Vipers and Virtuosos (Monsters & Muses, #2)(36)

“Nothing to find,” a voice says from over my shoulder. We turn to see a man with a bad comb-over leaning against the counter, pudgy fingers wrapped around a half-empty pint. “Didn’t you hear? That girl’s dead.”

I snort, and Liam rolls his eyes, leaning in to ask, “How could you know that? No one even knows her name.”

“Oh, someone knows her name, all right. And someone took care of pretty boy’s little problem,” he sneers. Tilting his head, he takes me in from head to toe and chuckles to himself. “Then again, maybe she’s created a whole new set.”

With a hiccup, he stumbles off to the back, his gait and slurred speech confirming that his ramblings are just that.

There’s no way the girl is dead.

Surely, someone would’ve figured that out. Even though the Internet’s been practically scrubbed of her existence, outside of the claims themselves, it’s not possible something like this would happen and I wouldn’t know about it.

Right?

Liam and I sit in silence, my thoughts growing persistent in volume with each drink I take. I do my best to tamp it down, not wanting to spoil the night for Liam, but eventually I can’t ignore the pulse in my veins.

Sliding off the stool, I clamp a hand on his shoulder. “Gonna step out for a smoke.”

He hesitates, casting a glance over his shoulder to where my bodyguard, Jason, sits in the corner of the room watching us.

I sigh. “Please, I’ll just be a second. I swear I’m not going anywhere. Need some air.”

“Okay.” Liam shrugs, scratching at his blond hair. “I’ll try to stall him.”

Clapping him on the back, I duck out a side exit into a damp alley and collapse against the brick wall. Shuffling out a cigarette from my jeans, I light up and take a slow drag, trying to calm the painful buzzing ricocheting off my temple.

Dead. I scoff, wondering who the fuck that girl was, and how she ended up being so goddamn elusive. Is it possible her enchantment was nothing more than a ruse, and that she was sent to ruin me?

Then again, if that were the case, I don’t know why she seemed so reluctant to be my date that night. Why she ran from me, when I’d only just gotten a taste.

Tapping my foot on the concrete, I do my best to make sense of the situation, ruminating on everything that’s led up to this point for the millionth time since the allegations began.

No one knows who she is, because she forged the papers to get into the charity gala that night.

But at the tattoo shop, they’d run her license, and no one said anything about it being a fake.

With the cigarette dangling between my lips, I replay that thought in my mind again, heart stalling as it gets stuck on a loop.

She used her real license to get a tattoo.

Blinking at the bare wall in front of me for several beats, I take one last puff and toss the cigarette to the ground, taking off on foot down the alley and street to where the Suburban is parked. Throwing open the back door, I quickly relay directions to the driver, sending a text to Liam that I’m heading back to the apartment and sending the car back for him.

A string of explicit texts follow, but I ignore them, adrenaline coursing through my blood as the driver whizzes through the city streets.

When he finally gets close enough, I shove open the door and sprint down the sidewalk, barreling into Gio’s shop with absolutely no finesse. My hair sticks to my forehead, damp with sweat, and I’m out of breath as I ask about their records.

“Got a warrant?” Jenna barks, glaring at me as I double over with my hands on my knees, trying to regulate my breathing.

“Just show him the fucking thing,” Gio snaps from the back of the shop.

Growling under her breath, Jenna reaches into a desk drawer, pulling out a binder and flipping directly to the page in question.

I blink at it, then up at her, and she shrugs. “Look, we didn’t mention it because someone showed up right after you left and threatened our lives if we did.”

“Threatened your lives?”

“We don’t know who,” Gio says. “Didn’t see them. Just got the message.”

The phrase repeats in my head as I grip the binder with trembling fingers, squeezing the edges until my knuckles blanch. I stare down at the picture—ocean eyes that are branded on my soul look back, as devoid of emotion as ever.

I remember the way it felt when she looked at me, as if I was the first person to make her feel something.

I remember what it felt like to spear my tongue inside her, lap at her juices, revel in her ecstasy. How I wished I could’ve recorded her sounds, so I could keep them as just mine forever.

Slipping the photocopy from the binder, I absorb everything—her date of birth, the state of Maine branding, the address.

My gaze zeros in on the address, a sinister feeling unlike anything I’ve ever known taking root inside me like a hundred-year-old tree.

I glance up at Jenna, cocking a brow. “No one finds out about this, or I’ll report you for evidence tampering. Got it?”

She nods, and I make my way from the building, unable to stop looking at her ID.

If she’s dead, fine. The obsession stops here.

If she’s alive, though…

If Riley Kelly is alive, I’m going to track her down and make her wish she wasn’t.





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