Page 18 of Murder & Mayhem

Rolling my eyes at his sarcasm, I open the door and slip into the front seat. “You joke, but ice cream sounds fucking amazing after the night I’ve had.”

His gaze lingers on me until I start to feel uncomfortable under the scrutiny of his intense stare. It’s only then that I remember I’m still wearing my wig and contacts. I tug the wig off my head and carefully store it in my bag before grabbing my contact lens case. Pulling down the visor, I fish the contacts out of my eyes, all while Cain continues to watch me closely.

Just before I snap and demand to know what he finds so damn interesting, he asks, “Was it that bad?” My brows pull together in confusion. “Tonight.”

“No,” I sigh, shaking my head. “Just pointless. Dante was a no-show.”

Nodding in understanding, he finally puts the car in drive and pulls away from the curb, easily navigating the quiet late-night traffic. I turn to look out my window, assuming that’s the end of the conversation, but after a moment, he speaks up.

“It was only your first night.” His words of reassurance surprise me, given the way he acted last time the topic of me working here was brought up.

“Yeah, I know.” I still sound defeated, but he doesn’t offer any more words of comfort, not that I need him to, and we continue to make our way across town in silence. I’m still not sure why he was even outside the club. I’m fairly certain babysitting my ass all night is below his pay grade.

I’m staring out the window, lost in my thoughts and barely paying attention to our surroundings, when Cain slows the car and stops outside a darkened shop front. “What are we doing here?” I question, staring up at the overhead sign in confusion.

“You said you wanted ice cream.” He says it so casually like it’s no big deal, but the fact that we’re currently parked outside Nutterly Delicious—in the middle of the night—says otherwise. He climbs out of the car without another word, and hesitantly, I follow, watching as he fishes a key out of his pocket and quickly unlocks the door.

I follow him into the ice cream parlor and watch as he flicks on the lights and moves behind the counter, not entirely sure what to make of all of this. It’s all very… un-Cain like—more along the lines of a gesture Oliver would do.

“What flavor do you want?” he asks as he grabs a cardboard tub and opens the back of the display freezer.

“Uhh.” I move to stand on the other side of the display case, reading the name cards for each flavor. I’m deliberately choosing to focus on the simple task of picking one instead of thinking about how out of place Cain looks with his broad frame and tatted-up body holding an ice cream scoop and a tub in his hand. “Cookies and cream.”

He proceeds to put two scoops into the tub before asking, “Toppings?”

I run my eyes over the various options. “Marshmallows and caramel sauce.”

When he’s added my choices, he digs a small, pink plastic spoon into the mixture and hands over the cup. My fingers brush his, a tingle racing along my skin, and I quickly pull back, breaking contact as I mutter a thanks and step away. His gaze lingers on mine for a moment before he jerks his head and moves to start tidying up. Turning my back on him, I make my way over to one of the window booths and slide in, watching as the odd person scurries by outside, not wanting to get caught out alone this late at night. However, with the Rejects now in control of this part of town, it’s a hell of a lot safer than it was under the Satans’ reign.

I’m still staring out the window when Cain slips into the seat opposite me, his close proximity pulling me out of my inner thoughts as I turn to face him, taking a bite of my ice cream.

We sit in silence while I eat, but it’s a comfortable sort of silence where neither of us feels the need to fill it, and honestly, it’s kinda nice not to be arguing with him for once.

After several more bites, I hold the spoon out to Cain in a silent gesture. He stares at it for a short time before lifting his eyes to meet mine, his expression as unreadable as always. When he reaches out to take the spoon from between my fingers, it feels like a much more meaningful exchange is taking place between us, rather than the simple passing of a spoon.

He wraps his other hand around the cup and pulls it closer to his side of the table, digging the spoon into the runny ice cream and slowly bringing it to his mouth. I watch as it disappears between his full lips. He hums low in the back of his throat as he swallows.

“Tell me something about your sister.” My voice is soft, quiet, but he hears me, his hand pausing mid-way to his mouth as he goes to take another mouthful. When I manage to tear my gaze away from his lips to meet his gaze, I find him watching me, a rare vulnerability shining in his eyes before he looks away.

He licks his lips, and I’m fully expecting him to tell me to stop prying into his business, so I’m taken aback when his words don’t have their usual angry growl. Instead, he gestures to the cup of melted ice cream and says in a husky voice, born of grief and heartache, “Cookies and cream was her favorite.”

I lift one side of my lips in a small smile, a silent gesture of gratitude. I can only imagine how hard that admission was to share. “She had good taste then.”

He chuckles softly. “Yeah. Although she always insisted on trying mine, even though she didn’t like chocolate.” A melancholy grin lights up his face in the most heart-rending way. “She’d take a huge big bite out of it too, then screw up her face and tell me how disgusting it tasted.”

I laugh softly. “Luc was never fussy about which sweet treats he got, so long as they contained sugar. His face would light up like fireworks on the fourth of July when I told him I had a surprise for him. I didn’t even care that he’d be up all night on a sugar high. Anything was worth seeing that look of joy on his face.”

Cain studies me with those all-seeing eyes of his. “You raised him?”

“I did. After our mom died.”

“I’m sorry.” His voice is low, his words sincere.

I give an easy shrug of my shoulder. It is what it is. I’ve long since made my peace with it. “It was a long time ago, and she hadn’t been much of a mother anyway. I got my revenge on the man who killed her, and now my focus has to be on looking forward, doing my best for Luc, and ensuring he doesn’t meet the same fate she did.”

There’s conviction in my voice, which thankfully hides the nerves fluttering in my stomach because I’ve never told anyone about my mom; or about what I did. But it just felt right after Cain shared part of his past with me and the openness he’s shown me this evening. The words were out of me before I’d really given them much thought, but now that they’re out there, hanging in the air between us, I don’t regret them. If anything, the way Cain is looking at me right now, with a mixture of surprise and respect, only chases away any anxiety I may have had.

“Is that how you became the Reaper?”

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