Ruthless Creatures (Queens & Monsters, #1)(5)

“Yes.”

“Then it’s a veggie.”

Sloane shakes her head. “You’re hopeless.”

“I so agree.”

We share a smile. At that moment, I happen to glance over to the opposite side of the restaurant.

Sitting by himself at a table, his back to the window, a pint of beer in his hand, the stranger I bumped into outside the restroom stares at me.

Because he removed his dark sunglasses, this time I can see his eyes.

They’re the deep, rich brown of Guinness stout, set wide beneath a stern brow, and surrounded by a thicket of black lashes. Focused on me with startling intensity, those eyes don’t move or blink.

But oh, how darkly they burn.





2





Nat





“Earth to Natalie. Come in, Natalie.”

I rip my gaze from the oddly powerful trap of the stranger’s eyes and turn my attention back to Sloane. She’s looking at me with lifted brows.

“What? Sorry, I didn’t hear what you said.”

“Yes, I know, because you were too busy getting eye fucked by the beautiful beast who crushed your best friend’s ego.”

Flustered, I scoff. “There’s not a man on earth who could crush your ego. It’s made out of the same material NASA uses on spaceships so they don’t burn up on reentry through the atmosphere.”

Twirling a lock of her dark hair, she smiles. “So true. He’s still staring at you, by the way.”

I squirm in my chair. Why my ears are getting hot, I don’t know. I’m not the type to be unsettled by a handsome face. “Maybe I remind him of someone he doesn’t like.”

“Or maybe you’re an idiot.”

I’m not, though. His wasn’t a look of lust. It was more like I owe him money.

The waiter returns with another round for us, and Sloane orders guac and chips. As soon as he’s out of earshot, she sighs. “Oh no. Here comes Diane Myers.”

Diane’s the town gossip. She probably holds the world record for never shutting the fuck up.

Having a conversation with her is like being subjected to water torture: it goes on and on in a constant, painful drip until eventually, you crack and lose your mind.

Without bothering to say hello, she pulls up an empty chair from the table behind us, sits down next to me, and leans in, engulfing me in the scent of lavender and mothballs.

In a hushed voice, she says, “His name is Kage. Isn’t that strange? Like a dog cage, but with a K. I don’t know, I just think it’s a very odd name. Unless you’re in a band, of course. Or you’re some kind of underground fighter. Whatever the case, in my day, a man had a respectable name like Robert or William or Eugene or such—”

“Who are we talking about?” interrupts Sloane.

Attempting to look nonchalant, Diane jerks her head a few times in the direction of where the stranger sits. Her shellacked gray curls quiver. “Aquaman,” she says in a stage whisper.

“Who?”

“The man by the window who looks like that actor in the movie Aquaman. What’s-his-name. The big brute who’s married to the girl who was on The Cosby Show.”

“Are you talking about Jason Momoa?”

“That’s it,” says Diane, nodding. “The Samoan.”

Sloane rolls her eyes. “He’s Hawaiian.”

Diane looks puzzled. “Isn’t it the same thing?”

Grateful I’ve got a full glass of wine, I take a big swig of it.

“Whatever,” says Diane. “They’re all large brown people is my point. Quite handsome, in a native sort of way. Of course you can’t trust those island types. They’re used to living free like gypsies, wandering around in their raggedy caravans and never wearing shoes. I just feel so sorry for the children. Raised like wild animals. Imagine!”

I wonder what she’d do if I dumped my glass of wine over her hideous perm? Shriek like a startled Pomeranian, probably.

Picturing it is oddly satisfying.

Meanwhile, she’s still talking.

“…very, very odd that he paid in cash. The only people who keep that kind of cash handy are up to no good. Don’t want the government to know their whereabouts, that kind of thing. What do they call it? Living off the grid? Yes, that’s the expression. On the lam, living off the grid, hiding in plain sight, whatever the case may be, we’re going to have to keep a close eye on this Kage person. A very, very close eye, mind you, especially since he’s living right next door to you, Natalie dear. Make sure you keep everything locked up tight and all the blinds drawn. One can never be too careful.”

I sit up straighter in my seat. “Wait, what? Living next door?”

She stares at me like I’m simpleminded. “Haven’t you been listening? He bought the house next to yours.”

“I didn’t know that house was on the market.”

“It wasn’t. According to the Sullivans, that Kage person knocked on their door one day recently and made them an offer they couldn’t refuse. With a briefcase full of money, no less.”

Surprised, I look at Sloane. “Who pays for a house with a briefcase of cash?”

Diane clucks. “You see? It’s all exceedingly strange.”