Chapter 3 - Jade
The party, if you can even call it that, is boring, but that's no big surprise.
Most of these rich people's get-togethers are.
They spend the night drinking expensive alcohol while nibbling at finger food that somehow still costs a fortune, even though it does nothing to fill you while they take every opportunity to brag about themselves.
Honestly, it makes my job easier, almost too easy sometimes.
Not a single one of these assholes knows how to keep to themselves, all too happy to gloat about their accomplishments, even the not-so-legal ones.
My wig is itchy, and my drink isn't nearly strong enough. After about an hour, I'm ready to just say fuck it and handle this in the alleyway so I can go home.
It’d be easier, but not nearly as fun or satisfying in the long term. Besides, it would be too easy for our target, who deserves so much more than a quick death in an alley.
No, from what Spencer dug up on this piece of shit, he's well worth my suffering if it means I get to watch him beg and plead as I watch the light leave his eyes.
Jake catches my gaze across the room, and I watch his eyes devour me. Thankfully, he's not the only one to look at me like that tonight, so it won't draw any attention, but other than Trent, he's the only one I've had a hard time resisting.
They come because of their status in the city.
People expect to see them at just about everything.
It’s part of the reason I opt to hide my identity on these ‘date nights.’ People might not know who I really am, but they know I’m often with them or one of the other guys.
The news and local articles have had a blast trying to figure out whose girl I am or trying to spin it as a scandal.
Trent's the chief of police now, taking over for Rick's dad last year, and Jake is still the son of a once-loved mayor. Despite knowing Randall was a piece of shit, we never brought it out into the open. He died at my hand, and that's all I really wanted—him to pay the price. It was only made sweeter because I got to be the one to do it. I’m not na?ve, though. I know if we had said anything to the public, it would have brought Jake down, too, and that’s the last thing I want. He suffered at Randall’s hands for years, not the same way I did, but Randall did enough damage, and I wouldn’t let him have a hold on him, even from the grave.
No, the city loves him, and despite replacing his father, many want Jake to run in the next election.
I know he’s hesitant because in his mind, it would be just another way they were alike.
But I think it’s a wonderful chance for him to do better for the city we love. For all of us to do better, together.
Watching women try to get close to them all night makes me feel even more stabby. The first few times we attended events like this, I might have broken a few glasses trying to keep hold of myself.
I’ve gotten better…mostly.
I know the guys have no interest, and they both claim to have a wonderful girlfriend they love very much, but I think they get a kick out of my reaction. Too bad they can’t tell them they’re both dating the same crazy gang leader who will literally cut them… I bet that would keep them away.
Rick should be here, too, but we quickly learned this is not for him.
Unlike the rest of them, he can’t watch me work.
That dark-deprived part of him I love so much just isn’t made for it.
The first time we tried, he broke three guys' jaws in less than twenty minutes. We were still able to get our mark that night, but only because Kratos happened to see him leaving and knocked him out before throwing him in Spencer’s car.
It had been fun, but also not the cleanest job we ever did.
Now every time we do these, he makes up some excuse about why he can’t attend to his parents. So far, it’s working, but I don’t think they will buy it forever.
Kratos could come if he wanted to. The city knows him well enough that they wouldn’t dare turn him away, but depending on who our target is, that might very well scare them away, and that would be counterproductive, if not funny.
“Hello,” a deep voice says beside me, pulling me from my musing.
Years of living behind a mask really pays off, and I slip into character with ease, plastering a somewhat ditzy, tipsy smile on my face as I turn toward a man standing to my left.
He’s not unattractive, but not anything worth looking at either; just an average Joe.
His dark hair is kind of messy, which I think is done on purpose.
It seems to be the style right now, and his eyes are a dull brown.
Like everyone else, he’s dressed up in a suit, though he doesn’t wear it quite as well as my guys do.
I know from Spencer’s look into his background that, while he might have been born into money, he isn’t as accustomed to these types of parties, attending only a handful each year when his parents demand it.
“Hello,” I purr, letting my eyes roam over him. He stands up straighter under my gaze, as he no doubt thinks I’m checking him out. I mean, that’s kind of the point, but it’s not the way he thinks. I have to work hard to keep my face even.
