Fatal Beauty (12 page)

“Don’t be an idiot, EJ,” she says, clearly and simply.

Relief flashes across EJ’s face, and she slides closer, wrapping
an arm around Charlie’s waist and burrowing her face against the other girl’s
neck. And the tension, the tight knot of worry, finally eases. With her best
friend pressed against her, in a hotel room she’s pretty sure will give her a
communicable disease, with the news droning in her ear about a shooting that
she knows more about than she should, she finally closes her eyes and allows
herself to relax.

And when she’s almost asleep, when she’s drifting on the edge of
awake and dreams, and everything feels deliciously distant and foggy, she feels
the velvet soft touch of lips against the nape of her neck, and EJ’s voice,
whispering against her skin, “Thank you, Charlie.”

She smiles, and lets sleep claim her.

*

When EJ wakes up, it’s because she’s hot, and the droning noise on
the TV has turned from the low, steady news anchors to some ridiculous game show
with people dressed in garish costumes vying for a mystery prize. She frowns at
it, through a tangle of Charlie’s hair. Pushes up on an elbow and peers at the
clock before she flops onto her back with a groan. The noise and motion wakes
Charlie who rolls to face EJ. “Time is it?”

“Time to check out, if we’re leaving.”

Charlie peeks an eye open and studies her. “Should we?”

That’s the question. What to do now.

“I know you don’t like the place, but it’s safe and off
Jacobs
radar. I think we should stay for another night. Get
our feet under us and decide what the next step should be.”

Charlie makes a face, still sleepy and adorable. “Do we have to do
it in such a shit hole?”

EJ laughs, “That is what keeps us off the radar, babe. Jacobs
would never expect me to slum it. Because he never would. So staying at No Name
Hellhole—it’s the safest place we can be.”

“Except I’m pretty sure I’ll need to be treated for head lice,”
Charlie grumps, scooting up the bed. EJ watches her pull her hair up into a
sleek ponytail, trying her
damndest
not to be
distracted by the tits in her face.

“Don’t be such a pampered princess, Charlie.” She says with a
slight grin. Charlie narrows her eyes, and EJ rolls away from her and sits up. “I’ll
go down and get the room for another night. Then we’ll get some food and talk
about what we need to do next.”

She tugs on her shoes and stands, adjusting her clothes quickly.

“Do you know? What we need to do next?” Charlie asks, and it’s
quiet, with a shadow of doubt clouding the words. It’s the first time since
Memphis and shooting
Pax
that she’s been quiet like
this—shy and unsure.

It’s the Charlie she’s drawn to, the one she wants to seduce and
break and reshape into something stronger.

The one who would stare down her one-time lover and pull the
trigger without hesitation—that girl was hot as fuck and intriguing and
everything EJ can see hiding behind the sharp southern smiles and polite charm.

“Yes,” she says, instead of lingering on her unspoken thoughts.
She sighs, and sinks back onto the bed. “We need to change the way we play the
game if we want to beat Jacobs. Remember, he taught me—so he knows how I think,
what I’ll do.”

“Which is?”

“The end goal. Jacobs will assume I’ll go to one of the places
I’ve always loved—Thailand or Japan.”

Charlie blinks at her and EJ shrugs, gives her a thin smile. “We
went a few years ago. He likes to diversify when it comes to his…business
connections.”

“So he’s involved with a cartel and courting the Yakuza?” Charlie
says. “I thought you said he was smart.”

EJ smiles, “He is. He’s brilliant.”

Charlie goes quiet, and the words linger awkwardly between them
for a moment and then EJ shrugs. “We go to Ireland. I’ll buy a few tickets to
Bangkok and Tokyo with my fake ID—he’ll be watching for that alias. And while
he’s busy with that—we change the way we look, we get some clean fake IDs and
passports, and we leave. Once we’ve got those in the works, we’ll drain his
accounts and route it to the ones
Pax
set up for us.”

