Page 87 of A Labor of Hate
He laughed, unfazed.“Thank you.Really.I love it.”
I basked in this moment, this sunbeam amidst the storm clouds of life, reserved solely for us.For a moment, all the stress about the assignment melted away.It was just Colt and me in the haven we’d created together.One I hoped to keep forever, no matter what shape or form it would take after we returned to the “real world.”
And then someone knocked at the door.
We exchanged a look, brows furrowing.Realistically, it was most likely Colleen dropping by.Maybe a door-to-door salesman.I was prepared to ignore it completely, but the chance that it wasn’t either of those two options spurred me forward and out of Colt’s room.
I whipped the door open, bracing myself to strike up another twenty-minute chat riddled with nosy questions when I froze in place.The blood drained from my face.My sore legs nearly buckled, taking the illusion of our safe haven with them.
There on our doorstep, broad shoulders hulking and dark eyes peering into my soul, stood Gavin.The Gauthiers’ hired bodyguard.
Alone.
CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN
MY MIND WHIRLED.Why was he here?Had he overheard something on the bugs that clued him into our real identities?Had he figured it out some other way?
“I don’t know what they’re paying you, but I’ll give you, like, fifty bucks not to kill us,” I offered.
Charles probably paid him thousands and thousands of dollars, but fifty bucks was fifty bucks, right?
Surprisingly, the guard laughed.The action made him look significantly less murderous, like a rottweiler instead of a scorned chihuahua.Because everyone knew chihuahuas were really the most murderous breed of dogs.That was precisely why God made them smaller than a cat—so the rest of the world would stand a chance.
“I’m not here to kill you,” Gavin explained.“I’m here on Mrs.Gauthier’s orders.I am to be your chauffeur.”
“Chauffeur?”Colt asked from behind me, his expression guarded.“Chauffeur to where?”
I looked back at him, mumbling, “Our deaths, probably.”
Gavin chuckled.
Great.So he had the hearing of a rottweiler, too.
“Mrs.Gauthier has arranged a dinner date for the two of you atLa Petite Pipette.” He held a bag out for me.“She insists you wear this.”Now a glance at Colt.“What you’re wearing should be fine.Maybe add a sports coat.You both have fifteen minutes.”
I rushed through gussying up.Vivienne had included a violet floor-length dress that made the green in my eyes pop and flattered my fake-pregnant figure.It had a tasteful yet sexy V-neck and came paired with strappy gold sandals.Based on the heat in Colt’s gaze when we reconvened in the living room, I wasn’t the only one who appreciated the look.
The ride to the restaurant was tense and silent and lasted approximately a thousand years.The suburbs morphed into businesses, which grew taller and closer together the farther we ventured into downtown Detroit.Vehicles congested the roads, and I could practically smell the exhaust in the humid air outside the car.The evening sunlight glistened off the skyscraper’s windows and bathed the city in a golden glow that softened the rough edges.Construction barriers and weathered brick contrasted against bold and colorful new buildings.Old and new, wealthy and working class, all in the same place.
La Petite Pipette, nestled in the intersection between historic and modern downtown, was a masterpiece.The bar alone had complicated chemistry set-ups with glass pipes and beakers and metal stands adorning the back of it, liquids of varying shades of amber, caramel, and burgundy bubbling or foaming within.A wavy copper container with a long neck that I could’ve sworn was used in distilling shined next to one of these set-ups like a fancy peanut.Overhead, a light fixture like suspended puddles of mercury illuminated the glossy bottles and flasks of liquor lining the rest of the shelves.
Double helix lights like DNA hung over smaller hexagonal tables, with copper-like metal legs that matched the pipes on the distillery.Though there weren’t many booths, the ones that existed were plush and polished, much like the rest of the establishment.Small, corked flasks on each table held salt and pepper, in case anyone had missed the chemistry-theme memo.It would be pretty impossible to, though, since all the waiters and waitresses wore lab coats as part of their uniform.
It should’ve been tacky.But Charles had designed the place perfectly to be refined, but fun.Fancy, but casual.There was nonalcoholic bubbly that tasted nearly identical to the real stuff and delicate pastries that melted on my tongue.
Aside from nearly killing Colt with dessert—don’t ask—dinner went off without a hitch.It seemed like we were in the clear.
Until Gavin made a wrong turn driving us home.
“Oh, it was supposed to be a right back there,” I piped up, gesturing over my shoulder.
Gavin met my eyes in the rearview mirror, his features stony.“I know.”
My blood chilled and Colt tensed beside me.The odds of there being another stop as part of Vivienne’s plan were nil, but we played our parts.Confused, asking blissfully ignorant hypotheticals to each other, and all the while panicking inside.Planning for the worst case scenario.
We finally came to a stop outside a public beach.This time of day, with clouds blocking out the sinking sun and taking its extra warmth with it, the shore was nearly deserted.
Gavin met our eyes in the mirror again, his expression cold and his voice colder.“Time for a walk.”
