Chapter 14
fourteen
. . .
In my bedroom, Kit is rifling through my underwear drawer. “Are you trying to embarrass me to death? Just pick a pair.” My hands cover my eyes, fingers slightly separated so I can peek through.
He’s holding his tongue between his teeth.
“I need a pair that will look good under…aha!” He pulls out a black, lacy thong and waves it in the air like a prize.
I don’t think I have ever worn those. I had purchased them for a special occasion that did not end up happening after my latest ex (the one with the dog) and I broke up.
Kit tosses them onto the bed next to the black lacy bra.
He has purposely found the sexiest underwear I own.
Just like a man to put sex appeal over comfort.
He next pulls out a cropped long-sleeve black T-shirt I have, tossing that to the bed as well. Then he moves to the closet and grabs the final piece of the ensemble he’s putting together and—
“Where did you find that?!” I screech.
He’s found the black, leather mini-skirt. Of course, he did.
He cackles. “In the bottom of your closet, you sneaky minx. I knew you had something short. You are going to look incredibly sexy in this.”
“How about we don’t concern ourselves with how ‘sexy’ I look?”
“Impossible.”
He flips off the light with an overly dramatic flourish and disrobes. Then he truly is trying to torture me, because he begins to narrate his actions. “I’m drawing the panties up your smooth legs, securing them into place—”
“Kit…” I warn.
He ignores me. “I’m putting on the bra. God, your boobs really are perfect, aren’t they? I’m not touching, but even putting them in your bra…”
“Kit,” I snap.
“Moving on to the shirt. Pulling that on. And now the skirt. Pulling it up your legs and over your equally perfect ass. Zipper zipped and…” He flips the light back on. “Done.”
I sigh. Well, damn. I do look good. My legs do not appear aggressively pale and stubby like I figure they will when I wear short skirts without tights, but rather long and smooth.
And the skirt pairs well with the cropped long-sleeve tee, which is hugging my body, leaving a small sliver of my skin exposed between the top of the skirt and the bottom of the shirt.
Apparently, Kit agrees. “Fuck,” he breathes. He licks his lips, gazing at me in a way I can only describe as hungry. “If I had my own body…” he mutters more to himself than me. “Lacy, the things I could do for you.”
My face is flaming both on the outside and inside. “Well, you don’t and you’re a demon. So.”
“So.” He swallows then shakes his head like he’s shaking himself out of a trance. “Sorry. Have not had sex since before I died. I’m forgetting myself.”
My eyebrows lift. “Really? Not even as a demon?”
“Well, I’m in someone else’s body, so no.”
“Oh. But at the club, with the bartender…?”
“I wasn’t being serious. Even if you were okay with it, it’s impossible to sufficiently explain the situation to the third person for full consent.” He clears his throat. “We have a meeting to get to.”
Okay. That was weird. Was that weird? Yes.
Okay. I know that was weird. Why are Kit and I talking about sex like that?
Like it’s something we would ever do together.
It wouldn’t even be something that was in the realm of possibility.
It’s not that I’m above hate sex, but…even if he did have a body that was all his own, he is still an evil, soulless being.
One who possessed me and is currently holding me hostage, mind you.
It’s easy to forget oneself when forced to spend time with someone in overwhelmingly close proximity.
And Kit happens to be rather easy to talk to, even if we have spent most of our time discussing demons and Hell.
I must be experiencing a form of Stockholm syndrome, because while I’m dying for control of my body again, I may miss him when he’s gone.
Stop. No, I will not miss him. It’ll be good riddance.
If I’m right about Matthias knowing I’m possessed…I hope he finds some way to help me soon.
Kit decides to steal another car from the grocery store parking lot. This time, it’s a crappy old red Pontiac.
“Come on, man,” I groan. “You’re actively ruining someone’s night.”
“Ah, but I’m making my night better, and I think I matter the most in this scenario.” Kit hotwires the car, without shocking us, before revving the engine and driving off. “Also,” he adds once we’re off, “if your car gets spotted where we’re going, it would not be great.”
I stiffen. That’s alarming. “What are we doing?”
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
I fully do not agree with that statement, but there is no point in arguing with him.
Kit takes an exit off the highway and drives until we stop at the back of a dimly lit alleyway.
