Killer Crescent by Leigh Kelsey

8

“This is meannn,” I complained the next morning, scowling at Dean’s handsome, rugged face, the scent of his aftershave teasing me from all the way across his desk. “It was one measly little body, and I didn’t even kill the guy.”

Dean Garrick, the sexiest of sirs to ever exist, wasn’t moved by my complaining. If anything, his glare darkened, mouth pressing into an even thinner line. If he was thinking of the way he’d fucked me in his car yesterday, he certainly didn’t show it, and I pouted, crossing my arms over my chest. The hard chair I sat in before his desk dug into my shoulder blades, adding insult to injury.

“You caused trouble within minutes of arriving, Miss Falcon,” he growled, so much alphaness in his words that a shudder rippled through me. My nipples stood to attention, begging for his calloused hands. “And then hours later, we discovered an advisor murdered in your room.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t me,” I muttered, scratching my initials into the chair arm. “Why would I want to kill an advisor?”

“It’s only because there’s no possible way you could have killed Paulson that we’re not kicking you out and sending you straight to prison.”

My mouth dropped open in outrage, and I sat straighter in my seat, the fog of his sexy scent and his growl clearing in an instant. “Excuse me?”

Dean’s whiskey eyes flashed with warning, and he gripped the armrests of his leather chair so hard his knuckles turned pale. I kinda wanted those hands on me, leaving pretty bruises on my hips, but I shook my head to dislodge the fantasy. Now was not the time or place; he’d been mean and then insulted me. He didn’t deserve my pussy. “You can’t believe we’d set you free when we found someone murdered in your room,” he rumbled, his low voice drowning out the sounds of residents traipsing down the corridor outside.

“Not that bit,” I huffed, waving a dismissive hand and scowling at his rugged face. “What do you mean I couldn’t possibly have killed him?”

Dean’s lips curved up at the edges, indulgent and amused. “He was much taller than you, and too heavy for you to take down on your own.”

I’d taken down much bigger men, but I pressed my lips into a scowl, my nostrils flaring. I’d show him, and he’d feel like a silly fool when he saw me kill someone even bigger than Paulson. But not now. I was already being punished for bad behaviour, and I’d been at Blake Hall for less than a day.

It was not looking like I’d be sent back to society as a good, innocent girl. Which was really screwing with my plans—I needed to get back to my life.

“I’m still not doing the stupid detention.” I scowled deeply, kicking one of his desk legs. This office was every bit as lavish and ritzy as I’d expected, full of ornate wood and cherry furniture and rich velvet fabrics. He even had one of those green desk lamps fancy folks had in films, and I reached over and pulled the dangling gold cord, making a rich glow erupt from the glass.

Dean’s rough hand closed around mine and tugged, turning the lamp off. He held my hand so hard it started to hurt, and my stomach got all squirmy.

“It’s not a detention,” he said, deep and chilling. “It’s a chance to prove to your advisors that you’re worthy of rehabilitation. That we shouldn’t throw you into a jail cell.”

“Ooh!” I leaned forward, flashing him a considerable amount of cleavage as my boobs spilled out of my pink dress. It had skulls and crossbones and little knives all over it, which was extra fun. Girly and murdery? Count me in. “If you put me in a cell, we could play jailor and cellmate. You could take advantage of me.” I fluttered my eyelashes, and watched his expression darken with reprimanding. “Maybe I’d have to suck your cock to earn a shower. Would you like that, Sexy Sir?”

“Rebel,” he warned, gripping the arm rests of his chair so hard the wood cracked. I grinned, bouncing in my seat. “Would you please take this seriously? If you mess up these trials and prove unworthy, you’ll be sent to jail for being a threat to paranormalkind, and your power will be stripped. You’ll never get parole, or a hearing, you’ll be left to rot.”

“That sounds boring,” I huffed, crossing my arms again and using them to push up my boobs, smirking when Dean’s gaze glued to them before he growled and looked away. “I’d rather just stay here.”

Not to mention I’d killed enough criminals that prison wouldn’t end so well for me this time around. I might have been a total badass and the best hitlady to ever, ever exist, but I could only fight so many enemies at once. If I was outnumbered, I was dead. Juvie was one thing, but adult prison? Pass.

Seriousness came crashing down around me and I huffed a sigh, leaning back in the uncomfortable chair. “Fiiine,” I relented. “I’ll do the stupid trials. What are they?”

“You say that like you have a choice,” Dean muttered, but he grabbed a pen from the tidy pot on his desk and scrawled something on a piece of paper in my file. It was already chunky and full of paper, and curiosity burned at what it said about me. That I was the best knife thrower in the district? That my family were all a teensy bit scared of me? That I’d never been convicted for Antonella’s death, but I’d been locked up for what I’d done to my sister’s murderer. I bet every assessment from the psych at juvie was in there, and I tried not to wince. She hadn’t liked me very much. “But I’m glad you’ll cooperate. Your first task is tonight. You’ll go out with the six others taking the trials and survive a night in the whimpering woods.”

“Ooh,” I breathed, my eyes lighting up. “Why are they whimpering? Do the trees cry? Do they talk like the grandmother tree thingy in Pocahontas?”

Dean fixed a flat stare on me, not responding to my excitement as he wrote a few more sentences before saying, “It’s called the whimpering woods because most people come out crying.” With a cruel smile he added, “If they come out at all.”

My stomach twisted into a knot, my excitement popping like a balloon. That didn’t sound good. Not good at all.