Chapter Ten
Ten
Margot
Showered, made-up, and dreading the fact that I’m about to be surrounded by people for the next ten hours, I walk out of the bathroom the morning of the convention to find Caine holding Gremlin up to the dresser mirror.
“Look, that’s you. See how cute you are?”
I clear my throat. “Morning affirmations?”
“We’re building her self-esteem.” He gives me a serious look. “I feel like she could work on being more confident.”
“The last time she went to the vet, she tried to pick a fight with a Doberman. She could work on being less of a twat.”
Caine cradles her to his chest with one hand, covering her ears with the other. “That’s no way to talk about her.”
“She gets it from me, I’m allowed to say it,” I deadpan. Gremlin grunts. “See? She knows what we are.”
Shaking his head, he turns from me, but not before I see the smile he’s trying to hide.
I’m fighting back my own. The rattlesnake on Claire and Shane’s door feels far away.
Considering the circumstances, I’m not sure I should feel this calm.
Or horny. I woke up on top of the pillow barrier—thankfully Caine was still sleeping—which is exactly why I built it.
My subconscious is completely untrustworthy.
That Caine decided to drop a bomb on me right before she took the wheel definitely didn’t help things.
I’d love to take you out.
It sounds so wholesome. Meanwhile, I’d love to lick every single one of his tattoos.
But, like a coward, I froze. I didn’t know how to respond, so I pretended to be asleep. This may be a new low. Excluding the whole Nicholas-through-the-window situation.
Why didn’t I admit that I’m very interested in a sexual relationship, but skittish about the emotions part? Now I’m going to have to bring the conversation up again myself.
· · ·
People are milling everywhere at the convention center, hurrying to finish setting up booths and exhibits.
The chaos makes my head spin. Though the doors haven’t opened to the public yet, there are people wandering around, some wearing elaborate costumes of classic horror characters, others with incredible tattoos, and some with both.
As we pass booths, a surprising number of people look at us.
Well, they look at Caine. I’m easily the most boring person in the room.
You can’t go wrong with all black, so that’s what I did.
Jeans, Docs, and a volunteer T-shirt from the Abattoir that I cropped a few inches off.
Very basic. While I would happily look at Caine all day, he isn’t wearing anything that eye-catching either.
Just his usual uniform of jeans, black T-shirt, and motorcycle boots—though he did throw a flannel on top.
He’s wheeling what looks like a futuristic suitcase behind him holding his equipment, but it’s far from noticeable.
Still, heads swivel toward him as we pass.
Even though they’re looking at him, not me, I feel too exposed.
It’s a bit like when I was married to Nicholas, that crawling sensation of being perceived when I would rather blend into the wallpaper.
I amuse myself by imagining how mercilessly I can tease Caine if someone asks for his autograph.
Before that can happen, we reach a mostly empty double booth.
There’s a tall woman with a bleached blonde undercut studying an invoice.
I recognize her immediately. It’s Bee, from the first year I helped at the haunt.
A stack of narrow cardboard boxes rest in front of her, and there’s drapery on the ground as well as two tables on their sides.
As we move closer, it’s clear she’s displeased, and once we’re next to her, I can see why.
One of the boxes is…leaking. Or maybe it was leaked on.
Either way, it’s soggy, the cardboard looking about as sturdy as a milk-soaked cornflake.
“How’s it going, Bee?” Caine asks, as if we aren’t watching a puddle form beneath the box.
“Wet.” She deadpans, then looks up from the invoice and sees me. “I know you. Margot, right?”
“Hi.” I wave and immediately regret the awkward movement. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“I forgot you two have met.” Caine kneels to examine the box.
Bee and I watch Caine sniff the substance, his face dangerously close. In near unison, we snap at him, “Don’t taste it.”
“I wasn’t going to.” The petulance in his voice means he definitely was. Sitting back on his heels, he gives us an innocent look. “Good lord, I’m not sure I’m prepared to be babysat by both of you today.”
