Made for Sin by Stacia Kane

Author:Stacia Kane
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2016-08-30T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

He ended up giving her the keys, because as much as he hated letting someone else drive the Dart, he hated the thought of crashing it even more. And she did fine, like he’d expected her to.

At least, she seemed to do fine. The sun hurt his eyes despite his sunglasses—they were always oversensitive to light after the beast used them—and he was so fucking exhausted that he couldn’t pay attention. He hovered somewhere on the edge of sleep, his mind half-occupied by dreams but still aware that he was in his car, riding down busy streets that smelled of exhaust and heat. He’d think he was in the middle of a conversation with someone and then snap back to reality and realize he wasn’t saying a word, that neither he nor Ardeth was actually speaking.

Because they weren’t, aside from her brief offer to bandage his hands and his mumbled refusal. He didn’t know if she was being quiet to let him rest, or because she was scared, or because she was trying to figure out how to get the hell away from him as soon as possible. She didn’t look afraid; she looked perfectly content, occasionally singing along to the Velvet Underground on the car’s stereo and tapping her fingers on the wheel.

She looked adorable, actually, but he knew her well enough by then to know that she was pretty good at hiding her feelings. Maybe she was scared and didn’t want him to know, afraid of what reaction that might get. Maybe he didn’t want to know. He definitely didn’t want to talk. Explaining the beast wasn’t going to be fun.

Finally they arrived at the Spyglass, one of the older, seedier hotel-casinos on the outskirts of the city. Mostly a front; Doretti owned it through a proxy, and kept it solely as a way to funnel cash, as far as Speare knew. Which meant that unless Majowski had a gambling problem or had a thing for blue-rinsed ladies, neither of which Speare thought was true, his presence there was probably not good news.

Ardeth cut the engine. “You ready to move, Elvis? Or—”

“Don’t call me that.”

Her soft laugh washed over him. “I guess you’re feeling better, then. Come on, he’s inside.”

Getting out of the car felt like climbing K2: a painful, difficult ordeal he might not survive. He did it anyway. Spots erupted before his eyes as he followed her to the entrance—not the beast’s spots, thankfully; it would probably be quiet for a good six hours at least after having a chance to play, however brief that chance had been—but he managed to see well enough to navigate.

The interior was just as bright as it had been outside, but with the added distraction of neon in various hideous colors and the torturous cacophony of voices, along with bells, tumblers, slot machines, chips, and tokens. The smell of old booze and sweat made his stomach shift uneasily.

Ardeth took his arm. “Want a drink? Water, soda, whiskey?”

It hurt his head to even make the decision.

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