I, for one, wasn't going to go psychoanalyzing my fucked up damage. That was a job for a very well-paid doctor that I would eventually get around to finding. One day. Probably never. I'd likely get killed before getting a chance to work on my mental health.
Cass didn't seem offended, though. He just arched a brow at me, a tiny crease in his lips as he walked beside me toward the elevator. The doors slid open a moment later, and we stepped inside. I pressed the button for the ground floor—to let him out—then the level for my apartment as well.
"What are you going to do about this angel dust problem?" Cass asked in a quiet voice as the elevator closed us in.
I gave him a sharp look, suspicious. "Whatever I need to do," I replied. "It isn’t the first time someone has challenged my authority, and I'll deal with it the same way I always have."
He made a low, thoughtful sound, his jaw twitching with tension. "You can't always shoot your problems, Red."
I scoffed. "Maybe not, but I can damn well try."
The doors slid open to the ground floor lobby, and I waited for Cass to get out. But... he didn't. Instead, he let the doors close again, then hit the emergency stop button.
"What do you think you're doing?" I demanded.
He turned to face me, and I wondered for a moment if he was going to kiss me again. And did I want him to? Yes, so badly yes.
His gaze trailed over me, no doubt taking in my scarlet lipstick, the hint of cleavage from my half-unbuttoned blouse, my tight pencil skirt and deadly stilettos... then he sighed and ran a hand over his face.
"What is your fucking problem, Cass?" I demanded, reading disapproval in his body language. "You're only attracted to me when I'm in jeans and sneakers? If that's not the definition of judgmental—"
"What?" He cut me off, his scowl deep. "What the fuck makes you think—" He cut himself off with a frustrated snarl. "Forget it."
He smacked his hand against the door release and stomped out into the lobby of my apartment building. For a man of so few words, he sure seemed to be grumbling a hell of a lot of them about me as he walked away. All I managed to catch, though, was infuriating woman, and it weirdly made me smile.
Cass thought of me as a woman. Not a rival or associate or even as a child. That had to be a step in the right direction, even if our communication sucked big time.
My phone buzzed with an incoming call as I reached my floor, and I smiled when I saw the caller ID.
"Hey Demi," I answered, stifling a yawn with my hand. "Bit late for you, isn't it?"
My aunt just chuckled down the phone. "Don't treat me like I'm a geriatric, Hades, forty-five is the new twenty-one. Didn't you know?"
I chuckled. "My mistake, party girl. What do you have for me?" The only reason my aunt would call so late at night was if she’d just received the information I’d requested or if she had a mess that needed cleaning up. Hopefully, it was the former.
"I'm sending over the file on this Lucas kid now," she told me. "Most things seem to check out. The only fabrications were his date of birth and surname; otherwise, he's squeaky clean."
That genuinely surprised me. "Squeaky clean?" I repeated. "Surely not. He must have some hidden gang affiliation or something. There's no way he's just... normal."
Demi huffed. "Don't question my researchers; you know they're the best. When I say he's squeaky clean, I mean it. No gang affiliations at all, not even two generations back. His dad was a Marine and died when Lucas was two. His mom used to be a ballet teacher but was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis around six years ago. Lucas was just twelve and on his way to National’s for men's gymnastics but gave it up to look after his mom. Now that he’s back in the school system, he’s a year behind from all the time he lost trying to homeschool himself. I promise you, he's just a hard-working kid doing his best to care for his single mom."
"Huh." I frowned as I unlocked my apartment. "What about this uncle who paid for his schooling and shit? Anything questionable there?"
"Nope," Demi replied with a short laugh. "Probably one of the few longtime residents of Shadow Grove who never once stepped foot on the dark side. Hon, he's clean. Aside from taking a job in your club and lying about his age, the boy is an angel. Seriously. You should probably do the world a favor and fire his ass before you corrupt him."
God dammit.
Gritting my teeth, I tossed my keys and bag onto the hall table and made my way to my room.
"Are you sure?" I asked again. I'd really thought for sure Demi would uncover some deep, dark secret about Lucas—something that would make it easy for me to completely cut him out of my life for good. Or... out of life in general, depending how bad it was.
"One hundred percent," my aunt replied. "I'm not even going to offer to dig deeper because there is no deeper. He's a choir boy. Quit seeing monsters in every shadow, hon." She and her wife were the only people on the planet that were brave enough to call me hon like that, but I quietly loved it.
I kicked off my heels and collapsed onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling. "Okay, well... thanks, I guess."
"Anytime, as always. Stacey asked if you and Seph are coming over for dinner on Friday." We had a monthly family dinner, seeing as Demi, Seph, and I were the last of the Timber bloodline.
I let out a small groan. "Not me, not this week. There's some shit going down..." I trailed off. Demi was useful as hell and she'd always be a Timber, but since my hostile takeover, she’d no longer been a Timberwolf—by her own choice.
Demi clicked her tongue. "Heard. I'll see Seph, though?"
"Probably," I replied with another yawn. "Just... keep your eyes open, okay? Maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to go visit that winery of yours in Tuscany."
There was a short pause. "That bad?"
I breathed out, feeling the panic and uncertainty in my gut. "Yeah."
"Well, shit."
I had nothing else to say to that, so I just wished her a good night and ended the call. Then I spent the rest of the night reading and rereading the file she’d sent over on Lucas Wildeboer, eighteen—almost nineteen—year-old dancer, gymnast, and all around normal guy.
Fuck. Demi was right; I was going to corrupt the hell out of him.
18
By some stroke of luck, I managed to navigate the next few days without too much drama. I mean, Lucas still texted me when he knew he shouldn't, but I'd managed to stay strong and not reply.
I'd also avoided going back to 7th Circle when I knew he would be dancing—I was only so strong—and thanks to having access to his roster, it was easy enough to maintain that avoidance.
Toward the end of the week, I started to suspect I was being followed, and it pissed me right the fuck off.
"Zed," I barked as I strode into the training room at Anarchy. It was our newest venue, just over a year old, and converted from an old, abandoned amusement park. Now the big top was the arena for wildly popular cage fights and the fun house was a nightclub that hosted international DJs and performers.
My second was sparring with one of our upper management, Alexi, and they were both wearing nothing but gloves and shorts. Sweat coated their muscles, and the Timberwolf tattoos sat prominently on their bare skin.