Ruthless Creatures (Queens & Monsters, #1)(12)

“Tough. Now text your boy toy that your date is on and finish your lunch.”

I make a show of polishing off my salad as if I’ve got the appetite of a farm animal, because Sloane’s like a grandmother: it always makes her feel better when she sees me eat.

Watching me, she says drily, “I know what you’re doing.”

I answer through a mouthful of salad. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Looking heavenward, she draws a slow breath. Then she deletes whatever she had been typing on her cell and starts over. She sends the message and drops her phone back into her purse. “Happy?”

“Yes. And I want a full report in the morning.”

Sounding like the head of the gestapo, she demands, “What are you going to do tonight if you’re not with me?”

I think fast. “Treat myself to dinner at Michael’s.”

Michael’s is a small, upscale casino on the Nevada side of the lake where wealthy tourists go to gamble and blow their money. The steakhouse sits above the casino floor so you can look down on everyone playing craps and blackjack while you stuff your face with overpriced filet mignon. I can’t really afford it on my salary, but the minute it’s out of my mouth, I’m looking forward to it.

If watching me eat makes Sloane feel better, for me it’s watching other people make bad decisions.

She says, “Alone? The only people who eat alone are psychopaths.”

“Thanks for that. Any other little gems of encouragement you’d like to share?”

She purses her lips in disapproval but stays silent, so I know I’m off the hook.

Now I just have to figure out what to wear.





When I walk into Michael’s at six o’clock, I’ve already got a pleasant buzz going.

I took a cab over so I wouldn’t have to drive, because my plan for this evening is to order the most expensive bottle of champagne on the menu—screw it, I’ll put it on a credit card—and get properly shit-faced.

Without the wedding dress in the house, I feel lighter. Like I’ve let go of something heavy I’ve been holding on to for too long. I dug around in the back of my closet and pulled out another dress I never wear, but one that doesn’t have so much baggage attached to it. It’s a red silk body-skimming sheath that manages to flatter my figure without looking like it’s trying too hard.

I’ve paired it with strappy gold heels, an armful of slim gold bangles, and a sloppy updo for what I hope is a sort of boho-chic look. A swipe of Sweet Poison on my lips completes the look.

Who knows? Maybe I’ll hit it off with someone I meet at the bar.

I laugh at that thought because it’s so ridiculous.

The ma?tre d’ seats me at a nice table in a corner of the room. There’s an enormous fish tank behind me and the casino floor below me on the right. I’ve got a clear view of the rest of the restaurant, too, which is mostly populated with older couples and a few young people who look like they’re on first dates.

I order champagne and settle into my chair, satisfied that this was a good idea. I can’t be as morose in public as I’d be at home, sharing mac and cheese with Mojo and weeping over my old engagement photos.

I’m satisfied for all of two minutes before I see him, sitting across the restaurant alone at a table, smoking a cigar and nursing a glass of whiskey.

I mutter, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

As if he heard me speak, Kage looks up and catches my eye.

Whoa. That was my stomach dropping.

I send him a tight smile and look away, squirming. I wish I knew why making eye contact with the man feels so visceral. It’s like every time I meet his gaze, he’s reaching into my stomach to squeeze my guts in his big fist.

I neglected to tell Sloane about his comment. The “you are beautiful” one that I’ve been trying not to think about all day. The one accompanied by a gruff tone of voice and that look in his eye that I’m quickly becoming familiar with. That strange mix of intensity and hostility, warmed with what I’d think was curiosity if I didn’t know better.

I busy myself with staring down at the casino floor until the ma?tre d’ returns, smiling.

“Miss, the gentleman at the table against the wall requests that you join him for dinner.”

He gestures to where Kage sits watching me like a hunter peering at a doe through the sights of a rifle.

My heart thumping, I hesitate, unsure what to do. It would be rude to refuse, but I hardly know the man. What I do know of him is confusing, to say the least.

And tonight. Why did I have to run into him again tonight?

The ma?tre d’ smiles wider. “Yes, he said you’d be reluctant, but he promises to be on his best behavior.”

His best behavior? What would that look like?

Before I can imagine, the ma?tre d’ is helping me out of my chair and leading me by the elbow across the restaurant. Apparently, I don’t have a choice in the matter.

We arrive at Kage’s tableside. I’m surprised to find him standing. He doesn’t seem like someone who’d bother with such formalities.

The ma?tre d’ pulls out the chair opposite his, bows, and retreats, leaving me standing there awkwardly as Kage stares at me with burning eyes.

“Please, sit.”

It’s the “please” that finally does it. I sink into the chair, swallowing because my mouth is suddenly so dry.