Sinfully Delicious: Six Scintillating Stories of Sweets, Treats, and Happily Ever Afters

by Gauthier, Crystal L.

  An interesting observation, but not exactly helpful. Other than confirming his suspicions that Velimir’s brutal tactics weren’t making the inroads they needed, it didn’t tell him much. “Who should he be asking?”

  “Jesus!” Vic slammed his glass against the granite bar top, his head shaking in frustration. “Man, I don’t know. I’m just talkin’. Hypotheticals.”

  He’d get no more from the edgy little man, so Sokach pulled a hundred from his money clip and set it on the bar.

  Vic cast him a frightened look from under his bushy brow. “I ain’t goin’ to get a visit next from Velimir, am I?”

  Sokach didn’t answer. Fear kept the idiots in line. Some of the time. For Vic’s sake, he hoped it did.

  He made his way over to the couches where Velimir sat. Or at least where he thought his little brother was. It was difficult to tell, buried beneath coltish long legs and a mass of blonde hair as he was. Sokach stepped up into the lounge area and plopped on the adjacent count. A bottle of šljivovica and two glasses sat on the cocktail table. The tray they came on leaned against the couch. While one of Velimir’s hands disappeared further up the skirt of his new friend, Sokach poured himself a drink. His eyes scanned the dance floor to his left.

  Ebony to alabaster skin and all shades of tan in between; red hair, blonde, black, brunettes – the variation in the herd before him was immense. And yet, every one of them was the same. Each face perfect. Each body perfect. Nothing unique. Nothing special. About any of them.

  The woman pulled free of Velimir with a giggle, one hand yanking her skirt down, the other pulling her blouse closed. She wiped her swollen lips with her thumb. Velimir smacked her on the rear, which didn’t jiggle an inch, and she was gone.

  “This place hires such excellent help,” he said, his eyes running the length of another waitress as she strutted by.

  “I guess that’s one way of getting out of a tip.”

  Velimir removed a pocket flask from his suit jacket and added some of its contents to his drink. Burgundy red swirled into the clear liquor, looking very much the potion it was. Sweet yet spicy, like clove added to wine, blood was heady stuff, could go straight to the head if one wasn’t careful. And tonight, Velimir didn’t look like he wanted to be careful. Before Sokach could stop him, his little brother poured a splash into Sokach’s glass then emptied the flask into the bottle of liquor.

  “So what did that shit Malone have to say?” Velimir asked, settling back, one arm resting on the top cushion.

  Sokach shrugged. He had no plans of sharing Vic’s comments. He’d be out one more source of information if he did. Velimir would kill Vic very, very slowly. “Says you’ve been busy. Made a mess of Hammy.”

  A satisfied sneer spread across Velimir’s face. “Little prick spit at me.”

  The derision slid off Velimir’s face, replaced by something more predatory. On the dance floor before him, two women gyrated. The one in the skin-tight red dress glanced their way and, seeing an interested audience, closed the space between her and her partner. The friend looked up, smiled. Their bodies pressed together, red dress and black dress melding together, a two-headed motley fool.

  “Your search turn up anything?” Velimir asked, licking his lips.

  The brunette leaned in, burying a hand in the other’s hair….

  “What search?”

  “Dragić. You and I both know you can’t resist looking into him.”

  “So far, nothing.” No point in denying it.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Velimir nod, but whether it was to acknowledge what he said or accept the request of the women to join them, Sokach wasn’t sure.

  Red Dress led the way, Black Dress a step behind.

  “You ought to take her,” Velimir said.

  “How gracious of you. I thought you would want them both for yourself.”

  “Not them. That feisty raven-haired kitten that comes to The Adriatic selling her…sweets.”

  Sokach took a hefty swig of liquor. Its tingling spread like tentacles to the farthest reaches of his limbs. He lifted his arm, making room for Black Dress to settle in against his side. “Not my type.”

  That was a lie.

  Blue’d been working for them for several weeks now. And on no less than five occasions, he’d followed her home, stood in her tiny apartment, watching while she went about her evening, unaware of his shadow. He couldn’t recall whatever made-up reason he’d used as an excuse to shimmer after her that first time, nor could he put to words why he kept going back.

