Falling For Them: A New Adult Reverse Harem Collection

by C. L. Stone

  Triangle Prison Desperate for Guards Will Hire Inexperienced

  Isn't Triangle Prison the prison for supernatural beings, hidden somewhere near Liberty iIland? Supposedly only the supernatural can see it. I've never seen it, but I didn't know it existed until just a few weeks ago when Mologan mentioned one of his clients was going there for shifting in front of a Norm, who didn't know about the Supernatural world. He was pissed because that meant he'd never get paid for the work he'd already started in trying to find out if the guy's wife was cheating on him or not. Maybe I should apply there. If they don't need experience, I'm their girl. I'll take anything at this point. It will beat the fast food jobs I always get fired from for talking back to customers. I'll see tomorrow if Mologan knows how I can apply. I shove my headphones back in my ears and play Old Devil Moon by Frank Sinatra. It's going to be a long hour trek back to Mologan's in this cold, at least I have old Frank to keep me company.

  2

  I crawl out from underneath my desk, dragging my puffy jacket with me. At least it makes a good pillow, and the space heater kept it warm, so I didn't freeze what little evidence of an ass I have off. With a stumble, I stand and make my way to the bathroom. The fluorescent light blinds me as its annoying buzz fills the tiny place. I peer into the hanging-on-the-edge-of-its-nail mirror. The green of my eyes always stuns people, mostly because of their contrast with my dark skin. I didn't know until I went to school that not a lot of black people are born with light coloured eyes. I often got picked on for them when I was a kid, they called me half-baked. I brush my teeth. My black hair stands every which way. I fish through my bag for my boar-bristle brush. It's the only thing that can get through my curls without breaking. With both sides of my hair separated into equal parts, I grab my olive oil and put it onto the parts of my hair I want smoothed out. I sometimes wish I could have all the fancy conditioners, gels, and creams that the women I follow on Youtube have, but beggars can't be choosers. With two hairbands, I gather each side of my hair into its own puff ball and secure it. It doesn't look too bad. I change into a simple white t-shirt and jeans. Not the most professional outfit, but Mologan has never complained. Spritzing on some perfume, I finish off my look with some lip stain and foundation. Nothing fancy, just enough to make it look like I've tried to do something with my appearance for the day. The door to the office opens as I take a seat at my desk. Mologan still wears the same outfit from yesterday. Did he even go home?

  "Oh, Hope, you're in early." He stops in his process of closing the door as he sees me. I nod and turn on the desktop. "I just got in myself. I wanted to get a head start on filing today, and checking on some of the cases you need updates on. Mrs. Hansen will be in later today with an update on her wife."

  He closes the door and sighs. "Affairs are always so messy. She's not going to like what she hears."

  I lift an eyebrow. "Do the affair cases ever like what they hear?"

  He shrugs. "The gold digging women with a prenup do. It means the prenup is void and they can divorce the man, then take half of his fortune. I still don't get much out of those deals. It's before they're financially well off on their own accounts.”

  I lean back in my chair and rock it from side to side. “If we moved the office closer to Manhattan, we could get some of the rich Manhattanites coming in, I bet.”

  He shrugs, takes off his jacket, and hangs it on the coat rack.

  "I like the place being here. The rent is cheaper than it would be in the East end. Even if it did happen to bring in more wealthy clients, I don't know if it would be worth it. I'm not in this for the money. Not really. If I was, I would be doing bigger cases. Not adoption and affairs with middle-class people."

  With a click I open the business email. "I see your point. I'm not wanting to get into this business either for lots of money. I just want to help people. But in the meantime, I do want to get a night job somewhere to help with rent and my other bills. I saw in the Super Daily yesterday that Triangle Prison is looking for guards and will take anyone. Do you think they would take someone like me?”

  Mologan sighs as he waddles his way toward his office. His knees haven't been in the best of shape the last few months. "I don't know. Do you really want to work at a place full of criminals? I mean, sure, most of the people in there are there because they sold our world drugs to Norms, and then almost exposed us to the Norm population. But others are in there for murder, or are so powerful that the only way they can be controlled is by being within the dense wards that surround that place."

