Page 10 of Burn for the Devil
Sara darted away, leaving me bereft. It was all I could do not to look over my shoulder as I made my way back to my parents thinking about the strange conversation I’d just had. My new friend had seemed spooked and nervous. The group appeared harmless to me, if not extraordinarily attractive and well-dressed and with a bit more ink than what was consideredacceptable. I let out a breath. I’d navigate Boston society on my own; it’d just take longer than I’d like.
I’d almost reached my parents when I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around to face a tall blond. “Let me introduce myself, I’m Matthew.”
“Samantha,” I answered, staring into his light blue eyes. His outstretched hand was waiting for me to clasp it, so I did.
“Welcome,” he said, releasing my palm. “Care to dance?”
His hair was shaved close on the sides, the almost white length on top slicked back. I debated agreeing to his company until I realized it would please my parents. If I accompanied a man at least once, I’d be off the hook for the rest of the night. “Sure,” I said, smiling politely.
He led me, a hand against my lower back, to the center of the dance floor where a few other couples were already entwined. Matthew kept just enough space between us while I was in his grasp to allow me to feel comfortable. He asked me a few questions about where I was from and what I did for a living, and told me he was into collecting property, including real estate. I wondered what property there was to collect outside of homes and businesses but didn’t ask. The lights flickered and dimmed overhead, midway through the dance and a few startled gasps resounded throughout the room. They flicked back on, and my dance partner chuckled. “I should let you go, Samantha. It was nice to meet you.”
I said goodbye and glanced at my mother. She sent me an approving smile and turned back to the group she was mingling with. Instead of heading toward her, I made my way to the outdoor patio.
Crossing the space, I navigated my way through the cushioned couches and lit fire pits. The space was heated and cozy, although expansive, lining nearly the length of the building. Placing my hands on the stone railing at the far end,I looked out over the water. The full moon was reflected along the rolling surface and the sounds of the waves crashing against the shore provided background noise over the chatter that surrounded me.
“This is where she killed herself.” I turned and Sara joined me, leaning her forearms against the white marble.
“Who?” I asked.
Sara pointed to a rock border in the distance. “A girl, I sorta met her a couple times at a casino. Kinda met her, I don’t think she liked me. They say she threw herself off the edge over there. They never found her body.”
“Well, that’s creepy.”
“I think she was pushed,” Sara remarked, raising an eyebrow.
“You think she was murdered? Why are you telling me this?”
Sara shrugged. “Just filling you in. It's one of those unspoken things with the elite.” She continued, “Kiara was killed, I swear. How do you think that guy got that scar on his face?”
“He killed her?” The scar faced man didn’t look like a murderer, but many killers never did. I would avoid that group anyway; they sounded like too much of a headache. “Are you accusing someone of homicide?”
The woman who’d joined me seemed to want to be my friend, but the gossip turned me off. She was pretty, well-dressed, and came across as friendly. I didn’t understand why she’d want to begin a friendship with such a tale.
Sara never answered me. Her eyes widened as she peered over my shoulder. She clutched her purse and rushed away, leaving me by the railing. I grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and went back inside, disturbed by the strange conversation.
8
Ramone
With Alastair’s strong suggestion I become more responsible, I felt the weight of duty pressing down upon me. It seemed that others thought as he did, as evidenced by the phone calls and emails that had begun pouring in. Violet had to fetch me a new laptop, the one I’d been using not having survived its sudden flight into my office wall in my ire.
Alastair must’ve shared his concerns, or perhaps new position, with the others. He should have kept his mouth shut.
After booting up the new computer once Ilya set it up for me, I perused the headlines. Boston had a new serial killer targeting females, the evil man leaving lifeless corpses in dumpsters and alleyways with no witnesses, security footage having been wiped clean. There was no evidence, not a shred of DNA or a single fiber. Experts were baffled.
I wasn’t.
The door flew open, and Ilya tossed his phone onto my desk. It slid across the glossy surface until I stopped it with my hand. “Can I help you?” I dragged my gaze back to my new laptop.
“You have to stop this,” Ilya gestured toward his phone. Reluctantly, I peered at it. A half-naked prostitute lay prone in a puddle.
I scowled. “I don’t have time for this.”
“Make the time.”
I sat back in my chair, resting my elbows on the seat’s rests. “Again, I asked you how I can help you.”
Ilya glared at me. “You have to stop this,” he repeated.