by Nola Sarina
“Liquidation for purpose of re-investment,” she said. “Just making some adjustments to keep the highest interest rate flowing in.”
I tilted with mock scold. “You don’t need my signature for that, Gyp,” I called her bluff. “You’ve got full power of attorney.”
“Of course I do.” Gypsy raised a single eyebrow with sincere pride. “But I wanted to check your eyes, so here we are.”
I chuckled, leaning forward on the desk so she could see the black of my pupils, which barely extended into my irises, four months since my last charge of life from a freshly fucked woman. Freshly murdered, I reminded myself, unwilling to dismiss my crimes for even a moment. “You can always just invite me for a social visit,” I said, watching my sister study my eyes.
“I don’t do social.”
I shrugged, allowing that.
“Let me know how you are in a week,” she said, scrawling something on her calendar to her left. “I can arrange something unnoticeable, if need be.”
“You know I’ll let you know if I need that.”
“Yes,” my sister replied, boring into me with her lovely, ordinary eyes, “but I also know that you are a terrible judge of your own desperation. Kellie was no whore. She had a job and parents and a college degree. You snapped and took her without thinking, without giving me any time to do damage control before it was done. She was noticed. I don’t appreciate when they are noticed.”
I swallowed. She rarely brought up a buried murder unless she had encountered difficulty in the cover-up. “What happened, Gyp?” I asked, appalled.
“The usual,” she said, her normally cool tone masking the disgust I knew she felt somewhere in her hardened, emotionless body. “Detective Jacobson asked some questions. I gave him the answers he wanted.”
Fuck! I took a deep breath to secure my temper. Detective Jacobson only ever asked for one thing as payment for fabricated answers to the questions of nosy reporters. I clenched my fists and a bubble of rage brimmed through my forced, calm exterior. “Gypsy, for fuck’s sake, send him to me. You don’t have to sell yourself to hide my crimes. I’ve told you that how many times?”
My twin refused to meet my gaze as she continued to write on the calendar. “Nevertheless, you know I will, to protect you. Come see me next week. Let me know if things get desperate before then.”
My heart constricted. If my sister wouldn’t hate me for doing it, I’d have hanged myself long ago for the price she paid to protect me repeatedly. I cursed inside my head. The thought of anyone defiling this woman, who wanted nothing to do with the needs of men, especially for my sake, was nauseating. I watched her ignore me pointedly and sighed.
“That’s all, Asher,” she said quietly, a hint of remorse in her tone. I turned and stomped out, new ire coursing through my veins that my sister dared to feel sorry for my anger at the revelation that Detective Jacobson was poking around Kellie’s death. Of both of us, Gypsy was dealt the better hand in life, yet she paid the steepest price for my mistakes.
If that’s not love, I don’t know what is, I thought as I raced out of the busy downtown in my black and red Lamborghini Superleggera, which I lovingly nicknamed the Super Car. And as I turned into the tourist district of Duluth and smelled the potent humidity of Lake Superior, heading for the Lacy Teacup, the truth of that hit home. I’d never known love, save for the love of my sister and my parents and an old love that died too quickly for me to really taste—and I probably never would know any other kind. An incubus was a creature of passion and hate, not love, and thus so was I. I ground my teeth together and resigned myself to the whores of Gypsy’s suggestion to spare my sister another encounter with Detective Jacobson, because she didn’t deserve this bullshit . . . not by far.
Chapter 5 - Asher
Even though I was only going to have sex with whores, I could still go have coffee with the deliciously sinful and attractive Aria as my waitress at the Lacy Teacup. Right? I churned over my reasoning in my head as I slowed my speed and parked a couple of blocks from the café. It was afternoon, and I disengaged the engine of my Super Car next to a shitty little Toyota Camry with a broken side mirror. I chuckled at the contrast of vehicles and walked to the Lacy Teacup, sat at my eternally reserved table and forced myself to forget my self-loathing and regret for Gypsy’s repeated sacrifices. I checked my appointments in my phone as I waited for the waitress.
