Fatal Beauty - Nazarea Andrews Page 0,3

the kind of pompous arrogance that always ended badly. The only surprising thing about his death was how fucking stupid Charlie had been about it.

The fucked up bits of the evening started with the unexpected phone call, took a pit stop in Charlie’s breakdown in the living room, and ended in the bathroom with a wash of bruises.

She stands away from the blood and for a long time, all she can do is stare at Tre.

Wallace Bryce Talbert the Third had grown up in Savannah, and often summered in Charleston with his wealthy, socially powerful grandmother. He’d caught Charlie’s eye the summer she graduated high school before Vandy whisked her away.

It had been a hard and fast fall for both of them, all anyone talked of that summer. When, after a year of college, Tre moved to Charleston full time, no one had been particularly surprised.

And despite his good looks and easy smiles, EJ had never been able to trust him. She tried, the few time she was forced into associating with him—but it was always stilted and cool. Even now that she was with Charlie two or three time a week, the aversion to Tre hadn’t abated. If anything, it was stronger.

But she had never imagined this.

Never imagined he would hurt Charlie.

It makes the next decision almost easy.

When Charlie finally emerges from the bathroom, EJ is pleased—and more relieved than she cares to admit—to see that she’s dressed in black yoga pants and a silky tank top. Her blonde hair is water dark and secured at the back of her neck. Even with the makeup scrubbed off her face she looks gorgeous.

“What happened?” she asks, her voice going a little shrill.

EJ hooks her hair behind her ear and sits back on her heels.

“Cleaning up the evidence.”

Charlie stares and EJ goes back to mopping up the blood. “No one is going to believe you. This was Tre, and you just celebrated, very publically, your engagement to him. Everyone knows about how you fell in love and everyone has been watching you for years. That perfect picture you built? It won’t vanish because he’s dead and you’re beat the hell up. You know it and I know it.”

“He was an abusive, controlling asshole,” Charlie snarls.

“Which I totally get. But we need to be smart about this. Because those bruises are the last way he gets to hurt you—you aren’t going to prison for murder.”

Charlie stares at her for a moment, and EJ crouches on the floor next to the blood, her hands pink from the water she’s rinsed the sponge in.

“Fine,” Charlie says softly. Quietly. “What do we do now?”

Chapter 3

She’s sitting on her couch when EJ’s phone rings. The ground is shiny clean again, but she can see exactly where he had been sprawled. When Tre went down, it was in an ungraceful crumple that had his arms and legs splayed out in an undignified mess. When she first stared down at him, before the blood started to spread and she realized he was dead, there had been an insane desire to giggle.

But the slow spread of scarlet, deepening to rusty red, killed that desire and replaced it with cold panic.

She can’t quit seeing Tre crumple.

“Charlie, you with me?” EJ says.

She blinks, the stress and the long night pulling her toward sleep. “Charlie,” EJ calls again, her voice the sound of a whip.

“Shut up,” she says, her voice slurring.

EJ gives a quiet laugh. She murmurs something too low for Charlie to hear.

A soft tap on the front door startles Charlie back into the moment. She comes almost off the couch, her body tense, and EJ shifts.

“It’s ok. I called him.” She says.

Fear slithers down Charlie’s spine, but she’s silent as EJ goes and opens the door.

Anthony Jacob is a tall, slender man with dark nut-brown skin, closely trimmed black hair and cold eyes. He’s handsome, and as he steps into her living room, surveying it with those dispassionate eyes, Charlie has to suppress a shiver. Because he is also terrifying.

A blank slate waiting to dispense judgment. She’s only met Jacobs once before, about a month after Charlie caught EJ selling blow at the Burningtree. They’d met at a strip club Jacobs owned, and Charlie had expected something dirty and disgusting. Low, tacky lighting and desperate women dancing for lonely men.

She had been stunned by the sleek, clean club, the music pounding as gorgeous girls writhed and men who reminded her too much of Tre eyed them and talked about playing