Page 8 of Howl for Me
His lips curl slowly, like he just watched a particularly good scene unfold.
“Don’t apologize,” he says. “I like fire. And I think I’ve got just the job for you.”
He turns, beckoning with two fingers. “Come with me. Both of you.”
Johnny groans but gets up anyway, flicking his ash onto a gold ashtray like this is just another Tuesday.
I follow them down the hall, my nerves going haywire. Whatever I just signed up for, I’ve got a feeling it's not what I expected.
But hell, I’ve handled worse. Right?
Chapter Five
Johnny
She’s a little firecracker, and her scent is driving me fucking insane.
Cinnamon and spice, all heat with a hint of sugar. It's just like that attitude she tries to keep under control. Now that Hector is here, she has this cute little act, all wide eyes and innocence, but I see through it. Hell, I smell through it.
I trail behind her to Hector’s office, watching the way her blonde curls bounce with every step. My jaw ticks. I’m not in the mood for Hector’s bullshit today. Not that I ever am.
I’m the star around here; his golden god, his meal ticket, his walking wet dream with a pulse. And thanks to a little soul-binding clause in my contract, I’m his until the day I drop. Which, given my kind, could be a long-ass time. Lucky me.
Cassidy perches on the loveseat like she’s sitting in a damn church pew, spine rigid, hands clenched so tight in her lap I half expect her knuckles to crack. She doesn’t belong here, not in this room, not in this world, and sure as hell not next to me. How she ended up here, I don’t have a clue.
I drop onto the loveseat beside her, sprawling back, arms draped along the top, legs spread just enough to brush against hers. The contact jolts through me, hot and sharp.
We both react at the same time. She jerks forward, scooting to the very edge of the cushion, and I pull back like I’ve been burned.
Good. Let her stay over there. Let there be space between us because, gods damn it, her scent is everywhere.
It’s stronger now, thick in the air between us, warmer, softer, laced with something that worms its way under my skin and settles like a weight in my chest. My lip curls before I can stop it, a reflex, a rejection of the way she’s somehow getting to me.
And she sees it.
Her head snaps toward me, and for a second, all I can see is fire in those eyes. She looks at me like she’d skin me alive if she had the chance and, like she already knows exactly how she’d do it.
Something in her bristles, her scent sharpening, blooming, wrapping tight around my ribs. Then, out of nowhere, it pulls, hard and sudden, like a hook buried deep in my chest.
I grit my teeth and shove the feeling down before it can take root.
Reggie and Teddy waltz in, stoned and grinning, carrying a silver tray like they’re waiters at some cocktail party. They set it on the coffee table; lines of coke neat as stitching, two fat blunts, and a bottle of something dark and expensive sweating at the neck.
Cassidy doesn’t move.
I lean forward, snatch the rolled-up bill, and help myself. “Don’t mind if I do.”
The burn hits sharp, nostrils flaring. Just what I need, a boost of energy, a spike of clarity, my edge sharpened. Hector mumbles something about me being late again, but says he’ll call whatever dame back and we’ll still get the scene done today. He picks up the phone and makes the call.
I glance at Cassidy and offer her the dollar, lifting a brow. “Want a bump?”
She just stares. Big blue eyes, pulse jumping under her throat like a rabbit in a trap. “No, thanks.”
“So, you don’t perform,” Hector says the minute he ends the call, voice slick like motor oil. “But I think I’ve got the perfect job for you.”
Cassidy blinks, posture all polite interest and suspicion. Smart girl to be suspicious of him.
“Would you consider yourself punctual? You know, on time, ready to roll?” He grins. “Are you organized? I see you didn’t touch the tray, so I’m guessing you’ve got your head on straight?”