I watched Aria deliver a tray of food to a nearby table. The place was about half-full—a few tables held customers, but not many. Aria was dressed in all black again, but this time, her arms were lightly covered by a crocheted, black sweater. Bits of skin peeked through the material at even intervals, the faint reveal making me wish she was wearing nothing at all. Her perfect ass was covered by another black miniskirt and her socks were bright yellow. I smirked, wondering if she wore black lingerie or neon. I pictured neon as I watched her avoid my gaze. She walked back to the kitchen with almost a spring in her step, as though she was constantly poised to break into a sprint.
Huh. Running shoes and a black miniskirt. An interesting combination. God, she was unique.
I took off my sunglasses and waited for Aria’s approach, but much to my dismay, a different waitress bounced over to me and took out her writing pad.
“Hi.” She giggled. I recognized her. Long-time waitress. “I’m Bernadette. Coffee, Mr. Chain?”
I shook my head. “No. I need a different table today. That one.” I pointed to the table Aria just served.
“Um,” Bernadette stammered, “that table is currently occupied, sir.”
I knew I was about to be a complete asshole, but I couldn’t bring myself to care, with Aria serving someone other than me. My possessiveness didn’t seem healthy as my inner control freak threatened to rear his ugly head. “I need that table. The table Aria is serving.”
“I’ll have to speak with the manager,” Bernadette said with a quiet pout and turned away.
“You do that, kiddo.”
I cringed. I wasn’t earning myself any gentleman points with Aria by treating her co-workers that way.
But I wanted to be near her. I wanted her to ask me what I’d like. I even wanted to stammer like a moron, as long as I got to stammer at her.
More than that, I wanted to hear her laugh and see her smile up close. She could laugh at me all day for being an idiot and I still wouldn’t grow angry with her. Irritated by her rejection, sure. Defeated and ready to give up? Hell, no.
Moments later, there was a slight commotion from the kitchen. The manager was shouting.
“Wherever he wants! Come on, Bernadette. That’s Asher Chain. You want him to go somewhere else to spend his daily fortune just because you’re too greedy to give up the tab? If he wants Aria’s section, he gets Aria’s section.”
I grinned as Aria walked past me to refill coffees at the table of men and women who shifted uncomfortably in their seats. She met my gaze, confused, poured new coffee and left. I winked at an old man who stared, and he cracked a grin at me and gave me a subtle thumbs-up. Apparently Grandpa had once been there and done that . . . or at least he thought he had.
“No, we don’t make him wait, Bernadette!” the manager shouted. “Now, as he requested.”
The manager burst from the swinging kitchen doors, nearly crashing into Aria, who scooted easily out of the way of his warpath. Bernadette followed with tears in her eyes. She and the manager spoke quietly to the staring old gentleman at the table I wanted, and then gestured to Bernadette with a sheepish nod. Aria listened to them for a moment and then approached my table with caution like a mouse curious about the cat that napped in the corner.
“Why did you do that?” she whispered, embarrassed as she poured my coffee.
“I wanted a specific waitress, today,” I said with a wink. “I’ll pay for their food. I’ll pay for all the food on all the tables in here, if you need me to. It’s not my intention to get you in trouble.”
“You’ve never had a problem with B
ernadette before.”
“It’s your second day,” I scolded her. “How would you know what I never do?”
Aria snorted an unladylike sound that made me want to grin. I hid my humor. “You’re talked about around here, Mr. Chain. I know that you never call attention to yourself like that.”
I nodded and traced the edge of my mug, watching her talk. Her thumb was slung through the belt loop of her miniskirt, pulling the edge of it down. I frowned—why the hell did miniskirts need belts?—but then I remembered the dreadful clothing of that blond I waved off in the club a few nights prior and realized women wore belts in strange ways these days. Not like Aria’s running shoe-skirt combination. I liked the quirkiness of her attire.
