S

ophie took her time, dragging the mop over the sticky floor behind the bar, aware she hadn’t made any progress in the ten minutes since she’d started. How could she when her focus wasn’t on the task, but on the argument on the other side of the bar.

Not that she could hear the angry words.

“She was dead on arrival.” Kush tossed back a drink.

“How is that possible when she had gra—” Scarla was cut off before she, Kush, and Chay had shielded themselves behind a protective bubble. Seen, but not heard. This is what the trio usually did when they didn’t want anyone to hear their conversation—argument—especially in a packed bar.

Currently, the establishment was closed, and had been for the past two days. Not that Sophie knew why or who was DOA. Keep the human ignorant was the normal M.O. They told her nothing, on the regular, and she pretended to know nothing.

They’d shut her out enough times thinking just because she couldn’t hear, she didn’t know anything. When one sense is robbed, the others kick in. By no means would she qualify as an expert, but the lips don’t lie, not when you’re reading them. It happened gradually, she’d catch a word or two here and there, which escalated after watching a few YouTube videos.

She resorted to lip reading, not to be nosy. She understood the UnHallowed had secrets. Living on the fringes of their world, Sophie knew enough to know she didn’t want to know any more. She had a burning desire to survive. Being privy to secrets she couldn’t possibly fathom placed her survival in the kind of jeopardy regular folk didn’t walk away from.

Except…things weren’t adding up. Hadn’t been for a while. There were gaps in her memory, black holes had carved chunks of time. Incidences where she was at work, then she’d wake in her bed hours later—dressed in the same clothes she’d worn to her shift—with a headache the size of Texas. In addition, her dreams were filled with random conversations she felt should have happened outside of the REM state, conversations mostly between herself, Scarla, Kush, and Chay. Though, she did have random flickers of an argument in the parking lot between a female customer and Chay, Kush, and Daghony.

Sophie dipped the mop back into the rolling bucket and squeezed out the excess water as Scarla stepped into Kush’s personal space and pointed a finger in his face. Sophie froze in a mixture of awe for Scarla’s gigantic lady balls, and fear. The former Archangel of Atonement wasn’t into forgiveness. Punishment had replaced atonement in his handbook on how to deal with humans.

And though he treated Scarla like the sister he’d never have, Sophie didn’t trust him to not knock Scarla into the middle of next month. Scarla could probably take the punch and follow up with one of her own.

If only I could be that badass.

Absently, Sophie’s tongue glided over her two dental implants, remembering the day when a fist plowed her front teeth to the back of her throat. One slid too far and lodged in her windpipe. She’d almost died, but Ozzy didn’t want to spend another night in jail and performed the Heimlich. Disrespect is what got her teeth relocated. The memory of that particular offense had faded. Once she nuked his Hot Pocket too long and suffered a slap; it didn’t take much to piss Ozzy off.

Inside the bubble, Scarla shoved Kush. He shoved her back. Chay remained on the sideline, seated in a plush wingback chair, legs crossed and fingers templed, completely unconcerned about Scarla’s well-being or Kush’s tendencies toward punishment. They were a family, those three. Bonded by ties deeper than those of the other UnHallowed.

And even though Scarla had let Sophie into their inner circle, she was on the outer edge, just like all the rest of the UnHallowed, looking in.

Scarla let loose a roundhouse that whipped Kush’s head around.

Holy Shit! Sophie gasped. There wasn’t a single man in her family that would’ve put up with the disrespect. Her tongue went back to her two front teeth. It took eighteen months of savings to get the teeth replaced. Ozzy took one look at her and threatened to knock them out again. Great guy, her ex. She hadn’t seen him in two years and wanted it to stay that way.

A sharp pain spiked the back of her eyes. She winced and caught a flash of an image, another random memory of her ex, standing over her—then it was gone.

Chay’s gaze shifted her way and her knees wobbled. Every time his pewter colored eyes landed on her, her nipples saluted. It happened her first day on the job and every day since.

