Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 54626 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54626 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
“Watch yourself, brother,” Damien said. “This time is different.”
Oh, oh, oh… Did I hear a hint of caring, tailor? Is this about Sky and her sister? the deep voice teased. I believe it is you who should be careful. Wouldn’t want to end up with two ghosts on your hands, now would you?
Unfortunately, he was right. Damien was already getting dangerously close to caring about what happened to Sky’s sister. The last thing he needed was to have more innocent blood on his hands. This had to be about his debt to Sky, and nothing more. That meant keeping her sister and nephew far away from him.
Before leaving, Damien made a few calls to gather information on Vincente Newbery, brother to Gregory Newbery, the governor. What Damien found odd was how reluctant his contacts were to speak Vincente’s name. This coming from people who owed Damien favors. Big favors. People who should never say no to him.
During his time as a fixer, Damien had helped some of the wealthiest, most powerful people in LA “fix” their ugly problems. Sometimes the problems came in the form of stalkers. Sometimes they were blackmail problems—cheaters under threat of exposure, people in the closet who didn’t want to come out, or the classic unflattering nude photos taken by an ex who held it over their heads.
Generally, though, the problems he solved were one hundred percent self-inflicted. Such as the senator’s husband who overindulged at a fundraiser and got arrested for a DUI. Damien would call in favors to make it go away. Get a hooker pregnant while strung out on coke? Call Damien Greystone. He could get her to sign a gag order, get the rehab set up, and arrange a trust fund for the baby, who’d grow up without ever knowing his father was some multimillionaire scumbag who funded the latest tech start-up.
Then there was his nonhuman clientele. Much, much easier to deal with. A vampire caught on a security camera while snacking on someone. Or three someones. A wraith who went a little crazy at a nightclub and tore off a few heads. The werewolf who ignored the full moon alert on his phone and shifted in the middle of Target on a Saturday night.
Stupid. Sloppy. Avoidable mistakes. But these creatures and humans were how Damien had once spent his time. They needed help. He came to the rescue, ensuring footage magically disappeared or the witnesses were paid off or discredited. Fixing had been an ugly business, given he hadn’t always been helping the “good guys,” not that he believed those existed. Not after the things he’d seen. Everyone had skeletons. Everyone.
Himself included.
Damien parked two streets over from Vincente’s well-secured, gated home in the Hollywood Hills. To the standard burglar, such a security system would be a deterrent. To him, it was a challenge he enjoyed. Not so dissimilar to the time Damien had twelve hours to procure Kinich, the Sun God, an entirely new emergency wardrobe because the deity had caught his suitcase on fire while on vacation. All right. Entirely different. But still a challenge.
Damien approached the neighbor’s home toward the back of the property and surveyed their system. No gate, but very impressive. Cameras every ten feet. Motion-sensor floodlights. And…
Ah, there we go. The neighbor’s fuse box was to the side of their garage. Only one simple padlock to keep people out.
Damien got it unlocked in two seconds and then shut off the power around the perimeter of the property. To make it easy, the owners had even labeled the proper fuse “Security System.”
Amateurs. People really should label their security system as something innocuous, like “garbage disposal.”
He jumped the side gate, entering the neighbor’s yard, running to the back fence, where he tossed a rope and grappling hook over a tree just on the other side. These people were making this much too easy. You’d never see a tall tree on the edge of his property.
Damien climbed up the rope and into the tree. From there, he would have an excellent view of Vincente’s prop…prop…property. “What the fuck?”
I told you to bring the big knife, tailor. Why do you never listen?
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The word disturbing did not come close to describing what Damien was witnessing in Vincente’s backyard.
Men and women dressed to the nines and sipping martinis were gathered around a wooden table. On that table was a female. Nude, bound, and surrounded by tiki torches.
Now, if this were your standard ritualistic cult gathering, one would draw certain conclusions. Human sacrifice. Ritualistic rape.
But no.
This was something far worse: a political fundraiser.
Damien winced. That poor woman. In about two minutes the full moon would come out, and if his assumptions were correct, she was going to turn into some sort of creature. Wolf, rabbit, penguin? Who knew? The were-community reached across the species spectrum.