“Right you are,” I said as I dipped the tip of my finger in my coffee, testing that it was hot. She watched me do it, raising one eyebrow with curiosity at my habit, and I grimaced at the realization that I was about as socially awesome as my sister.
“You’ve also just taken a full family table off my payroll for the day. You’ve cost me my tip,” she said.
“So I have. I’ll make it worth your while.”
Aria glanced around at her new, empty section. “Why?”
“What does the H stand for on your nametag?” I changed the subject, leaning forward to let her stare into my eyes.
She stuck her other thumb through her other belt loop and cocked her head to the side, puzzled. “It stands for my last name.”
“Which is . . . ?” I prompted.
“My last name. We haven’t known each other long enough for show and tell.”
I liked the smirk she wore as she teased me. “You have to show your last name?”
“Yes. Now what will you have today?”
“Surprise me,” I dared her, grinning, hoping she took my challenge as an invitation for playfulness rather than the entitled assholery I displayed a few minutes ago. I sat back.
Something naughty and excited flashed behind Aria’s eyes. She dislodged one thumb from her belt loop and tucked her black and blue bangs behind her ear. “Alright, I’ll surprise you.”
“I’m sure you will,” I called as she walked away from me, certain she’d do exactly that.
With Aria out of my field of vision, I questioned my own actions. I should call Gypsy, I thought. I should let her know about this. If Aria can disappear easily, then perhaps . . .
I shook my head violently at the thought. No, Gypsy had already paid enough of a price for my selective tastes. If I needed to take life, it should be from a whore, somebody who would never be missed. Somebody that couldn’t be connected to either of us, to spare my twin the disgust of bribing Detective Jacobson for his silence with her body.
I frowned as that thought crept, unwanted, back into my head. Would I fuck some random detective to protect Gypsy’s anonymity, if she had to kill to charge a succubus soul that she never asked to wield? Yes, yes I would. Anything for my twin, my beautiful, unfortunate other half.
Aria returned shortly with a smirk on her face. I glanced at the kitchen and saw the manager gaping at her back, shocked and disapproving.
“Your first course, Mr. Chain,” she began.
“Call me Asher,” I corrected her, gesturing that she should continue.
She blinked. “Very well, Asher. Your first course is six omelettes with the works, four fruit bowls, yogurt parfait, eight pieces of toast, and our fabulous fruit waffles.”
My jaw dropped at the amount of food. But then I remembered my own comment about making the day worth her while for the inconvenience and surrendered. I brought this on myself, challenging her the way I did.
As Aria set down plates, I snatched up my phone and called Glenda, Gypsy’s assistant. “Clear my schedule,” I ordered her, ignoring her shock that I would demand her time. I never used Gypsy’s staff except for Jim and John and their exceptional body-disposal skills.
Aria dropped the last plate of waffles in front of me and I flashed her my dazzling smile. Her eyes lit up momentarily and she masked it by clearing her throat.
“Looks delicious, sweetie!” And I dove in with my fork.
She raised one eyebrow at me, stuck her thumb through her belt loop and sauntered away, her head held smugly high.
It was a lot of food. I was full by my second plate but still had seven more in front of me plus the fruit bowls. I thought about the way Aria’s skirt exposed the lower planes of her abs when her thumb dragged the edge of the black fabric down low. Even with that revealing stance of hers, I still had no idea if her underwear matched her black attire or her ridiculous socks. I devoured another plate of food, distracting myself from how badly I wanted to take her to the cabin.
But as usual, the problem was that taking her there equaled killing her, and with Aria, that truth pissed me off so much I ate faster, furious.
She returned to refill my coffee and bring me some water. Three hours into the feast, she moved to take an omelette off the table and I stopped her hand with the tines of my fork, denting them into the delicate skin on the back of her slender hand. “Excuse me,” I said, “but I’m not finished with that.”
