that the big bad female monster was ready to consume the earth.

If only I could.

The one decent aspect about how much I’d suffered and was continuing to feel was the amount of money I’d made the night before.

Over three thousand dollars. Plus the five hundred I’d been paid.

Thirty-five hundred dollars of blood money.

A cold sweat popped along every inch of skin. In feeding my pocketbook, I’d managed to kill a man. I’d argued the point halfthe night that he’d been trying to kill me, which he had been, so his death had been justified. Which I believed.

So why hadn’t I contacted the police? I wasn’t technically a prisoner any longer. I’d had hours to hit 9-1-1 on my phone. The realization that not only wouldn’t the cops find any bodies or evidence, but that I’d also most certainly lose my job if not my life continued screaming at my brain.

Yes, all that was true, but I’d been raised to be a good girl. Maybe the real reason was that I felt so connected to Stash.

Even though he didn’t want me or my amazing skills. At least with being involved in his otherworldly business activities.

Maybe I should give it to charity. Quite possibly I could ease my conscience.

Hell, no on both. The attacker had wanted to kill me. A fleeting image of his face popped into my mind. Or had he wanted something else? He’d looked at me like he’d known me.

As I blew hair from my face, I resisted punching the asshole who’d crowded my space on the subway. Even though he stunk to high heaven, the scent of his aftershave reminding me of bug spray, the tiny rational portion of my mind that remained was able to stop me before I ensured he experienced a very bad day.

He wasn’t to blame.

Yet it had felt as if he’d been watching me, my every move.

I shifted to another seat, terrified he’d follow.

He didn’t.

But he was still watching. Maybe he thought I couldn’t tell, but I was certain of it. Or maybe I was finally reacting to the night before.

What kept my stomach in one knot after another was how infuriated I was with myself. I was a big girl, for God’s sake. I’d been around the block more than once. Somehow, after living in New York for a number of years and experiencing every wishy-washy, dominating, asinine, prick of a man possible, I’d allowed myself to fall head over pussy into the arms of a criminal.

A brutal, monstrous killer.

What the hell was wrong with me?