He disgusts me.
“Is this seat taken?” he asks, nodding to the chair beside me, the one I’ve made sure to keep empty in hopes that he would approach me.
We’d done our research, and I was almost positive he would come to me, but I’d had a Plan B if needed, not that I would need it now.
“No,” I gesture to the chair, offering it to him, and he smiles as he sinks into it.
“My name is Nash,” he says, holding his hand out to me politely. I think of the guys and how they make me scream their names when they fuck me to force a blush on my face.
Reaching out, I take his hand. “Zoe,” I say, darting my eyes away after a moment.
His eyes shine, and I know he’s eating it up, but most assholes do. They love a good stroke to their ego, and right now, that’s exactly what I want to do.
“What’s a pretty girl like you doing here all alone?” he asks, leaning toward me without releasing my hand.
How very original, someone get this guy a trophy…
I fight the urge to roll my eyes; instead, smiling bashfully, I shake my head at him.
“My aunt makes me come to these at least once a year. She raised me since I was a girl and loves to tell me all about how I need to find a good husband to take care of me.” I chuckle and roll my eyes as if the thought is ridiculous.
“It’s as if she was never young. Who wants to look for a husband at twenty-two? ”
I swear his eyes light up when I say my age, and though it’s a lie, it’s not so far off that it’s not believable. One of the perks of being short and pretty is that nobody ever questions it.
He chuckles as well before finally releasing me, but he doesn’t move away.
“Yeah, when I was twenty-two, getting married was the last thing on my mind,” he agrees.
“And how old are you now?” I ask, staring back at him with wide eyes and batting my lashes at him as if hanging on his every word.
Gross.
“I’ll be thirty-seven next month.” He tells me with a smile, and I force myself to act surprised, even though I already know.
His age wouldn’t really be concerning if I weren’t playing a part. Hell, Kratos isn’t too far off that, and he’s never been hotter, but he also doesn’t rape his underage students, so maybe that’s why he’s more attractive.
“Oh, how silly of me! And here I thought we were close enough in age to be friends.” I reach out, resting my hand on his arm and leaning into his space to test his reaction.
The second I lean in, he does as well. I want to pull away, drop my hand, and step back, but I can’t. He deserves everything that’s coming to him, and it’s my job to ensure the delivery of said karma goes off without a hitch.
“I won’t hold you up anymore. You must have more important people to talk to than me.” Waving him off, I quickly attempt to pull away, only for him to grab my arm and pull me back toward him.
“No, no. Talking to you is the most fun I’ve ever had at one of these stiff-ass parties.” He rushes to assure me, and I know I got ‘em.
We talk for the rest of the night over drinks, and with each drink, I ramp up my laughing, flirting, and touching.
He’s putty in my hands.
Over the next few hours, Nash doesn’t hesitate to tell me all about himself, and I put on my very best performance to keep him going, to make it look like I’m hanging on his every word, starving for his attention.
Nash is a teacher, as I noted already, by his after-school activities. The same ones that got him up on my pretty little list of people to come visit. For a while, we worked on getting even, helping me to scratch the itch that screamed for revenge for all the years I lost to them.
After those were handled, we widened our spectrum, and now we go after whoever the fuck we think deserves it, and honestly, handling the gross fucks like Nash is one of my favorites.
There’s something so poetic about it all.
His students trust him, and he takes advantage of it, the same way I will before the night is over.
The only difference is that his victims get to walk away, albeit battered, bruised, and with trauma they will carry forever; they’re still alive.
Which is a far cry more than what I can say for him by the time the sun rises tomorrow.
“You have a beautiful name, you know. One of my brightest students, her name also started with a Z…” he trails off, and I watch his gaze as it goes far away, as if remembering something. A moment later, his pupils blow wide, and I’m almost positive I know exactly what memory he was just reliving.
I dig my nails into my palm until I break the skin and feel the warmth of my blood to stop myself from reaching for my knife, reminding myself over and over that I can’t kill him here. Not yet. There are too many eyes, and he deserves what Zan and I have planned for him.