  I slowly blink at him. "I only understood a bit of what you just said, but this could also be a good thing for me. I don't know shit about the Supernatural world, and no offence, when it comes to you teaching me about it, you're not the greatest. You're better at the P.I. stuff." He runs a hand over his thinning, greying brown hair. "When I said you needed to find more of your kind for guidance, I didn't mean go to a prison to get some culture."

  I lift an eyebrow. "Would I even find Fae there? Aren't most fairies good and wholesome, like in folklore?"

  He snorts. "Wholesome? Good? Who do you think taught Norms about acid and ecstasy? It wasn't Norm chemists that came up with that shit. Fae get off on fucking with people. That's why I'm a bit surprised you aren't more wild. If it weren't for your smell and height, I wouldn't have figured you for a Fae at all."

  I try to smell myself subtly. "I smell? I always wondered how you knew that day we met. I wasn't in the sun or anything to give off those sparkles I've heard someone else talk about."

  He leans forward and pats me on the head. "Don't worry, you don't smell bad. It's just a scent all Fae give off. Like jasmine flowers, or something fufi like that. Shifters like my type have an easier time picking up on it. Fantasy shifters like dragons and gryphons have shit for smell though."

  "Wait, dragons? You mean they're real?"

  He smiles. "Wow, kid, you really are new to this world, aren't you? I thought you were just playing naive. Dragons own most of this world. Their kind overpower most of us. Remember those fires a few years ago? Some dragon dude, what was his name? Punav? Went nuts and thought he could become supreme ruler over us all, including the Norms. He almost exposed us to the Norms. Then it would've been the Salem Witch trials all over again. Those fires were started by him in his dragon form. The Families council had to work over-time to cover them up, blaming it on faulty wiring, and memory dusting the entire city, while also keeping out of state coverage to a minimum."

  Flashes of a white dragon spurt randomly at the front of my mind. "How could I forget something like that?"

  He shrugs. "Probably because you've been living like a Norm most of your life. You were more willing to accept nudging of the memory dust. Now that you know the truth about the world, the next time they have to do something like that, you won't be as affected by it, if at all."

  The door opens, the bell above it rings. A woman with short purple hair enters and peers at us. I stand. "Welcome, Mrs. Hansen. It's nice to see you again."

  A tiny smile pulls at her lips. More or less just a cordial one. I doubt she's actually thrilled to see us. We hold the truth about her wife’s affair status. "Hello." She takes off her wool jacket and throws it over her arm. Mologan opens the door to his office and beckons her in. "Come in, Mrs. Hansen, and I'll share with you my findings."

  I gulp as she nears his door. Her wife has been seeing more than a few other women. Those are the worst cases. It hurts when someone cheats with one person, but when it's more than one, it just cuts the clients to the bone. "Would you like some coffee, or water, Mrs. Hansen?"

  She shakes her head. "No, thank you." They enter the office and I take my seat again. How long it will be before they come out again? Will she be a rager, who throws things, or a silent crier who doesn't say anything? The minutes tick by; the tension flooding from his office tightens around my chest. I try to focus on returning the emails of prospective clients. Letting them know our rates, what we do, and where to find us. "
That fucking cunt!" I'm sure the people on the street can hear her yelling. I sit up straighter. She's going to be a rager. "After everything she made me do. Give up our sons for some girl's protection, not being able to see them but maybe twice a year, if that. She pulls this shit? Some fucking vow she took. I'm going to kill her!" Something knocks against the door of the office. I try harder to focus on typing out the generic email. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Hansen. I wish I had better news for you." The door to his office opens as she steps out. She wipes the tears away from her reddened face and places an envelope on my desk. "Well, thank you for the work you did, Mr. Mologan. I'm relieved to at least know the truth. I'm going to work on building a relationship with my sons again and meet their wife. She's pregnant with a second child. I'm no longer going to let my now ex-wife keep me from them. There's no reason for it. I don't think she ever really wanted children.” Mologan rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah, some people aren't supposed to breed, but do anyway. What can you do?" She smiles before glancing at me. "Is it safe to exit the normal way?"

