Chapter 6 #2
I nod my acknowledgement and head out, finding a main street and hailing a cab.
The cabbie’s green eyes widen in surprise when he turns to look at me, but he doesn’t otherwise say anything as I show him the address on my phone.
It’s the same guy who took me to the church, which is astronomical odds considering the thousands of cabs in this city.
My gut is still telling me he’s a predator, but not one that’s targeting me, so I just pat my belly and let it know that we’re alright.
I watch the city slowly pass by as we crawl through traffic during a busy time of day.
It takes almost the entire hour to get what amounts to a mile as the bird flies.
I could have walked the distance in twenty minutes.
Rolling my eyes at the ridiculousness of having to take a cab to my jobs, I pat the cabbie’s shoulder in thanks, not even offering to pay; he zeroed out the meter already anyway.
When I get out onto the sidewalk, I’m standing in front of a clothing boutique with evening dresses on the mannequins in the windows.
Curious how a clothier managed to get on Fox’s radar, I enter the store.
Since this is only my second job, I project confidence as I walk over to and behind the cash desk, leaning up against the wall as the woman standing at the register turns wide, frightened eyes on me and runs straight out the door.
Two customers follow her out, leaving me with just one woman eyeing me in confusion and a short man staring at me in terror.
“Who—who—who?” he stammers, but it doesn’t really matter, does it?
Fox is only going to kill whoever needs to die.
Wow. I should probably do some belly button staring to figure out where my moral compass went.
Who just stands around waiting for someone to come kill a person?
Me. That’s who. Well, and I guess the lady who’s walking toward me with a dress on a hanger.
She rounds the cash desk and leans up against the wall with me.
The man stares at us, frozen in place until the bell above the door announces Fox’s arrival, then he squeals like a stuck pig and pees himself.
Fox barely glances at him, heading into the back of the store.
I hear two gunshots then a couple of loud thumps, then Fox comes out, not even a little bloody.
He jerks his head at me, and we exit the store to the soundtrack of the man’s whimpers and the woman saying, “Yeah, he’s definitely the perfect Harbinger for Fox.”
Whatever that means.
Fox stops on the sidewalk and does absolutely nothing for a full minute. Well, he breathes, but otherwise doesn’t do anything else. Then he turns to me, studying me again. “You should probably meet Annette,” he decides, offering me his hand.
Like I’d ever disabuse him of the notion our hands should always be linked. I thread our fingers together and follow his lead down the street.
We walk for about half an hour at a leisurely pace.
At the mouth of an alley, he stops again, cocking his head as if listening for something, then a man slinks out from behind a dumpster, gun trained on Fox.
“Santanos requires a face-to-face,” the man says almost quietly enough that I can’t hear him.
Fox squeezes my hand and drops it, walking into the alley toward the man with a gun.
I mean, I’ve seen him get shot at, and I know I can’t be shot, so for a moment I contemplate using my body to protect him, but then I remember that my man has competence in spades, and if he wants me to stand here and do nothing, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
My man gets within a few yards of the dude holding the gun and moves . In microseconds, the gun clatters to the ground behind the Santanos guy and then Fox makes him look at his own ass. Too bad his body can’t keep up. The sound of bones breaking is loud even from where I am on the sidewalk.
Fox looks around as the dude’s body collapses, but not finding anyone else to kill, he returns to me, taking my hand again.
I give him a curious look and make a show of looking behind him.
That’s the second time I’ve heard that particular name before Fox killed someone, and I’d like to know who Santanos is and why he unwisely wants Fox’s attention.
One of Fox’s eyes twitches in annoyance. “It’s something like a gang rivalry.”
I arch a brow at that, almost not believing the utter ridiculousness of that statement.
“Santanos is Annette’s opposite. Annette dispenses justice, Santanos makes justice indispensable.”
Interesting. Maybe I’ll ask Annette a few questions when I meet her. I urge Fox to keep moving, and he leads on without more than a nudge.
Before long we enter a high-rise office building and head up on the elevator to the thirtieth floor. When we step out, we’re met with an opaque glass door with a simple sign that tells us we’re entering the law office of Annette Killian, LLC.
Fox walks in without a pause, leading me to the paralegal’s desk where a nameplate says we’re approaching Annie Mallory.
She greets us with a smile, but it falls off her face as soon as she realizes who we are.
Or rather, who Fox is. “Conference room,” she says without preamble as she picks up her phone.