He gets out of the car and struts until he reaches the dumpsters under a blinking light attached to a building.
He leans back against the dumpster as we wait.
I drum my fingers against the ledge of the window, anticipating what will happen.
Eventually, two large black SUVs pull into the alleyway from the other direction. They park but keep their headlights on to better light the space.
Kit pushes off from the dumpster and takes a few steps toward the cars, placing his hands on his hips.
Four large, beefy men get out of the cars. Oh god. He’s about to get me killed. Or worse. I take deep breaths in an attempt to keep both myself and my body calm. Kit will not be happy if I cause him to hyperventilate again.
“We’re okay,” he murmurs in my void, his voice soothing my nerves. “I won’t let you get hurt.”
Three of the four men are carrying black duffel bags. The biggest and the beefiest steps right in front of Kit, glaring down and eyeing him suspiciously.
“Have the payment, little girl?”
Kit rolls his eyes. “Oh, please.” He pulls a wad of cash out from his boot.
I can’t help asking, “Where did you even get that?”
“Shush,” he hisses in the void.
The man reaches for the cash, but Kit snatches it back and says, “Uh-uh. Not until I see it. Do you have what I’m paying for?”
The three men behind the one he’s speaking to lift the duffel bags up as though that is proof enough.
“Let me check the bags.”
The three men stand there motionless until big-and-beefy gives them a brief nod. One by one, they step forward, flashing Kit a glance inside their bags. In one bag is an assortment of wooden masks, another bag has a bunch of crystals, but I can’t see what’s in the third bag. It appears empty.
However, Kit seems satisfied. He hands over the cash then takes the three duffel bags from the men with a grunt. “Pleasure doing business with you,” he says with a little wave in their direction.
We watch them drive off before Kit heads back to the car. He hotwires it again to get the engine going then drives back off into the night.
I figure we’re heading home—it’s already eleven p.m.—but he drives past my exit. Again, I don’t know why I’m surprised. He doesn’t need to sleep unless he’s blackout drunk.
He keeps driving until we are far out of town. We drive down backroads in the middle of nowhere until he pulls off into what comes across as an abandoned warehouse. He parks and strolls into the warehouse through a crooked metal door. It’s empty inside as well. That is, until he is three steps in.
I intake sharply as the scene before me shifts—the once quiet, empty space transforming into one that is crowded and loud.
There are people and…and things everywhere.
Beings roam rows upon rows of booths and tables.
Some look human, others humanoid, others…
not so much. People are selling and buying items, sampling and offering food.
This is a market. A supernatural market.
As Kit makes his way toward an empty table near the center of the room, I ask in wonderment, “What is this place?”
Kit shuffles behind the table and smooths out the wine-red tablecloth spread on it. “The Black Market.”
“The Black Market?” I repeat skeptically. “The Black Market isn’t a physical place.”
He drops the three duffel bags on the table. “Not always. This is a pop-up.” He opens the bag of crystals first and begins to remove them one by one, lining them up on display and organizing them by type.
The supernatural world has a pop-up Black Market. What’s next? Vegetarian vampires?
Once the crystal bag is empty, he moves on to the one with the wooden masks. Looking at them makes me uncomfortable, like there’s something wrong with them.
“These masks aren’t cursed, are they?” I ask warily.
Kit chooses not to answer, which means, Yes.
Once the masks are lined up on the table, Kit moves on to the bag I thought was empty. He reaches inside and removes…nothing?
“Ball of energy,” Kit explains before I can ask.
“Invisible to the human eye, but I can see swirling blue light moving around in thick streams.” He sets it down gently.
“It’s stolen from an energy demon. Nasty suckers.
They like to take people to whatever location they consider home and then fatally electrocute them. Cruel and unusual.”
My nose wrinkles. “You sound like you admire them.”
“I admire the dedication to a bit.” Kit shoves the duffel bags under the table then takes a seat and surveys the crowd.
“So,” I clarify, “we’re selling illegal, mystical contraband?”
“Yes, indeed.”
“Well, I suppose this is a more interesting crime than shoplifting and vandalism.”
He chuckles. “I didn’t know you were ranking my crimes. I can do worse, if that would make you happy.”
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
“Whatever you want, babe.”