She nods, almost to herself, and looks at Charlie. “Sound good?”

“Depends.” Charlie says. “What exactly about my looks are you
wanting to change?”

EJ smirks and pulls open the door to the hotel. “All that gorgeous
hair, baby. It stands out like a fucking flag. Time to get a trim.”

Charlie shrieks something profane as she pulls the door shut
behind her, and EJ laughs, softly. She looks around the crappy hotel as she
walks to the front office. It’s still crappy. But in the daylight, it’s less
overwhelming and terrifying. In the morning, it’s just a broken building, a
little worn and rough around the edges, showing her age and a little sadder for
it. Not a place she should be. But a place she understands.

It’s appropriate, in a twisted sort of way. It’s how she feels so
much of the time. Strip away the pretty trappings, and isn’t she just the
same—a little jaded, a little broken, a little rough around the edges.

*

“I’m not doing that.” Charlie says flatly.

“Look, you can do it in the hotel sink, or you can take your ass
back to that salon.”

“That wasn’t a fucking salon,” she says indignantly. “It was a
damn
CutsRUs
. I’m pretty sure they don’t even have to
be certified. I’m not—no, EJ.”

She sounds so horrified EJ can’t help laughing. “Come on, Charlie.
It’s hair. It’ll grow back.”

Charlie glares, and EJ giggles. “Fine.” She tosses a box of hair
dye in the basket and moves down the aisle. “What are you willing to do?”

“If you can find a decent salon—not fucking
CutsRUs
—I’ll
cut it. But I’m not going to do something insane just because you think it’s a
good idea or because someone might recognize us on our way to Ireland.”

They’re in a tiny, well-lit drug store, empty except for a bored cashier
and a stock boy listening to music. EJ’s been trying to talk Charlie into
cutting or dying her hair for the better part of ten minutes, and her patience
is wearing thin.

“You know you’re being ridiculous, right?” She says, adding a box
of red to the cart. Maybe options will sway her where reason wouldn’t.

Charlie huffs and EJ turns down the makeup aisle. They get snagged
on nail polish for another five minutes, but Charlie seems at least vaguely
happy armed with three bottles of shiny polish and a cheap manicure set.

At the hotel, EJ changes into the white ribbed tank top she bought
at the drugstore and turns to Charlie, expectantly.

“Ok, babe. You’re up.”

Charlie nibbles on her lip. “I’m not entirely sure I know what I’m
doing,” she says, and EJ grins.

“I’m entirely sure you don’t. Come on. Stop pissing around and get
it done.”

Charlie’s arches an eyebrow. “Play nice with the girl cutting your
hair.” She says mildly.

EJ flips through the news channels while Charlie works, trying to
ignore the brush of her fingers against her neck. This isn’t sexy. It’s not
foreplay. It’s a fucking haircut.

If she keeps repeating that, eventually she might believe it.

“Did they say anything about the shooting?” Charlie murmurs, close
to her ear and EJ struggles not to jump. She swallows hard.

“Not yet. I mean, there was sketchy details last night. I think
it’s mostly being considered a home invasion gone wrong. But—they have to be
investigating, considering we didn’t leave a gun at the scene and who ran off
with those.”

Charlie pauses. “I suppose that was a bad move. Sorry.”

EJ shrugs. “I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly. You got us out,
safely. I’ll take it.”

The other girl is quiet, a still presence behind her, and then,
she resumes cutting. When she’s done, she hands EJ a small mirror.

She almost doesn’t recognize herself. Gone is the long, riotous
curls, hanging almost to her ass, softening and framing her face. In its place
is a close cropped pixie cut, chunky and disheveled. It’s short enough that it
barely brushes her ears, exposes the long curve of her neck and the small
tattoo on top of her spine. She blinks at herself, staring in silence long
enough that Charlie shifts anxiously.

“Do you hate it?” She asks, finally.

EJ looks at her, and smiles. “I look like a badass,” she says,
delighted, and Charlie laughs.

