Page 3 of Zalis
Gemma disconnected the call and eyed the darkened alley. Yup, still filled with bad news. If she hurried, she could catch up with Clarissa.
And then what? Confess that the consequences of her actions were lurking at her doorstep, and could she crash on her couch?
Clarissa would say yes, no questions asked, but it was Sunday night. The bakery was closed on Mondays. Gemma wouldn’t be able to slip away before dawn for work and instead would have no excuse not to suffer through breakfast with Clarissa, her husband, and their infant. The husband was perfectly nice, and the baby was Gemma’s favorite person, but they were all too twee and saccharine for Gemma’s delicate stomach first thing inthe morning. Clarissa never had to worry about the draft, and the inevitable conversation would pop up about why Gemma hadn’t settled down yet.
Even if Clarissa and her husband were too polite to say it, they’d think it. How could Gemma explain that she was too much of a hot mess to settle down? There was too much to unpack, and she’d question all her life choices, and all of that was a little too much to tackle before coffee.
Emry never made Gemma question herself about being a hot mess, considering that she was her own particular dumpster fire, too.
The baby really had no opinions at this point.
Worse, even if Gemma did suffer the indignity of sleeping on Clarissa’s couch and eating breakfast with a happy family, the root problem would still be lurking at her doorstep. Figuratively. The lurker wouldn’t hang around all night, obviously. They had a busy schedule being a scourge on society and whatnot, but they’d be back.
She was only delaying the inevitable.
Gemma took a steadying breath. She had to handle this herself. Big girl panties time. No more delays.
The darkness behind the bakery seemed darker because the security lights were out. Gemma knew the reason, but it felt ominous. Emry had always been on her case to get them fixed, but it never felt like a priority.
It felt like a priority now.
“Hello? Who’s there?” she asked, the question echoing in the silence.
Act confident. Lowlifes can smell fear.
Gemma squared her shoulders and tried again. “Bit late for a caller. Whaddaya want?”
“You’re late.” A match flared to life, smelling sharply of sulfur, and illuminated Barney’s unwelcome face. He took a drag of the cigarette before speaking. “I don’t like waiting.”
Well, there were a lot of things she didn’t like. Rather than make them someone else’s problem, she said, “Those things will kill you.”
“That right, cupcake?”
She prickled at the mockery in his tone. She was a pastry chef, a vocation that took precision and artistry which no one seemed to appreciate. Plus, she slung around massive bags of flour like they were nothing. She had a proper gun show going on. “I paid my debt, and you’re not getting a penny more in blackmail, so you can?—”
“So I can what? Gonna tell me to fuck off?”
Well, yes, but now she had doubts about the viability of that plan.
Confidence. Don’t back down.
“Basically,” she said, doing her best to keep her voice steady.
Barney chuckled. The lowlife had the nerve to lurk at her door in the dark, clearly up to no good, and laugh at her.
Gemma broke. She didn’t know how else to describe it. All sense of self-preservation fled her body. This minion, and more specifically the buffoon he worked for, had gotten his money from Gemma, but it wasn’t good enough. They pushed andpushed until Emry had to take a high-paying job off-planet to pay them off. Now Gemma was alone, andthey were back.
“You greedy bastard,” she spat. “I’m not paying you or your boss one red cent more, so yeah, you can go fuck off. Darken someone else’s door. And don’t you dare threaten to report me to the feds. What are they going to do? Fine me? Jail me? A year’s vacation in federal prison sounds pretty good right now. Oh, and Iwillsnitch. I have the receipts, and I will turn everything over in a heartbeat. I’m a small fish compared to an organization that can hack the alien bride database. I will snitch so hard I’ll change the name of the bakery to Snitches Get Cupcakes.” She winced at the terrible name, but it was too late now.
“The Snitch Snack Shack is a better name.”
Unfortunately, Gemma agreed.
“Haven’t you heard? The registry is gonna be voluntary, making blackmail obsolete,” Barney said. “The boss is pursuing new investments. As such, we’re liquidating the old inventory. It’s nothing personal, but you’re an asset to be sold.”
To be sold.She didn’t need it spelled out any clearer. Unable to squeeze another cent from her through blackmail, Barney and company were simply going to steal her and auction her off.
“You can’t abduct me.”
