by Zoe Parker
If she’s honest with herself, she had a decent time with him.
Voss is intelligent, funny, and adaptable to any conversation. He likes to tease her, seems pleased by blushes or laughter. During those two hours, she learned three important things about him.
He has one hell of a poker face.
When he genuinely laughs, his eyes dance much like they are now.
The sin on him is enough to feed a sin eater for life.
Voss has secrets upon secrets that had secret babies. Voss has done some bad things in his life, really bad. But while laughing and talking with him, her opinion of him started slowly to change. Yes, he’s dangerous, but he’s decidedly more faceted than that. He’s like an onion nesting doll: layer upon layer, with none of them solely giving away the man he is.
It’s irritatingly intriguing.
“Your facial expressions change with your thoughts. At first, you looked like you were annoyed, but then it changed to a smile. Then you frowned and looked like you wanted to smack me. Care to share?” Voss’s voice brings her thoughts to an abrupt halt.
“Sorry, I do that sometimes,” she apologizes automatically.
“What were you thinking?”
Not wanting to tell him the actual truth of her thoughts, she says the first thing that pops into her head. “I was trying to decide if I wanted to clip my toenails or wax my armpits.” She follows it up with a benign smile. Instead of blanching, he shakes his head with a smile still firmly in place.
“It’s nice to know that you practice good hygiene,” he teases and leans down to plant a quick kiss on her cheek. Her hand automatically raises to cover the spot. “I’ll text you later, and if you get bored, feel free to reach out. I always have my phone on me.”
He turns to walk toward the elevator, and a worm of guilt wiggles its way into her thoughts. He was courteous and sweet tonight, and she was mostly a grump who can’t help but laugh at funny things. “You look better than bad in flannel!” she calls out, instantly regretting the words but knowing it’ll be worse if she tries to correct them. She meant to say, I had fun tonight. How her mouth interpreted that as what she said, she’ll never know.
“Me too, Sora,” he says, turning in the elevator to face her. The doors shut on his amused face. Sometimes she feels like he reads her mind, and it’s disconcerting.
As she hurriedly goes through the door into her room, she mutters her stupid words to herself. “Better than bad in flannel. What the hell was I thinking?”
“End your date on a high note, huh?” She gives Devil the dirty look that he deserves. Laughing, he turns back to the large TV, and she heads in to take a shower.
When she comes back out in her ratty but comfortable robe, she sits on the couch next to Devil, who’s snoring with his mouth hanging open, and her thoughts skip over her faux pas with Voss and move onto work. There were other things she meant to do this week but didn’t get them done because of everything going on with moving the office. Now she has time to go back to it.
Her mind latches onto the business card of the mysterious criminal that tried to first kidnap her and then politely asked for her to assist him. Getting up, she digs the abused card out of her jacket pocket, laughing outright when she reads the name. Mario Victor. It’s such a cliché name that she keeps chuckling even as she gets her phone and puts the number in. It’s nearing ten, but she figures Mario… snicker… keeps odd hours.
Taking a deep breath for courage and patience, she dials the number.
“Greetings, Miss Suen,” a smooth male voice answers. She moves the phone away from her ear and looks at it. How the hell did he know my number?
Hank uses prepaid phones for their work phones. Initially he told her it was due to them being cheaper but also because it’s anonymous. This proves that if you have the money and connections, nothing is anonymous.
“I’m guessing this is Mr. Victor?” Unless he has guys who answer his phone creepily too.
“Yes. Mario, please. I’m pleased that you called me. May I safely assume this is for the exchange offered for your services?” She exhales loudly through her nose. Now that she’s on the phone with him, she’s having doubts. She’s helped so many awful people in the last ten years and to add another one, even though she now has the freedom to choose, chafes her.
But he claims to have the information she wants. Maybe even needs.
“Yes.”
“Wonderful! When would you like to meet for our exchange?” Him letting her pick the place is surprising, but she rolls with it
“There’s a bistro at the corner of Main and Seventh. They keep late hours and are relatively quiet. I can meet you there Monday after I get done with work.” And her session with Dirk but doesn’t mention that. “Around eight, if that’s acceptable?”
“I look forward to Monday. Thank you.” She can hear the smile in his voice, and her imagination cooks up a dark-haired man, wearing a slightly too tight three-piece suit, smoking a cigar with his ruby pinky ring glinting in the dim lighting.
She shakes her head to dispel the image.
“Goodnight,” she says, hanging up before he can say anything else. It’s not that she regrets calling him–yet–it’s that men like him give her the creeps. No matter how nice they appear or act, they’ve always got this oily feel to them underneath all the false niceness.
They do bad things to get rich, sometimes really bad things, and even though she’s never met this guy, it’s hard not to make a snap judgment. Chewing her lip, she changes the path of her thoughts. Going into this thinking that she knows him is a mistake. Something she’s done more often than not, and it has never accomplished anything but cause her trouble.
In the past, she had been guilty of blindly accepting that most people were good–a habit she’s finally broken–but it can be just as stupid assuming the opposite. Not that she doubts he’s a criminal, it’s just that she can’t automatically jump to the conclusion that he kills kittens and kicks babies.
