Damien: You’re a fool if you think your sister and her son will be safe with me.
Sky: No one else can protect them. And Amelia hates your type. That makes it safe for her, right?
Wrong.
Damien: I do not care. Tell them to stay somewhere else.
Sky: You killed me. You owe me. Period.
Did she have to keep pulling that card? Because she was right. He took her life, he owed her a debt, and all debts needed to be paid. On the other hand, this request was completely illogical. Sky was a smart woman. She had experienced his curse firsthand. If she truly cared for her family, why put them in harm’s way?
Damien: This I cannot do. I am sorry.
He set down his phone and finished dressing. Black jeans. Black T-shirt. Black baseball cap and boots.
He went for his safe.
Yes, tailor. Get the big knife. I like using that one, said the beast.
“Not now!” Damien went for the pocketknife and tucked it into his boot.
Pussy.
He had no intention of killing anyone tonight. He merely wanted answers, eventually justice, too.
He went downstairs, grabbed the keys to his Jeep, and went to the garage.
Sonofabitch! His work van was gone. It was the one used to make deliveries to customers.
“Where is my fucking van!” He marched into the kitchen, finding it empty. The mess was still there.
Just then, a pic came in on his phone. It was of Sky driving and flipping him off. She wore his sunglasses, a baseball cap, gloves, and a scarf. The face was…well, odd, like she’d plastered her skin in makeup. She almost looked like a real person, except the sun was going down, so the hat and sunglasses came off as a little suspicious. Still, he had to hand it to her; for a ghost, she was fairly crafty.
Wait. He looked closer at the picture. Was that Gorgo and Pet in the backseat? “I can’t believe she took my van.” But as long as they were gone like he’d asked, they could have it.
I like her. She’s got balls, tailor. Maybe you should let her stay indefinitely, said his beast.
“Fuck off.”
Just as soon as you give me what I want, I’ll fuck off, fuck in, fuck out. I’ll fuck anything you like. I’ll even fuck your ghost and her sister too.
Damien’s entire body tensed with anger. “You get near them, and I’ll end this.” Not that anything could be done to Sky, but the sister, yes. Either way, the idea raised his hackles.
As if you could, tailor.
“Let us break this down so there are no misunderstandings. I am alive because of a curse. Other than the fact you influenced the events leading up to it, you have nothing to do with my curse. Separate animals.” The beast had been there since the day he was born. Just like his father and his father before him. They all suffered from the same affliction. “Other than that, I choose which path to take. Including life or death.”
In other words, the curse prevented Damien from being killed or dying of old age. The curse also mowed down anyone he cared about. However, the curse did not prohibit him from taking his own life. It was a loophole he’d always known about, but one he never considered using. “Suicide is the way of the fool,” his father used to say. “It means you do not trust you were born for a greater purpose. It means you think you are smarter than God, the Universe, and fate. That cannot be.”
So while ending his life had technically been an option, Damien never considered it, thus the reason he said there was no way to break his curse. Suicide wasn’t breaking it, it was running from it. But if he couldn’t keep his bloodthirsty genie in check, he might have to take action.
“You will behave,” Damien warned, “or I will end us both.”
Your threats are adorable, tailor. But I will have what pleases me. I always do.
“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.