Page 15 of Reptile Dysfunction
“Please.” She waves dismissively. “You think I didn’t recognize your writing style? Besides, who else would dare publish the real enforcer stories right under Charles Whitaker’s nose?”
“Are you going to tell him?”
“That my daughter is finally writing the stories that need to be told? No.” She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “But be careful. Not everyone in Harmony Glen is ready for the whole truth.”
“Like Bradley?” The bitterness in my voice surprises even me. “He texted earlier to remind me that ‘stirring up the past’ isn’t good for community morale.”
“Bradley,” Mom says diplomatically, “has all the depth of a parking puddle. Which might be why your father likes him so much.” She snickers. “Though I’m not sure what Charles thinks about his family’s recent business moves.”
“What business moves?”
“The Harrington Development Group has been making strange offers on buildings in the monster district. Way below market value, but with veiled threats about ‘changing regulations’ that might affect monster businesses.”
She rubs her hip. “No one can prove anything, but my physical therapist mentioned his cousin was approached about his bakery.”
“Sounds predatory,” I say, journalist instincts awakening.
“Most things involving the Harringtons are,” Mom replies with unusual candor. Her eyes meet mine, a hint of mischief dancing there that I rarely see. “What? Just because I attend charity functions with them doesn’t mean I’m clueless as to who they really are.”
A laugh erupts unexpectedly at the way she’s talking about the man my dad is foisting on me.
“Mom!”
“What? I’m recovering, not blind.” She shrugs. “Unlike some people who were definitely not watching a certain Gorgon during their Pilates class today.”
“You have spies everywhere, don’t you?”
“Dorothymayhave mentioned something about impressive muscle control.” She starts wheeling toward the door, then pauses. “Just remember, sweetheart—sometimes the best stories are the ones we’re afraid to tell.”
After she leaves, I stare at my laptop screen for a long moment before opening a new document. My fingers hover over the keys, then begin typing:
The truth about monsters isn’t that they’re different from humans. It’s that they’re similar enough to make us question everything we thought we knew about ourselves.
The words flow easier after that, painting a picture of a Gorgon who used fear to protect both humans and monsters, who now teaches children to swim because they don’t flinch at his snake hair, who makes my heart race for reasons that have nothing to do with his intimidation abilities.
At six-fifty, I’m waiting by the gate when the distinctive rumble of his motorcycle approaches. My pulse quickens as he pulls up, tonight’s leather jacket straining across shoulders that are probably still sore from Pilates.
“No notebook tonight?” he asks as I take the spare helmet.
“Not everything needs to be documented.” I swing onto the bike behind him, allowing myself to press closer than strictly necessary. “Sometimes experience is enough.”
I swear I hear a pleased hiss coming from under his helmet, even over the engine noise. “Dangerous philosophy for a journalist.”
“Good thing I have an enforcer to keep me in line.”
The ride to his water tower feels different tonight—charged with possibility rather than professional curiosity. His body is warm against mine despite the cool evening air, and my hands may or may not slide lower on his abs than proper motorcycle safety requires. My pulse drums in time with the bike beneath us, and the scent of leather and something distinctly Thaddeus curls into my brain like smoke—dangerous, distracting, delicious.
Once inside, he heads straight for the bourbon. “Bourbon?”
“Yes, rough day. Pilates was brutal.” I accept the glass he offers. “Someone’s core needed extra attention.” OMG, that was so full of double meanings!
His snakes actually bristle. “Pretty sure someone was showing off with those impossible positions.”
“Says the man who used his intimidation powers to scare off Mrs. Blake when she tried to correct his form.”
“I did not.” He takes a long swallow of bourbon, but his snakes reveal a lot because they’re looking everywhere but at me. “She just suddenly remembered an important appointment.”
“During class?”
