Muzzling the Beast: Taming the Beast, Book 4

by Tina Donahue

  Zoe’s hair stopped smoking. She knelt by Constance’s side and rubbed her knee. “I had no idea.”

  Heather stroked her turban. “Me either.”

  “Same here,” MJ said, gripping her shoulder.

  They loved her and it was nice, but not nearly enough, especially after meeting a guy like Gabe. Sure, he probably had crappy habits like everyone else. Maybe he whistled off-key, watched too many sports, failed to take out the garbage.

  No one was perfect, though to Constance he was damn close.

  As if Becca had read her thoughts or body language, she eased away and studied Constance. “Did he say what had brought him here?”

  “He danced around it. All he admitted to—unless he was lying—was he’d heard things.”

  Becca’s face drained of color. “Like what?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Becca turned to the others. “None of you ever talk shop with mortals, right?”

  They offered a collective gasp. The same response one would expect from an elderly nun who’d been questioned about masturbating.

  “Are all the permits in order?” Zoe asked.

  Becca and the others looked at Heather, who backed away from their questioning gazes. “I filed everything exactly as I’m supposed to and paid all the fees. I even overpaid the IRS from my own checking account so they wouldn’t cause us any problems.”

  MJ rolled her eyes. “Keep it up, sweetie, and you’ll go broke.”

  “So? I don’t want anything happening to this place.”

  Becca turned to Constance. “Tell us exactly what he said. Don’t leave anything out.”

  Constance shared it all, except for her and Gabe’s deep, lingering kiss, how he’d made her want what she’d never have.

  Becca rocked on the sofa, clearly agitated. “Maybe someone made a complaint about the noise.”

  The weres, demons, and vamps were really going at it tonight, as if someone were yanking out their fingernails and teeth.

  Becca spoke to Zoe. “You better keep the racket down.”

  “Sure thing.” She smacked her fist into her palm. “I’ll have my guys take care of it immediately.”

  “No broken bones,” Becca said. “I don’t want Heather leaving the reception area to heal anyone. We need her to keep an eye on the front door.”

  “Say the word,” MJ said, “and I’ll fix this so we never have another problem.”

  Heather looked concerned. “Seriously? No fooling around?”

  Good question. In the past, MJ had granted wishes so literally, the recipients had regretted what they’d asked for.

  Becca stopped chewing the side of her thumb. “Fix it in what way?”

  “By installing security cameras and soundproofing the rooms.”

  After a moment, Becca nodded. “Put one camera outside to show who’s coming up the stairs and to the door, then soundproof the rooms, nothing else. No making the neighbors or tourists go deaf so they can’t hear anything. Heather told me what you did at her place so Daemon’s heavy metal wouldn’t bother anyone.”

  MJ shot Heather a look. The fairy pretended not to notice.

  “I’ll be good,” MJ said, clearly pained to do so.

  Becca nodded. “We’ll make this place quiet as a tomb, just in case the noise brought him here.”

  “Do cops usually check out stuff like that?” Zoe asked.

  “His badge showed he’s a detective,” Heather said.

  Zoe lifted her eyebrows. “Like those dudes on Law and Order SUV?”

  “SVU,” MJ said.

  “Whatever.” Zoe waved new smoke away. “Detectives fight serious crimes. So why would he be coming here over a simple noise complaint?”

  Becca spoke to Constance. “You’re absolutely certain you removed all of his memories of the business and his investigation, if there is one?”

  Constance’s stomach rolled as she recalled doing so. “Yeah.”

  Becca smile briefly before she looked worried again. “I know how lonely you are. I’ve felt exactly the same in the past. But you have to understand, a lot of supernaturals depend on us. If we weren’t here, where would they go to suppress their beasts?” Before Constance could answer, Becca plowed ahead. “We’re your family, just like you’ll always be ours. We need to protect each other. So please tell me when you removed his memories of the business, you also took out the ones involving you.”

  Constance wanted to lie but couldn’t.

