by Raven Snow
Jeb, my bouncer, was waiting for me inside. The Wheel was carpeted in a horrible purple color that matched the half walls that surrounded the rink. The concrete in the skating area was a peach color that looked interesting under the disco ball. Just outside the purple walls was a dining area with a concession stand and a slathering of booths to eat in.
Jeb was in one of those booths, eating a piece of pizza–the food of the gods–and reading a magazine that was left over from my father's tenure. He was a formidable man, tall in stature and muscled from hard work. When he wasn't smiling–and he rarely smiled at work–he could scare the daylights out of any troublemakers in this town. Which was why I hired him.
Rolling up to him, I snatched the magazine from his hands. "You didn't have to come in for this. I could've handled a couple of snot-nosed hooligans on my own."
He just looked at me, taking back the magazine.
"Wyatt told you to watch me, didn't he?"
"Called me this morning, Miss Foxxy," he said, remembering to call me by my stage name.
"Surprising he could get his head out of the toilet bowl for that long."
"We all do what we must."
I hid my surprise that Wyatt would call Jeb in for backup by putting a pizza in the oven and starting up all the concession machines. There was a lot I didn't know about Jeb–and even more that Wyatt didn't know. Some years ago, he just showed up on my doorstep, looking for a job. He was polite, a hard worker, and he kept people in line when they'd had a little too much tequila.
What I did know was that he'd done time for something. A lot of time. Me growing up in Miami and hanging out with a rough crowd made it easy to see that roughness on him. I also knew that he was a genius with computers, though he never allowed himself much time with them.
The last piece of damning evidence was that he worked all day, every day and sent most of what he earned back to his mama. But in all my years with him, the woman never visited and never called. Almost like they'd had a falling out.
I knew Wyatt didn't trust him. As a cop, he tended to need to know every detail of someone's past before he passed judgment on them. My morals were a little more fluid than my fiancé’s, so Jeb would always have a home at the Wheel. Even if he was taking orders from said nosy fiancé.
A gaggle of kids came through the front door just as I was putting hot dogs in their cage. They all looked younger than Cooper and were led by a harassed-looking woman who had her shirt on backwards and her glasses knocked askew.
The stripper in me read the crowd immediately, and I knew Jeb was doing the same. It was going to be a long morning.
A pint-sized brat with a bent party hat on his head came up to me at the concession stand. His eyes narrowed on my wig and flamboyant clothes.
"I want pizza," the birthday boy announced, probably expecting me to ask how high when he said jump.
"It's not ready." I skated around the bar to talk to the mother and almost tripped over her kid when he put himself in my way.
"I. Want. Pizza," he said, putting emphasis on every word. "So it must be done." Rolling my eyes, I shook the mother's hand, while her kid ran off to his friend, complaining the whole way.
"You should really get him pizza," she said. "It won't be pretty."
I almost laughed, but kept my cool by a margin. If this woman thought her kid could intimidate me, she obviously didn't know the first thing about my life. But I did get the pizza from the oven, just for sake of being polite. After all, it wasn't as if I could have the boy arrested like I did for most of my foes–the ones that survived the experience.
After an hour, I was re-evaluating my decision not to suck up. The pizza that the kids had wanted was strewn all over the floor. A kid would roll by, running over a slice and a trail of sauce would cover his wheels for a good ten yards.
The mother had taken a strong dose of my mystery juice. The mystery was how she was still standing after downing two of them. Though still upright, she was swaying and giggling and absolutely no help reining in the kids. Jeb, earning his keep, was running after one kid who had gotten ahold of a bottle of rum and was skating around, splashing people in the face with it.
I wasn't even going to go into what they'd done to the bathroom.
Starting off towards Jeb, I almost slammed into the front door when it opened and trouble walked in.
My three brother-in-laws surveyed the scene with obvious distaste. Only Liam was free of judgment. Charles barked at a kid that was skating by with scissors in his hands. To my annoyance and surprise, the kid’s eyes went wide and he put the scissors down, sectioning himself off to a time-out corner.
