Page 54 of My Monster's Keeper
“Am I supposed to care?” I ask coldly.
“Fuck. You,” he grumbles, and I can hear him moving. “Hartley never said you’d be this much of a bitch, Becky.”
“Hartley knew me when I had shit to live for,” I snap back. The phone screeches and Diablos appears in a towel in front of me.
Ew. Ew. Naked Diablos.
I attempt to jerk back, but he grips my arm and yanks me into a puff of smoke. Travelling with Diablos is like falling down a hole when you were sure your next step was solid.
The ground appears with jarring force.
“Do not abandon your human,” Diablos warns darkly, and then he vanishes just as fast.
I retch and stagger away from the spot. “That was foul. So foul. I’m never, ever doing that again.”
It takes a moment for me to recover, but when I do, I fold my arms over my chest and narrow my eyes on the four distinctly unguilty faces in front of me.
“You abandoned me,” I snap.
“You smell like blood,” Puppy says like it’s the most logical thing in the world.
“And receptive to breeding smells,” Wilder adds in a growl.
Oh, you fuckers. The tips of my ears get really hot, and I peer up at the silent Stix.
“And you?”
His lips turn down unhappily. “You are vulnerable.”
I snarl and pull out my phone, quickly placing an order for seven DVDs, a TV, and a laptop. It’s just so lucky I had this list saved as I was going to gift it to the assholes who I used to work with as a joke, not joke, gift.
“What did you just order?” Frost asks.
“The answer to how you're going to remain alive to see the next few days,” I say coldly. I pocket my phone, pull out Frost’s knife, stand up and walk into the house.
“Hello, the house!” I call as loud as I can.
“I like this attack style,” Puppy says from above me.
Wilder reaches for my arm, but I snatch it away from him. A man comes towards me. He doesn’t look like your regular drug addict or alcoholic. In fact, with his muscles bulging and the expensive jewelry, I’d say he’s the supplier.
“Who the fuck are you?” he says, and I notice he’s got a pistol in his hand. His jeans hang low, and I visually check him over for other weapons.
“This is the police. Put your weapon down,” I say in a cold, clear voice.
He laughs. “Nice try, lady. Now, who the fuck are you?”
Well, that answers that question. “What the fuck is going down here?” I ask and walk towards him. He lifts the gun, casually aiming it at my chest.
“You’re going to die. That’s what’s going down here.”
“Lower your weapon,” I warn him.
“Fuck you, lady.”
“I warned you.”
I snort a laugh and throw my knife. It buries itself in his upper shoulder, and I think of fire. I don’t mean to think of fire that strongly, but it just happens.
