Chapter Eight
June
Theo parks in front of his house, which has an enviable amount of space between it and their closest neighbor, grabs my bag from the backseat, and heads to the front door without looking back. Instead of a key, his front door unlocks with a code under the handle, which I learned weeks ago.
Following him inside, my eyes scan the interior, mentally matching it with the floor plans I’ve already memorized.
It’s an open plan with the kitchen to the left of the front door, the dining space to the right, and the sunken living room directly in front, two steps lower than the rest of the space.
There’s an L-shaped sectional and a lone chair in the center, with a TV mounted over the fireplace.
Two hallways are on either side of the entryway, one to the main bedroom and bathroom and the other to two bedrooms and a second bathroom.
The space is spotless, every surface clean and tidy.
“Your room is down here,” Theo says. He kicks the front door shut and walks down the right hallway into the first bedroom. It's small, barely enough space for a full-sized bed and a dresser. He sets my bag on the freshly made bed, where there are embroidered throw pillows.
He points to the middle door in the hallway. “That’s the bathroom. Fresh towels are under the sink. Let me know if you need anything else.”
I toe off my shoes and sit on the edge of the bed. “I need to be at my office by eight in the morning.”
He nods. “Luna will pick you up at seven thirty.”
“I thought you were taking me.”
“Disappointed?” he asks with a noticeably forced smirk.
“Just stating the obvious. Not even a day in and you’re already reneging on your promise to take me to work. It’d be easier if I just had my car.”
He shakes his head. “Not happening.”
“You worried I’ll leave?”
“I know if you want to leave, you won’t need a car to do it. But I don’t feel like combing every inch of your car for weapons and drugs, so you’ll have to deal with one of us taking you to work.”
“ One of you?”
“Don’t worry, little reaper. It’ll be me as often as possible. I just have something to take care of in the morning. I’ll pick you up, though.” He winks, and I grind my teeth together.
“I don’t care.”
“Sure you don’t.” He gives me one last searching look before walking out, leaving the door open behind him.
I jump up and throw the door shut harder than I intend, feeling like an insolent child.
After allowing myself ten minutes to lie flat on the bed and brood, I force myself to unpack, change, brush my teeth, and climb under the covers.
Sleep is elusive, and I’m still awake when James gets home two hours later.
I listen to him move about the house, take a shower, then shut his bedroom door.
After that, I’m in and out of consciousness until six a.m., when I decide to get ready for work.
In the kitchen, I find a full pot of coffee and an empty mug in front of it, which warms my chest with something that isn’t the searing fire.
Theo made enough coffee for me. I know it could all be for James, but there’s enough for at least three cups.
It doesn’t mean anything, I tell myself as I pour the coffee.
Forcing rogue thoughts away, I stroll to Theo’s bedroom, planning to search it for any possible information on the man I’m planning to kill in four weeks.
Unfortunately, the door is locked. I don’t have time to pick it, so I’ll have to wait until I’m alone, which may never happen.
It’s seven twenty when the rumbling sound of a motorcycle approaches the house.
Outside, Luna is straddling her emerald bike, her helmet’s face shield pushed back so her green eyes are on display.
Unlike last night, every inch of her skin is covered by long leather pants, tall boots, gloves, and a Saints of Purgatory jacket.
“Hey, killer!” I can hear the smile in her voice even over the roar of the engine. She holds out an extra helmet, and I wonder if they got it for me or if they all have extra helmets for possible passengers.
“Don’t call me that,” I say, taking the helmet and pulling it over my braided hair.
“Why not?”
“Why do you think?”
“It’s a fitting nickname,” Luna says.
“Exactly.”
“You afraid someone will hear me calling you killer and instead of knowing that’s a normal nickname for someone as fucking sexy as you they’ll immediately think, ‘Oh, she must be an actual cold-blooded killer?’”
I scowl. Between “killer” and “little reaper,” these bikers are practically labeling me as a murderer.
“Well, are you coming?” Luna asks when I don’t move. She’s still shouting over the engine, and it’s astonishing that bikers don’t constantly lose their voices from all the yelling they do.
With a huff, I step closer and throw my leg over the bike behind her. Once sitting, I look around for something to hold that isn’t Luna. Finding nothing, I tentatively place my hands on her waist.
“Don’t be so shy!” She grabs my hands with her gloved ones and pulls them further, forcing me to lean forward, front pressed against her back.
“Hold on tight, and keep your bag between us.” She picks her foot up, revs the engine, and the next second we’re moving.
Luna quickly increases speeds until it feels more like flying.
It’s exhilarating. I watch the world move faster than it ever has in a car and stare at the road inches from our feet.
One wrong move and I’d be indistinguishable from a flattened possum on the shoulder.
Luna would probably fare better thanks to her riding-appropriate clothing.
Still, the idea that death is a blink away sucks the gravity from my bones.
The wind whips at our clothes and even the flames in my chest. I close my eyes, lifting my head back to enjoy the ride.
Unfortunately, it’s over much too quickly, and soon we’re stopping in front of my office.
“See you later, killer.” I start to return her helmet, but she shakes her head. “That’s yours. Theo bought it yesterday.”
“Really?”
She nods. “It’s the best. Over eight hundred dollars. He got you gloves, boots, and a jacket, too. He’s picking them up today.”
“I have gloves and boots.”
Luna shrugs. “Theo is particular about the gear we wear.”
I noticed they often look uniform when riding as a unit, but I thought that was mostly due to their jackets.
“Well, thanks,” I mutter, holding up the shockingly expensive helmet.
“Thank the boss.” She winks. “He didn’t want his girl getting hurt on the road.”
“Not his girl.”
“Sure.” The way she says it makes it obvious that she doesn’t believe me. She doesn’t give me a chance to argue before riding off, leaving me feeling unsteady. It takes a few moments to gather myself before I can walk inside and start preparing for my appointments.