Two years later and she still couldn’t look in his eyes without her insides clenching from desire, without wanting things she couldn’t have. Her feelings were her own. Not once since that day had he looked at her with anything warmer than polite detachment. Clearly, he placed her in the untouchable category label “Friends of Scarla.”

And that was fine. Really, just fine and dandy. She kept reminding herself she had no interest in dating anyone. No human or sexy fallen angel.

Scarla stomped over to Chay, breaking the connection between Sophie and Chay. Sophie’s insides cooled and she switched her attention to her bestie. Being so animated and verbal, Scarla’s lips were easy to read.

I am not going to sit here and do nothing. We have to help, Scarla said, or something close to it.

Kush said something, but he tended to grimace through each sentence, leaving much to interpretation.

I’m not talking to you, Kush. Scarla pointed at him while she kept her attention on Chay. She perched her butt on the end of a short wooden block, which doubled as a table and a place to sit. They need us, Chay.

They could only mean the rest of the UnHallowed; Daghony, Bane, and Sammiél were the only ones Sophie had met. She took her mop closer to the bubble.

Scarla latched onto Chay’s wrist. Now is not the time to go into lockdown mode. This is an all hands on deck situation. Placing yourself on the sideline to protect me isn’t necessary when I can handle myself.

Chay patted Scarla’s hand. His gaze found Sophie again and the mop paused in her hand. It’s not you who I’m worried about.

Sophie forgot to mop and she processed what she thought about what she’d read on his lips. Scarla was the only breathing being the UnHallowed cared for. They made it clear with every safeguard they took with her well-being. Chay was the one who found her, and even though she was adopted by a nice elderly couple, he raised her.

Scarla glanced at Sophie. If you’re so worried about Sophie, you can plant an order in her mind for her to stay in her room at the training center. She’ll be safe there.

Sophie gripped the handle so hard, her knuckles ached. It took everything for her to not drop the mop and run. They’d planted things in my head. Did that mean they’d taken things out? It had to. God, what did they do to me? She trusted them. Trusted Scarla.

Without warning, the handle slid from her numb fingers as she swayed from a sudden bout of dizziness. Her hip smacked into the barstool and she doubled over in pain, not from the blow, but from the pain spiking her head.

Chay had seen everything. He leaped to his feet and rushed toward her.

Oh, shit! They know. They knew she read their lips. There wasn’t a place on earth she could hide from them. But this was Chay closing the distance between him and her. Not some stranger in an alley. Then again, all of the hurt in her life came at the hands of someone who claimed to love her. By the concern on his face, it wasn’t his plan. No, not to hurt her, but something just as bad.

Chay halted in front of her. He had his chocolate hair pulled back in a queue, which highlighted his recently shaved angular jaw and sharp cheekbones. His pewter eyes were a bit sunken, bit it added to his innate intensity. He wrapped her in a gentle embrace. The feel of his calloused palms on her arms shocked her system. Yanking away should’ve been her first instinct, yet she didn’t. Maybe because it was the first time in her year at the job that he’d ever touched her. Not even a casual brushing of their bodies had she enjoyed.

“Are you okay?” Chay said low in a soothing voice she’d never heard from him.

Her head bobbled. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You swayed, bumped the table.” He pulled out a chair, guided her to it. “Sit.”

She obeyed because her knees were shaking. Actually, all of her was shaking. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe all of this was wrong. Her temple throbbed so hard she couldn’t keep her head upright.

“Is your blood sugar low? Have you eaten?” he asked though he didn’t wait for an answer. “Get her something from the kitchen,” he ordered Kush, who grumbled something about being a hired hand versus slavery as he marched away.

Sophie had no idea what he’d find. Thanksgiving and Christmas were the only times the bar closed and today was neither. And it wasn’t like they celebrated Christmas in July. Tonight, all of the staff had been given the night off with pay. The only reason she was here was because she was more than staff, though less than family. Loyalty brought her here.

She was loyal to them. How loyal were they to her?

