Chapter Seven
Cottonmouth
The problem was he said it as a joke. Callum had been kidding when he asked for a kiss because he knew it got under her skin.
Then she squirmed. And fuck do I like the squirming.
He shouldn’t have kissed her because it was the best thing he’d tasted in years.
Scooping up her head by that wild mane of hers, feeling it fall between his fingers, he kissed her hard.
His cocks swelled deep in their pocket and his belly twisted up in excitement as her fingernails scraped against his skin.
Dragging her away from that wall, he almost hoisted her up and onto his body.
Which was a worse idea. If he wrapped those plump thighs around his waist, his cocks would spring out of their pocket, and well, he’d have one of them in her within a moment.
That’s how good it was. Like a sharp scratch down his untouched spine, it was a primal, deep in the tissue, oh that’s good, shiver-inducing feeling that made him want to sink his fangs in.
He swallowed her sounds like the glutton he was then pulled back before he could fuck her mouth with his tongue like he wanted.
Callum wanted it. Her. The feeling. All of it; he wanted it all really bad but he denied himself for one key reason—she was his scapegoat. If he wanted out, and by the fucking gods he did, he couldn’t let himself get distracted.
Avelina was a might fine distraction.
He pulled back from her lips, purposely letting her drop to the floor like a heap of dirty laundry.
She stared up at him with those big, doll eyes and puffy lips.
A might fine, delicious distraction. Callum nodded at the large, rusty trunk in the corner of the washroom.
“Clean up; there’s clean clothes in the trunk for you.
Don’t take too long, we’ve got shit to do. ”
Leaving her in there, he closed the door behind him and took a deep breath.
Out from the corner of the living room, Grahm poked his head out.
A curious turtle inspecting if the way was clear before he waddled further into the abode with his breakfast in tow.
He carried a tinfoil roll filled to the brim with spiced meat, beans, rice, all wrapped up in a thin bread.
The garlic was overpowering, but one must cover up the taste when the quality is lesser.
And nothing in Gloomsdale was superb, especially not the food.
“Boss.” Grahm lilted his head to the side as Callum met him closer to the bedroom. The breakfast muncher followed him in, audacity and all, into the room while Callum found a clean-ish shirt, his leather belts, and his hat. “How did you know all that stuff ‘bout her?”
“Ya don’t get to be where I am without knowin’ people, Grahm.” Callum plucked a hunk of meat out of Grahm’s breakfast with the tips of his claws. If the befuddled man cared, he didn’t make it known.
“Fair,” Grahm hummed, nodding for a minute before asking again. “But how’d you guess about that last one? Ya can’t look at nobody and know that about ‘em? Can you?”
Callum rolled his eyes and let out a sigh. “That duffle bag you found on the train? The one you brought back here that didn’t have a drop of blood on it?”
“Yeah?” Grahm took a huge bite into his breakfast. Munching and crunching like it wasn’t the most grating thing in the world, but Callum very well couldn’t gut every jackwagon that didn’t chew quietly…he’d have no one to do his bidding.
“That was hers,” Callum answered, crossing his arms.
Grahm swallowed hard, then huffed, “You psychic, boss?”
“No! Ya idiot!” Callum slapped Grahm upside the head.
“Think about it? Girl says that our boys boarded the train, started stabbin’ people.
She cracks when her daddy gets stabbed, so she rips one of ‘em asunder. Then she walks out into the rest of the train, tearin’ and rippin’ and blastin’ folks till there’s nothin’ left.
You said that train was a blood bath. Body parts everywhere.
Nothing but this one little spot, likely where her big ass daddy fell and blocked all the blood. ”
Grahm stared at him, open mouthed in amazement. Callum stole the rest of his breakfast sandwich. Which wasn’t much, two bites, but it was payment enough. Grahm rolled up his tinfoil with a, “huh”, and shuffled back out into the foyer.
“But how’d ya know about the books?” Grahm lowered his voice, whirling around to face his boss.
Callum stopped by the door, pulling the book he’d left on top of his dresser for later, and showed it.
Last night, after Avelina finally fell asleep and the boys returned, he told them the plan.
They were going for the vault. A Paladin gold storage on the edge of the Stronghold.
It was a risky move, so it would be important to do it in steps.
Step one was casing the joint, what they were off to do today.
Step two and three revolved getting his crew to take random jobs out from other people’s hands, making a ruckus.
They thought it was to help frame one of the other outlaws for the crime.
It was really to help cover his tracks when he gave his big reveal.
However, in that time, Grahm made it back and allowed him to drift off the plan into a ‘to be continued’ conversation.
That really fired up the crew. They were excited to say the least. Hitting the vault meant major payday!
And the perfect cover for the death of Cottonmouth.