  Several things happened at once. Heather pressed her fingers to her mouth, MJ shook her head, more smoke poured from Zoe’s hair, and Becca’s shoulders slumped.

  Before things got too bad, Constance tried to reassure them. “Don’t worry. When Gabe asked me out for tonight, I said I had to work till dawn. When he asked about other nights, I told him I never have any free time, making it totally clear we won’t be seeing each other again.”

  Everyone seemed relieved.

  Listless with melancholy, Constance pushed to her feet and then stopped before leaving the room. When she turned, they looked at her expectantly.

  “I’m all right,” she said. What choice did she have other than to accept the inevitable? “So are you guys. He won’t be back. He surely won’t be thinking of me again.”

  * * * * *

  Gabe’s table at After Dark gave him an excellent view of the building where Constance worked. Nursing his seltzer, he understood his need to see her again, hoping she’d come out for a breath of air, no matter how sticky and hot it was. What he couldn’t figure out was why he’d wanted to know about this nightspot.

  It was no more than a half-ass touristy bar, which meant the music was fair, the drinks watered down, the food bland as hell, and the crowd too thick for his taste. Twentysomethings kept bumping into his table as they hurried through the throng, calling out or waving enthusiastically at their friends. The older crowd snapped so many pictures with regular cameras—not cell phones—he saw countless black spots from the flashes.

  Frowning, he scanned as much as he could of the outside area. There were numerous shops, bars, restaurants, and people everywhere, as there always were in the French Quarter at night. So why had he gone to the second floor of Constance’s building and into her office to ask about this place? After Dark was practically across the street, big as fucking life.

  More importantly, he was a New Orleans native whose parents still lived in the same parish where he’d grown up. As a cop, he knew this area intimately, even if new businesses cropped up all the time.

  Gabe rubbed his temple and tried to relax, hoping he could figure it out. Something—possibly a memory—kept nagging him. However, each time the thought floated into his consciousness, it disappeared quickly without giving him an answer. Muttering an oath, he finally hauled out his notebook and flipped through the pages, searching for a clue about tonight. On his last entry, he’d scrawled what seemed to be a name. Looked like Bicco Sat or Satt.

  He really should start using his smartphone instead of paper to record this stuff.

  For a moment, he wondered if Bicco Sat owned this place and if a snitch had said there was a major drug ring operating from here.

  Right now, the only crime seemed to be the crappy decor with lots of fake leather and pressed wood, along with what they charged for a lousy Cajun burger.

  Stumped, he called his snitch and got no answer or voicemail. The turd was probably working another detective in order to pay for his three-thousand-square-foot house. Giving up on him, Gabe called one of his buddies on the force.

  Nathan answered on the second ring. “You still working? Thought you went home.”

  Gabe tried to recall heading to his condo but couldn’t. “Stopped for some food.”

  “Didn’t know you liked Chuck E. Cheese’s so much. How can you stand the noise?”

 
A young woman standing next to Gabe’s table continued to shriek at some guy near the band. Thankfully, the guy finally gestured her over.

  Gabe turned his back to the crowd, only to face a group of elderly people on the outside walk. The old guys took pictures of the babes in short-shorts. The old ladies snapped photos of him through the glass. Gabe lowered his head. “I’m at After Dark. Need you to look up Bicco Sat or Satt for me.” He spelled the last name both ways.

  “Bicco what?” Nathan chuckled. “Sounds like the name of a male stripper. Didn’t know you were into those kinda things.”

  “Get real. This is a new nightspot where everyone’s basically clothed. I’m thinking Satt might be the owner. See if we have a sheet on him.”

  “Hold on.” A few minutes later, Nathan said, “Nope.”

  “Find out who owns After Dark.”

  “Give me a sec.”

  It took quite a bit longer, with Gabe finishing his seltzer in the interim.

  “Okay, here you go,” Nathan said. “A place called Fun Drinks & Eats owns it. They’re headquartered in…ah…Delaware. The manager where you happen to be is Chien Pham. No record.”

  Then why in the fuck had Gabe wanted to know about this place, even asking Constance about it? “You’re sure?”

