Page 55 of Graveyards & Greed

Fenn rolled his eyes. “You need to figure out who’s behind these attacks andend them. Don’t you wonder why Eightball would target a fifteen-year-old whose family works for the Spades? Or why your men tried to burn the funeral home down? You need to find out who’s using you before it’s too late.”

We could hear angry voices in the background, and he growled at us like a junkyard dog and then hung up.

“I already told you, I'm not leaving.” My hands were planted firmly on my hips as Drakos loomed over me in the apartment kitchen. We’d been arguing for a while. He wanted me to move back to his loft, and I was secretly tempted. The week I’d spent there had been so good, but I was scared of getting too used to it, and someone was gunning for the Spade family and the mortuary. I couldn’t just leave it unprotected to go live with Drakos. But God help me, I wanted to.

He'd shown up at my apartment after work to spell Milo off, and had been trying to persuade me to go back to his loft ever since. “Listen to me, it’s too dangerous for you to be here by yourself.”

“The mortuary isn’t just my job, it’s my home. It’s part of who I am,” I shot back, thumping my chest. “And I can handle a few stupid bikers.”

His nostrils flared. “You sent their burned-out bikes back on a flatbed trailer for the whole fucking City to see. It’s the same as waving a red flag at a charging bull. Are youtryingto make yourself a target?”

My gaze slid away guiltily. “I’m trying to get them to figure out who’s responsible.”

“By antagonizing and embarrassing them? Goddamn it, you need to quit stirring shit up.”

“I’m not,” I lied.

He ran his hand through his hair. “Yes, you are. It’s not the lying that bothers me, it’s you insulting my intelligence. Alright, then I’m moving in withyou.”

“It’s hard to insult something that doesn’t exist.” He folded his arms and raised his eyebrow, not stooping to take the bait.

I hunched my shoulders sheepishly. “Okay,thatwas a lie. Fine, you can stay in Luna’s old room. I need to get back to work.” I stomped back to the funeral home, annoyed that he’d called me a liar, even if he was right.

Still fuming, I entered the walk-in refrigerator in the prep room, the sterile chill wrapped around me like a morbid hug. The body on the gurney today was a single, middle-aged man who worked as a health insurance adjuster until he’d dropped dead from a brain aneurysm. He wasn’t an organ donor either. I wondered idly if Karma was evening the odds a little with this guy.

I yanked on my protective clothing, starting with my glittery pink rubber boots. They were a stark contrast to the industrial workroom and my steel worktable, and I loved them.

Hot frustration ran through me as I replayed our argument. Flashes of Drakos’s gorgeous, smirking face and the way his ass looked in those expensive suit pants also went through my mind. My pussy clenched and I growled in annoyance.

Snapping on my gloves with more force than necessary, I picked up my engraved scalpel when the door slammed open. Drakos’s presence filled the space and raised my temperature. He halted in front of me, his piercing blue eyes locked on mine, and then traveled down to where my glittery pink boots peeked out from under the plastic apron.

“What are you doing?” I hissed. “You aren’t licensed to be in here.” I glanced around as if a State regulator was going to jump out and catch us.

He smirked. “Somehow, I can’t work up a single fuck.”

I pointed the scalpel at him. “Come any closer, and I’ll help you work up a fuck.”

He slowly grinned. “Challenge accepted. I wasn’t done with our argument, and now I just want to fuck you in those sparkly pink boots.”

“God dammit, Lucifer. Go. Away.”

His gaze swept over me and lingered on my boots again. His hand snaked out, and he grabbed the scalpel out of my hand. “Careful,” I yelped. “It’s sharp!”

He smiled slowly as he hooked onto my apron ties, pulling me to him.

I reached up and grabbed his arms. “What are you doing?”

“Kissing you.” He buried his lips against my neck, then licked and bit my collarbone.

“There’s a dead body in the room,” I gasped.

“You taste so good,” he growled.

I turned my head to give him better access to my throat.

He spun me around and pushed my front up against the wall, his breath hot on my neck. “Put your hands on the wall and bend over,” he commanded, his tone harsh with need. Without realizing what I was doing, I placed my hands against the cold, sterile wall and bent over.

“I’m going to make you scream loud enough to wake the fucking dead." He slowly ran his hands around my ribcage to cup my swollen breasts.

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