  He nods. "Oh, yes. Hope is a Fae, so you have nothing to worry about."

  She goes to the wall and places her hand on it. A black hole expands over the drywall before she walks through it. I've seen a few other people make Voids here, but I'm still shocked every time I see it. "Could I do that if I wanted to? It would beat the taking the subway."

  Mologan nods. "With some training, yeah. I haven't met a supernatural person who can't do it."

  I stare at the wall. "Can you teach me?"

  He shakes his head. "No. If I wanted to be that type of mentor, I would've become a teacher and taught at one of the magical schools. I became a cop though, so that tells you what type of person I am."

  I sigh and then remember the sense I got with Ziggy last night. "M, how do you know when someone is a shifter? I think one of my friends might be, but I've known him since we were little kids."

  "Well, you're just now becoming aware, and he's not going to come out and tell you. If your gut’s saying something about him, he probably is."

  I frown. "Then why hasn't he said anything? You can sense I'm a Fae, and I learned about what I am from...a stranger. Why hasn't he said anything by now. Can't he tell I'm a Fae, too?"

  He shrugs. "It might depend on whether he knows that you know about what you are. You'd be shocked at how many supernaturals grow up and die never knowing what potential they have. If you've never said anything about what you are to him, he probably didn't think it was safe to say anything to you."

  I nod. "Okay."

  "I'm ordering Mrs. Peacock today. Want anything?"

  My stomach gurgles at the notion of possible food. I bend down to open my bag and get some cash. "Sure. Get me some kung pao chicken, some fried rice, and a Thai milk tea." I hand him the twenty he gave me yesterday. He pushes it back toward me. "Keep it. It's my treat. You can get lunch sometime this week."

  I nod. "Okay. How do I apply for the prison guard job? Do you know how I contact them?"

  He sighs and comes over to me. He opens a browser on the computer and types in some numbers. A site for Triangle Prison comes up, a large 'Guards Wanted' banner blinks at the top with an 'apply' button to click on. "I'm only helping you because I know you need some decent cash, and if they're desperate, I'm sure they'll pay well. Good luck.”

  He goes into his office, but doesn't close the door. I return to my emails. I'll do the application soon. Once I finish all that has come through since last night, I pick up my phone to text Ziggy. Me: Hey, Zig, can I come over later? Need to talk to u. Alone. Important. It only takes a second for him to text back. Zigs: Sure, Hope. See u 2night, baby gurl.

  I frown. He's never called me Hope. Ever. Me: U okay?

  Zigs: Yea, y?

  Me: U called me Hope.

  Zigs: Sorry Sin I'll talk 2 u l8tr.

  With a clunk, I put my phone down. I wonder what's gotten into him. I guess I'll find out tonight. Opening the window for the prison site, Here goes nothing. Can't hurt to at least try.

  3

  My feet drag along the concrete as I make my way up to Ziggy's place. I rub at my eyes. Something about today has just left me wiped. It wasn't like work was difficult, though we did make a new record for the most women screaming in the office and storming out in a flurry of rage. Hopefully the men and women married to them survive the assault they're about to get. I stop as I come to the steps of his apartment building. None of his guys stand outside it. He always has someone manning the door. I buzz for his apartment. A minute passes, and nothing. I can't get into the building without him to buzz the door open. I hit the button again and hold it down so I can talk to him. "Zigs, open the door, it's me."

  Nothing. My teeth chatter in the cold. I pull out my phone and try to call him. "You've got Ziggy, you better not leave me a message, motherfucker."

  I sigh and hang up. Me: Zigs, what the hell man, we're set to meet up tonight.

  I wait five more minutes. Me: I can't stand out in this cold all night. I'm headed to Kiefer’s. Txt me. Need to talk to u about something important. I head back toward the subway. Kiefer lives in the opposite direction in a semi-better area of the city. They're trying to reform it, make it safer. I call him. "Hey, Hope. What's up?"

  "Could I hang out with you tonight? Just need a floor to sleep on. Nothing else."

  He sighs. "Yeah. Come on over."

  I frown. "No it's okay, I'll just call Monica, sorry I bothered you."

