Page 53 of Executing Malice
Last thing I need is for him to storm back in and do it all over again. I definitely don’t have the energy for that.
“Want me to bring you some of my herbal tea with honey? I swear, it clears up everything,” Daisy offers.
I shake my head, knowing full well no tea on earth is going to solve my problem ... unless it’s laced with poison.
“It’ll be over tomorrow,” I say, wishful thinking out loud.
Daisy clicks her tongue sympathetically. “I’m so sorry.”
I wave the kindness aside, accepting that I brought this on myself. “What can I help you with?”
Her concerned frown melts a margin into a brilliant smile as she slides a slip of folded paper across the counter.
“I did what you said. I went to Maisie’s and happened to bump into Peggy Sue.”
My own lips twitch. Literally. Probably looks like a grimace as I try to breathe through the subtle hum coursing through my entire being.
“What a coincidence.”
Her grin flicks up a notch, turning mischievous. “Right? We love a good coincidence. But I asked about my booth at the carnival ... sorry, festival, and she gave me one. So, I’m here to submit my deposit.”
My eyes narrow, all good humor vanishing. “Which booth?”
Because last I deposited all the checks, all the booths were accounted for.
Daisy purses her lips and digs into her purse for a frayed and tattered notepad. “Booth twenty-eight?”
I groan inwardly, but smile up at her, unable to break her heart by telling her it’s the shittiest booth at the festival. Practically ostracized to the very far end of the fairgrounds where literally no one even bothers going.
Fucking Peggy Sue.
“That’s really great,” I say.
Daisy gives an excited little squeal and bounces on the balls of her feet. “I’m so ... I can’t wait.”
Her radiant smile only adds fuel to my annoyance. To my already ragged patience. I know there is nothing I can do to help her, but ... goddamn it. What a shitty thing to do to a person.
Still, grudgingly, I take her deposit and add it to the other funds allocated for the festival under the City Hall account. I hand her the slip and promise her I would come visit.
What I don’t tell her is that I will also tell every client that comes through the door that she has a booth and where to find it. It may not do anything, but I’m not going to let her sit in some corner booth alone thinking no one wants to see her stuff.
Peggy Sue can go dry hump sandpaper.
The final leg of my shift ends with the slowest torture. It stretches every minute into hours until I’m ready to sayfuck itand leave. When six finally arrives, I already have everything turned off. The bank hums in the eerie darkness as I stomp across the marble to the doors. My keys jingle, sounding angry even to my own ears as I latch up and turn.
I spot him immediately.
Parked at the curb like some leather clad reaper straddling a rumbling, black beast. The helmet makes him look inhuman, like he’s not a man, but something darker. Hungrier. One hand is draped over the throttle. The other holds up a spare helmet. A smaller version to his. He grips it around the edges like he already knows I’m going to take it.
I’m not.
Fuck him.
“No.”
The helmet doesn’t lower.
“Get on, Leila,” he says, voice thick with warning and distorted by the visor and distance.