  He ran a thumb down Black Dress’s arm, took another sip of blood-laced liquor, letting the swelling high loosen muscles and resistance.

  Such smooth skin. Barely a mark on it, save for a freckle there at her elbow, another at the wrist. The landscape probably looked the same across the rest of her.

  Blue’s body was no empty canvas. No, someone had painted an angry masterpiece on her.

  His hand trekked back up Black Dress’s arm, neck, snaked itself in her bottle-blonde hair, pulling her face to his. Her mouth opened to his assault, tasted like rum and coke.

  Blue, he was certain, would taste of honey.

  Up his thigh, Black Dress slid a hand, caressing him. He seized her upper arms, digging his fingers into her softness, pulling her to straddle him.

  Last time he’d left Blue’s, fled really, he’d sworn never to return, to leave her be. But that too was a lie. A craving had settled into his own belly and it would not be denied.

  Black Dress moaned as his lips slid down the column of her neck. Pulling aside her shoulder strap, he slipped a hand beneath the fabric and caressed a soft breast. He could take her now, here, in public. Ease the ache.

  “Oh God,” she whispered, her fingers gripping his shoulders, her pelvis grinding against his.

  His eyes opened and the blonde above him came into focus.

  Wrong. All wrong.

  Desire vanished with the abruptness of a needle dragging across vinyl.

  None too gently, he pushed her off his lap and dropped her to the couch beside him.

  “Hey!” she snapped, yanking her hem down.

  Sokach stood up. Too fast. He put the heel of a hand to his head, trying to stop the spinning. Too much liquor and blood. He needed to get out of there, get some air.

  Velimir peered around his topless guest.

  “I’m out,” Sokach said. Without counting it, he dropped a wad of cash on the table and left.

  Behind him, he heard a second female complain, then Velimir calling for him to wait, but he didn’t. He shoved through the crowd, not caring about the wake of angry looks he got as he elbowed and pushed people out of his way.

  Someone grabbed his arm. He whirled, ready to plow a fist into the face of whoever it was. It would be a relief to crush something.

  “Whoa!” Velimir said, letting go his hold to raise his hands in mock surrender. “The car’s out back.” He thumbed over his shoulder.

  Sokach dropped his fist, but murder still throbbed in his veins. He took off for the back door, leaving Velimir to limp after him as best he could.

  He threw open the door to the alley with such force it swung wide, hit the wall and bounced back.

  A fireball zigged off the edge of the metal door on its return, grazing Sokach’s left shoulder in its ricochet, blasting the door wide again. He stumbled back a step. Another artic-blue flame hit the wall near his head. He sank down into a crouch, threw his own volley into the alleyway but couldn’t tell if it found a target.

  Plaster and brick rained down around him as another blast hit the wall.

  With the door open, he was an easy target. He started to back up into the hallway but collided into Velimir coming at full steam. They stumbled, Velimir’s weight knocking Sokach off balance, almost sending him flying into the fray, but he caught himself in time.

  He peered out. Two men, daemons, moved into the light of the lone street lamp’s halo, confident in their step, knowing they had their p
rey pinned down.

  “You’re making this too easy,” one of them called.

  He didn’t recognize either of them, though that wasn’t a surprise. He’d stopped keeping count of Morana’s creations. He looked back at Velimir, who blinked drunkenly at him then vomited.

  He’d have to face them on his own.

  No matter.

  Two against his one – he’d take those odds.

  He sprang up, launching himself into the alley, throwing fireball after fireball. Behind him, he heard the club door slam closed. The two assailants sent a barrage of shots. With one hand, Sokach conjured his own missiles while the other deflected theirs back at them, doubling his ammunition.

  One of his attacks struck home, hitting the daemon on the left square in the chest; icy flame swept through the man, consuming him. The other stared at his writhing partner for a breath, then disappeared, but not before Sokach caught a glimpse of the mark tattooed on his neck, just under his ear.