Scarla crouched and met Sophie at eye level. “You’re pale. Did you catch a bug?” She placed the back of her hand on Sophie’s forehead, like a worried mother. “You’re not warm, but you are clammy.”

“I’m fine. Really.” Sophie shoved Scarla’s hand away and played the only card she had. “There’s something going on with you guys. I know there is.” Kush returned with a couple of packets of soup crackers. He tossed them on the table with all the care you’d toss a used napkin, then mission accomplished, he folded his arms and stood there, a mohawked wall of muscle. Ever present. Always silent. At least the nightmarish wings of his were hidden.

Chay dropped to his haunches. He opened a packet and held out a cracker for her to take. “There’s nothing you need to worry—”

“The thing is,” she brushed a hand across her temple. “I-I remember s-stuff. Conversations that start off like dreams but they f-feel real. I-I think I’ve had them. I know it’s not possible…except, I think they are.” Her gaze darted between the dumb, dumber, and dumbest trio. Not accurate, but that’s exactly what their expressions switched to between one blink and the next.

“I remember a woman…in the parking lot,” she growled. Pain spiked both temples and her stomach rolled. Sophie grabbed her head and tipped forward. She landed on Chay’s shoulder. He held her to him, one hand circled the space between her shoulders, the other stroked her hair. How good it felt surprised her. How much she wanted it to continue, more so.

Regardless, she stayed focused. “There was a fight in the parking lot. I’m sure of it. The details come in spurts.”

“It’s just a dre—”

“It’s not a dream.” Sophie cut Scarla off. “It’s too real.” She fought the pain tapping at her temple and the comfort of Chay’s arms to pull away and look into his pewter eyes.

“Don’t think about it and the pain will go away.”

The subtle compulsion pressed against her will, bending her will to his, easy to detect when searching for it. “I want to think about it. I want to remember.” She gripped his shirt to shake him but didn’t budge him an inch. He pried her hands off his shirt and held both in one hand.

Scarla leaned in, and whispered, “Chay, she’s strong enough—”

He nailed Scarla hard with a cold gaze. “Some memories aren’t worth the effort to remember.”

“Strong enough for what?” Sophie sensed the two weren’t discussing a parking lot memory. A wave of confusion mixed with a crippling fear slammed into her. A gray wall seemed to form in her mind. On one side, was an image of her, smiling, and happy. On the other, a no man’s land of things better left buried. Suddenly, she didn’t want to remember, not if it came with the agony waiting on the other side.

“Shh.” He brushed her cheeks and his fingers came away wet. “I got you, sweetheart. I’m gonna take away the pain.”

A part of her whispered, No! Hell No! The part of her suffering said, “Yes!” as a fresh wave of pain made her stomach heave. Though empty, something crawled up her throat. She pushed away, afraid for his clean shirt, the same color of his eyes.

“Do it already or I will,” Kush snapped, clearly bored with the drama.

Chay captured her face. The red swallowing the irises of his eyes didn’t frighten her. It wasn’t a new occurrence, and she’d seen the same effect on the other UnHallowed. She’d never seen red spread to the whites of his eyes.

Sophie pulled away, well, she tried to. Chay had a vise grip on her face and the longer she stared into his red eyes, the more the fight drained from her muscles, like blood spurting out of a punctured artery.

“Let me inside you.” The intensity of his voice reached through the fog clouding her senses and took hold. “Give me all of you.”

An automatic no came from within. The word echoed inside her head followed by a wave of pressure bearing down on her will, molding her will into a pliable weave of intent and motivation under Chay’s control.

“My love, don’t resist me.”

My love? She couldn’t have heard correctly. It wasn’t possible he said ‘My love.’ Yet, what if he did? She wanted to hold on to that question and investigate all the ramifications, all the possibilities. If she could just climb out of the fog, shake off the lethargy, and demand answers.

Deep within her, a door creaked open and before she mustered motivation and intent, Chay rushed in.

The fog transformed into a blizzard of white noise vibrating every atom in her body. Off in the distance, a wave of shadows frothed against a white landscape, then rushed toward her, and Sophie wasn’t afraid.