Though, that was on a need-to-know basis, and none of those fools need to know.
Thus, he dug through the things Grahm brought back.
Including one duffle, property of Avelina Dalethorn.
There wasn’t much other than clothing that lacked excitement or color, a sad little lantern, new boots, and a romance novel.
It was bursting at the seams with annotations.
Holding that book up, he waggled it a little, showing off the loved pages. “Had an inklin’.”
He put the book back, following Grahm into the living area.
Callum sat on his large, wooden bench while Rat climbed out from underneath the dwelling.
Rat lived in a boat that docked directly underneath Callum’s cabin.
He had a special relationship with the water, able to bend it to his will.
It allowed him to skitter atop it with his rickety boat at top speeds.
That made him perfect for being Callum’s runner.
“Howdy, boss.” Rat knocked the trap door back into place before his wet feet squelched the whole way up to Callum. He handed over a rolled-up parchment then twisted to hold up a poster to Grahm. “Look!”
Callum and Grahm watched with bemusement as he proudly hoisted a wanted poster. Name: Rascal Rat. Wanted for armed robbery, grand theft larceny, and other crimes. Dead or Alive, 300 gold.
“Yer movin’ on up!” Grahm chortled as he slumped down into a chair. “Got yerself a poster and everythin’. Almost worth it to turn yerself in.”
“I know right?!” Rat cackled, turning to marvel at his own poster. Callum snorted but said nothing. He wasn’t one to condemn a kid for having dreams. Once upon a time, he too was proud to find his first wanted poster. Granted, his crimes had been far heftier than theft.
Callum shifted his focus to the parchment.
He unrolled it, scanned the contents, then barked out a laugh.
The paper rolled up with a snap as he howled.
Grahm and Rat eyed him with interest. Callum unrolled it again, reading aloud.
“Callum. What is this horseshit I hear about you hittin’ the train?
I know you know I called dibs, fucker. Keep it up and I’ll run you through with a stick and have fricassee snake for dinner. Daggertooth.”
“That’s not how you make fricassee,” a soft, hollow voice pulled all three of the cackling men’s attention to the bathroom door.
Callum immediately grinned, seeing his little viper in something far more befitting company.
A black cotton blouse under a thick leather belt and heavy skirt, but she used the loops on her belt to keep it hoisted so that she walked easier.
She wore those new boots of hers and rolled up her sleeves.
While she was far too clean to be from Gloomsdale, she looked better than how he found her.
“What’s that, darlin?” he teased.
“Fricassee, it’s a cooking style. Like stew made with pieces of meat that have been browned in butter, then served in a sauce flavored with the cooking stock.
You wouldn’t use sticks for that. He probably means kebob.
But kebob’s hard to make into a threatening noun.
” Avelina stepped further into the room, hands on her hips.
“Yeah! I mean,” Rat chortled, pulling out his dagger and pointing it at Grahm. “I’ll Kebob ya! See, not menacin’ enough!”
Grahm scoffed, putting a fingertip to the edge of the youngin’s blade and pushed him back across the floor. “I’d break that toothpick before you got a toe on it.”
“Bah! Wanna bet?” Rat splashed about in the puddle he’d made on the floor. While the two batted at each other, knocking chairs apart as they wrestled, Callum’s attention was on the woman staring him down. He arched an inquisitive brow and she stepped closer.
“Who is Callum?”
“Me?” He huffed, tossing the paper off to the side.
“Your names not Cottonmouth?” she blurted out with wide eyes.
“Bwahahahaha! She thought! She thought yer momma—AH! HAHAHA! She thought yer momma named ya Cottonmouth?” Grahm and Rat wheezed in muddled unison.
The pair hit the floor, laughing and stomping their feet.
Damn near pissed themselves, they were so tickled, swiping away tears in their eyes.
Avelina gave them both nasty glares but was unable to sway their giggles until Callum thumped his tail.
The pair launched themselves off the floor and scrambled out of the room, onto the porch, as if to avoid getting smacked. A learned habit.
“Well, guess I know something about you,” she murmured under her breath.
“Careful,” he warned playfully. Her eyes darted from the floor where the pair of hooting and hollering fools once lay, to his face.
There was a steel edge to her gaze. Could this be a spine yer growin’, little viper?
He rose up onto his belly scales, looming close to her.
She didn’t puff up or challenge him, but she didn’t back down.
What wonders a good night’s rest will do to a gal.
“Knowin’ me well is a death sentence. Now, are ya ready? We’re burnin’ daylight.”
“What are we doing?” Avelina furrowed her brows.
“We’re gonna go rob the Parandor Vault.”
“What!” she shrieked, but he was already slithering toward the door. Avelina was forced to follow him out into the muggy, unforgiving morning light.