  “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “No reason. Thanks. Bye—wait.” Gabe leaned back in his chair and debated whether to ask why he’d ended up in the French Quarter tonight. Could be Nathan knew.

  “Yeah?” Nathan finally said when Gabe hadn’t continued.

  He couldn’t. Nathan would surely wonder why Gabe had forgotten an investigation as if it hadn’t existed. Word might get out how he was losing it. Nathan wouldn’t blab deliberately, but cops were always ribbing each other about stuff. The more painful the better, like not getting it up for the ladies or the first time a teenage girl called you grandpa.

  Unwilling to risk it, he said, “See you tomorrow.” Before Nathan could answer, Gabe killed the call.

  “You ready to order?” his waitress asked. She was in her mid-twenties or so, quite pretty, had dark blonde hair, and a smile that said she was definitely interested in him.

  Before Gabe could stop them, memories of Constance flooded his mind. Her ripe figure, silky hair, sultry scent. His cock jumped to attention, telling Gabe he wasn’t only hungry for her, he was damn deprived and couldn’t leave this area now.

  He simply didn’t want to. “I’ll have the jambalaya and a NOLA Blonde, if you have it.”

  “We do.” She leaned close and murmured, “We have lots of stuff. Be right back.”

  At any other time, he might have chatted her up, and if they proved compatible, asked her out. Not tonight.

  When she delivered his order, he was polite but distant. He ate without really tasting a bite and kept his attention on the door to Constance’s office, waiting for her to come out.

  An hour later, two really pale guys exited, followed by another one who needed a shave. Rarely had Gabe seen anyone with so much facial hair. Head down, the hairy guy hurried away while the pale ones kept licking their incisors.

  Weird, but the only thing going down. A half hour later, Constance still hadn’t exited the place.

  “Sir?”

  He turned and saw a middle-aged Asian guy. Gabe looked at him questioningly. “Yeah?”

  “You need to pay your bill and go,” the man said in perfect English. “You’ve been at this table for hours. We have other customers waiting.”

  No doubt, this was Mr. Pham. Gabe considered showing his badge to get him to back off, but he decided against it. He had no real business here except hoping to catch a glimpse of Constance and figure out why he’d come to this area in the first place.

  “You bet,” Gabe said. “Sorry for hogging the table.” He settled his bill, giving the waitress a thirty-percent tip.

  “Please come back,” she called out. “When you do, ask for Vicki.”

  Outside, Gabe hesitated, his gaze drifting back to the building where Constance worked. After a few minutes, a shadow fell across the shuttered window. Whether it was from a male or female, he couldn’t tell. His attention went to the ferns below the balcony as they swayed in the muggy breeze. For some reason, they reminded him of the hairy guy who’d left earlier. Why, Gabe had no idea, and it was driving him nuts.

  All the way home, Gabe tried to recall whatever he seemed to have forgotten. In his kitchen, he stopped and stared at the salt and pepper shakers on the table. He picked up the one with the salt, studying the grains, not understanding why they fascinated him.

  After ditching his clothes, he stretched naked on his bed with hand on his cock, stroking it as he knew Constance would have done if she’d joined him tonight. She wasn’t into playing games, her kiss more than proved—

  Wait.

  She’d kissed him first, even apologized—sort of—for having attacked him.

  Gabe’s cock stiffened at memories of his tongue in her sweet, hot mouth, with Constance suckling it as if they’d known each other forever and she wanted him badly. His balls tightened at the thought, needing to release their load.

  He stroked harder this time, faster too, wanting to come as he recalled cupping her ass, pushing her sweet pussy into his rod, letting her know he ran the show even though she said she—

  Wait.

  Gabe stilled as a memory started to form and then drifted away. No, dammit, no.

  “Come on,” he growled, willing it into his consciousness. Something about him being in charge, but Constance also wanting to take the lead…or telling him so.

