Dead Pretty

by Samantha Towle

  Then, I breathe in deeply, open my mouth, and start screaming.

  Audrey

  Eight Months Later

  The bar buzzes with people all around me, people who have come in here for a drink after work, just like I’ve done.

  The only difference is, they’re in groups and couples.

  And I’m alone, sitting with my back to them all, at a table by the window.

  There was a time not so long ago when I wouldn’t sit with my back to a room full of people.

  But I’ve realized that it doesn’t matter which way you’re facing.

  If someone wants to get close to you, they will.

  Jack … he got close to me.

  The same ache in my chest appears that I always feel when I think of him.

  I press the heel of my hand against my sternum, trying to ease the hurt away.

  But I know nothing will ever take away the pain of what happened.

  Even though I remember very little of that night.

  Only waking up and getting a glass of water. Spilling it on the floor.

  And then nothing until I woke up in the hospital.

  The weird part though is, I’m sure that I saw Cole that night. In my apartment.

  But I know that can’t be right because Cole wasn’t there. He was in Chicago.

  I haven’t told Cole that I thought he was there.

  I don’t know why I haven’t told him, to be honest. Every time I open my mouth to voice the words, something stops me.

  Maybe it’s because I know how crazy it sounds.

  I can’t remember Jack trying to kill me. But I have a false memory of my brother being there.

  I mean, the only reason I know what happened that fateful night is because of the police.

  Detectives Peters and Sparks.

  They came to see me in the hospital. They wanted my version of events from that night. I told them the very little I did know, which was nothing of worth.

  The whole time I spoke, Detective Sparks looked at me with this cold expression. Like he didn’t believe me. Like it was me who had done something wrong.

  He said nothing. Not one single word in the time he was there. It was unnerving.

  It was Detective Peters who informed me that Jack was dead. That I had killed him in self-defense after he attacked me, stabbing me first. That it appeared that I had discovered that Jack was the killer of Molly Hall, Natalie Jenkins, Sarah Greenwood, and Michael King. That I had found the murder weapon—the knife he tried to kill me with—in a first aid kit in his apartment along with some of the victims’ personal items.

  They knew my real surname. My history with Tobias. That Jack was his older brother.

  Hearing all of those words … it broke me. Knowing that Jack had been there all along to kill me. To finish what his brother had started. That I had been right in my worst fear.

  Only … I knew Jack. I know that I am always the one to say that you never really know anyone, and that undoubtedly is true in this case.

  But there’s just something … deep inside of me niggling away. Bothering me. Like an itch that I can’t reach.

  Jack had so many opportunities to hurt me, and he never did. Not once. Until he did.

  It’s just … hard to piece it all together. Understand everything.

  Curling my hand around my wineglass, I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to find those hidden memories. That itch in the back of my mind.

  If I could just …

  Stop.

  I blink, shaking my head.

  What was I thinking about just now?

  I try to force my thought back, but it doesn’t work.

  I rub at my forehead, feeling an ache coming on.

  My mind feels so clogged up. Clouded. Hazy.

  Like the fog is so thick and I can’t find my way through it.

  The doctor said it was due to the trauma. That the memories from what happened that night will possibly return in the future … or they might never.

  I pick my glass of wine up and take a sip, savoring the taste of it. I focus on the world through the window.

  It’s early evening here in Los Angeles, the sun still bright in the sky.

  LA is my home now.

  I left Jackson not long after I got out of the hospital. Cole said that I needed a change of scenery. That I needed to be away from all memories of Jack. It didn’t take much to persuade me.

  But obviously, Chicago wasn’t an option for me.

  Cole suggested LA. I agreed.

  I had tried a small town, and that hadn’t worked out. I thought maybe the sunshine might be good for me.

  Cole moved here with me too.

  I had been stupid to ever leave him behind like I did.

  I’ve learned my lesson. I won’t ever leave my brother again.

  I need him.

  Cole and I share a house in Long Beach, and I’ve got a job, working at a local library. I like it there. The people are nice.

  I’m trying to be a little more social nowadays. Hence why I’m sitting in a bar. I force myself to come most days after work and just be around people.

  Okay, I’m alone. And I wouldn’t exactly say that I’m making friends. I don’t think I ever will. But shutting myself off to people evidently didn’t work. So, here I am.

  And I have all the friends I need anyway.

  Eleven lives with me now. She is the only link I have left to Jack.

  I know it’s stupid to still think about him after everything that happened. But I do.

  Not that I would ever tell Cole this. He’d be angry with me. He thinks I adopted Eleven because I couldn’t bear the thought of her not having a home. Which is the same reason that, before I left Jackson, I adopted Gary and Pork Chop, and I brought them all to LA to live with me.

  Cole loves the dogs. And he likes Eleven, and she him. Which I was surprised at. Not at Eleven liking him, but Cole liking her.

  I thought he’d dislike her because she was Jack’s cat. But he seems to have a bond with her.

  It makes me happy.

  So, yeah, we definitely have a full house with those three. But I love going home to them all after a day at work. They give me purpose.

  “Is anyone sitting here?”

  I turn my head at the deep male voice close behind me.

  The first thing I see is the suit. Tailor-made. Beer bottle in hand. Rolex around his wrist.

  I lift my eyes to his face.

  Tanned skin. Dark brown hair cut into a short, neat style. Brown eyes. Handsome.

  Though I have no interest.

  Yes …

  No.

  The man smiles. It’s a nice smile. Easy and relaxed.

  “Sorry if I’m bothering you,” he says after I say nothing. “I’m just looking for a spot to sit down and enjoy my beer. It’s been a long-ass day.”

  Yes …

  No.

  “You didn’t … you’re not bothering me,” I answer politely.

