VENGEANCE: Snow and the Vengeful Reapers

2. Des-E

CHAPTER 2

DES-E

She’s going to lie to me. I hate wasting words, and she’s going to lie to me. I know that as soon as she pauses, like a deer caught in my scope. I spend so much time looking at her. I’ve come to recognize every shift in her expression.

When she’s happy because she’s aced some test before she came in for her shift or got to sit in on a case that fascinated her.

When she’s still smiling but secretly irritated with the indecisive guys who change their beer order four times before admitting a complicated girly drink is what they really want.

When she’s overwhelmed with bikers wanting drinks but doesn’t complain—just pulls the butt-grazing extensions Nestor makes all the roadhouse girls wear back into a ponytail and commands the thirsty MCs to stop yelling their orders at her and get in a single-file line.

When she’s sad—or just plain wrecked.

If it was up to me, she’d never haul herself in here on her day off after back-to-back twelve-hour shifts—or at any time during her ER rotation. But it’s not up to me.

She’s made it clear she doesn’t want to be our woman. Won’t come upstairs. Won’t accept gifts—only tips for the drinks we order. Wouldn’t even consider it when Hyena tried the date route and asked her if she wanted to come see a movie with us or something.

I can feel her looking at me when my back is turned, but whenever I try to catch her gaze, she refuses to be caught.

And now she’s going to lie to me.

I curse myself for talking. That’s not my job.

I don’t talk. I shoot. I beat to a pulp. I end, if that’s what it takes. Whatever Vampire tells me to do on behalf of our MC—that’s what I do.

But I don’t talk. Especially to Doc. Vampire warned me once, and Hyena on several occasions, that talking to her would only make it worse. That we should all leave her alone. Let her be. Direct order.

And I followed it. At least I tried to until I overheard that argument with her uncle.

Why was she sleeping on the bar’s floor? Was she homeless now? What happened to that house of hers? The thought of her without shelter sets my brain on fire.

I’m a good soldier. The best Reaper at following orders, according to Waylon and Hades, both our MC prezzes. But all those possessive instincts Vampire told me to tone down flare right back up as I wait for her response.

“No, I’m good,” she answers, putting a tea pod in the Keurig for Vampire.

So, she decided to go with lying.

I glance down at the sleeping bag crumpled on the floor behind the bar, then back up at her.

She’s too dark to blush. But I can see her embarrassment in the flare of her pretty brown eyes and the way she crosses and uncrosses her thin arms over her chest.

She’s slender on top, but built underneath. Sometimes we have to go weeks between girls, and she’s been my number-one go-to fantasy for years now. How many times have I jacked off in the shower, imagining that juicy bottom grinding into my lap while I covered her small breasts with my large hands?

Too many times is the answer. She’s never let us have her, but it feels like she’s ours as I wait for her to explain herself.

“That’s just…”

I swear, I can see her searching for an excuse in her head.

Her pointed chin lifts. “That’s just a bad decision. I didn’t feel like catching the bus all the way to Nashville, then having to come back for the coffee service. So I decided to sleep and study while I waited for my morning shift to begin.”

Fuck. This is going to require more words. “What happened to your car?”

The word “car” is the hardest one to produce. Calling that '90s-era Korean piece of s**t she drives a car feels like an even bigger lie than the one she’s trying to tell me.

She presses a dramatic hand to her bare chest. And she switches out her Black Tennessee accent to a full-blown White lady in an antebellum period film to answer. “Alas, after years of hanging on for me, my dearest Daewoo gave up its struggle to hold onto this life and went home to the graveyard in the sky. Rest in peace, sweet prince.”

She lets out a sad sigh, but perks up to say in her regular voice, “And hey, it donated its organs to a good cause. I got six hundred dollars from some guy on Craigslist for the parts.”

She’s doing the funny thing to distract me, but more words immediately make their way to my surface. “Why didn’t you use the money to buy a new car?”

“Um…” She concentrates on pouring three packs of sugar into that girlie drink Hyena calls a coffee order like it's rocket science. More thinking. Then she says, “Well, this is my last season at the roadhouse. And I’m using every extra minute of my vacation time to study for my medical boards. So, I figured I’d get that out of the way before worrying about a new car.”

Reasonable enough answer. Her dedication to becoming a doctor is one of the things Vengeance admires most about Dr. Allison Snow, along with her wry sense of humor. But I still don’t believe her.

The Keurig finishes spitting out the tea Vampire only stomachs for the excuse to give her money.

No more rocket science. She rushes to place lids on Hyena’s coffee and Vampire’s drink.

“Seriously, I’m fine. This was just me being frugal with my time. I’m fine. But you know, thanks for asking, and y’all get home safe now.”

She pushes the to-go cups toward me on the bar top. Like I’m dismissed.

Leave her alone…

Vampire’s order rings in my head as I throw down two twenties and cluster all three cups together to take over to the Reaper’s usual banquet table.

But I can’t get the image of the sleeping bag out of my head, even as a bunch of bikers start tramping down the steps.

Nestor must have given the get-the-hell-out morning alarm. The roadhouse girls have a staircase that leads directly to the back locker room, where they change into cowboy boots and low-cut denim booty shorts for their shift. But Nestor sends the bikers down the side stairs into the bar area.

Hyena and Vampire pull up the rear, flanking Hades on either side. We prefer to call ourselves enforcers. But Hades and Waylon gave the three of us sergeant at arms patches. And we take the duty seriously. Even if our prezzes don’t need us to keep order at Reaper meetings, like the emergency one we had last night when Hades lost his property—this gorgeous girl he named Persy.

Hades looks like death warmed over this morning after downing a whole bottle of Sazerac Rye and passing out cold last night. I can see why after one look at him. Hyena and Vampire took it upon themselves to ensure that nobody tried to mess with him or even talk to him while he made his way out.

No coffee for Hades. I watch them escort him all the way to the roadhouse door. Vampire claps him on the shoulder and talks while Hyena nods along. They’re probably assuring him we’ll do whatever he needs us to do to find Persy, the girl who ran away from him on Thanksgiving night.

However, when they join me over at the table, Vampire just says, “Spotted a couple of the Savages passing bags last night. We’ll need to stop by their clubhouse and have a conversation with them before we leave town.”

I take a gulp of coffee and try to concentrate on that. Our MC comes first, and Vengeance has plenty of work to do on its behalf.

Finding Persy and taking that meeting with the Savages is the only thing I should be talking with Vampire and Hyena about right now.

But instead of simply nodding along, I tell them, “Doc’s sleeping on the floor behind the bar—not at her house. And she won’t tell me the real reason why.”

Both Vampire and Hyena still.