“Who was that?” Devil asks sleepily.
“I called the guy on the card, Mario Victor. We agreed to meet on Monday at eight at the bistro,” she explains.
“Do you think he’ll actually have good information?” He wobbles into the kitchen and comes back with tea for both of them.
“Probably, he’s pretty desperate to get his sins taken. If it’s shit information, he’ll get his sins back with interest.” Her arm itches as her magic stirs. There’s a strange satisfaction in giving sins back to those who deserve them. As twisted as it may sound, it’s true. Those bad ones that prey on the weakness and innocence of others don’t deserve to live guilt-free.
But so often do, even before sin eaters.
“You need to take someone with you besides me.” She meets his eyes. He’s completely serious.
“I have the shifter bodyguards,” she argues.
“That’s not enough. You need someone you trust inside with you.” She makes a face, mostly because he’s right. “Why not ask George, he’s unbiased and calm in any situation,” he suggests, surprising her with his choice.
“Why not Dirk?” It was her first choice when he mentioned it.
“Dirk is skilled, that’s very true, but George is more so. He’s also trained in situations like this. He’s a pack enforcer for a reason,” he says offhandedly, but it takes her a moment to answer him due to shock. She had no idea that sweet, patient George is an enforcer.
“George?” she asks in amazement.
“Yes. George. I’m amazed you didn’t realize it. Haven’t you ever noticed how people tend to do what he says?” She had, but she figured that like her, they did it because he’s a nice guy and always playing the peacemaker.
She has to work on her observation skills.
“How did you find out?” she demands, suspicious of him.
He has the audacity to smile, the one he gives right before he lies, but she shakes her head at him. “You ruin all my fun.” He lets out a gusty sigh. “I
overheard someone talking about it in the bar one night,” he admits.
“So, it wasn’t from your powers of observation?” He gives her a look, and it’s like a salve on her slightly injured pride. Sneaky skull.
“I am capable of it sometimes but not in this particular situation. Does that make you feel better?” She makes a face at him again. He silently added ‘wittle baby’ to that question, and the urge to smack him is strong. But she doesn’t. This time. “Always assume that a man who makes weapons as good as George knows how to use them. You should ask him to teach you knife work,” he adds a few minutes later.
After giving it some thought, she nods. It won’t hurt to ask him, and Dirk has admitted multiple times that he’s better with physical force than knives. She has a fondness for them, and it won’t hurt to have more skill than she currently does. People never expect magic users to have any skills besides magic. Her becoming more adept with them will benefit her and help with what may come in the future. Considering the occupations she currently has, quite a lot.
“I’ll talk to him tomorrow when I go into work.”
“So, what did you and Voss talk about after I came inside?” he asks snidely.
Sora takes her time answering just to watch and see if he fidgets. When he doesn’t, she pretends to get involved in the TV show playing and waits several more minutes. Finally, when he’s starting to look like he wants to pee on her shoes, she answers him.
“We both know that you had your ear pressed against it the entire time.” If he had fidgeted, that means he didn’t know. Since he didn’t, that means he was eavesdropping. Devil has his tells too.
“You suck, you know that?” She shrugs at his grumpy words and gets involved in her show. It’s time to let her brain rest for a little while and forget about the threat of danger, the sexy shifter who agreed to be friends but will probably still push her buttons, and the still lingering hurt that Max left behind.
She spent a third of her life with him. It might have dimmed, even be nearly gone, but there’s enough left that haunts her from the back of her mind. Especially when she’s around other shifters. Even Voss.
Chapter Seven
“This is where you want to look at a house?” Devil asks in amazement, looking around him at all the green and lack of city. Sora chuckles and keeps following the GPS to a side street that dead ends.
She woke him up at seven a.m. so they could look at some of the house listings she found. This one was buried in the real-estate ads. The price is on the lower end, and since she’s paid off all the old debt, her credit is good enough to get a mortgage for it. She got pre-approved through a reputable place before deciding to start looking seriously.
In the event that she finds that perfect place, she’s prepared.
“There’s nothing wrong with living out of the city, Devil. Might be good for both of us.” Not that she’s entirely sold either. She’s lived in the city her entire life with the convenience of everything five minutes away. Although this area has the necessary things like a grocery store and a magic shop, the food choices are incredibly limited.
They’re going to have to learn to cook living here.
“Is that the hole you’re planning to bury us in?” Devil snarks, jerking his head towards the white-sided house peeking through the trees. Sora pulls in the drive and puts the car in park, taking a few minutes to study what she can see.
The ad stated this was a three-bedroom house with a sunroom in the back. The yard is mostly in the back, and the front yard looks like it hasn’t been mowed in a year. An easy to fix problem; lawn services are everywhere. Turning the car off, she gets out and waits at the end of the weed-infested stone walk leading to the front door.
The real estate agent she emailed sent her the code to get inside and look around, asking only that she make sure to lock up when she leaves. To her, it’s much better than seeing it with another person up her ass.