  I go to hang up. "No, Hope, wait."

  Crossing the street, I follow the horde of people toward the subway. "What? It's obvious you don't want me over there. I'm not going to impose on you."

  "You're not going to stay at that crack whore's house."

  I roll my eyes. "Monica is not a crack whore."

  "Tell that to her rap sheet. Come over here before I send out some guys to get you and put you in a holding cell for the night."

  That would still be better than sleeping under my desk again, or on the ground somewhere. "Fine. It should take me a little over an hour to get there." With trained precision, I slide my card through the turnstile and walk through it without slowing the line down like the transplant behind me. "An hour? Mologan's is only twenty from me."

  "I'm not by Mologan's right now."

  "Then where?" He pauses for a long second. "Don't tell me you went to Ziggy's, Hope. No. He'll get you into all sorts of trouble I can't get you out of, and then how will you become a P.I?"

  "I don't do anything for him that wouldn't get me just a slap on the wrist from the cops around here."

  He sighs. "Do you even hear yourself right now?"

  "Yes. I gotta go, I'll see you in a bit." I hang up and grab my headphones to plug them in. I don't need him riding my ass about Ziggy. Ziggy knows not to force me do anything I don't want to do. Neither of them are allowed to have that type of power over me. My phone alerts me to a text before I open up my music.

  Zigs: Sorry, Hope. Had 2 go out of the city 4 a few days. Forgot 2 txt u.

  I frown some more. There he goes calling me Hope again. I hit the call button. No answer. "What the fuck dude," I mumble. Zigs: Sorry, can't talk r8 now. Bizy.

  Me: Are u in trouble? Zigs: No. Don't worry. ttyl. I step onto my train. What the fuck is up with him? Did Marcus do something to him? I shake my head. No. He wouldn't be texting me if that was the case. Comfortably Numb by Pink Floyd blares in my ears, drowning out the people of the subway.

  *

  I knock on Kiefer's door. He opens it a second later. His pale blond hair sweeps to the side, styled. He wears a nice blue button down that contrasts well with his pale skin and green eyes. He stands to the side. "Come in." I lift an eyebrow at his appearance but enter the apartment, only to stop short at the romantic meal set out on his dining room table, candles and red wine included. I glance over my shoulder at him. "Trying to seduce me, Kief? Because good food is the way to do it." A red hue travels up to his cheeks as he closes and locks the deadbolts on
his door. Wow, only three, this area is getting nicer. "That wasn't for you. Trust me."

  I head back for the door. "You should've said you had a date coming over. I don't want to cock block you."

  He moves to bar the door and stares down at me. "Don't worry about it, she cancelled on me at the last second. Then you called. You're fine. Take off your jacket."

  I sigh. "Are you sure?"

  He walks to stand behind me and pulls my jacket off my shoulders. "Yes."

  I take my jacket from him and put both it and my bag by the front door, so it's easy to grab in the morning before work. "Sorry your date cancelled. She's missing out on your cooking." His love seat calls to me and I take a seat with a sigh. My legs hate trekking around the city, especially when there's no free seats on the subway. "Come eat." He goes to the little table and pulls out a chair. I shake my head. The scent of shrimp and Fettuccine Alfredo wafts at me. My stomach growls, demanding I take his offer. "I told you I just need a floor to sleep on. I'm not going to have you feed me, too."

  He huffs. "Well, my date isn't here to eat it, so you better, or it's going to sit in my fridge until it goes bad and I have to throw it out. Do you really want to waste a meal I slaved over for the last two hours?"

  I frown and stand. "Let it show on the record, you guilted me into eating your food." I take the seat he stands by and he pushes me into the table. He laughs. "We aren't in court, Hope."

  A plate piled high with pasta and shrimp sits in front of me, off to the side a small side salad with dark greens, tomatoes, cucumber, and red onion. Two kinds of salad dressing sit on the table: blue cheese and Italian. I take the blue cheese and put just a bit on my salad. I want to still be able to taste the greens. "Oh man, it's been so long since I've been able to have a fresh salad, and not one of those wilted things from the quikie-mart."