Page 68 of Depraved
I don’t even bother to argue with him. There’s no point.
I walk a little self-consciously up the steps, but before I reach the door, I turn around and walk back over to Pluto’s car.
I can’t outright warn him; it would ruin everything. But maybe I can just … get him to be on higher alert.
The window rolls down, and he puts his arm on the sill, looking out at me. Or, at least, I think he is. He’s wearing mirrored aviators, so I can’t really see his eyes.
“Um. Hey. Just checking … were you guys going to secure the shop?” I don’t know what to do with my hands and end up making an awkward gesture at the wedding shop.
Pluto’s brow raises, and a scoffing noise comes from Warcraft in the passenger seat. “This is a human shop. A women’s dress shop. It’s secure.”
I swallow hard. I know arguing with him isn’t a good idea. “How do you know?”
He taps the side of his nose.
Ugh. He’s making this harder than it should be. “But … what about like a rear entrance?”
“You’d know more about those than I would, Murky. Look, why don’t you let me do my job, and you go do some jaw exercises so you can blow Black when he gets here, alright?”
My cheeks burn, and my wolf snarls, saliva flying from his jaw. He wants to bite Pluto’s nose off his face.
Not yet, I tell him, turning and striding to the store, the alpha’s laughter burning my ears. I feel like a fucking fool for even thinking of talking to Pluto. Just because he put his asswipe ways aside for a few days doesn’t mean shit. I feel like a double fool because Elena made me dress up for this ‘outing,’ so I’m wearing a blue collared shirt and khakis. I tug at the collar, adjusting it where it rubs against my heated neck as I watch the women clump together through the window.
I pull open the door and an instrumental “Here Comes the Bride” chime announces my presence. My stomach turns. My eyes dart back outside, even though it’s way too soon for Thomas Stone to be behind us.
I force myself to breathe like I’m about to try and bench three-fifty, which is my all-time high. Calm down, I tell my heart.
It doesn’t listen.
The inside of my chest feels like someone put a clamp on it and is bearing down.
“Helloooooo,” an old woman with a smoker’s voice that’s lower than my Uncle Carl’s rushes forward to the women. Her smile becomes a little stiff when she reaches Elena’s mother, who constantly puts off bitch vibes.
As they exchange introductions, I glance around at the twelve-foot high ceilings and real wooden hangers. Mom always calls those the sign of a snub nose. This place is fancy as shit.
“Here for a bridesmaid’s dress?” the woman inquires politely, folding her hands primly in front of her. She’s wearing a blue measuring tape like it’s a shawl or something.
“A wedding dress, actually,” Elena chokes out. She does not manage to sound excited. Or even natural, for that matter.
But Georgia, the wedding planner, claps her hands together. “Yes, I’m definitely thinking princess dress. Something big and grand, huge skirt—”
“No huge skirt,” Elena immediately counters.
“Maybe just a three hoop instead of a four or six hoop crinoline then,” Georgia amends.
“Budget?” The woman, who I realize is wearing a name tag that readsAdelle, gives a tight-lipped grin.
“Oh, there is no budget,” Georgia responds.
Adelle’s small grin turns into a genuine smile. “Right this way.”
The women walk down an aisle full of white. I walk forward, eyes tracing over all the windows this place has. Dammit. Why couldn’t Elena have picked a run-down place without mannequins and glass across the entire front? Some hole-in-the-wall tailor’s where I could leave the car running out back?
Speaking of out back … “I’m … going to hit the restroom,” I lie, abandoning Elena to her awkward conversation with this group about all this sparkly, overpriced lace.
I count ten massive show windows and a glass door along the front, no entrances or exits along the sides, and thankfully, after walking down a narrow hallway past the restrooms, I only find one door to the rear. It leads to an alleyway that’s wide enough for a dumpster and some recycle bins. I lock the handle of that back door and prop a chair underneath the door handle like they do in movies. It doesn’t really look like it’ll do much. I definitely don’t think it will hold out against a shifter’s strength, but I’ve got to try something.
I’m antsy. I’m amped.