“I think it will take both of us to keep you out of trouble.” Bee smiles at me. “How’d you get roped into this? I figured he’d drag Trevor along.”
I’m not sure who Trevor is, but saying Caine won’t let me out of his sight because my ex-husband left me a snake isn’t going to clarify things, so I smile and do a little half shrug. “Just lucky, I guess.”
Eager to change the subject, I survey the convention hall. “This place is massive. Caine said it’s a big event?”
She nods. “Major.”
It’s my turn to nod as I scramble for something to contribute to the conversation.
Caine saves me. “Looks like I’m going to have to hunt down my”—he gestures to the empty side of the double booth space—“everything.” Looking at the invoice, he says, “You’re missing boxes too, aren’t you?”
“Five by my count.” Sighing, she nods at the space around us.
“This is what I get for doing a Crendon Center event. I went down to the help desk earlier and it was a nightmare. So many people in front of me that I had to give up and come back here to have any chance of finishing the booth setup in time.” With a What can you do?
hand wave, she adds, “They shut the lights off on us last night during setup. Only gave us an hour, and it took nearly that long to figure out where the last event had put the tables.”
“They’re notorious for dropping the ball,” Caine offers for my benefit.
To Bee, he says, “I’ll see about our shit.” He checks his watch. “We’ve still got time. Doors won’t open for a while yet.”
“That would be amazing, thank you.” She’s looking around the mostly unprepared booth.
“Can I help set up what’s here?” I offer.
“Yes, please.” Her voice is warm. “Hanging the drapery will definitely take another set of hands.”
“All right, I’m going.” Caine arches an eyebrow at Bee, tilting his head toward me. “Keep an eye on this one.”
Catching my eye, he winks. “Behave, trouble.”
Heat surges through me, catching me off guard. I force a laugh, but it comes out too high.
A wave over his shoulder, then he’s gone.
I look at the tables and drapery. “Put me to work?”
Bee grins. “Absolutely.”
I don’t know if it takes Caine forever, or if we’re fantastic at setting up booths, but Bee and I are done before he gets back.
While Caine was gone, I discovered that she does erotic photography.
It reminds me of boudoir photography, but with an edge.
While some of Bee’s work shows individuals in the expected sensual bedroom poses, most of it is…
scarier. Knives feature in several scenes, as do masks and fake (I think) blood.
There’s a bondage scene in what looks like a run-down building, a close-up of a tongue licking a knife, all kinds of sexy, dark imagery.
The one my gaze keeps returning to depicts a dark-haired woman.
She stands in a dimly lit forest, early morning mist clinging to her as delicately as the thin, light blue negligee she wears.
Her arms are extended from her body, each bound to a tree.
Chin up, eyes defiant, she gazes at a man waiting alongside one of the trees.
In one of his hands is a long, slightly curved blade.
He’s fully clothed; she’s nearly naked. His face is concealed with an iteration of a Scream mask; her heart is all over hers.
Fear. Desire. Rage. Delight. Caught in the instant where juxtaposing emotions collide, she’s radiant.
The man with the knife agrees, he’d likely call it an understatement.
It shows in the lean of his upper body toward her, the set of his feet, his grip on the knife.
I don’t need to see his face to know he’s smiling.
Not a leer, but a there you are smile. The kind of smile that feels like the first breath above water.
I rip my eyes away from it when I hear the squeak of wheels stop in front of the booth. There’s a low whistle, then Caine’s voice. “Looking good.”
Bee looks up from the portfolios she’s arranging on one of the tables. “Oh, our stuff wasn’t lost after all.”
“Lucky us.” Caine stretches against the cart’s rails, forearms flexing. “I think you planned this to make me cart everything myself.”
We help him unload Bee’s missing boxes, along with a plush chair-slash-table situation and a small, wheeled stool.
As we inspect the boxes, it’s nice to see that none are covered in whatever spilled on the other one.
It’s almost time for the doors to open. Bee and I hurriedly unpack the boxes Caine brought while he sets up his tattooing station.