I put my hands on my hips. "Shouldn't you be bugging Wyatt?"
"He's working," Charles said.
I gestured around at my business. "And what do you call this?"
None of them answered as Charles and Tom were putting on skates and pulling the children off the skating rink. They herded them by the door with cool efficiency, and I could feel the steam pouring out of my ears. If there was anything worse than looking like a joke in front of my judgmental brothers, it was someone stopping the funk without my permission.
"The party isn't over until 2:00," I said angrily.
Tom raised his eyebrows and handed me his high tech watch. It was 2:30.
Being extra helpful in a way that made me want to knock his teeth out, Tom drove the drunk mother and her horrible guests home, leaving the rest of us with clean-up. I wondered if Jeb would take a raise and do the cleaning all himself. Probably not.
"We're here to take you to lunch," Charles said, his tone brokering no argument.
I skated over to where Jeb was picking up slices from the floor. "I can't leave this mess for Jeb to handle by himself."
"Oh, it's alright, Miss Foxxy," Jeb said quickly, eager to have them leave. He was uncomfortable around authority figures. "I'll take care of this."
"Remember who signs your paychecks," I said quietly to him.
He glanced over to where Charles was eyeing the extensive liquor collection under the bar with obvious disapproval. "You don't pay me enough."
"Do you have a liquor license?"
And that was my cue to get my nosy brother-in-law as far away from the Funky Wheel as possible.
I didn't bother changing, opting to roll down the street next to them in my skates. Liam seemed delighted by it. Charles less so. They're the ones who wanted to spend time with me, though, so they could deal with my fashion sense.
When I would've headed to the Chinese buffet just a few blocks over, Charles grabbed my elbow and steered me towards their mother's restaurant. I was pretty sure no one noticed my grimace. Charlotte's had been in the family forever, and it was more like a hobby for Nancy than anything. Still, my luck was bad enough that we'd run into her on one of the few days she actually worked there.
Though I said nothing, the waiter automatically took me to the seats Wyatt and I usually occupied. It made me miss Wyatt and want to thrash him at the same time. He should know better than to leave his brothers unentertained.
Charles frowned at the waiter's back as she left to get menus. "We usually sit in the booths."
"This is where Wyatt and I sat on our first date," I said by way of explanation. "Maybe she remembers."
It was the wrong thing to say as now Charles’ focus was solely on me. "And when was that?"
"About a year ago." I looked down at my menu, though I knew exactly what I was getting.
"Quick engagement."
Liam shot me an apologetic look, and I forced a smile in return. I knew this conversation was coming. After all, the Bennetts were paranoid people, and I was a very suspicious character.
Putting the menu down, I said, "Why don't you just get to the point, Charles. We all know you've been dying to interrogate me since the moment you got off the plane."
"Before that, even," Liam muttered. "The man just got back from Paris and talked about you the whole plane ride."
"Par
is?" I couldn't picture Charles sightseeing.
"Class field trip," he said, not to be distracted. “You’re a witch. And before you came to town about a decade ago, no one knew a thing about your past."
I raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure Tom got an extensive look into my past when he pulled my arrest records. That tells you all you need to know, doesn't it?"
His expression didn't so much as twitch, but he confirmed my suspicion that they'd been checking up on me. I felt a little deflated at being right. Why did this have to be as hard as everything else in my life?
"You're a thief."
"Petty, among other things."
"Arrested for prostitution at sixteen."
I shrugged. "The charges were dropped. I was just a stripper, but some people get the two confused."
More like some people didn't care to know the difference. From the look on his face, I'd bet that Charles was one of them. Liam looked a little surprised and embarrassed, but I couldn't tell if it was his brother's behavior or mine that bothered him.
We all fell silent as our food was delivered, smiling at the waiter like nothing was going on. I took a bite of my normally great dish, but it tasted like nothing, so I put my fork down.
