Soul Enslaved (Sons of Wrath Book 3) (21 page)

“How goes it, sweetheart?” Thick arms engulfed her from behind, lifting her into a bear hug.

“Could be better.”

“Darrow picked up your car yesterday morning. I’ll try to get to it today, but shit’s crazy, and people are, too.”

She glanced up at Gavin. “S’okay, Griff. I got a loaner for now.”

Griffin released her. “Oh, yeah? Someone trying to steal my business?”

“This is Gavin.” Something about the situation felt very high school—like she was introducing her dad to the football star, knowing he’d disapprove. “He’s staying with us for a while.”

Griff’s suspicious lifting of his chin, staring down the nose, fatherly once-over had Sabelle shrinking a little. Griffin didn’t always come off as cordial. “What’s your story?” His tone held that air of disapproval she’d expected.

Gavin offered to shake his hand, keeping it there an exceptionally long time before Griffin gave a halfhearted shake in return. “Anticlimactic, as of late.” He jerked his head. “That a seventy-two Chevelle you have hoisted?”

“Yeah. Fucktard who owns it doesn’t know the first thing about cars. Ain’t that always the case with the rich bastards?”

Rubbing his chin, Gavin nodded. “Always.”

“Fuckin’ suit and tie pansies.” Griffin sniffed. “Got a slew of wrenches so they don’t gotta get their hands dirty.” He eyed Gavin. “So, what do you do?”

“I’m a fuckin’ suit and tie pansy.”

Griffin cocked a brow and burst into laughter. “Ah, shit, where’d you find this one, sweetheart?”

“I enslaved him.”

More laughter.

“You’d be in heaven in his garage, Griff. Quite an impressive collection of cars
and
bikes, from what I hear.”

“Yeah?” The biker’s nod toward Gavin left a sinking feeling in Sabelle’s stomach. “You hire a grease monkey to keep your ass cushioned so you have something to parade up and down Woodward once a year?”

Jesus. Good thing Sabelle never dated much in school. “Simmer down, old man. He’s friendly.”

Gavin tugged his phone from his back pocket and swiped through apps, opening one that popped up an image. “Don’t think there’s a mechanic on earth who would know what to do with this.”

Griffin’s eyes narrowed then widened.

“What is it?” Sabelle shifted stares between the two of them. “What are you showing him?”

“Never seen one before.” The quick aversion of Griffin’s eyes and the tucking of his hands in his pockets said otherwise. She’d known the guy long enough to recognize his discomfort.

“Zedrigast. A very rare motorcycle. So rare, most mechanics wouldn’t know the first thing about it.”

“Including me.” Griffin fell back into his chair, kicking his feet up on the desk again. “Looks foreign.”

“Sounds expensive.” Sabelle huffed and crossed her arms, her glances shifting between the two men who’d finally broken the staredown. “Okay, if we’re done with the testosterone match here, I think we’re gonna head out. Just wanted to make sure you found my car. Well, and I wanted to see you, too.”

Griffin smiled. “What kind of beauty wastes her time visiting a pathetic bastard like me?”

“The kind that gives a shit and wants to make sure you’re still kickin’ around, that’s who.” She gave a sharp nod. “Hey, Griff, I’m gonna use the ladies room before I go.”

“Ladies room? Ain’t a lady been in there since the last time you used it.”

“Sign of a man in desperate need of a woman.” She patted his shin as she passed his desk. “I can hook you up with a profile on one of those dating sites, if you want.”

“Fuck, no. Just my luck I’d end up with some crazy bitch looking to get married, or something.”

“Yeah, that’d be bad.” Sabelle chuckled, heading toward the small hallway. “Someone to take care of your ass? Horrible.”

“If it ain’t so bad, why don’t you do it, then?”

Sabelle had already rounded the corner when she yelled back, “Because I’m genetically predisposed to assholes!”

The scent of mold and aged pipes hit her before she even flipped on the light and closed herself into the tiny space, despite the efforts of the pine disinfectant. She relieved herself quickly, doing her best to touch as few things as possible.

“And … no toilet paper. Great.” Leaning to the side, she nosed through the cupboard beneath the sink, and spotted a roll toward the back. At a metallic flash, Sabelle tipped her head. She yanked up her jeans, washed her hands, and crouched to get a better look at the something shiny tucked in the recesses of the cupboard.

Sabelle pushed cleaners aside and lifted out a stack of clothes. Black leathers—no surprise, though she’d always known Griffin to wear jeans—and a black T-shirt and leather vest, covered in patches she didn’t recognize. Sabelle’d seen Griffin’s colors before—he belonged to a Detroit club called the Motorcity Renegades. The patch on the vest she held showed a skull with white wings and flames. The Avenging Angels Motorcycle Club.

At the bottom of the stack, a holster held a dagger. As Sabelle slid it from its sheath, the metal seemed to swirl, like it moved.

Catching her reflection in the shine, she dropped the knife, cringing as it clanged against the tiles. Once more she lifted the blade and stared into the metal. Her face was—well, her face, but about ten years younger. She turned her head, touching where she knew to be a small, skinny scar Jeven had given her a while back. It didn’t exist in her reflection, as if it wasn’t there at all, and yet, she fingered its ridges. Angling the blade back and forth showed sections of her face—her eyes that held wonderment, her cheeks, still fleshy with youth.

