Chapter 9
Chapter
Nine
“ T hat isn’t—that’s not how I would put it,” I finished lamely. Then I dredged my memory, trying to remember the names of Candace’s kids and finally coming up with, “You’re Riley?”
She nodded sharply, and since I only had the vaguest memory of Candace’s son because I had been hospitalized from various gunshot wounds at the time of his birth, I was lucky when she looked at her brother. “This is Junior.”
“They named you Brad?” I asked.
He squared his shoulders, raising his chin, and he didn’t have to threaten me because I knew he was about to sneer something along the lines of “Yeah, and what about it?”
“Cool.” I pointed back to the TV. “Why don’t you finish whatever that is?”
“You didn’t answer my question. That means you’re uncomfortable, and I should press for more information.” Riley looked me over. “But gently, because you might crack and then swim off the hook.”
“Grandma teach you that?” I didn’t need to ask, but something hard and cold cemented in my stomach. It was strange to hear the mantras I lived my life by coming out of the mouth of a… five-year-old? Seven-year-old? She couldn’t be eight.
I didn’t think Candy had been pregnant when she got married. In the pictures she’d sent, she definitely hadn’t been pregnant. But Photoshop was magic these days, so for all I knew, for a fee, her wedding photographer had simply erased a pronounced baby bump.
“Yeah. She also taught me how to use weapons, so don’t try anything.” Riley glared at Cassander, informing him, “Weapons can hurt people. They can hurt you .”
“I am very aware of a weapon’s ability to wound me.” Cassander nodded his head seriously. “I have intimate experience with it.”
“Good.” Riley and Junior returned to the couch, increasing the volume on the TV until the walls practically vibrated with the casino-level bing ping bongs of children’s programming.
Cassander winced, flinching away from the sounds and looking down at his half-finished plate.
“Come on.” I jerked my head toward the back door my sister had left through. At the last second, I turned to the kids. “Uh, don’t kill each other.”
“I’m not making any promises.” Riley didn’t even look away from the TV. “You got that, Junior?”
Her brother turned to look at her, his stare wide.
Cassander stood, following me to the doorway. Going out, I tripped on the doorjamb, stubbing my toe and tweaking my knee.
It had never been the same after a torture session in Eastern Europe, and now it was reminding me of the myriad ways I should have gotten it treated, including the assigned physical therapy I had never quite made time for.
Limping, I made my way over to one of the three folding chairs arranged haphazardly on the narrow strip of concrete that acted as a patio. Abandoned children’s toys bleached by the sun were scattered throughout the yard, half of a knockoff Barbie doll tied on top of a plastic train, brown weeds growing up through its wheel wells.
The chain-link fence was rusting, and the back gate was propped open with a brick, likely how my sister had gotten through. On the other side was another set of houses. From mailing her checks, I remembered my sister lived somewhere nearby.
Eyeing one of the chairs with distaste, Cassander remained standing, arms crossed.
“What are we doing here?” I massaged the muscles around my knee, inhaling sharply when I hit a tender spot, pain lancing up to my hip. Maybe when everything was dealt with, I should dig out the physical therapist’s card again and give it another go.
“Well, I believe your mother invited us over, and that visit has stretched to include at least three meals’ worth of food.” Cassander glanced significantly at the back door. “You volunteered us for babysitting.”
“Thank you for the reminder. I meant, how were we in Paris a few hours ago? Why did we jump from Québec to here?” I turned to him, crossing my arms. “ How did we jump from Québec to here?”
“If I knew the answers to any of that, I would not still be here.” Cassander threw me an amused look. “All compliments to your mother’s cooking aside.”
“Yeah. Mom makes a mean enchilada.” I eyed him suspiciously, realizing that I should have patted him down as soon as we teleported to Québec. I should have patted him down as soon as we got to the hotel room at the latest.
You know what they say. Forget to pat a guy down once, that’s a mistake. Forget to do it the second time you teleport, that’s on you.
The full-body press against the building didn’t really count, as much as I wouldn’t mind a repeat. He kept saying that he didn’t have an artifact, but how else were we getting from place to place?
“You think I still had something to do with it?” Cassander lifted his lip in amusement.
“I don’t have any proof you didn’t,” I said, even though the part of me that hadn’t wanted to give the SPA his name knew. The part of me that had tried to throw him to the ground first in the hotel room knew.
“And what would convince you?” Cassander asked. “A pinkie promise?”
“Let me pat you down,” I said, and the words came out before I could think them through, before I could imagine my hands on his body.
Cassander held out his arms, and I was struck again by his narrow waist, the strong muscle exposed by his tight shirt. He was a guy who worked on his core and didn’t mind if some random secret agent checked if it was a six- or an eight-pack.
Exhaling through my nose to brace for the pain, I stood, testing my leg before putting my weight on it. The pain in my foot was still there; hopefully, I hadn’t broken my toe, but at least my knee had stopped reminding me about itself with the frequency of a teenager texting their first boyfriend.
Stepping close, I felt the tension ratchet up between us. This close, he had to look up slightly to catch my eyes, and the sun in his hair caught golden highlights. His eyes flashed, amused.
