kickstart the problems

Damien glanced up at the curved mirror that lurked in a corner above the liquor store counter. Just the thing to put shoplifters off from trying to tuck a bottle or two under their jackets before they scuttled out. Just the thing to watch his back too, although by now he’d had plenty of practice with that tingle between his shoulder blades that man had probably started feeling when the first thing had crept out of the darkness to try and rip out his throat. Some primitive little instinct that screamed danger, surely coming in handy in a town like this. Especially when Aurora’s brother, or his people, could be lurking around each corner.

His lips curled, a civil smile flashed at the guy behind the counter as the last of the bottles was placed in the brown paper bag and slid his way. ”Cash or card?”

”Cash.” Damien dipped his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket, removing the bill clip that’d been filled with the proceeds of the bank robbery he’d committed with Aurora on Halloween – before her brother’s oppressive shadow had started raising its ugly head. He peeled off a couple of bills, slipping them across the counter. Once upon a time he wouldn’t have bothered with that, it might’ve been the third option he and Sonny had fallen back on a couple of times – gun.

He slipped the change into his pants, returned the clip to his pocket and scooped up the bag. It would’ve been easy enough to head outside and take the easy way back to the apartment, but Aurora’s paranoia about her brother finding out about what she’d been up to left him a little more cautious than usual – no scenes, no public tricks, a slow trip back in the car that hadn’t exactly been obtained by legal methods. Eyes locked on the rear view the whole way, as though he’d catch Tristan’s head popping up in the rear view mirror.

No overprotective big brother accosted him outside his apartment building. No asshole detective lurking either, trying to catch him out in whatever little game he supposedly had going on with the vampire or the demon. Not even the old bat on the first floor who’d have gaped at him for shattering his choir boy appearance with the half dozen bottles rattling in the bag he held. If this had been home it would’ve been all over the street next morning – that Beck boy’s become a lush, his poor mother.

Ma had been dead for decades, there wasn’t anyone to be ashamed of a little day drinking now. There’d been plenty worse to have both his parents rolling in their graves. Damien set the bag down on the kitchen counter, plucking the bottles out one at a time to line up along the back of the stretch of cheap imitation marble. He was twisting the lid of the last off when Leah’s voice cut through from the living room. The curse instantly dried up in his throat. By now he shouldn’t have been surprised by anything Leah did.

Taking his time, Damien poured a couple of fingers of the bourbon into a glass. ”It’s not exactly the Ritz, but it’s better than that shitty motel was. Less friends sharing the shower.” Not that the Founder’s Council would allow a single cockroach to lower the standards too far in this town. Brows hitching above the level of his glasses, he trailed out in time to see Leah disappearing around the door to the second bedroom. A just-in-case for Sonny needing a bolt hole. He hadn’t imagined this. ”I’m guessing this means I’ve got a room mate for tonight, at least? What happened to your little party pad?” He was guessing trouble in paradise if Leah was here instead of wrapped around Remzi – maybe his arranged marriage had finally gone down, although he imagined Leah would’ve been covered in blood if it had.

Tagged: LEAH SIVAN * Word Count: 659

Cheap motels, shitty short leave apartments, high rise hotels with bell hops in their fancy duds pushing the elevator buttons and carrying their luggage for them They’d worked their way through all of them, the grandeur of the places they’d stayed fluctuating with how the jobs were faring. It was a far cry from their childhood home, where pop would be thumping a fist on the bathroom door at 7.30 every morning to get in his ablutions before he strolled out to the bank in his suit. There’d been a place in New York state with a bath big enough for half a dozen, a motel in some armpit of a town in Arkansas where they’d been stuck for a week in temperatures that would’ve had Satan sweating. None of them had been what Damien would’ve called a home. They hadn’t had one after they’d gone on the run.

This place wasn’t exactly home either, but it was a base for now, and now that was a step above the cesspit of the motel that squatted in a corner of the town. Maybe better than the fancy hotel on the square too. He’d been there often enough to scoop up souls, not to be foolish enough to think that his activities would go on unnoticed there. The guy that owned the place would sniff something out and then those dead eyes would fix on him. Nah. This was better. A little spot where he could shut out all of that – and the threat of Aurora’s brother.

He'd walked into the apartment, almost expecting to push in behind him as he did. Aurora’s paranoia had rubbed off on him enough that he was beginning to anticipate trouble waiting around every corner. That wouldn’t come with the feminine scent of shampoo, or perfume, or whatever it was that wafted in with Leah like rain on an evening breeze. Damien wrinkled his nose, inhaling the scent of bourbon from his glass instead. If any one them counted as trouble, it would’ve been Leah. Cory was too concerned about letting someone down and Elias, well …

Damien huffed out a breath, moving back out of the kitchen with his glass in his hand. ”That’s what sidelines are for. You honestly think I’m doing this off a pretty face and bargaining a clean little assassination for an apartment?” He’d learned a long time ago that he had to put number one first – although never with the same sort of gusto that the thing in Sonny did. This was watching out for himself, for the people he cared about – the list these days cut down to just two.

