I sighed as some guy’s hand brushed my boobs as he walked by, refraining (just barely) from smacking him into the nearest wall.
I was too old for this shit.
Luckily, I didn’tlooktoo old for this shit. My hellhound genes meant I looked like I was still in my twenties, despite those days being long behind me. Unfortunately, that was mostly allmy hellhound genes were good for. Although I guess that wasn’treallyfair. I was just a little bitter.
It was a long story, but basically some guy named Wilder had introduced me to a whole pack of hellhounds who wanted to adopt me as a little sister. They were all built, muscular, tall, sexy as fuck men. (Although, ewww, I did not want to fuck any of them. They were like brothers to me.) Meanwhile, I was short, curvy, and had a little extra padding (even if I was very happy with my body, because my padding was in all the right places).
The point was, I definitely didn’t look like I lived at the gym. Although I guess that was in my favor, because just like my hellhound “brothers,” I had the joy of being able to kill very bad people.
Yay for me.
I hadn’t known what I was for most of my life; I’d just figured I was a serial killer or something. Although at least I was a serial killer with morals, because I’d only killed shitty people. I’d focused on people who hurt others.
Recently, Wilder had found himself a mate—Josh. He was a really sweet guy. He liked legos and documentaries, and he was actually kind of good at reining in the idiocy of all the hellhound guys—because when you got a bunch of brothers together, they were bound to do stupid and juvenile things, even if they were hundreds of years old. I don’t know why. It was like some kind of unwritten law of the universe.
Men.
Don’t get me wrong. I liked men. I also liked women. But that was another story, and that was not tonight’s focus.
No, tonight’s focus was revenge.
You see, Josh was a sweetheart, and he had a shitty ex. Like, a really shitty ex. The kind of shitty person who thought it was okay to rough someone up. The kind of shitty person whothought it was okay to tear someone down over and over until they felt like shit about themselves.
Basically, his ex was an abusive asshole.
And for some unfathomable reason, the guys had decided not to kill him.
Okay, I knew why they’d decided not to kill Rick the Dick. He apparently wasn’t actually hellbound yet. There was this whole free will thing. People could change. They had to do something really irreversibly and irredeemably terrible andso awfulthat there was no way whatsoever to come back from it in order to be hellbound. And hellhounds couldn’t kill people who weren’t hellbound.
Blah, blah, blah.
Josh was such a sweet guy that he actually didn’t even wish his ex any ill will. Wilder and his boys weren’t quite that sweet, but they followed the rules, andapparentlyhellhounds didn’t kill people who weren’t hellbound.
Which brought me to my current status—hanging out in a club that had a whole lot of younger people, wearing a corset top (which very nicely showed off my boobs) and a leather skirt (which had too many guys “accidentally” brushing up against my curvy ass). My brown hair was down, and I even had on make-up.
Did I mention I was too old for this shit?
I stalked over to the bar to order another rum and coke. I’d always been able to hold my liquor, and now I knew why—hellhound genes, apparently. I patiently waited to order and thought about Rick the Dick. A few weeks ago he’d been stabbed by some cult lady (long story), but she hadn’t killed him. He’d been raving about supernatural beings and shit, and his brother had collected him and brought him home. I’d hoped he’d have him committed or something, but nope. (Liam wasn’t the only one who was decent with computers. It was pretty easy to hackinto his therapist’s records—she had no skill at all protecting her data.)
Rick assumed the cult lady had been giving him psychedelic drugs all along, and he thought he’d been played.Of coursenone of it was his fault.Of courseit was all Josh’s fault, and then the cult lady’s fault. So Rick the Dick had come home and just resumed normal life.
I’d been checking up on him, for Josh’s sake.
Ok, fine, I’d been stalking him. But just a tiny bit. I’d been following him around, popping up to keep tabs on him on weekends and a few weeknights. It was easy; the guy was predictable. He went to bars or clubs, he drank and laughed and seemed fun, and he talked up cute guys. Sometimes he met up with dates.
Which brought me to my current spot at the bar. A hand grazed my ass, and I had to resist the urge to turn around, grab it, and bend the owner’s wrist backwards. I blew out a breath. I could keep my cool. I would not break anyone’s bones.
The bartender came over, and I placed my order. He seemed like a decent guy and not a rotten soul. At least I thought so. I was still sort of figuring all that out. I got feelings about people, sure—I had for my entire life, but they didn’t reallysmell. They gave mefeelings.
I turned around, leaning against the bar and surveying the club, spotting my prey across the room. He was laughing loudly, an arm draped possessively over a young guy who was staring up at him as he talked.
I’d seen him with this same guy for a few weeks now. No, they weren’t exclusive, because I’d still seen Rick out with other people, but this guy seemed pretty far gone. He had stars in his eyes for Rick.
That was not a good sign.
And the guy was a cutie. A little younger than Rick, a little nervous. You could just tell he was a little nerdy and shy, but in a totally adorable way. I’d eavesdropped on a few conversations between them, and Rick was super sweet to him, but there was this… underlying tone. This menace that I knew the guy wouldn’t recognize. Little hidden, veiled comments. It seemed like Rick was looking out for him, protecting him.
Listen to me, let me watch out for you. I know what’s best. You’re so innocent, and I’ll protect you. You’re so cute, and you need someone to tell you about the world. Aren’t you such a cute little thing. Just listen to me and everything will be alright.
