Page 48 of Demons and Debts
‘Yeah. Korban won his fight last night.’
‘Oh.’ I chase the final piece of cereal around the milk with my spoon. ‘Does he win a lot of fights?’
Paris nods. ‘Kor is a force of nature,’ he says with a proud grin that makes me think he and Korban are pretty close.
‘We always have a party after,’ he continues, ‘but Vic usually uses the celebration as an excuse to get the full Club together along with our business associates. We usually make some pretty good deals while everyone’s drinking and having a good time.’
Finally capturing my quarry, I find to my disappointment that it’s soggy. I sigh. What a shitty end to my breakfast. I put the bowl in the sink and turn to find him watching me.
‘What?’ I ask.
‘Dunno. I just … I don’t usually talk so much.’
To your food, you mean?
‘Don’t blame me,’ I say, shrugging. ‘I don’t usually have people talking to me so much.’
He frowns. ‘Meet you in the garage in five,’ he says, walking past me slowly.
His fingers brush through the hair of my ponytail and I frown at him, but he’s already gone. Maybe there was a bug, I decide as I run up to my room to grab my jacket. If everything works out with Plan A, I won’t be coming back here.
I go down to the main foyer using the back stairs and going through the kitchen and the hallway past the study, again to stay away from Sie’s room. I hear Vic in his office, the keys of his laptop clicking, and I skirt around the open door, making sure he doesn't see me.
As I stand in the middle of the high-ceilinged entrance hall, I realize I haven’t actually been in the garage yet. If there's a way into it from the house, I don't know it, so I try getting there via the front door.
Outside, rain is threatening, and I consider the murky sky with a long look. Maybe my next move should be to Hawaii. Bet it doesn't rain all the timethere, I think as I make my way to the side of the house.
Turns out, the garage is very easy to find. It’s freaking huge! Three massive doors lead into a cavernous annex; the kind with the black, button rubber flooring you see on TV and in car showrooms. There are a bunch of different kinds of bikes in here.
But not one car.
I frown.
‘How are we getting there?’ I ask Paris who’s fastening a helmet onto his head.
‘On my bike,’ he says slowly like I'm the most moronic human ever.
‘I don’t know how,’ I say, hoping that’ll be the end of it.
He chuckles, giving me a once over. ‘Not by yourself, Babe. You’ll ride with me.’
I try not to bristle, ignoring his condescending, alphahole words because Iknowwomen ride these thingsby themselves.
‘No,’ I say, ‘I mean I can't—’ I swallow hard. ‘I can't go on one of those.’
How do I explain to him without sounding like a fruitcake?
‘How do you think you got here, Sweetheart?’ he smirks.
‘Stop calling me names,’ I order him. ‘That was different.’
‘Names? How was it different?’
‘Yes, names. I wasn't awake.’
‘I’ll call you whatever I feel like, Doll Face. I could knock you out for it. Put you between my legs like I did the other night.’
‘Doll Face?’ I erupt into a peel of laughter. ‘Who are you? Al Capone?’
