Page 2 of Hell on Wheels

“How’s it looking? Any worries?”

A snort echoes in the car as my stepbrother comes online. “No snitches at the moment. I’m eyeing the gates.”

We’re talking in our own code—it’s not like we’re on an encrypted line. Gamblers are a tricky breed no matter what species they are; techno-warlocks have blended science and magic to influence everything from supe races to human sporting events, so caution is prudent. Even if we didn’t get dimed out to the Queen Bitch, neither of us wants to end up being blackmailed. Guardians are only beholden to the Society, and if we get compromised in our private lives, it could spill into our professional pursuits.

That’s the shit that starts wars, and I’d prefer not to go down in history as some fucked up Helen of Troy.

“Good. I’m almost there. Have the champers ready because we’re gonna party tonight.”

His laugh is dark and I can picture him pushing his green hair out of his eyes as he replies. “I’m not pulling a bunch of revved up asswads off your tipsy ass again. You suck at controlling the pheromones when you drink.”

I roll my eyes briefly, trying not to snark back at him. Reb is a full-blooded Unseelie and I’m a half-breed; the other half of my unknown bio parents was a succubus and I have zero frame of reference for learning to control my powers now that I’m an adult. If my actual brother Reck was around, I’d at least havesomeone to commiserate with, but since the only one around when I emerged was Reb, I’m stuck with his snark.

Being discarded orphans blows goat shifters and no one will ever convince me of anything different.

“You’re being morose again, Rogue. My parents ditched me, too, because they were afraid I’d come out a hybrid. You don’t have a copyright on being left behind,” he grumbles.

I guess that’s true, but his full blood status sure makes our adoptive ‘family’ favor him.

“Reb, until they trade your twin as currency because he’s not worth the effort to feed and clothe, you don’t get to play the ‘poor me’ game with me. Back off.”

There’s a lengthy pause before he answers and when he does, his voice is full of bitterness. “We’ve said too much on an open line. I’ll see you at the checkers.”

Great. I didn’t mean to piss off my only ally. He’ll get plastered at the after party and despite his grand pronouncements, it will be me prying hungry bitches off him before he becomes a baby daddy at 21.

Just fucking fabulous.

Throwing the Shelby into a higher gear, I put the pedal to the floor and fly down the back half of the track. My night is now a thousand times more stressful, and I wanted to lose myself in the heat of the engine to forget my earlier spat with my ex-best friend. I swear to hell, men are the biggest babies on the planet.

My mood continues to darken as I crest the last hill, thoughts of murder and mayhem fogging my brain. By the time I’m cruising down the strip, I’ve worked myself into a lather that canonly be contained by copious amounts of alcohol and sex. It’s not the healthiest coping mechanism mentally, sure, but half of my power stems from sexual energy, so I don’t examine it too closely.

Never dwell on shit you can’t control, Rogue.

Reck used to tell me that before they sent him away, and he was always right. Unfortunately, I didn’t listen then, and it’s highly doubtful I will now.

I foresee a bar fight in my future and I can’t say I’m not looking forward to it.

After all, it’s not against the rules to play dirty there.

People I Don’t Like

“I still say you’re better off without her,” Rebel says as he tosses back another Irish Car Bomb. “All the attention went straight to her head—she didn’t care if the team won as long as she could pull off moves that gained her more followers.”

Rolling my eyes into the back of my head, I smack my hand on the bar to get Winnie’s attention. The wise-cracking nymph strolls over with an arched brow, eyeing our glasses suspiciously. I shrug, not willing to articulate my rage at my ex-friend andReb’s thin skin about our parents. Neither of them is anyone's business, and I just learned a lesson about letting people get close to me.

“It’s going to be one ofthosenights,” Winnie mutters as she pulls a bottle of Jameson from the well. She adds the Bailey’s and two glasses of Guinness. “Help yourself. Winners drink free all night.”

I push a twenty over the bar, jerking my chin in thanks. “For you. Sorry we’re sour—it’s not you, Win.”

Her lips curve up before she turns to walk away. She waves over her shoulder, wiggling her curvy ass as she goes. I watch her long spring green waves bounce with a sigh. She’d be up for a tumble if I wanted, but I’m not in the mood to get frisky with someone I actually like. My mood is far too volatile and I might ruin a decent ‘friends with bennies’ arrangement with a hot chick who owns a bar. That’d be damn near blasphemous.

Reb downs a shot of whiskey, glaring over at me. “I don’t know what you see in her.”

“Uh, no one asked you, asshole. Your dates can barely spell, much less do complicated math like making change.” I glare at him for a moment before I pour my drink and push off the wood. “I’m going to go dance.”

“Whatever,” he mutters as he slams another.

Great. He’ll get wasted in less than an hour if he keeps at it.

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