She opens the screen door to access the lock, and it falls off with a bang, sending dust and leaves flying into the air. There’s a twin bang from something inside, and it’s enough to send Sora and Devil both back to the car.
“What sounds good for breakfast?” She asks breathlessly.
‘Done house shopping for the day?” She glares at him and backs out of the driveway. As they drive away, she takes one final glimpse of the house in the rearview and is half expecting it to be caving in on itself. She’s almost disappointed it isn’t. “What hell do you have in store for me next?”
“First breakfast and then the next place. It’s closer to the city, so that should make you happy.” Maybe make her happy too. They pass house after house, all with the same themes. Manicured front lawns and kids. It’s like her parents’ neighborhood, and she didn’t notice on the way in because she was excited to see the house.
“You just realized this is suburban purgatory?” He asks in surprise.
“Shut up, I was excited. Okay?”
“You’re super serious about this house buying business, aren’t you?” She looks over at him and then back to the road.
“I want a space that’s truly mine, Devil. One that no one can take away on a whim or take over uninvited.” Once her brain latched onto the idea, it started to become something important to her. Maybe it’s the idea of settling down and not having to worry about other people interfering or even the ability to paint the wall chartreuse if she wants to. Either way, she was happy looking at the houses for sale and will be even happier when she has her own.
“You mentioned getting a dog, is that still on the agenda?”
“No!” Her answer is immediate.
“Why not? I took good care of Maizie.”
He sounds a little hurt, and that makes her explain. “Maizie was a lizard and didn’t require three walks a day and potty training. And honestly, we don’t have the time right now. There’s so much going on. The last thing in the world I want is to have to hire dog-sitters and pick up shit, Devil.” Part of her would love to have another pet, but the responsible adult inside of her knows that it’s the wrong time for it.
“It’s a dog, not a kid,” he grumbles.
“It’s similar to having kids. You have to love them fully. Commit to raising them and caring for them. No random trips out of town, no leaving the house whenever you want. It’s not fair to do that to a dog. We need to wait until we have solid schedules and have acclimated to everything.”
“Fine, but I want a king bed.”
She blinks a few times before asking, “What the hell are you going to do with a king bed, Devil? You can literally sleep in a bucket.”
“For all my wild orgies,” he teases. A few months ago, this would’ve been fact.
Deciding not to comment, she pulls into a well-known fast food place and, after getting their meals, plugs the address of the next house into the GPS. She doesn’t expect to find her dream house today, but one never knows. Weirder things have happened.
She has Devil, doesn’t she?
Chapter Eight
As predicted, she didn’t find her dream house, but did end up having a lot of fun over the weekend. She pulled a few hours at Fun Fangs and they spent the rest of the time browsing ads and going to see the ones they liked. Devil eventually went all in and they started looking at furniture too, even a king-sized bed for him.
Monday flies by and as she’s leaving Dirk’s, her phone chirps to remind her of her meeting with Mario Victor. Not that she even came close to forgetting. She’s anticipated it for days. Not only is she getting potentially valuable information, but she’s making her first contact. Or what Hank calls, an informant. This guy is probably loaded with information and she plans on using it as often as she’s able.
On Saturday, she asked George to accompany her and he readily agreed. Said he could earn some brownie points with the boss for it. Not that she thinks it’s why he’s doing it. George is a pretty nice guy. He also agreed to start tutoring her with knives. They start next week, and she’s
looking forward to it and dreading it at the same time. More training equals more workouts. Her butt might look good, but her sweet tooth will hate her.
She parks outside of the bistro and looks at the uncommonly quiet Devil. He always worries her when he gets quiet. “Well?” She prompts.
“George isn’t here yet,” he says, looking at the parking spaces to either side of them. Three of which are full of dark tinted cars similar to what she called the clown car.
“Okay… so? We’re ten minutes early.”
“He told me he’d be here a half-hour early to scope the place out,” he says with a frown.
“I’ll call him just to be on the safe side. Maybe some pack business held him up.” She gets out her phone, but when her skin goosebumps, she puts it back in her pocket. Only one person in her recent experience gives her those.
“That motherfucker.” Apparently, Devil saw him first. She looks up and right into a set of blue eyes, watching her with a hint of censure. He’s not happy she’s here.
She needs to clarify a few things for him if he thinks he can look at her that way.
Climbing out of the car, she walks up to him with her temper flaring. “What the fuck are you doing here, Voss?”
“Friends support each other, don’t they?” His sarcasm game is strong enough that she’s not entirely sure if it’s sarcastic. “George mentioned you were coming here today, and I decided to come in his stead.” His well-worded explanation shows how he manages to keep things running smoothly in the shifter world. He’s a born car salesman.
“To be supportive, of course,” Devil adds.
“Of course.” Voss looks at Devil and smiles like he won the prize. But when Sora looks at Devil expecting to see irritation, she sees thoughtfulness. He doesn’t look like he minds Voss’s presence. When Sora looks past him at the men sitting at the tables in the bistro, she doesn’t mind his presence any longer either.
