Stepbrother Thief(21)

Six months later and she was dead.



I step out of the dressing room in some designer denim, the fabric kissing my skin like a pair of old lovers reunited. I run my fingers down my thighs and try to push the analogy away. A second chance romance is the last thing I want to be thinking about right now.

I move over to one of the benches that face the dressing room and sit down, a box of shoes at my feet and a new Milly tee on that says I'm not bossy, I'm the boss. It's all good and paid for, courtesy of Gilleon, and a prepaid debit card that Aveline produced from her back pocket. I convinced the girls behind the counter to cut off all the tags for me and let me use one of the dressing rooms to change my clothes. I've got on new panties (thank God), a new bra, and now I'm going to slip into some Louboutin red soled ankle boots in black.

“What's next?” I ask, standing up in my new boots and grabbing a quick look at myself in one of the decorative mirrors leaning against the shop's walls. I know how silly it is to be here, doing this, know that I should've just let Aveline go out and grab some clothes from Target for me, but … I don't let myself think about Gill, about what my needing to dress up might have to do with him. Or why he let me go out to shop. Surely, there's some inherent risk in all of this? “I feel like I could take on the world.” I smile back at Aveline and she raises her red brows at me.

“Next up, is a trip back to the hotel. One, maybe two more nights there if it's safe, and then onto the next for another night or two. After that, you can move in with Gill.”

I wince and of course, Aveline notices.

“Oh, come on. I know your stepbrother's an asshole, but he's got a great place. Bought it a year or so ago, if I remember right. It's some 1912 remodel with like five bedrooms or something. I was wondering why a single guy needed a house that big, but it all makes sense now.”

A chill travels up my spine and makes me clench my hands into fists at my sides.

Gill's been planning this for a year? The thought shouldn't surprise me, but it does anyway. I mean, I know he's thorough, researches the shit out everything, but … that means for at least a year he's known he was going to come see me, ask me to give up my life, bring me here.

And that whole safe house bit? A bullshit lie. He knew from the start that we'd be living together for at least a little while.

“You alright?” Aveline asks, and I nod, forcing myself to recite some positive self-talk to keep my emotions in order. You can handle this; you can handle anything. In the ocean that is life, this is but a drop. You'll get through this, Regi, and you'll do it looking fabulous.

“Fine,” I say, brushing hair behind my ear and nodding. “Just fine.”

“Alright, let's head out then,” Aveline says, leaving me to carry the two massive bags of clothing—something about keeping her gun arm free or something. I don't mind, lifting them up and following her out the front doors of the shop and down the sidewalk towards the truck.

I'm so lost in thought that when Aveline stops dead in her tracks, I run right into her.

“Are you—” I start to ask, but she's already turning, grabbing me by the arm and yanking me forward. I fall against the pavement with a grunt, the bags landing beside me as I scrape my palms across the cement, drawing blood.

“Stay still,” Aveline growls, reaching under her hoodie and pulling out a gun. I'm too shocked by the sudden turn of events to do anything but lie there as she lifts the weapon up and fires twice. The mid-afternoon crowd around us erupts into screaming panic, feet pounding by as Aveline grabs my arm again. “In the truck,” she snaps as I struggle to stand, leaving the shopping bags behind. As soon as I rise to my feet, I see the broken window in the back of the cab, right where I'd been standing.

I was this close to being ended with a well-placed bullet.

I don't stand around to check it out, scrambling for the passenger side of the truck and finding it unlocked. Aveline climbs in beside me—my bags in her hands—and tosses them into the back seat.

“Gotta be thorough,” she says as she turns the ignition and pushes the truck into the street, careful to avoid the panicked crowd. My eyes feel like they're stuck open, and I can't stop staring at the scuffs on the toes of my new boots. I almost died. I almost just died. Bile rises in my throat and I wrap my fingers around my neck, turning to look at Aveline's pursed lips and her tight fingers wrapped around the wheel. The gun sits silent in her lap. “Can't leave any evidence behind.”

For once, I don't care one bit about the designer clothes.

If I'd have died today, it wouldn't have mattered what I was wearing.





Aveline calls Gill on our way back to the hotel, and he's waiting outside when I get there, standing strangely still in front of the entrance, his eyes like pools of rainwater resting undisturbed. If only there were ripples.