Kiss of Vengeance (The Fairchild Chronicles Book 1) by E.A. Copen

Author:E.A. Copen [Copen, E.A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: UNKNOWN
Published: 2016-11-03T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Six

Darkness fell heavy over the streets of South Boston before Dal made it to the address Cat had given him. He met Bill and Lucky there and changed into his clothes before going in. He pressed the glamor into Cat’s palm, relayed the warning, and then watched as she drank the whole thing down in a single gulp. She tossed the glass vial into the trash and then slapped a lighter into Dal’s hand. “Help me light the candles.”

He looked around the tiny house. It had the minimum furnishings to make it livable, and Nessa had kept it clean but it wasn’t what Dal would call homey. Eclectic, maybe, but not homey. He flicked the lighter and held it against the wick of a pink candle. “Nessa was really into pink, huh?”

“Pink, lace, roses. you name anything soft and girly, that was Nessa’s selling point. She did all kinds of weird stuff. Even pretended to be kids for some guys. Freaked me the hell out.” She lit a stick of incense, blew it out and fanned the smoke. “I cater to a different crowd.”

“Like kinky stuff.”

She turned and offered a hesitant smile, adjusting the pink garters she wore. “Everything in the right light is sexy to someone. Just have to find the right light and the right someone.”

“I don’t know about that.” He lit another candle. “I don’t really do whips and chains and the like.”

“Everybody’s got a kink.”

“I don’t.”

“You do. It just makes you uncomfortable to talk about it. It’s taboo. Taboo creates allure, curiosity. Excitement. The key to figuring it all out is finding where the line is and pushing just enough to bend and not break it.”

He struck the lighter again and tipped a candle over into the flame. “You sound like you know your trade.”

Cat unfolded a pink, lace tablecloth and spread it over her plain wooden table, smoothing her palm over it. “Seventy-five percent of what I do is psychology. A lot of the time, I know my clients better than they know themselves. It’s the same with cheap fortune tellers. They don’t really read your palm or your face. They watch how you walk, listen to how you speak, look for little ticks of character in your lips and your eyes. That tells me everything I need to know about everyone. Take you for instance.”

Dal turned around after lighting the last candle and found her sitting on the table, one leg crossed over the other. “Me?”

She smirked and lowered her head. “You’re the reluctant hero type. A sort of black sheep white knight. You’ve seen a lot of pain, enough to last you a lifetime. It doesn’t make you feel inadequate. It’s your strength, the thing that gets you up in the morning. Your scars are a badge, and you wear them with pride. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. You don’t pay for the sex. You pay for the chance to feel, to turn that tough exterior off. You like it when it hurts, because it reminds you who you are underneath.

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