Section 5
Probably a Bad Sign
Lucky
One second I’m sitting in a chair that definitely cost more than my motorcycle, thinking okay, don’t fuck this up, Lucky, and the next second eighty pounds of muscle and teeth launches across the room.
Someone yells, “Diablo, sit—”
The aptly named pitbull does not sit.
He charges.
I brace for pain, or a mauling. Or the end.
Instead, I get—slobber. Enthusiastic.
“Oh,” I say reflexively. “Hi.”
The dog snorts, tail going like a helicopter with a death wish.
Behind him, the woman—Gia, Boss Lady, Actual Menace in Heels—goes still.
“That,” she says flatly, “has never happened before.”
“Hey, buddy,” I tell the dog. Like my life doesn’t currently depend on this interaction. “You mind givin’ me a second?”
Diablo ignores me. Climbs halfway into my lap. I don’t stop him because that feels like a bad call.
“He doesn’t listen to anyone,” Gia adds.
I glance at the dog. Then back at her.
“Yeah,” I say. “He’s perfect.”
Her eyebrow twitches.
I look down at Diablo, who has now decided my chest is a great place to stand. “Hey,” I say quietly. “Sit.”
Diablo sits.
I blink.
Gia blinks.
The dog doesn’t blink. He just stares at me, tongue out, eyes bright, proud as hell.
“Well,” I say. “Good boy.”
He immediately flops onto his back and rolls, legs in the air, demanding belly rubs like a Victorian fainting couch is about to be involved.
I snort. “Ah. There it is.”
“For the record,” Gia says slowly, “he’s never done that either.”
I scratch Diablo’s belly because survival instincts are important. He kicks his back leg in pure bliss.
“I think,” I offer, “he just doesn’t respect authority.”
She lets out a short laugh before she can stop herself. Catches it. Narrows her eyes at me like she’s deciding whether to stab me or promote me.
“What’s your name?” she asks.
I look up at her. Helmet’s still on. Visor down.
“Lucky,” I say.
She scoffs. “That’s not a name.”
“It’s what people call me when things go wrong but I don’t die.”
She considers that.
Diablo sighs dramatically and presses his head into my palm like we’re in love now.
“You know,” Gia says, circling me slowly, heels clicking like punctuation, “I don’t hire men I can’t read.”
“That’s fair.”
“And I don’t trust men who hide.”
“Also fair.”
She stops in front of me. Close enough I can smell her perfume—something dangerous and incredibly erotic. Uh oh.
“So tell me, Lucky,” she says softly. “Why shouldn’t I throw you out?”
I look down at Diablo. Then back up at her.
“Because you already know I’m not here to hurt you,” I say. “And because your dog likes me.”
She glances at Diablo, who is now fully upside down, tongue lolling, tail thumping against the floor like it’s signing my contract in Morse code.
“…Traitor,” she mutters.
“I don’t really care who I used to work for,” I say. “I care a lot more about who I won’t. And I’m usually pretty easygoing right up until somebody points me at a problem.”
“You’re insane,” she says after seven billion hours.
“Frequently.”
“Congratulations,” she says, glancing between me and the dog. “You’re hired.”
I grin. Big. Unapologetic.
“Do I take the helmet off now?” I ask.
She pauses, and—holy shit—actually smiles at me. Every single neuron in my body fires at that, making me tingle from helmet to boot. Interesting. Inconvenient.
“No,” she says. “Keep it on. I like mysteries.”
Diablo barks once in approval.
I scratch his belly.
Yeah.
This is gonna end terribly.
And I can’t wait.