  Gabe bolted to a sitting position, his pulse sprinting as his memories returned. She’d called herself Constance Salt, but it had been Becca Salt, not Bicco Satt, he’d been looking for. That’s why the saltshaker had riveted him, trying to prod him into remembering what he recalled now.

  Becca owned the business he’d been investigating on his own after a parish priest had spoken to him about it. Gabe had gone there tonight to check out Father Archambault’s strange concerns and to talk to Becca. Had he?

  Frowning, he tried to recall but couldn’t. Ever since Constance kissed him, he’d somehow forgotten everything.

  Why? How in the hell could she have had such an effect on him? She was a dynamite woman but didn’t have the power to fry his brain. His balls maybe, but his gray matter, no fucking way.

  Gabe wondered if he’d had a minor stroke tonight or some kind of fit where he’d participated in stuff but didn’t remember afterward.

  Worried, he left his bed and went to his laptop. He keyed what he was beginning to remember, just in case he suddenly forgot it again.

  Chapter Three

  Several days later, the gang surprised Constance with a party celebrating her fifth year at the service.

  It was actually three months before her original hire date, but she didn’t contradict them. They’d gone to a lot of trouble to make her feel wanted and loved.

  Heather had hung voodoo hoodoo decorations in Constance’s office—skulls, conjure dolls, feathers and chicken feet—mortal trappings supernaturals knew were downright silly. Zoe lit dozens of candles, turning the room nearly as bright as the fluorescent lights did with the halls and treatment rooms. The incense was so thick, it was hard to breathe. Didn’t matter. MJ conjured up more.

  Becca stepped inside, holding a silver tray with a humongous molten lava cake on it, Constance’s fave. Her stomach rumbled. A second later, tears rolled down her face at their sweet kindness.

  Daemon, Stefin, Anatol, and Taro stepped back immediately, their big bodies crowding each other, expressions guarded as they watched her carefully.

  Constance waved her hand at them and blubbered. “I’m fine.”

  Seemed good enough for Daemon, who was handsome as sin with shoulder-length brown hair and a bad-boy’s
stubble. Casually, he hung his arm over Heather’s shoulder and rested his palm smack on her boob. After elbowing him, she shook her head. He gave her a clueless look but did drop his hand to her waist.

  Anatol, Stefin, and Taro were more circumspect as they hungered over Zoe, the flames in their eyes flaring brightly. Tonight, she’d worn a skintight black dress, a perfect complement to her raven hair and snowy skin. A far cry from the Catholic schoolgirl outfits she used to wear before falling in love with the guys.

  A stab of longing hit Constance ruthlessly, snatching her breath.

  Becca stopped her approach and looked from her to the Unholy Trio, all of them hotties. Stefin, tall and nicely muscular, with a bronze complexion and longish blond hair. Anatol, with his mahogany-colored skin and delicious dreadlocks. Finally, Taro, as different from the others as they were from him, given his baby blues and auburn hair. They were a testament to the power of testosterone, all of them virile to the extreme—hulking masses of men.

  Even so, they backed farther away from Becca, hands clasped innocently behind them, which emphasized the impressive bulges between their legs. Zoe was going to get lucky tonight, possibly in the break room if her guys remained true to form.

  Constance sighed enviously.

  “Happy anniversary,” Becca said, offering a hesitant smile. “We’re so glad you’re a part of our team. Here.” She shoved the cake at Constance, no doubt figuring chocolate would make everything better.

  Daemon must have thought so, since he headed for it, hungry as always. MJ and Heather grabbed his arms, hauling him back. Again, he gave them a what-did-I-do look.

  Damn, he was cute and so clueless that Constance couldn’t help but smile through her tears. After blowing out the candles, she cut the cake in equal portions, plopped the oozing messes on plates and offered everyone their fair share.

  Heather made certain Daemon fed himself and didn’t lick any part of her. Zoe remained on one side of the room while her guys gave her smoldering looks from the other. If Eric had been here, rather than with a client at his financial firm, Becca would have most likely warned him to behave. Considering he was a descendant of Cupid, with impeccable manners and a romantic nature, it wouldn’t have been too hard for him to comply.