“Wyatt knows about my past. He doesn’t care.” It amazed me every day, but it was true.
“My brother doesn’t always know what’s best for him.”
We ate in silence for the rest of the meal. Charles picked up the tab, which I felt was the least he could do, and we left. Resisting the urge to punch Charles in the mouth, I walked slightly behind the two brothers as we headed back towards the Funky Wheel.
Barely a block away, my luck—which was already in the toilet—took a decided turn for the worst. A woman completely concealed in colorful robes came up to us. Not an inch of her skin had ever been exposed to me, save two wrinkly hands. She hauled around a cart filled with magic and chicken bones, and she called herself Madam Mystic.
She seemed to take in my guests, though it was impossible to see what she was really looking at. “Could I interest you in a reading today?”
“You never have in the past,” I said dryly. “But I appreciate the tenacity.”
“You have visitors.”
I wasn’t in the mood for games. Madam Mystic had helped me exorcise a whole lot of ghosts once upon a time, but my patience only went so far. Besides, the look Charles was giving her was enough to peel paint and wilt flowers.
Stepping in front of the brothers, I shook my head at her. “Bother someone else today.”
For some reason, I got the impression she was smiling. “They aren’t what they seem, are they?” And then, she was gone, hurrying off down the street with her rickety cart.
After the altercation, I drove separately from Charles, though Liam decided to ride with me. He spent the whole drive apologizing for his brother and asking about Madam Mystic. Neither topic was up for debate, so I stayed uncharacteristically quiet.
Wyatt was waiting for me when we got home, cup of tea in hand. I took it gratefully and headed up the stairs to our bedroom, wishing fervently I could make myself meet Charles’s eyes. There was no way my fiancé didn't notice the tension we'd brought into the house.
But when I laid down, sinking into the fluffy comforter and sipping my tea, he didn't say anything about his brother, opting to play with the hem line on my shorts.
"You should get a new pair," he said. "These are practically falling apart."
I pursed my lips. "Is this going to turn into a money argument?"
Wyatt liked to bring up the fact that I refused to merge finances with him. It wasn't that I didn't trust him or thought our marriage might be short lived. With the best credit rating in the state and an always-steady income, Wyatt was solid financially. Every part of him was solid, actually. Was it so wrong to want to keep him that way?
And no one stayed solid when introduced to my chaos.
He laughed. "I'm not giving up on that one." After a moment, he sobered up. "I wanted to talk about this morning."
After Madam Mystic's surprise visit, I was surer than ever that something supernatural was going on. Wyatt wouldn't be impressed with an omen that took the shape of a con woman, though, so I kept that piece of the puzzle to myself.
"My mother called while you were gone," he said. "She wants you to go to a spa day with her and a couple of my female relatives. I told her you'd go."
"Are you trying to make me insane or broke?"
He shook his head, pressing his lips to the corner of my mouth. "She'll be here to pick you up in an hour." Pressing his credit card into my hand, he said, "You need to relax."
He wasn't wrong there. I couldn't remember the last time I'd slept through the night, my mind so awake it was painful. But I didn't see how a horrible afternoon with my horrible mother-in-law was going to help me blow off some steam.
I opened my mouth to tell him no, but I made the mistake of looking Wyatt in the eyes. His were creased with worry, the line of his jaw tense.
"Alright," I said, feeling more tired than ever. "I'll go." Validation of my decision came when some of his worry lines smoothed out, and he smiled at me.
After all, there wasn't any reason for both of us to suffer.
Chapter Three
Nancy was the kind of woman that drove a stylish little SUV. It had a custom happy-looking paint job and made a cute tooting sound when you pressed on the horn. Which she did. Multiple times.
Pushing the blinds aside, I peered out the kitchen window and tried not to glare at the woman. She was beaming at me, chattering at the women already in the car, and motioning for me to come out.