“Hands behind your head,” I said, my voice low, the growl that I felt building rumbling in my chest.
Cassander’s lips pursed, making a small o before he slowly laced his fingers behind his head. It put his whole body on display, his chest spread, his neck exposed. He raised an eyebrow as I came behind him, putting one hand on his, my leg between his, my knee slightly resting on the back of his.
It pulled his body into a taut arc, and I heard his breath hitch. He turned his head slightly, the position shifting under my hand as I reached out and started patting along his arms, over his shoulders, and down his back.
I hesitated before I shook my head, checking his back pockets and waistband for anything before moving my hand to the front and stroking over his chest. I didn’t let myself hesitate before checking his groin, his cock half-hard against the back of my hand as I made sure there wasn’t anything hidden there.
It went against procedure, but I released his hands to pat down his legs, not letting myself feel the strong muscle, the twitch of it as my hands brushed over his skin. When I stood, he leaned back slightly so my chest dragged over his back.
“Well?” he asked. “Any hidden artifacts?”
“No,” I admitted.
Unless he was keeping a magical artifact in his shoes, he was clean.
But he was also clean of everything else. No wallet, no phone, no money.
“What were you doing in Paris?” I asked suspiciously, stepping back.
He brought his hands down, turning to face me.
“I told you. I was searching for something.” He looked out across the yard, as though seeing something else. “The key to my inheritance.”
“The key to your inheritance was at an outdoor market that sells cubic zirconia rings and knockoff prints of the Mona Lisa ?” I raised my eyebrows. “Why do I find that hard to believe?”
“Your incredulity does not affect the fact that that’s where I tracked it to.” Cassander tilted his chin up, raising a single perfect eyebrow. “What were you doing in Paris?”
“I had a deal with some men about some magical artifacts.” I pulled my lips. Hopefully, Twenty-one and the SPA had been able to recover the artifacts I’d given Tyler. “Green Scales.”
“And? Would any of their magical artifacts have done this?” Cassander raised an eyebrow.
I shook my head. “No. And anyway, magical artifacts don’t work on me.”
Cassander’s brows drew together. “What?”
“Magical artifacts don’t work on me,” I repeated, rolling my eyes slightly. “Proven fact. I touch it, it does nothing. Doesn’t activate, doesn’t react. They think I’m some sort of dead zone.”
“Well, your brain might be a dead zone, but I truly doubt that magical artifacts have no effect on you. That’s impossible.” Cassander continued to frown at me, and was I mistaken that he was staring at my groin?
“Trust me, I’ve touched all sorts of magical artifacts that kill on contact, and not a single one has ever affected me.” I flexed my knee, checking to see if the damage was still there. “So, if this was magic, you must have touched something. Why were you barefoot?”
“I had to flee my previous situation quickly.” Cassander raised his chin.
“Come on, Cass. You have to give me more than that. You clearly thought you could do something . You did jazz hands.” I mimed the motion he’d been doing. “What were you trying to do? And it wasn’t to wow them with a rendition of Rodgers and Hammerstein.”
“If that’s your attempt at charm, then it must be the reason magic artifacts don’t react to you.” Cassander eyed me mildly. “You checked yourself. There’s nothing on me. I wasn’t the one using an artifact in Paris.”
I stared at him. There was an insult in there between all of his pretty words. Before I could strike back, Riley spoke from the door.
“We’re hungry.” The words were a demand, tinged with a slight whine.
“Get some food off the stove. Grandma left enchiladas.” I looked away from Cassander to see Riley raising one eyebrow, unimpressed.
“We aren’t supposed to touch the stove. We aren’t supposed to use knives.” Her lips twisted. “Why did Grandma leave us with you ?”
“Fine.” I looked at Cassander again. “We aren’t done here.”
“Is that what you tell all the men you take home when you finish early?” Cassander’s smirk lit something in my stomach, and I couldn’t help my response.
“I don’t know. This is a first for me. You’re the one who isn’t performing.”
Cassander’s mouth dropped open, and I turned away before he could think of something equally snarky in return. Climbing the two stairs up to the house, I opened the door to find Riley gripping Junior’s hair tight, pulling him back into a headlock that would have been illegal even in an MMA cage match.
“Hey!” Both of them turned to look at me. “That is not how we behave in the house.”
“Also, Riley, if you plan on incapacitating him, you need to involve the nerve right here.” Cassander tapped the side of his neck. “A slight pinch is far more effective than whatever you are attempting.”
“Great. Thanks for teaching my niece new ways to maim and injure people.” I went into the kitchen, opening cupboards. The plates were in the same spot. They were even the same ones my mother had had when I’d lived at home. I recognized the chip in one of the bright red Fiesta plates.
I took down two and served the kids beans and rice from the stove, returning to the table to give them enchiladas. Junior managed to wiggle out from his sister’s grip and retreated to the table, where he looked on helplessly until I grabbed forks from a drawer.
Riley approached Cassander with wide eyes, her grin ferocious. “Show me.”
“After you eat. There’s no sense in teaching you when hunger will make it more difficult to learn.” Cassander gestured to the chair at his right, and she sat quickly, holding out her hand for her own fork.
