Page 18 of Hell on Wheels

However, this time, I’m worried about somethingotherthan a priceless piece of art they might smash.

I wiggle my fingers, watching my fire blaze up and crawl over my hands. With a satisfied smirk, I send a burst of phoenix fire atthem. It hits them as they roll over the carpet and their surprised yelps echo off the high ceilings of the foyer. “Are you done?”

Both Geminis get to their feet, turning their ire from one another to me. “That hurt, dickhead!”

Smothering a laugh, I shrug. They didn’t even seem to notice their spooky twin shit because they’re too focused on trying to put the tiny fires dancing over them out. “Kinda the point. You’re going to wake someone up and neither option is good. If you want to act like fools, go fight it out in the pool. Now that it’s clean…”

I trail off, looking at Angelo as we realize the underwear floating in our pool had to belong to Rogue. Angelo looks like he’s going to strangle his twin, and Damon rubs his neck with a sheepish look. Hefting a long sigh, I shake my head. “Damon, get some fucking clothes on. Angelo, go have an espresso. Everyone needs to calm the fuck down before the others come in. Unless I missed you saying you and Dragonfly have an announcement to make?”

Damon pales and shakes his head. “Uh, not… not exactly. I mean, I might have convinced her to stay here.”

Angelo’s face breaks out into a bright grin, and he claps Damon on the back. “Well, fuck, bro. In that case, I forgive your teeny weenie for trespassing. Using it to get our girl to stay put is probably the only good thing you’ve ever done with it.”

Twins are goddamned exhausting. And Rebel isn’t even awake yet.

“Are you trying to tell us you fucked her into compliance, D? ‘Cause even I don’t buy that farm,” I call over my shoulder as I head downstairs to go to the kitchen.

Damon gets very quiet, and I stop in the middle of the steps, causing a pile-up. His expression is sheepish, and I arch a brow at Angelo. The chaos demon studies his brother for a moment and his eyes light up. Clapping his hands like a child, he turns back to me with a wicked grin.

“He didn’t doanything.” Damon makes a scoffing sound and Angelo corrects himself. “Okay, okay.Merda?1. Little D heredidthings, but it was definitelywhat he was told.”

I watch the vengeance demon flush bright red, and the meaning of Angelo’s words hits me. “Ohhhh. Dragonfly topped the hell out of you, huh?”

“Shemayhave demanded a few things,” he mutters as he pushes past us. “Not like I’d tell her no.”

That’s odd. Damon’s a submissive at heart; he’s never been so sketchy about admitting it. Is this because it’s Rogue?

His twin rapidly fires questions at him as we walk to the kitchen and start the coffee. Damon ducks and weaves gracefully, and the more he does so, the more I watch his reactions. Phoenixes are very empathic, and he’s got guilt radiating off him in waves. It’s not about sleeping with Rogue; he was normal, if not a bit prideful, when we discovered that fact.

This is something else, and he doesn’t want us to know.

“You don’t have to be such a cockwaffle about it,” Angelo says as he pulls out the creamer and the tray of coffee shit. “We all know you like it when someone else is in charge.”

Damon slams the bowls on the counter and I realize he’s decided we’re making pancakes. I suppose carbs wouldn’t hurt given the ringing in my head at their constant squabbling. I pull eggs,butter, cherries, and milk out of the fridge, coming over to help him. He gives me a grateful look as I leave him to work on the pancakes while I get supplies for bacon and eggs. Angelo is still fiddling with the coffee, but mercifully, he’s quiet.

That is, until Archie and Rebel come stumbling up the patio. They’re a study of dark and light as they walk up to the backdoor—Archie’s golden retriever/hockey god boyish charm and Rebel’s emo brooding paleness. The likelihood of the two of them becoming best friends was so slim, but Archie’s mom took one look at Rogue’s parents at a middle school family night and sort of adopted the two of them.

Whenever we were at their house, I wondered what it was like for Rogue and her actual brother before the Kellys sent him away. Their indifference explains the hyper-independence our girl displays and her trail of ‘no strings’ encounters. She doesn’t trust anyone to stay, much less take care of her. Her adoptive parents sure as hell haven’t.

Rebel inhales as he walks in, grinning at the spread we’re laying out. “Times like this are when I remember why you idiots are my friends.”

“Rude, Reb. Don’t piss off the chef and his minions, for it is the hour of our need. Bloody Mary, mother of cocktails. I implore you to ease my pain. Behold the pig, the chicken, and the grease, amen,” Archie intones as he pulls a carafe of tomato juice out of the fridge.

“Stop,” I grumble and bat his hands away as he clumsily gathers the ingredients for homemade Bloody Mary mix from the cabinets. “Last time, it tasted like a failed spaghetti sauce. Watch the bacon and I’ll do it. Reb, make yourself useful and set the table.”

Surprisingly, they both listen and I go about adding the perfect blend of spices and Worcester, tossing in a little jalapeño and sriracha for flavor. Pre-made mixes are verboten in our house, and they all know it. That means I end up taking over shit like this, but at least I don’t have shitty tasting bottles of crap under my bar.

“Where’s Wheels? It’s not like her to be far from food.”

Pressing my lips together, I shoot a glance over at the twins as they work on their assignments. Neither of them replies, so I sigh and hand Archie his drink. “Sleeping upstairs. We didn’t want to wake her.”

“Let’s give her a little while longer. She’s still healing,” Rebel says as he finishes the place setting. “Plus, we hit the bottle pretty hard last night.”

“She hit something pretty hard last night,” Angelo mutters, and I have to choke back a snort.

Damon whips a dollop of batter at him, smirking when it splatters on his face and Rebel arches his brow at them. The hacker shrugs, looking completely innocent as he goes back to work on the pancakes.

“What’s with them this morning?” our green-haired friend asks, frowning.

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