The Guilty - Jason Pinter [3]
such ecstasy while sober. He threw his arms around her. Whispered into her ear.
"Athena, hon, that was off the charts. "
"No," she said. "Come Tuesday, that's number one on the
charts." Shawn smiled, nodded.
"Look at this, I mean, will you look at it? All these people
here for you...what's that feel like?"
She smiled at him, flicked her tongue into his ear. She felt
him shiver. Felt him grow hard in an instant.
"You'll never know."
Shawn watched as the bodyguards whisked her away. The
bouncers parted the curtains, flung open the doors. Her limo
waited just beyond the red carpet. It would take her to Nikos's
SoHo loft, where he'd have champagne, strawberries and
other goodies waiting. They'd do it all night before passing
out naked on his satin sheets. Tomorrow she would see her
photo in newspapers across the city.
Athena stepped onto the red carpet and waved to her fans.
Her new fans. Her old fans. Fans who would give anything for
her. She took one step onto the carpet. Smiled. And then a crack
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of thunder filled the air, and a bullet smashed through her
skull.
And just like that, her blood staining the carpet an even
darker red, the Goddess Athena died.
2
I woke up thinking that Amanda must have hijacked my cell
phone. That's the only way my ring tone could have been
changed from the standard and satisfying triple beep to an
electronic version of that awful new Athena Paradis song, "I
Want UR Love."
And the only thing worse than hearing that song come
from a tinny cell phone speaker was being woken by it at three
in the morning.
Amanda grumbled. Her arm was thrown over my chest, but
her sleep hadn't been interrupted. Figures I'd be the only one
disturbed by her diabolical creation.
I reached across to the nightstand where I kept the phone,
careful not to dislocate my shoulder since my other arm was
pinned under Amanda. There are worse things in the world
than having your arm stuck underneath a beautiful woman
who loves you.
I covered the speaker with my thumb and checked the
incoming number. Christ, not again; this was becoming a
routine. It was Mya, my ex-girlfriend. Two-thirty in the
morning. The third time this week Mya had called in the wee
hours. I was having a hard time putting an end to it. I knew
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since last year Mya had been on a slippery slope. Calling from
a bar, no doubt. I could practically smell the Stoli through the
mouthpiece.
Mya and I dated for several years in college, a time I could
hardly remember. When we met, I was smitten. She was tall,
beautiful, with confidence like no girl I'd ever met. And for
some reason she'd picked me. I don't know if I ever loved her,
or simply loved being with her. Loved being with a girl I knew
would be somebody.
We'd broken up a year ago. Right before my life had
changed forever. Our relationship was probably doomed
whether or not I'd been accused of murder, but after I nearly
died and became a minor New York celebrity, she'd had a
change of heart. Suddenly she wanted to give our buried love
life another go.
She didn't love Henry Parker anymore. At least not the
Henry she'd met years ago. Not the Henry Parker she used to
kiss behind the stacks in the Cornell library. She loved the
Henry Parker that had been invented by the newspapers and
magazines. The indestructible one who'd survived a three-day
manhunt, only to live and regain his job at the city's most
prestigious newspaper. Not the Henry Parker who could
barely run without feeling the pain in his side from where the
bone shards punctured his lung. Or the Henry whose heart
beat fast every time he heard a police siren or a car backfire.
That was the Henry that only Amanda knew. And I was happy
she knew it. It felt real. Like it could last forever.
Mya loved the other Henry Parker. But that wasn't me.
That Henry was a creation, a monster created by ink. I wanted
nothing to do with him.
At the same time, the year Amanda and I had been together
had seen incredible changes. When I'd first met