Free Young Love Murder by April Brookshire Page A

enjoyment. “I’ll just be changing in my room.”
     “May I suggest the hot pink thong?” he says with a devilish grin, making my stomach flutter in excitement. He is so annoyingly handsome.
    Pretending to be aggravated by his suggestion, I close the door to my room behind me, tossing the undergarments onto the bedspread. Going over to the safe in the closet, I punch in the code I’d programmed. Now to get what I really came here for. I pull out a box from the safe and open it. Inside is my .22 LR semiautomatic pistol and silencer. I put these in a brown leather shoulder bag, wrapped in a scarf covered with pink skulls, along with other girlie stuff to cover them up. Then I change into a turquoise cotton tank dress. I have the hot pink thong and matching bra on underneath, for no particular reason, of course. Throwing on a pair of black, strappy sandals, I’m good to go.
    When I come out of the room, Gabriel gets up off the couch and pulls me into a hug, which I automatically return. Wow, being in his arms feels way too good, time to back off. “Okay, let’s go to your house.” 
    Twenty minutes later, as we’re pulling through the gates of his family’s home, I pretend that I’m seeing it for the first time. That Jackson and I didn’t scope the perimeter late Sunday night. “This is nice,” I state breezily. Dealing drugs pays well , I think to myself. But so does murder for hire. I have quite a bit of my own dinero. Not that a man like Xavier Sanchez doesn’t deserve to be murdered for all the people he’s killed. At least the people that I kill deserve it.
    “Thanks,” he says proudly, speeding down a drive lined with matured palm trees on either side. They must spend a fortune each month on gardeners. The satellite picture Simon emailed me of the estate could pass for that of a botanical garden.
    I’m curious as to how much he knows about his father’s illegal business dealings. In an indifferent tone, I ask, “So, what’s up with all the guards?”
    “My dad’s just paranoid,” Gabriel answers breezily. Well, that doesn’t tell me much. I’m hoping it’s because Gabriel doesn’t know much.
    He drives through the wraparound driveway and parks between the fountain and the white double doors that lead into the house. As we go inside the house, he grabs my hand to lead me up the winding staircase. “Are your parent’s home?” I ask him, pretending normal teen curiosity. From what I can glimpse of the downstairs, I see a large formal living room off to one side of the entryway, with what looks like a set of white French doors leading outside. There’s a hallway leading to the back of the house, with several closed doors. I assume that hallway leads to a family room or kitchen, but won’t know for sure until I get the exact layout. The home is done in cool and soothing colors, making it feel calm and inviting. Rather ironic when you think about it. But then, Xavier Sanchez is known for not letting his sleazier business dealings touch his family.
    “My mom is probably around here somewhere. My dad is hardly ever home.” He looks back at me and grins wickedly. “I’ll give you the grand tour later. For now, I’ll show you my room.”
    “Fine by me.” Though, I’ll need the grand tour later to get a layout of the place. 
    When we get to his room, he immediately pulls me by the waist over to his bed. “And this is the bed,” he announces as if it’s the end of a lengthy tour. Gabriel’s room is unlike the cool, soothing colors downstairs and is done in darker, more masculine colors. Deep blues, lots of black, light taupe for contrast and a few splashes of a deep red give the room a feeling of masculine dominance. The bed he’s obviously so proud of is king-sized and framed with a beautifully worked redwood headboard and footboard. There are at least six king-size pillows in different colored pillowcases. With the black comforter pulled back at one corner, deep red satin