Fox leads me on, down a hall, and through the open door of a cozy study with a long conference table. The shelves are lined with books, and it smells like cigar smoke and book paper, which immediately relaxes me—who doesn't love the smell of fragrant tobacco and books?
Fox takes a seat on one of the sofas away from the table, and then the man pulls me into his lap.
I like where this is going. Hand-holding and lap-sitting are totally things we should do.
Giving him my happiest smile, I kiss his cheek again, because he should be rewarded when he treats me in the way in which I want to become accustomed.
He suppresses whatever smile I know he wants to give me and squeezes my hip as a woman in a beige suit enters the room and closes the door behind her.
She has strawberry blond hair pinned up in a chignon—yes, my uneducated ass knows that word—and pulls a cigar out of a box and lights it before even acknowledging us.
She pours herself a tumbler of some dark liquor from a crystal decanter and turns toward us, grinning when she sees me on Fox’s lap.
“You must be Romily. Welcome to the family.” The way she says that in a smooth whiskey-and-smoke voice makes me think she doesn’t actually think of her people as family.
She’s not exactly a motherly figure, is she?
Maybe the crazy cool aunt that drops by on holidays with age-inappropriate gifts for her nieces and nephews.
“I’m Annette. You work for Fox. Fox works for me.
I work for a council of pricks with sticks shoved so far up their asses that I’m sure all their food tastes like wood and shit.
The pricks in question keep the universe from imploding, so we put up with them.
Any questions? Fox isn’t the best communicator. ”
I grin, completely in love with this woman. If Fox hadn’t found me first, I’d totally tap that. I elbow my man as I pull out my phone and type out my message to her before offering her my phone.
I’m almost sorry that I already decided to marry Fox. I’d be your sugar baby in a heartbeat. Can I call you Daddy anyway?
Annette snorts and laughs hard. “Oh yes. Please do.”
God, how is it possible to find two soulmates within a week. I find and immediately change the name of her contact info in my phone to “Daddy.”
I’m betting Santanos also works for the council of pricks?
Annette reads my question and hands me back my phone, sitting next to Fox on the sofa and pulling my legs into her lap.
“That’s right. He’s the yang to my yin. Or vice versa.
I’m not into that philosophy shit. We both have jobs to do, and we do them under the direction of the council.
” She takes a long draught of her drink before offering me the tumbler.
I shake my head because I’ve never learned to like the burn of liquor nor the side effects.
Just so I’m clear, Fox kills people that need killing, and Santanos probably is the reason they need killing?
“I do love a newbie with critical thinking skills,” she sighs with a wicked smirk.
“There’s always someone in need of killing.
Not always in the city, though. You’ll have to travel too.
Your papers will be sent to Fox’s home, including your passport.
Those will arrive tomorrow, likely. You’re going to stick it out, I can tell, so Fox is going to take you to get chipped after this.
I’m reducing your trial period. Speak now or forever hold your peace if I’ve read you wrong. ”
I shake my head and mime zipping my lips; obviously I’m not giving this new life up.
Can’t marry Fox if he thinks I’m going to die because of him.
Obviously being married to a murderer comes with some risks; being indestructible makes those risks negligible.
She laughs again and pats my legs before pushing them off her lap and standing. “Send me the invite to your wedding when you get around to it. I’m so there for that spectacle.” She pats Fox’s shoulder with clear affection. “Good job, Fox. He’s definitely a keeper.”
She drains her glass and exits the conference room, which means I should probably get off Fox, but before I do, I wag my brows at him and press my lips to his. I don’t deepen the kiss, but I do linger briefly before pulling back.
Fox’s expression darkens with desire as I meet his gaze after that intimate exchange.
He stares at me without moving until I get to my feet, then he stands, crowding close, and dips down, kissing the corner of my mouth as he entangles our fingers.
“Definitely a keeper,” he murmurs, watching me with covetous eyes.
Holy hotness. I love the way he’s looking at me.
No one ever has ever looked at me like that before, and I didn’t even know what I was missing before now.
Possessive alpha type? Yes, please. Sign this mute boy up!
Damn, I’m the luckiest man alive, and I know it.
I’m going to spend the rest of my life keeping that look in his eyes just to keep feeling like this. Like I’m important. Wanted. Desirable.
Oh, yeah. I’m going to get used to this. Spoil me rotten, Fox, and I’ll spoil you. Even if you have a weird obsession with tables.