The Unlikeable Demon Hunter Collection: Books 1-6: A Complete Paranormal Romantic Comedy Series by Deborah Wilde

Author:Deborah Wilde [Wilde, Deborah]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Te Da Media Inc.
Published: 2020-08-30T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 6

If the library had been a disaster before, it was ten times worse after our pointless search for any information on the oshk.

In theory, I was now recording all the serial numbers of the cash so Orwell, the Brotherhood intel department so nicknamed by Kane, could track its source. In practice, I was keeping a wary eye on Rohan and his string of Hindi-English cursing that had risen from a mutter to a couple of stages away from a roar.

I ruffled the bills. “Did you know that there are one hundred hundred dollar bills in each bundle?”

No response.

“I’ve got a cool half a mill here.” I shook the backpack. “I’m thinking a quick Google search on countries with no extradition treaty, book a flight, and we’re living large on a beach with umbrella drinks by happy hour tomorrow.”

Holding this much cash was so surreal that it almost lost all meaning. Not gonna lie, I was tempted to rip open the bundles and roll naked on them, but considering we’d commandeered the cash from a demon home, refrained.

Rohan flung a book on the table; it bounced and crashed to the floor.

“Okay,” I said, retrieving the book–and the laptop for good measure–and placing them on the far end of the table, “you’re done.”

Rohan turned glittering eyes on me, clearly wanting someone to fight with.

I spread my hands. “We’re in a holding pattern and getting mad at your people isn’t going to change that.”

Expression thunderous, he left the room.

I zipped up the backpack, setting my list of serial numbers on top, and leaned back in my chair, my chest tight. Work, relationship, saving the world–for Rohan and I, it was all tangled up. We even lived at Demon Club. There was no space for us to breathe.

My ex, Cole, had recently told me that when my snapped Achilles had destroyed my tap dance dreams, he’d had no idea how to comfort me. He hadn’t felt like I was in the relationship. I didn’t think that about Ro, but the fear of watching someone I cared about revert into bad behaviors and shut me out was all too real these days.

If we didn’t live up to Rohan’s relationship expectations or I became the fallout in the implosion of his feelings around the Brotherhood, his pattern would be he’d dump me without another look back and waltz into whatever new identity he crafted for himself. There would be no fighting for us or working through things. We’d be us and then we wouldn’t be anything.

I exhaled, hard. There might not be a way out of the pressure cooker we lived in, but maybe there was a way to alleviate some steam. I pulled out my phone and started researching my brilliant idea, leaning my elbows on the library table. This was supposed to be our honeymoon phase and honeymoon it we would.

“Sorry.” Rohan reappeared in the doorway, sounding genuinely contrite.

“That’s– juggling.” I squinted at the four red balls in his hands.

“Yeah. One of our roadies got me into it as a stress relief.

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