The Siren, KATHERINE JOHN [positive books to read .txt] 📗

to offer: acting lessons to change my personality on a dime, makeup classes to alter my appearance at will, Krav Maga to protect myself. Posing as an actor researching a role for a film, I befriended a pharmacist and learned the dosages and combinations of pills to induce sleep or cause death. I bought a 9mm Beretta and practiced at the shooting range downtown while cops in the next lane looked on, impressed with my steadily improving aim.

I didn’t want to know anyone and didn’t want anyone to know me, but I found it difficult not to make friends. For a place as cutthroat as LA, everyone was so incredibly friendly. I didn’t show up for parties, turned down invitations to premieres and lunches and dinners with people’s parents visiting from out of town, kept my romantic entanglements to one-night stands; still I was gifted random succulents and free Reiki sessions.

I resolved to move when my lease came up every year to prevent the neighbors from growing too attached and used an ever-changing stage name: Jasmine James became Olivia O’Hara became my current handle, Nikki Nimes. Everybody out here uses stage names anyway, so no one bats an eye when you christen yourself with a different moniker than the one your parents chose. I’m not a spy; I don’t have a stash of false passports and wigs, but with each name change comes a new backstory and a makeover that includes a fashion overhaul as well as an eye color and hairstyle switch. I also swap acting studios every semester to evade my fellow thespians—although I have discovered that actors make the most suitable friends, so self-centered they rarely remember anything about you.

If I want to accomplish my goal—whatever it turns out to be—I have to be a blank slate, ready to take on whatever identity I need to succeed. I’ve achieved that mostly; with the exception of Marty and this one girl Lacey, who’s worked at the Ninth Circle longer and probably has more to hide than me, I’m pretty much anonymous.

And now, nearly three years since I drew my first breath on the West Coast, Cole Power is finally in my crosshairs.

I catch my reflection in the gilded mirror above his table as I stand before him in the pool where the blue and pink lights converge, illuminating my body in their glow.

“Jesus,” Cole says, staring up at me. “If I’d known they’d started hiring girls that looked like you, I’d have been back sooner.”

This may be easier than I thought. “That’s very kind of you.” I lean down so that my boobs nearly spill out of my low-cut dress, right at eye level. “What can I get you guys to start tonight?”

“I’m a whiskey kinda guy myself, but get whatever you want.” He doesn’t even make an attempt to pretend he’s not staring at my chest. “You’re having a drink with us.”

“Thank you,” I purr, ever so lightly touching his knee. “So a bottle of Dom Pérignon and a bottle of Johnnie Walker—Black, Red, Blue?”

“Blue, as long as I can take it home with me.” His eyes lock on mine. He raises an eyebrow. There is no subtlety in the gesture. He’s brazen. No one’s that brazen recently. Even the slimiest are more subdued of late, jolted by the sudden flare of the #metoo movement. But not Cole Power.

“I’m sure you know that’s not allowed.” I smile. “But if no one notices…” I shrug, allowing my spaghetti strap to slip from my shoulder.

“Perfect,” he says. His fingertips linger on my arm as he brushes my strap back onto my shoulder.

It takes every ounce of self-control not to recoil at his touch. “Thanks.” I bite my lip. “These dresses weren’t made to stay on.”

I cringe at the terribly cheesy line I’ve used an embarrassing number of times, but he swallows it whole, handing me a black card with a gleam in his eye. “Close it out and bring it back or I’ll forget it. And give yourself an extra five hundred on top of whatever this place usually charges.”

Wow, he is confident. Usually they don’t tip until they’re walking out the door—insurance you’ll give them your phone number…or whatever else they might want. At the computer, Lacey looks over my shoulder while I run his card. “Ooh, Blue label and an extra bottle of champagne, good one.” She flips a strand of her silky weave over her shoulder as she eyes him across the dance floor. “He likes you.”

“He’d like you too if you were standing in front of him,” I return.

She laughs, adjusting her boobs under her leather dress to show more cleavage. “Yeah, he’s not too picky. I did that already though, years ago. Coke dick.” She makes a face. “And he kept licking me and making comments about my chocolate skin I think he thought were compliments but were actually kinda racist.”

I laugh. “Yeah, he hit on me more blatantly than I’ve been hit on in weeks.”

“Can’t teach an old dog new tricks.” She winks. “Good luck.”

The knot in the pit of my stomach tightens. She’s totally right. What do I really think is going to happen? He’s gonna take me back to his place and tell me all about how his ex-wife murdered my mother? Then cop to wrecking her car into a tree and fleeing the scene of the accident?

No. He’s gonna take me home to screw me, then kick me out before the sun comes up.

My head swims.

While I’m not a sex worker like my mother was, I can usually separate myself from my body. But I won’t go there with Cole. It’s not possible. He turns every drop of blood in my body to ice.

I didn’t realize what a visceral reaction I’d have to him when I finally met him. I’m completely thrown. Every decision I’ve made in the past ten years has been in preparation for this moment, and now that it’s here, all of my plans seem so incredibly