Only more groans of discomfort are given.
“Look, Santa’s Little Fucker, I know test subject K2347 was kidnapped to be used in one of your company’s sick, twisted experiments in project Moonlight, but three days ago, she was removed from the system entirely, meaning she’s either been relocated or disposed of. I need to know which. And I need to know now.”
To my surprise, his escape efforts completely cease on a villainous grin. “You’re never gonna see that pink-winged bitch again.”
An otherworldly roar rips free from my chest on a savage stab to his neck. One is enough to end his pathetic excuse of a life yet not enough to soothe the self-loathing for letting this happen. For not being able to protect an innocent shifter’s life from being lost. I shove the object in again and again, crimson colors coating my curved appendages that are continuously flickering between fingers and dagger-like talons from the struggle to hold my ancient dragon at bay. Scents of peppermint rapidly flood the air, calling for Gold to relax and give me back control of the situation, yet he remains unmollified.
Unpacified.
Bitter and seething over a death I’ll always blame myself for.
Even if Karry Baumgartner, my ex-girlfriend, can find it in her heart to forgive me for not managing to save her sister in time, I don’t think I can.
I should’ve done more.
I should’ve pushed Griff, our contract hacker who happens to be a griffin shifter, to find her faster.
As soon as Kaleb Vaant, the rare element dragon that Z and our cousin, Little B, rescued two weeks ago, confirmed he had seen Krystie, I should’ve hovered over Griff morning, noon, and fucking night with my claws stuck in the back of his neck until he found her instead of trusting that he’d get it done in a “timely fashion”.
Should we even refer to seventy-two hours as “timely”?
Isn’t that slow?
Another splatter of blood lands on my cheek seconds prior to hearing a feminine voice shriek, “What the hell is going on in here?!”
My head snaps the opposite direction of the female who helped me take the elf down to see a short, pasty-skinned, panicking woman stomping straight for us. Knowing now is not the time to be adding more beings to the already messy situation, I release one long, deep, smoke-filled breath from my nostrils, clouding the room in thick, gold puffs. The murky air allows my escape movements to be immediately camouflaged; however, the coughing that commences due to its toxic nature creates an unpleasant stirring inside.
Mate.
Right.
Probably shouldn’t poison her to death.
I carelessly sling the corpse of the elf over my peach dress shirt-covered shoulder and swiftly slide past the feisty female, sucking back in the noxious air that’s closest to her frame. The clear area allows her to breathe easily, yet unfortunately for me, it also gives her an unobstructed view of my getaway using the very door I get the feeling she wishes she would’ve never walked through tonight.
Her stunning, dark brown stare narrows in what can only be labeled as disdain while silently watching my disappearance.
Mate.
Yeah, really, really not the time for that fucked up conversation.
Safe.
Gold’s misguided view of the situation has me rolling my eyes at the same time my back hits the door that leads to the employees only parking lot.
Yeah, she may be safe, but that murderous glare I was just given tells me that I’m not.
And if there is one thing I know for a fact, it’s that I definitely wore the wrong shoes to die in.
I save my boss from choking to death on what I’m pretty sure is poisonous gas, and my thanks?
She fucking fires me.
She simply ignores the fact that her mother of Augustus Gloop ass was saved altogether to focus on the fact that her prestigious salon was wrecked by a leather-wearing Freddy Mercury wannabe and a six-foot seven, hazel-eyed hottie that’s clearly the second coming of Ted Bundy given what he did to that guy right in front of me on my first time closing the store alone.
Yeah.
Out of all the fucking stores and all the fucking nights, those two assholes picked the one I’ve only been working at for two weeks, and the one time I was entrusted to lock the damn thing up on my own.
As pissed off as I would like to be…this is sadly just my fucking luck.
It always has been.
And this nagging, nauseous, need to eat M&M’s feeling tells me it always will be.
They say “when it rains, it pours” but in my life, the phrasing has always been a little different. It’s more like “when it rains, you’ll never have your umbrella, so enjoy being soaking wet and catching fucking pneumonia”.
Not nearly as catchy, however, much more accurate.
A rain drop from the sky suddenly lands on the edge of my long nose.
Yup.
That seems about fucking right.
Adjusting my hold on my tattered shoulder bag, I soldier on through the increasing drizzle towards my car at the back of the lot while mentally working through which of my brothers to ask for money to help me pay my rent.
Again.
God, I hate that fucking conversation.
Not because they’re opposed to giving me anything when I fucking need it or give me shit for asking for anything ever. Not because they scold me over life handing me shitty hand after shitty hand or even act like the shit storm that wrecks my existence is totally my fault.
No.
I hate the “hey, can I borrow some cash” talk because it always highlights in bright, yellow marker that I’m the only one of us who can’t seem to hold onto a job.
Or an apartment.
Or a healthy diet.
Or a significant other if we’re really just gonna trim up all the scraggly ends of these comparisons.
Sounds of footsteps unexpectedly appearing from somewhere over my shoulder leads to me abruptly stopping as though I need to double check my bag for something I may have forgotten. With my keys in my hand, I craftily tuck them against my palm to stop them from clinking against the mini hairspray can I keep in my stylist arsenal for emergencies.
And by emergencies, I mean random drop ins – when I have gas – to play “salon” with my oldest niece or fix her father’s botched haircut, not someone trying to assault me on what is easily becoming the worst. Day. Ever.
Which speaks fucking volumes considering how many other shit days I’ve had in my life.
The lid has just popped off when I feel a finger touch my jean jacket-covered shoulder. I swiftly spin the opposite direction and hold down the nozzle, unleashing the chemical directly into their unsuspecting eyes.