Standing at the junction of the kitchen door and the hallway, Damien leaned against the wall. Another finger of the bourbon went down in a gulp. Dark brows rose above his glasses. ”Should I get some references to prove that?” As though a word of the truth would slip out from Hannya’s painted lips. He’d seen her at work often enough to know he had to tread carefully around her.

There it was.

A grunt slipped out of him as Leah turned back towards him. He should’ve known it would come eventually – either the great break up, or Leah turning up to tell him that she’d done away with her little mail order bride problem. There was no way he would’ve put money on Leah actually extracting herself from the situation. ”Sounds like hell,” he agreed dryly, turning as Leah pushed past him. Ducking back into the kitchen he grabbed another glass, the bottle of bourbon that wasn’t likely to last half as long now.

”Was the bitch at least in one piece when you left?” Damien poured a healthy slug into the second glass for Leah, topping up his own before he dropped into the armchair. ”I did,” he said lightly. Not so much of the bachelor with Tristan sniffing around though. He could take Aurora anywhere in the world, but there was still plenty of hunkering down out of sight here. ”This isn’t just gonna be one night, is it? The blushing bride and the little psycho aren’t leaving any time soon.” There was no question to that, while it made everything awkward and kept tensions high he imagined Hannya would try and keep them all right there.

Tagged: LEAH SIVAN * Word Count: 722

A good start in life didn’t guarantee that you’d turn out well. On the surface his own family had looked perfect – a white picket fence, a dad with a good steady job that required a suit and tie every day, a mom who stayed home and made sure the house was neat as a pin and smelt like dinner at 6 on the dot, three perfect little kids. It wouldn’t have looked out of place on a movie screen. If it was Hollywood and not real life – salted with the sort of shit nobody should’ve had to suffer through – then he’d have ended up president of the bank, Sonny would’ve been some sorta factory foreman with a wife and kids of his own, Connie, shit, she’d have been an amazing mom. Maybe she’d have been the first of them to go to college. They’d had so much potential – unlike Leah.

Leah was the flip side of the coin, the sort of woman who’d been hardened by whatever had happened to her, maybe not that there’d been soft parts to start with. He’d never got the impression that Leah had started life in some palace across the pond, a silver spoon practically choking her on her way out. If there was family hanging around other than the brother – the one she definitely didn’t have a good relationship with – then she hadn’t mentioned them before. She definitely didn’t have any other sorta connections in town or she wouldn’t have turned up here looking for somewhere to crash.

Damien’s brows hitched, amusement tugging at his lips as he lowered his glass away from them. He wasn’t that sort of a douche, he wasn’t about to make her start offering up references for how she wasn’t about to turn his apartment into a pigsty. Maybe he ought to have put his hand out already though, the liquor he’d just bought wasn’t gonna last the night with Leah here. ”Who you planning on paying for them?” he asked, wry humour dripping from his words. He caved seconds later. Wasn’t like he was about to put Leah out on the street. For a couple of nights they’d manage. Much more than that and maybe he’d be changing his mind.

Snorting, Damien poured the first of what was undoubtedly going to be many drinks into a glass for Leah. He propped the bottle on the coffee table, sprawling back to eye her across it. ‘Dealing with her’ felt like it meant there was still gonna be some sort of mess for him to cover up – one that Elias would huff and puff over like he was committing some sort of mortal sin. Hellhounds did it for a damn living, making sure that no matter how something died it was all covered up. Maybe that gig would’ve been easier – with less oversight at least.

He pooched his lips out, considering the question for a moment before he shook his head. ”Not unless it’s hidden in the small print. There’s probably some sort of rule against disturbing the natural order, but if it’s their time, it’s their time.” And if not then Leah was likely to make it the woman’s time. ”You ever think that there’s easier ways of handling it than getting your hands messy?” They probably wouldn’t be half as fun for Leah though.

The last of his glass went down Damien’s neck. He snagged the bottle topped himself up again, tipping his head side to side as he set it back down. He’d been hoping a couple of days, but a couple of weeks wouldn’t be that much worse. ”Alright, guest room’s yours til you can find somewhere. Or you and Remzi kiss and make up.” Lifting the bottle, he waggled it at Leah. ”Just a couple of ground rules – you empty the fridge or the liquor cabinet, you fill it back up, no bringing assholes back to my place, clean up after yourself. You get everything you needed from back there?” Twisting slightly, he looked around as though he could see through the door to the second bedroom to see what she’d turned up with. It wouldn’t exactly be difficult to blip back into Hannya’s place to get whatever she mighta missed – wanting to do it was another matter though.

Tagged: LEAH SIVAN * Word Count: 715