Page 1 of All Out of Flux
1
LEON
The room was dark, cold, lit only by stray slivers of moonlight. Max cast an imposing figure, muscles taut as he leaned forward, jabbing his finger at the wicked man’s face.
“How many more times do we have to go through this? No. We’ve had enough. You’ve worn us down. This has to stop.”
My heart thumped, beating with longing for this assertive, powerful man, but also with fear. How much longer did we have to suffer?
“We’ve had enough,” I echoed, hating how small and weak I sounded. “Please. No more.”
Max glanced toward me, eyes sparking with fervor. “This must come to an end. We aren’t going to take any more of this.”
“But you know why I’ve summoned you here,” said the wicked man, the lenses of his glasses flashing evilly in the moonlight. “I have such sights to show you.”
“Babe,” groaned a fourth man. “They’re right, though. We can’t keep this up. I haven’t slept a full night in a week.”
The glasses came off. Roscoe blinked, no longer quite so wicked as he studied our faces with big, hopeful eyes. “But Ithought you guys liked doing this. It’s our special late-night treat. Remember when that brick hit that one guy in the face?”
Johnny Slivers — the fourth man — laughed out loud. “Okay, that one was pretty funny.” He caught me and Max staring daggers at him, then cleared his throat, dragging his hand down along his jaw as if to rearrange his features. “Leon and Max are right, though. You need to stop calling them to the shop to watch your traps at work.”
“Aww. Okay. Sorry, you guys.” Roscoe’s shoulders sloped as he stuck his hands in his pockets. He kicked at an imaginary pebble, somehow looking even more dejected.
Well, now I was just going to feel bad. “This is the last one, okay, Ross? But let’s make it count.”
Max threw his arm around Roscoe’s shoulders. “Yeah, and you can always send us security camera footage, right? The fun isn’t actually ending.”
We were somewhere inside the unlit interiors of Unholy Grounds, hidden from view behind the counter, and again behind chairs stacked on top of tables. To Roscoe’s elation and Johnny’s chagrin, their coffee shop and bar had become a favorite target for a band of very persistent small-time criminals.
And as if that wasn’t enough of a problem, they were all thugs working for the Brillante family, too. And not just Divina Brillante, either. The Masques had dealt with her, as far as we knew, Max’s horrible mind-controlling cousin. I was confident we wouldn’t be hearing anything from Divina for a long time.
That didn’t really help matters much, though. The Brillante clan was large, its members numerous. Like cockroaches. Max’s words, not mine. Word of Max having a stake in the café — whether emotional or financial — was enough. It was entirely possible that this swarm of thugs was coming from different Brillante factions, all come to harass the shop.
Unsuccessfully, if that. We’d seen the goons grudgingly drag themselves to Unholy Grounds knowing that they’d get their asses kicked one way or the other. It was a game to Roscoe, a way for him to apply his extremely versatile arsenal of spells and protective glyphs.
Johnny had made him promise to stop using the fire traps, as destructive as land mines, really. So Roscoe had improvised. One night, he cast a spell that effectively turned the café’s windows into rubber. They still looked like glass, which was why that one guy had been so gung-ho about lobbing a brick through them.
The brick came bouncing back, naturally.
The normal, nonmagical cops found the man on the sidewalk the following morning, dazed in every sense of the word, a brick still in his face. Roscoe even got me involved to prepare for a different night, infusing one of his traps with the essence of my fear hexes, sending an entire gang of Brillante thugs screaming into the night.
But like Johnny said, we’d worn out all the fun, and we definitely needed our sleep. Roscoe did so much to keep the shop safe, not to mention help me and Max out with his wealth of arcane knowledge. Neither of us had the heart to turn down his giggly midnight calls summoning us to the shop to watch another thug eat a mouthful of pavement.
The lack of sleep had made Max extra grumpy, which I oddly found extra sexy. I knew he wasn’t sleeping much because I’d been sleeping over even more, his little asides about exclusive partnership tickling that quiet, forgotten part of me that wanted to be pampered, romanced, and sometimes, fucked into a million quivering pieces.
We were ready for bed that night. In fact, we were dressed for it too, mostly, tank tops and boxers. I had to pull on a pair of jeans because I’d just end up swimming in any of Max’s comfierpants. He himself had opted for gray sweatpants, the bane of everyone with a pair of eyes and a love of the male physique.
Little known fact: gray sweatpants aren’t actually a form of clothing. They’re just an excuse for highlighting a man’s bulge and butt, possibly invented by some genius fashion wizard who just wanted to ogle big packages. Front and rear deliveries, thank you very much.
Even now he was standing too close to me, here behind the counter. Even as we talked to the guys, my gaze couldn’t help swinging back to admire the way Max’s plain white tank hugged his torso. Those biceps. Dear God, those biceps looked delicious. I bit hard on my lower lip, resisting the urge to bend over and take a nibble out of those ridiculous muscles.
I did actually bite down on his shoulder once before. Chomp, chomp. Max yelped and called me a cannibal. Yet I also remembered him rubbing the sore spot while throwing me intrigued glances, as if he didn’t already know that I found him irresistible. The teeth marks didn’t last all that long, anyway, and hewasirresistible. Like squeezing a baby’s cheeks.
Speaking of which, one time he walked out of the shower and it took everything I had not to sink my teeth right into that perfect butt. I ended up slapping it instead. Poor Max, honestly, having to deal with me and my lack of self-control.
“Fine,” Roscoe said, wearing a small smile. “You’re right. You guys indulged me plenty already. I’ll make some highlight reels, edit them together.”
Johnny pressed a kiss against his cheek. “That’s a mighty fine idea, Ross. Now, let’s check out tonight’s patsy. I mean victim. I mean — well, whatever.”
