Ramsey Security (Ramsey Security #1-3)(74)

"What kind of badass did you end up with? Is he huge?" Marx asks, stepping onto the porch.

"It's a she."

"A girl?" he asks like a horny teenager. "Think she's a killer?"

I frown hard at him. "Keep your voice down."

"Why?" he says, smiling. "Think she'll kill me?"

Remembering Saskia's cold eyes, I doubt she'll need to kill an excitable dweeb like Marx. A cutting comment followed by her stare, and he'll simply wet his pants. While my jeans remained dry in her presence, I'm still kicking myself for lacking the balls to stay in the room and force a conversation.





4


Saskia

Embracing the Monster in the Mirror

I've crossed moral lines in my life and done violent things to the human body. I've hunted people like prey, leaving me to wonder if I still have a soul.

I refuse to live with regrets. My crimes are mine, and I accept them. The people I harmed do not haunt my nightmares. Sleep never escapes me because of a guilty heart. I am at peace with who I am and what I’ve done.

Yet I find myself suffering from the illusive sense of regret when considering how I spoke to Brad. Worse than how I treated him, I'm horrified about why I was so rude.

I'm lusting after my client!

This oversexed act isn't me. I'm not asexual, but I've never lusted over anyone. I admire beauty in the opposite sex. I've used men for a release. I'm as calculated with my sexual needs as I am with my work.

The classically handsome Brad throws a bucket of hot water over my ice princess existence. I'd gotten only a glimpse of him before he showed up at my door, yet I was already distracted. When he watched me, I imagined what a man like him might think about a woman like me. Somehow, before we even spoke, I felt judged and discarded. My response to this perceived rejection was to behave like a vengeful brat.

Not my finest hour.

I leave the bedroom and take inventory of the house. Checking windows and doors, I'm impressed by the security system. With the place locked down, no one will get inside quietly.

Twice during my walk around the house, I gain the attention of the dogs. The first time, they only watch me walk past them. The second time around, I gain their company.

The German Shepherds weight as much as I do, and I wish I could avoid them. Showing no fear, I still sense they're very aware of my uneasiness. Are they mocking me with their dark eyes?

"Saskia," Nell says, mangling my name like most people, "are you hungry? We're eating dinner in a few minutes. Should I put out an extra plate?"

Very much wanting to avoid seeing Brad, I also doubt I'll enjoy Sloane family time. However, I need to deal with my attraction to him, and the best way to conquer a fear is to face it. I assume the same policy works for lust.

"Yes, please," I call back to Nell while trying to dodge my canine escorts.

The dogs lose interest when they hear Brad's voice. I peek in the room to find a familiar looking dark haired man with my object of lust. My gaze lingers too long on Brad, but I realize the second man is Marx Hearton from the files I studied. He's an author specializing in biographical books, meaning he'll likely ask too many questions.

Brad takes his seat at the dining room table, careful to avoid eye contact with me. My seat is across from him with Ruth on one side and the writer on the other. Marx introduces himself and stares as if I'm a shiny new toy. Ruth and Nell bring the food to the table before taking their spots at each end.

After filling my plate with unfamiliar food, I only hope to enjoy a quiet meal where everyone ignores me. Marx has other plans.

"What did you think of Dark Reign?" he asks me.

"I've never watched it."

Brad and Ruth lift their gazes and focus on me. I feel exposed with Brad's fair blue eyes seeing only me. I wish he would look away, but he refuses.

Ignoring the tension, a laughing Marx leans back in his chair. "Didn't you research this job before arriving?"

I stare at him, showing nothing. All my life, I've been told I have dead eyes. As a child, I took these comments as an insult. Only later did I realize the power of my dead stare. Right now, Max realizes it too.

Shifting uncomfortably, he returns to eating. I catch Brad smile before he lowers his gaze. Ruth remains tense about a new woman in her domain.

Even humbled, Marx can't shut up. "The show's writers used an actual demon for their plotline. A group of people either already worshiped this demon or began worshipping the demon after watching the show. The woman the authorities arrested wasn't clear about the chicken and the egg issue before she killed herself."

"We're eating," Ruth mutters.

"Sorry, but I think Saskia should know what sort of people she's dealing with."

"All she needs to know is these people are rabid animals needing to be put down."

Marx pokes at his food. "True but understanding someone's motivation can't hurt."

Ruth frowns at Marx before turning her focus to Brad. Mother and son share a silent conversation. I don't know what they're saying, but neither looks happy about the outcome.

"Motivation does not help me," I say to break the silence. "I once hunted a man whose particular perversion was to kill and eat women who'd given birth to a son and a daughter. He was convinced the women tasted better if they'd had a child of each gender. Some might say he was mentally ill. Others might deem him simply evil. The reasoning behind the murders he committed mattered only to him or those who need reasons in an unreasonable world. All I knew was he was the target I needed to eliminate."