  But say no to the seat, I tell myself.

  What can it hurt?

  My heart is suddenly beating fast. I start to feel drowsy.

  This has been happening so much recently. I’ve always struggled with tiredness since I was a kid. But these bouts of fatigue, they come on so quickly and from out of nowhere, making me fall asleep in random places. But the frightening thing is … I always wake up hours later, back at home and with no clue how I got there. It’s been happening regularly since I left Jackson and moved here, and it’s scary as hell.

  I haven’t told anyone. Not even Cole.

  I don’t want him to worry.

  But last month, it was at the bus stop when a woman took a seat on the bench beside me. The month before that, it was in a diner when I shared a booth with this nice man who had asked if he could sit at the table with me because the diner was packed.

  Kind of just like what’s happening now …

  I blink, staring up at the man. My vision starts to go hazy. Dark.

 
This isn’t … no … I can’t … don’t fall asleep.

  Audrey.

  Yes?

  Rest now.

  Cole

  I blink open my eyes as I stretch out, taking full control, putting Audrey to rest.

  God, that feels so much better.

  Smiling easily, I pat a hand on the seat of the empty chair beside me. “The seat is all yours,” I tell him, putting a flirty tone into my voice.

  I watch him sit, feeling that excitable energy flood my system. The feeling that I always get when it’s my time.

  I’m no fool. I know exactly why this guy came over. And it wasn’t for a seat.

  He wants to fuck.

  Meaning I get to have some fun tonight.

  Angling my body toward his, I hold out my hand. “I’m Audrey,” I tell him.

  “Tate,” he says. Taking my hand, he shakes it gently.

  He thinks I’m delicate.

  Idiot.

  Letting go of his hand, I lean back in my seat and pick up my wine.

  I cross one leg over the other, letting the skirt that Audrey dressed in this morning slip off my knee, revealing plenty of thigh.

  His eyes drift to my legs.

  So. Predictably. Easy.

  I almost want to laugh.

  Covering my smile with my glass, I take a slow sip of my wine before putting it back down.

  I lean forward, place my elbow on the table, and rest my chin in my palm as I stare over at him. “So, tell me, Tate”—I let my teeth seductively graze over my lower lip—“do you live around here?”

  Tate’s eyes latch onto mine. His pupils dilate, and a slow smile spreads across his mouth.

  He thinks he knows what I’m suggesting.

  He has no clue.

  No. Fucking. Clue.

  Because men like Tate don’t sense danger in attractiveness. They only think of one thing when they look at a woman like Audrey.

  Sex.

  They never see me coming.

  And that works perfectly.

  As I stand and leave the bar with Tate, his hand on my lower back, I smile inwardly, thinking to myself, What an amusing irony it is that people like Tate are lured in by Audrey’s beauty.

  Because, to me, there is nothing prettier than death.

  And tonight … his death is going to look as pretty as hell.

  I’m going to keep this one short. But what I do want to say is that Dead Pretty has been my biggest challenge to date in my writing career. Amid a global pandemic, I wrote a book that tested me to my absolute limits, and I couldn’t have done it without these handful of people.

  My husband and children. There are no other three people in this world that I would want to be stuck in a house with for seven weeks and counting and continue to still be laughing and having the best time with. Infinity and beyond, my people.

  Mostly, I owe the completion of this book actually happening to Vic and Tash. My Ungodly Hour Sprint Team. You both are my six-thirty-in-the-morning kick in the butt. I literally couldn’t have finished this book without you both. And of course, I can’t forget to mention Caaaaaaaaaaarllllllll!

  My Wether Girls. My online home. To be surrounded by wonderful, supportive women such as you helps to restore my faith in the human race daily, and I’ve needed that reminder even more so these last few months.

  Lastly, I would like to thank wine and coffee … my biggest supporters through all of this.

  My P.S. thank-you, as always, is to you, those of you who are reading this right now. You sticking with me for all of these years and continuing to read the books that I put out are the reason I get to live and work my dream.

  And lastly, a note: I know Dead Pretty is not the normal type of book you expect from me. I know it’s probably a surprise. Maybe even a shock. I know because it shocked the hell out of me, too, that I could actually write a book like this! But I hope you enjoyed it. Maybe even loved it a little. And that it took your mind off the crazy world we’re living in right now, if only for a short time. Stay safe. And until the next book …

  OTHER BOOKS BY SAMANTHA TOWLE

  STAND-ALONE NOVELS

  CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE

  Under Her

  Sacking the Quarterback (BookShots Flames/James Patterson)

  The Ending I Want

  When I Was Yours

  Trouble

  ROMANTIC SUSPENSE

  River Wild

  Unsuitable

  THE GODS SERIES

  Ruin

  Rush

  THE WARDROBE SERIES

  Wardrobe Malfunction

  Breaking Hollywood

  THE REVVED SERIES

  Revved

  Revived

  THE STORM SERIES

  The Mighty Storm

  Wethering the Storm

  Taming the Storm

  The Storm

  Finding Storm

  PARANORMAL ROMANCE NOVELS

  The Bringer

  THE ALEXANDRA JONES SERIES

  First Bitten

  Original Sin

  Samantha Towle is a New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal best-selling author.

  A native of Hull, she lives in East Yorkshire with her husband, their son and daughter, and three large fur babies.

  She is the author of contemporary romances, The Storm Series, The Revved Series, The Wardrobe Series, The Gods Series, and stand-alones, Trouble, When I Was Yours, The Ending I Want, Unsuitable, Under Her, River Wild, and Sacking the Quarterback, which was written with James Patterson. She has also written paranormal romances, The Bringer and The Alexandra Jones Series. With over a million books sold, her titles have appeared in countless best-seller lists and are currently translated into ten languages.

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