  A zig-zag of horizontal lightening.

  Thumping music from the club filtered into the alley, filling the void left by the abrupt end to the fight.

  The club door squawked as it opened back up. Velimir appeared in its frame. “What the hell?”

  The adrenaline drained from Sokach and pain bloomed in its place. He put a hand to the burned and bleeding flesh of his shoulder. It would heal. He’d been lucky. A few inches to the right and the story might have turned out different. He looked at the door, dented and hanging from one hinge.

  Fool.

  He’d been caught off guard twice tonight. First with Velimir’s reference to Blue, then this. He’d let thoughts of her consume him to the point of distraction. This was why shadow guardians were forbidden frivolities like relationships. He had to put a stop to this and soon.

  “Did you get them?” Velimir called.

  “Only one.”

  And just barely, he added to himself. He walked over to the remains, used a toe to push around the ashes. They’d been powerful, faster than the average daemon. But not from age. If he had to guess, someone had infused them with power.

  “Think they were Dragić’s dogs?” Velimir asked.

  A horizontal lightning bolt. That mark had looked more brand than tattoo.

  He might have just found his first clue. He’d keep it to himself for now. Experience said, the fewer people who knew about such things, the better.

  “I don’t know. But I’m going to find out.”

  Chapter Six

  My lord, Th e Adriatic’s kitchen was every baker’s dream studio .

  The counter space, the utensils, not to mention the cooktops and ovens – every piece of equipment was top of the line and its placement well-thought out.

  After working in the confines of her studio apartment and The Sugar Bean, this was like swimming in the ocean after lessons in the baby pool.

  The extra cash working for Morana brought in was nice too. In sooner than the five years she’d planned, Blue’d be able to sell the food truck, open a shop of her own. Or maybe keep the truck. Selling the original Sugar Bean would feel like a betrayal of sorts.

  But, if she were being honest with herself, some of the enjoyment came from seeing Sokach on a regular basis. The man was a puzzle. Her mouth had dropped open the first time she’d seen him preparing a menu and realized he ran the kitchen.

  Not something she would have ever thought in his wheelhouse.

  Breaking a lackey’s knees, maybe, but cooking?

  There was something inanely attractive about that.

  Then there was the way he looked at her. She couldn’t describe it, but more than once, she’d glanced up from whatever task was at hand and found him watching her. And in that second before he turned away, she felt something turn inside her chest, something reaching out to him, willing him to come to her.

  But what would she do if he did?

  She no longer knew how to swim in that pool. Her interactions now all took place from behind a wall built from bricks of suspicion and cynicism, held together with a mortar of self-preservation. Maintaining a safe distance meant she remained queen of her domain, of body and soul. Better to stay two neighbors talking over the fence that divided their yards than lovers sharing a bed and a heart.

  Not that Sokach had ever hinted he wanted to cross her property line.

  Whenever she’d caught him looking at her, his expression would darken with annoyance. Or was it anger? Maybe that was why she had this attraction to him. It was a battle of wills. To change his mind was to win.

  One by one, Blue removed the six trays of single-serving double fudge molten lava cakes from the ovens and set them on cooling racks, then loaded the next batch. Managed to burn her arm only once.

  This was the first occasion she’d had to use The Adriatic’s kitchen. Sokach hadn’t been all that keen on her using their facilities, but he’d relented once she told him the recipe she was trying. From the way his eyebrows had risen, and his head cocked to the side, as though listening to the list of ingredients like they were notes in a symphony, she’d half expected to him to be nosing around while she worked, but she hadn’t seen even a blur of him tonight.

  Which was odd.

  But then again, the vibe throughout the place thrummed with…what? Anticipation? Tension? Like teenagers waiting for dad to come home and find out about the dent in the car door. Even the others in the kitchen with her seemed to be on their best behavior. She could only imagine what it was like working for that Morana.

  The woman was positively intimidating, not only in her demeanor but physically too. Standing before her that first meeting was perhaps the most humbling experience of Blue’s life. At nearly six-foot tall, Morana was the definition of willowy, every limb long and graceful. Even her fingers and fingernails were elegant. Mid-back white-blonde hair that couldn’t possibly be natural yet showed no signs of having come from a bottle, hung free, framing a face dominated by turquois eyes and sharp cheek bones.