As they ate, I turned back to Cassander. “We should stick together until we figure this out.”
We needed to stick together because a man with an expensive shirt, hand-stitched shoes, and a face like his didn’t just walk around without a phone, wallet, or keys. He was hiding something, and I was going to find out what it was.
Cassander looked me over, his expression twisting into a smile as he raised an eyebrow. “Are you that eager for my company? If you’re lonely, I could leave a picture behind.”
“You got me. I’m dying for you to show me what I’ve been missing on these cold, lonely nights working.” I met his eyes, curious to see how far he would take the joke.
“Well, in that, I’ll have to disappoint.” He turned to me, whispering in my ear. “I don’t ever spend the night, and if we shared a bed, you wouldn’t be sleeping in it.”
My eyes went wide, my cheeks getting warm, and I glanced at the kids, but neither one of them looked up from their plates, Junior too focused on shoving as much food as possible into his mouth, while Riley seemed to have taken Cassander’s words as a challenge and was going to consume all her food as fast as she possibly could.
Cassander still lingered near me, only pulling back to see how his words had hit. I tilted my head, leaning in and letting myself enjoy the sharp smell of his sweat, the unique scent that was all him. I murmured into his ear, watching goose bumps rise on his skin.
“Cass, if we spent the night together, sleep would be the least of your concerns. You wouldn’t be walking straight when I was done with you.”
He inhaled, a sharp gasp of air that he quickly smothered. When he pulled back, he was eyeing me speculatively. “Such promises.”
I winked at him. If I hadn’t met him on that Paris street, I wouldn’t be here, I reminded myself.
If I hadn’t met him on that Paris street, then he would be dead. The thought was deeply true. The gunmen would have tracked him down, cornered him, and shot him like a dog.
Just like my dad.
My entire body tensed, and I struggled to drag a breath in. When I finally managed it, I walked over to the kitchen and started putting dirty plates and utensils into the dishwasher, filling the sink with water to wash the pots and pans.
“Done!” Riley said quickly. “Show me!”
When Cassander didn’t say anything, I looked over. Cassander was staring at me, his eyes narrow, gaze focused on my face.
“Show me!” Riley demanded again, standing on her tiptoes to grab hold of his arm and pull him down to eye level with her. “Are you an assassin?”
“No,” Cassander said. “I’m a prince, but a prince needs to know the ways of assassins so that he can avoid them.”
“Wow,” Riley exhaled. “That’s so cool. Can you kill someone?”
Cassander hesitated, but he kept his eyes on her, even though I could viscerally feel his attention on me. I turned off the tap, watching with interest. I should be using this time to gather more information, to better build my dossier about him, to help myself understand who I was dealing with.
Instead, I was just as interested in the answer as Riley.
“Yes,” Cassander said.
“ Have you ever killed anyone?” Riley asked, her excited energy stilling.
“Yes.” Cassander kept the word short, but there was something in his tone, something horrible, and I recognized it intimately because it’s how I would have answered the question.
“Who?” Riley demanded. She was sharp angles, too much, and either Mamá Reyes was losing her touch at training, or Riley wouldn’t ever be the con artist that her mother and I were.
Cassander leaned down, stage-whispering, “That is a secret. In order to find out, you need to learn the art of self-defense. Once you know my history, you might become a target too.”
Riley’s eyes went wide, and her mouth dropped open. “Show me!”
I snorted, shaking my head and grabbing the nearest pot and shoving it under the warm, soapy water. When I looked up, I expected to see Cassander’s smirk, an amused, wry twist of the lips that said he was teasing.
But his expression was clouded, his eyes unfocused, seeing something other than an overly excited maybe-seven-year-old who wanted nothing more than to learn how to do as much physical damage as her small little fists could manage.
After a breath, he shook it off, and I cleaned my way through the entire kitchen before Riley and he both declared lessons done and the kids turned back on the TV. Then, for lack of anything real to do, I made the kids dinner.
As I reheated the food from lunch, I considered the very real chance that the SPA or whoever was behind the gunmen could find us here. They might think of looking, but I had at least three other safe houses in the US. And Twenty-one should be trying to hide me. She’d implied she’d try to hide me.
We ate with me still distracted, Cassander throwing me odd looks, and the kids peppering him with more questions about self-defense. I managed a few jabs about how unlikely it was that Riley would happen upon a rapier when she needed one, but he winked at me and said I never knew.
I ended up doing another load of dishes and wondered how only two days ago, I’d been eating five-star cuisine in Paris.
Keys struck the metal security gate with a jangle, and my mother unlocked the door. She pushed it open with her hip, carrying two large grocery bags. “Damian, mijo, come help me with groceries.”
Obediently, I shook off my hands, drying them on the hanging kitchen towel and following my mother back out to her car. The open trunk revealed two half-full grocery bags, but I wasn’t here to carry groceries.
My mother stopped next to the trunk, arms crossed, expression severe. This was Mamá Reyes. This was the sharp con artist who never let a trick pass her by, and I wasn’t sure why I’d been halfway convinced that maybe grandchildren had made her soft.
“Well, Damian, you want to tell me what’s going on, or should I tell you what I already know?”