She gaped at me for a moment, then stepped back and stared at me as I dove into my final fruit bowl. I was determined to win the challenge I brought upon myself.
By lunchtime, I was finished and stuffed. Aria cleared my plates and looked almost apologetic, so I thanked her for the fantastic selection of dishes.
“Won’t you sit and enjoy a coffee with me?” I suggested. The restaurant was busy and bustling with activity, though the manager left her section vacant save for me.
“I’m working,” she muttered, obviously conflicted.
“You don’t have any other tables.”
Aria snorted again and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, and whose fault is that? Manager won’t give me any more until you’re gone. I’m losing money left, right and center thanks to you.”
“How are you losing money? You just fed me for a family of ten.”
“But now you’re done, and you’re still here, taking up my whole section and asking me for fucking coffee when I’m working.”
I raised my eyebrows at that. “I thought the breakfast was a first course. I mean, I don’t have to stay for the rest . . . but since you’re so skilled at selecting food, I thought I might stick around for dinner.” I didn’t need to feign my offense. No one dismissed me. No one. Ever.
Except Gypsy, I supposed in the back of my mind.
Aria’s glare softened and she sighed, retreating to the kitchen. When she returned, she set a coffee pot on the table and sank into the chair across from me. “I have twenty minutes,” she said.
“Good, that’s perfect.” I flipped her coffee mug over and filled it to the brim with steaming black.
We sat in silence, sipping coffee. I began to question my rationale. Why was I having coffee with this waitress? It would be smarter to ignore her so she would live longer and I could stare at her every day until she inevitably found a new job and moved on. If I were planning to sleep with her and end her life, it was stupid to entertain her company in public like this. More work for Gypsy.
“So, you like to run a lot,” I said.
Aria straightened and glared at me. “What, are you stalking me now?”
I chuckled and shook my head. “No, sweetie, if I were stalking you, I would be watching you right now from a distance and you would never know I was there. I might even pay one of my very loyal security agents to check your background and alert me of your medical history, but I’m not that psychotic. Close, but not quite. I live in the suite above my gym on Third Street.” I gestured to the east. “My balcony overlooks this block and I watched you leave last night.”
“Oh. Yes, I like to run.”
“Well, then,” I continued, frowning at my own intentions, “you know where to find me. If you feel like blowing off steam, my gym only takes on a few clients. Private training. You look like you work out. I’m happy to clear a place for y
ou in my schedule.”
She smirked at me. “Do I look like I can afford private personal training?” she said, her smirk melting to a genuine, sad smile.
“No, you don’t. But the offer stands, regardless.”
“So, what, you train me and send me a bill I can never pay? Not likely.”
“Or,” I held up a finger and cracked a grin, mimicking our exchange on the night we met, “and this is just a thought . . . I train you and you pay me with your company. I don’t indulge in friendships. It would be a nice change of pace.”
“Do I look like a fucking hooker to you?”
“Well, you don’t look like a cheap escort, if that’s what you mean, but I haven’t suggested anything sexual in the least. I’m offering you training in exchange for . . . your company.”
“My company?”
“Your company. Friendship. Movies. walks.”
“Sounds more like dating than friendship.”
“Call it what you like. I enjoy your company and I’d like to get to know you better. Non-sexual, non-committal. Just . . . hanging out and working out.”
I was surprised to realize how excited I was at the prospect of spending time with Aria without anticipating her murder.
She glanced around, as if looking for some divine guidance. “You expect me to believe that Asher Chain, Forbes list Asher Chain, wants to hang out with me?”
Forbes? Oh yeah, of course. I silently vowed to ask Gypsy my net worth. “Sure, why not?”
Aria frowned. Her brow creased with concern. I leaned forward and traced the crease between her eyebrows, willing her to relax her face at my touch. It worked. She met my eyes and was spelled for a moment, the classic effect of the incubus affecting her judgment. Her grim mouth softened into something warmer and anticipant.