“A hot badass,” Charlie grins.

EJ’s smile twitches a little, almost turning predatory before she
shoves that instinct down and examines the boxes of hair dye on the bed. “What
color should I do?”

“You think you need it?”

She shrugs. “Probably not, but the magenta needs to go.”

Charlie frowns, but nods.

“And then we’re going to do you,” EJ adds before ducking into the
bathroom. Charlie swallows her groan. Fighting EJ is like swimming against the current.
Eventually it gets too exhausting and you stop, and allow it to pull you where
it wants.

“Fine. You can cut it. I’ll go red.”

EJ twists to look at her and flashes a smile that is all promise
and lazy hunger. “I do love a redheaded slut.”

Charlie flushes and EJ laughs before she goes back to the task at
hand.

*

It takes another three hours of color and cutting, and a second
trip to the drug store, but eventually they stand side by side in front of the
mirror and stare.

The long hair is gone, for both of them. Charlie’s got a sleek bob
that turned out surprisingly well. It’s a shiny red that makes EJ itch to touch
it. EJ’s was harder, but it’s finally relented enough to lighten into a honey
brown with a few blonde highlights. She was right, Charlie thinks, standing
next to her.

They look badass.

More importantly, they look
different.
Not the soft, sweet southern belles who wandered through the boutique
district of Memphis. This look almost—
almost—
belongs
in this shithole hotel room in the middle of fucking nowhere Arkansas.

“Better?” she asks, and EJ grins. Nods.

Charlie smirks, and drops on the bed. “Good.” A sheet is on the
floor, covered in hair clippings and cheap towels stained with hair dye.

“I’ll clean up and then I’m getting a shower. Are you hungry?” EJ
asks, fluffing her bangs, and giving Charlie an appraising look.

She nods and the other girl grins. “Ok. We’ll eat. And I’ll call
my guy about some new IDs for both of us.”

She gathers up all the mess on the floor, shoving it all into the
plastic bags from the drugstore and slipping out to toss it into the big
dumpster out back. Charlie picks at her nails and studies her reflection in the
TV, now off. She couldn’t handle daytime TV after half of a bad soap opera.

The transformation is still shocking, and it’s surreal to think
how unrecognizable she is now.

Vaguely, she wonders if her father would recognize her, if he were
to see her now.

She glances at the phone as EJ comes back in, rummaging through
her bags for clothes before she vanishes into the little bathroom with the
cheap flip-flops they bought at the drugstore.

Off the grid was fine, and smart—but there was absolutely no need
to pick up a foot fungus from the place in the process.

She files one hand, buffing and trimming her cuticles, rounding
out the nails that have gotten a little ragged and uneven. It’s soothing.
Settles some of the twisting unease. She applies a base coat of pale opal, and
studies it for a moment, the smooth even strokes,
the
gleam.

It’s petty, and superficial and belongs in another life. To
another girl.

But she can’t quite make herself stop.

She picks up the phone and dials before she can think about it
anymore, before she can convince herself that she’s not that girl. Because for
a heartbeat, with her nails drying and the smell of acetone in the air, she can
pretend she’s still a girl who would call her daddy for no reason.

“Hello?”

His voice is hoarse and tired. Exhausted, really. He sounds like
shit, and she feels guilty, unexpectedly.

“Daddy?” she murmurs.

“
Charlotte,
” he
breathes. “Where are you, pumpkin? Are you ok?”

“I’m fine, Daddy.” She says, tears stinging her nose. “But—I can’t
tell you anything else.”

“Baby, are you being held by someone?”

“No,” she says, quickly. “I’m fine. I just had to get away for a
while. I’m sorry I—“

“Your brother was drugged, Charlie. And you were gone. Just like
Tre. I’ve been going insane with worry.”

“Don’t get mad,” she says, hearing the temper building in his
voice. “I’m not a little girl—I don’t have to check in with you.”