  But woe be the man to mistake any of that slenderness for frailty. If a bet was laid between the boss and the hardest, most ruthless old-boys-club CEO, Blue would wager The Sugar Bean on Morana.

  “Making yourself at home, I see.”

  A creep inched up Blue’s spine at the voice.

  Velmer? Velimint? Velimir. That was his name. An odd name to go with an even more odd man.

  No. Odd wasn’t a strong enough description.

  Disturbing.

  Like all the people working for Morana, he was good looking in a cologne-ad sort of way, but there was something about his golden eyes that set her stomach to turning. Or maybe it was the expression he wore whenever he talked with her. It put her in mind of those childhood cartoons where the clever coyote looked at the talking bird and imagined a Thanksgiving turkey, succulent and ready to eat.

  She glanced over her shoulder and gave an agreeing grunt but kept working. If she was lucky, he’d go away.

  He didn’t get the hint.

  He slinked up beside her to look at the cooling cakes, presumably, but stood just a little too close.

  Such a big room yet his presence shrunk the walls, confining her. She took a step back, fanning a pot holder to her face, masking the move for personal space behind the need to cool off.

  One side of his mouth curled up and his nostrils flared ever so slightly. He was not deceived.

  The door leading to the dining area cracked open and someone Blue couldn’t see said, “Tonći’s brought…the guest. Morana would like you to join them in her office.”

  Velimir nodded and started to leave but stopped at the door.

  Blue swallowed the relieved sigh she almost let escape.

  “Bring some of those up to the office in a few minutes,” he said with a nod at the cakes.

  “Oh, um, Sokach told me to stick in the kitchen. I don’t think he wanted me wandering.”

  Her evasion earned her a mocking smile. “You’re not wandering, now are you? You’re going upst
airs. To the office. Second door.”

  The words dripped with challenge, wanting her to baulk. The pressure in the room changed, grew tight. It was as though he loomed over her, the way a bully overshadowed a pipsqueak. But that was impossible. He was across the kitchen, a good twenty feet away.

  Still, Blue took an instinctive step backward. “Sure.”

  “Good girl.” And then he was gone.

  A pent-up breath exploded from her lungs.

  Note to self, never be alone with that man. Ever.

  Blue pulled out four dessert plates and loaded them with cakes, drizzling chocolate sauce and powdered sugar across them. She arranged the plates on a serving tray and stuffed in forks and napkins, started to leave the kitchen but stopped.

  Velimir had said to come up in a few minutes. How long was that?

  Blue glanced at the clock, tried to do some simple math and gave up.

  Forget it. Just get the errand over with.

  She grabbed up the tray, balancing it on her left palm and forearm – those teenage waitress jobs finally paid off – and left the kitchen.

  At the top of the long staircase, voices, muffled but clear enough, drifted down the hallway.

  “I’m disappointed, Ushi. You were warned. Don’t lose a single soul.” That was Morana’s cool voice.

  “An example must be made.” Velimir.

  A thud, rather like a ham being dropped on the floor.

  Blue neared the door. Crap. It was closed. That meant she’d have to open it. The last thing she wanted to do was interrupt whatever was going on in there. But then again, she didn’t really want to face Velimir again.

  Another thud, followed by words too garbled to make out.

  “What do you mean on purpose?” Morana barked.

  Okay, she’d turn the handle slow, quiet, and just slip in. Blue took a deep breath and cracked open the door. A draft of wintery air pushed through, strong enough to blow hair from her face and cold enough to raise goose flesh.

  They had to have the A.C. running at full speed and then some.

  She eased the door wider.

  “I set a trap for the bastard. I have him on surveillance video.”

  A woman, elderly from the grey streaks Blue could see in the hair falling out of a disheveled bun, was on her knees before Morana who stood arms akimbo in front of a large desk, Sokach to her left, Velimir and another guy - Tonći? - to her right.