"She won't leave," Wyatt said, slurping down a bowl of chocolate cereal behind me. Just like his son, he considered that rancid meal its own food group.
In his observation about his mother; however, he was correct.
"Maybe if I started shooting flames at her pretty car from my fingertips."
The crunching sound continued behind me. "She's seen worse. She raised my brothers."
There was wisdom in that statement as well, so I grabbed my purse and headed for the door. Stepping around the corner of the kitchen at the same time as me, I ran head first into Charles and Tom, the contents of my purse falling at their feet.
Charles bent down to help me pick everything up and immediately stumbled onto Wyatt's credit card—which I hadn't been able to talk him out of giving me. He and Tom exchanged looks, as I snatched it from their hands. Great. Now, I was a gold digging criminal who wasn't even human. Bit by bit, I was really endearing myself to Wyatt's family.
Without a word to them, I stomped out to the car and got in beside Aunt Jean, who looked just as hung over as Wyatt had last night.
"Oh, dear," she said as Nancy started the car. "I do have to apologize for my behavior last night. I don't know what got into me."
"Tequila," I deadpanned and settled in for a long and miserable day.
When we got to the spa, I found out Nancy had scheduled me for a tension releasing massage, followed by a body wrap (whatever that meant). A strong-looking woman took me away from the group and into a dark, little room with a massage table. I was grateful to the tall woman until she started cracking her knuckles. It sounded like thunder, and the look on her face must have been comparable to the guards looking at their prisoners in Guantanamo.
"Lay down," she said, in a no-nonsense way. "Clothes off."
I dropped them faster than you could believe and threw myself onto the table. My face down in the hole, I watched her large boots come closer. Calming rain forest music filled the air after she stopped to punch a button, but it sounded very primal and violent to me.
"I…er…I've never actually had a massage before," I stammered, feeling very much like a virgin asking my partner to be gentle.
Her answer was to crack her knuckles again, coming closer to the bed. She put her hands on me, and I immediately bit my lip. The woman kneaded me like a baker with bread. It was equal
parts pain and ecstasy.
When she started in on the knots in my back, I tried to thrash away, the pressure too great. But Big Bertha was having none of that. She held me down and worked me out, taking no prisoners and asking no questions.
The woman announced that she was done and left me lying boneless on the table. I wasn't sure I could walk, because even breathing hurt, so I stayed there in the dark for a while, contemplating my place in the universe. Just when I was getting to my awkward teenage years, a tiny Japanese lady came in, carrying some bottles and a lot of seaweed.
She may not have had the height or muscles of the earlier woman, but she wrapped seaweed around my body like nobody's business. Working quickly and quietly, she trussed me up until every part of me, even my face, was covered in lotion, chemicals, and seaweed. I glanced over at the mirror and almost laughed. Wyatt was paying for this woman to turn me into a sushi roll.
When she was done, she stepped back, pushing another button on the radio so the sounds of the ocean came on. "Good?"
"Um…"
But she was already gone, leaving me lying on the table like a Japanese buffet. She came back briefly to put cucumbers on my eyelids and to make sure the seaweed was sticking. I could've saved her the trouble by calling out to her, because man was it sticking. Like white on rice, ironically.
The room felt very quiet, even with the sounds of the ocean, and I had little else to do but lie there, look at the popcorn ceiling, and think.
Was Wyatt right? Was I really seeing a case where there was none? Undoubtedly, I was stressed. Nervous. More than a little unbalanced, too. Could I trust my own gut instinct? And if I couldn't, where did that leave me? Instinct was all I've ever had.
The flowers and the spiking of the punch bowl could have been a coincidence. Someone playing a practical joke, maybe. Did a few unfortunate events make for a cursed wedding? Maybe I was hearing hoof beats and thinking zebras.
Just about then, I started to realize my skin wasn't feeling quite as relaxed as when the seaweed had first gone on. In fact, it was practically burning. I called for the attendant as it got worse, my skin feeling like it was on fire and itchy at the same time.
