“You can’t leave me like this!”
“Sure can,” he says. “Don’t worry, babe. I’ll be back to finish what I started.”
“That’s not what I—” The door closes, cutting off the rest of Jo’s words. The rooms around here are seriously soundproofed.
“The fuck you will,” Ryodan says.
“Because she’s yours?” Lor says. “She’s done with you.”
Ryodan glances at the door, making sure it’s closed. “I was done with her months ago. Kept waiting for her to move on. Just not with you. It seems you’ve forgotten two of our critical rules: we don’t fuck one another’s women. We don’t lie to one another.”
“It wasn’t as if I went looking for it. She came in and sent all my babes away and she was crying, for fuck’s sake, and you know damn well I can’t stand it when chicks—”
“Dani’s back. She looks five years older. Possibly more. She’s taken over the abbey.”
Lor goes motionless. “How the hell did that happen?”
“We don’t know,” Barrons says. “She’s not talking to any of us.”
“So encourage her,” Lor says.
“She’s more difficult to encourage than she used to be,” Ryodan says.
“How is she? What happened to her? Is she okay?”
“Get your fucking clothes on. In my office in five.”
“What about Jo?”
“I’ll take care of Jo,” Ryodan says coolly.
“You’re not killing her,” Lor says sharply.
“Never said I was. But that’s the third rule you seem to be forgetting: I run this place. I run you. If you don’t like it, too fucking bad. You’re not leaving, so I suggest you get back on the program. Fast.”
Ryodan stalks off. Looking amused, Barrons heads off after him.
Fascinated by the perks of my new state—my own personal reality TV, I’m getting all the juicy dirt!—I hurry after them.
28
“Don’t play with me ’cause you’re playing with fire”
MAC
When we reach Ryodan’s office, Barrons says he’s got things to do and I’m abruptly divided, but I make a snap decision to stick with Ryodan. Although I’m dying to know what kind of “things” Barrons does when he goes off by himself (and intend to fulfill that fantasy very soon), I’m also riveted by the intimate look I’m getting at the man behind Chester’s, who I’m beginning to realize is far more complex than I thought.
He protected Jo’s feelings. He was done with her months ago and waited for her to dump him without ever betraying it. That’s hard to pull off in any relationship. I can’t reconcile the ruthless, bottom-lining man I know with the one who went out of his way not to hurt a human woman.
When he steps into his office, I follow, realizing only after the door slides shut that I’m stuck in here until he decides to leave again. When he pulls out his cell phone that shouldn’t work and taps a number, I hope he’s not summoning a woman to get the taste of Jo and Lor out of his mouth because I really don’t want to watch Ryodan have sex.
Well, okay, so maybe I wouldn’t be entirely adverse to that, if I didn’t know him and have to see him all the time, but really. Not in the mood for more of the sex everyone else is getting to have at the moment. Between my new invisibility and extreme irritation at the only man I want to have sex with, my prospects are slim.
“Fade, get your ass down to Lor’s room and untie Jo.” He’s silent a moment. “It’s none of your fucking business why Jo’s tied up there. Just do it. And I don’t care what that woman says or does, I don’t care if she’s suddenly snatched up by a tornado and dropped straight on your dick, you will not fuck her.” Another silence. “Yes, she’s naked. No, that’s not ‘cool.’ Fuck you, Fade. Forget it. Take one of the waitresses down. You will remain outside the door while she goes in and unties her. Then tell Jo she’s fired.” Silence. “I don’t care what the waitress thinks. Fire her, too.”
He ends the call, shoves the cell phone in his pocket, drops down into the large leather chair behind his desk, picks up the dark blade and starts toying with it again. I’d really like to know what his deal is with that knife.
When the door swishes open I debate leaving while I can.
While I stand there, pondering options, the Unseelie that Dani called “Papa Roach” stumps in, and I shiver with revulsion. I totally get why she nicknamed it that. Papa Roach is segmented, made by thousands and thousands of roachlike creatures clambering up on top of one another to form a larger being. They are the same bugs the waitresses permit beneath their skin to feed on their fat. Papa Roach, the collective, is purplish-brown, about four feet tall with thick legs, a half-dozen arms, and a head the size of a walnut. It jiggles like gelatin when it moves as its countless individual parts shift minutely to remain coalesced. It has a thin-lipped beaklike mouth and round, weirdly lidless eyes. As it moves into the room, a few of the roaches skitter off. I press back against the wall, creeped out by the nasty things, in no mood for a few of them to scurry over the toes of my boots. I imagine they’re small enough to turn invisible, which could be a problem if anyone was looking.
Ryodan barks, “Keep your shit together when you’re in my fucking office.”
The bugs scurry back up Papa Roach, scale a leg, and settle into a knee.