Confessions of a Wanton

2 Crash and Burn

🎶 The Storm : Dylan Fraser 🎶

Looking down at the drink in my hand while swirling the amber liquid languidly, I reminisce. Swallowing a gulp throws fire down my throat, a much needed reprieve from the memories swirling through my mind. The flames enough that I can focus again. I'm back in my condo, whiskey in hand, studying the profile of my next mark.

The Manila folder Killian had given me thrown on my glass coffee table, the papers splayed haphazardly as I read them, memorizing every detail presented about this mans life.

Why? Why his brother? This guy seems like an upstanding citizen.

Damien Knight had been promoted to detective a few years ago, but is currently residing in the fraud department. He'd left vice when he made detective, journeying into homicide. After a two year cycle in that department he'd gone to internal affairs/fraud? He'd been there for 3 months now. I furrowed my brow.

What kind of career change is that?

I had researched that after a certain amount of time, cops working homicide cycled out. So they didn't become too jaded or end up with psychological disorders that ended their careers entirely. Usually though, people chose something a little less... internal.

Damien investigates the people he works with. He probably won't be returning to homicide. Except as a victim himself. Especially in this day and age. Perhaps the recent job change hadn't been voluntary?

I shot back the rest of the liquor, relishing the burn as it slid down my throat. It would help me sleep before getting to work tomorrow. Most nights I struggle to sleep. I need to be fresh and awake for our first encounter.

I'm lucky enough that the lack of sleep never really affected my appearance. The bags that are present under certain individuals eyes never seem to appear under mine. I'd say its genetics but I don't really know. I've never met the people who birthed me. I can only assume.

Killian has cancelled all my other clients, bringing home the point that this is a special case that needs extra attention.

The only ones I'd be able to fuck would be Killian, and his brother Damien. My life as an escort has been put temporarily on hold.

'Keep your eyes on the prize,' Killian had said.

I only get one night a week with Killian and my hormones are Amazonian. As in, I like to have sex for breakfast, I eat early and often.

Killian depriving me of my lovers would spur me to work fast with Damien.

"Shit." I curse softly, staring at the pictures before me. It seemed Damien has a girlfriend. She's tall, blonde and beautiful. The epitome of a trophy wife. Pictures of them laughing over coffee, walking the dog, Jax, while holding hands, even one where they were in a gym, bring a sense of unease over me.

Damien seems enraptured in the last, his girl is a gymnast. He's got the lovesick puppy eyes. Amber orbs staring at her with longing as she flipped. His bottom lip stuck between his teeth in an utterly sexy bite.

He's got a killer smile, great personality and everything going for him that a man could want. Except perhaps a brother that loves him. How could two men with such opposite personalities be related?

The last photo takes my breathe away, an odd ache settling in my chest replacing the unease. He's shopping alone, in a jewelry store, picking out a ring. This man is going to propose.

I never like it when Killian has me kill anyone who is in love. I'm constantly in awe of those who express it easily. I had love. Once... Now I have PTSD and a shitload of issues. I go to therapy. Though, my therapist is one of my clients. I don't always get the internal work I need.