Page 7 of Gilded Caresses

Hmm. Vague. “Thanks. Can you let him know I’m in and will be in the back parlor?”

I close the ledger with an audible thump and collect my phone. I make eye contact with security and keep my chin high as I pass through the lounge area. At first, I thought the wide-open space was great. You know. More room and fewer walls equals a happy environment.

That equation is deceptive.

No walls mean no protection and in this line of work I have to question the architect’s thought process. Something between me and the dudes with killer instincts would be nice.

I’m beginning to realize Harlon said just about anything I wanted to hear to get me to sign on as an undertaker. What he doesn’t know is I had few options on the table. A bachelor of arts in accounting isn’t much use if you can’t get a job.

The runner in the leather jacket and knife pushes up off the couch and steps in front of me. He smells like he’s been down at the docks for about a week. In a pit of dead fish.

Fat, beefy fingers wrap around my upper arm and stop me cold. I’m against a wall and the putrid assassin with the shower phobia is in my face. His expansive shoulders turn into a black wall of leather.

Note to self: be more careful of the kind of walls you wish for.

My face pulls into a snarl.

I hear him chuckle darkly and it makes my stomach churn violently. Is this what it feels like to be the hunted?

Surprise sends the ledger and my phone tumbling to the floor. I shove at the man. “Back the hell up!”

Beady black eyes narrow on me. “You mean shit here. Get that in your head. Your father is shit, too. I don’t care what the bosses say. The day he stole my family’s money is the day he signed his death warrant.” He stops talking like he’s finally had a great idea after a long drought. “Maybe I could use you as bait and lure him in.” He snaps his teeth together an inch from my nose.

The overhead chandeliers are more for elegance than throwing the place in massive amounts of lights. Shadows cut across his face but I still get the full force of evil in his eyes. “I still can’t believe it’s your name on my contract. Your predecessor picked a lousy time to keel over.”

“Yeah, heart attacks work like that, dumbass.” I jerk on my arm but his grip tightens painfully.

I should play along. Be meek and pliant to his demands.

Yeah, that doesn’t work for me.

“Get the fuck off me.” Ungodly amounts of grit and determination drive my voice high, but the animalistic growl coming out of his throat sends cold chills through me.

“I’m here to collect my earnings. I’m gonna make sure you don’t run off with my money like your dear daddy did to my father. Harlon and those two pricks he runs with made a big fucking mistake with you.”

Against my better judgment, I laugh in his face. “You’ll be lucky they don’t kill you for touching me.”

Those vice-like fingers move from my arm to my throat and suddenly choosing to breathe is no longer an option I have.

“Shut the fuck up!”

Good advice I don’t take.

“If Constantine and those two pricks, as you say, hear you talking crap they’ll force-feed you hand-picked bullets.” I’m choking on every single word but I squeeze them out anyway.

But let me back up a second. You must be wondering who I am.

Three

Sapphire

Ihave a lot of names. Black sheep, trash, death, and thief. But my personal favorite is the daughter of the walking dead. And that’s just what most of my family calls me.

People at Genesis call me undertaker—the one who organizes the removal of unwanted bodies after conflicts. But that’s the least of my duties. My main job is being the medium between runners like Snake Eyes here and bounty holders. AKA Genesis’ clients. It’s not as cut and dry as the title suggests and I’ve only held the position for a little over three weeks. The ink on my diploma hasn’t even dried yet. But that’s long enough to know this is not my forever job. Death dealing isnotmy cup of tea. With this title comes power I never held before. And frankly, I’m not sure I want it.

But I have bills and a reputation to fix. So here I am.

I just don’t know how to tell my cousin this life isn’t for me. You see, at nearly fifteen years my senior he made sure I didn’t land on the streets when no one else cared enough about the thief’s daughter. I was barely fifteen back then, as was Belle. Shecouldn’t help me any more than I could help myself when their parents shunned me. With no place to go Harlon kept me out of the system and gave me a home when everyone else in the family turned their backs.

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