Strange. Where would Griffin stumble upon such a thing? And why did he have a totally different cut from the one he’d always worn?

Folding everything back into place, Sabelle closed the cupboard on her findings and exited the bathroom to a round of male laughter.

“Christ, kiddo, I thought you’d fallen in and the hogs had eaten ya!” Griffin barked.

Her gaze landed square on his colors, draped on the back of the chair. “Yeah, I was … checking something out …” Her attention snapped back to him. “In the mirror. Could’ve told me I had food in my teeth.”

“Hard to see past that beautiful face, darlin’.” Griffin winked.

Gavin sat slouched in the chair, gnawing on something, and for the first time, she noticed the atmosphere had changed, much lighter than before.

“Speaking of hogs … are you eating …
pork rinds
?” She couldn’t hide the repulsion, as Gavin munched on a another handful—the things had always turned her stomach. Pig skin?
Disgusting
.

“Yeah, never tried these things before. Not bad.” Gavin tossed another into his mouth, forcing Sabelle to shiver.

She anchored her gaze back on Griffin. “You initiated him into
pork rinds
?”

“
That
is a classic junk food that is severely underrated. Plus, they taste good with beer.”

“That’s not junk food. That’s by-product. And you’re sucker enough to be the big receptacle to the world’s shit.”

“Hey …” He pointed a finger. “Until you’ve eaten one, you ain’t got no say. Your opinion is rejected.”

“Rejected?” She placed her hands on her hips. “We’ll see, when I’m carrying your ass out of here, straight to the hospital.”

He raised a brow and turned his attention back toward Gavin. “Want some more?”

“Sure.” Gavin leaned forward, grabbing a few from the offered bag.

“Guess you’ll be carting both our asses out o’ here, sweetheart.” A grin slid across Griff’s lips, before he popped another rind into his mouth, obnoxiously crunching away.

She rolled her eyes. “I’ve had enough fun. Call me when you have a chance to check out the ride.”

He gave her a salute and, standing, hefted her into a suffocating hug, planting a kiss on her cheek. “Aye, aye, Capitana. Give Denya a kiss from me.” After setting her back on her feet, he wiped his hand against his pants and offered it to Gavin. “You take care, Brother.”

“Same to you.” Gavin shook his hand and stood up from the chair, following Sabelle back through the garage and out of the building, where sunlight nearly blinded her.

“Wow, leave for two minutes and you’re charming the big, badass biker,” she said over her shoulder, reaching to open the passenger door before Gavin beat her to it. “He likes you.”

He held the door open. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, for one, he shared his food. Griffin never shares anything with anyone. And second, he shook your hand. He once told me he only shakes the hand of men he trusts.”

He closed her door, rounded the vehicle and climbed in the driver’s seat. “Must be awkward when he comes across one he doesn’t trust.”

“Does that man look like he gives a shit about awkward?”

“Not at all.” Gavin fired up the engine and pulled away. “I wasn’t talking about Griffin. How’d you two become friends?”

“Griffin? He, uh … it’s really messed up. Best friend of my dad’s, I guess. I’d never met him until my mom started dating him. He couldn’t really stand my mom—no one could—but he stayed. He was afraid of what would happen to me and Denya if he left.” She tightened her lips and nodded. “He’s a good man.”

“Any man who selflessly takes care of a woman is a good man.”

“I’m impressed, mister fancy casino boss. You seem to morph easily. Is there any crowd that makes you uncomfortable?”

Gavin’s chest puffed up, and he blew out a breath. “Any large group of women gathered to see a Channing Tatum movie is pretty frightening. Those ladies are vicious. Brutal.”

Sabelle laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever watched one of his movies. I’d be the one ducking for cover.” She twisted in her seat. “Hey, that bike you showed Griffin. I’m curious. What makes it so rare?”

Gavin glanced over and back toward the windshield. “It’s not found on earth. I bought it from a shady ass Fallen angel a while back. He’d stolen it.”

“From what?”

“An angel he’d slain.”

Where Gavin should’ve turned on Palmetto, he kept on toward Van Dyke.

“We don’t have to go by Denya’s. She’s keeping the kids for me today so I can finish these art pieces.”

“Art pieces?”

“Just some … projects I’m working on.”

“Do you sell them?”

“No!” The very thought made her stomach lurch. “I don’t share my work with others. They’re just for me. And my family”

“I’ve seen the mural in the kids’ room. You could probably make some cash off of it.”

“You’re just being kind.” Heat burned in her cheeks and Sabelle cast her gaze out the window, but straightened in the seat.

Police cars, ambulances and tape blocked off a corner of Van Dyke. Gavin slowed the vehicle, and Sabelle could see blood trickling over the edge of the curb, pooling onto the pavement. A mutilated hand stuck out from a blanket, chewed into shredded meat.

Lycans.

“I wonder what they think is doing this.” She stared out the window as they passed. “How long do you think it’ll be before they know they’re not the only ones? That they live amongst demons, succubi, wolves.”

“We’ve lived alongside them for centuries. This is the first time I’ve questioned the same thing.”

“Humans are such a weak species.” She stared forward. “And yet, some days I wish I was one of them. At least I’d be free.”

“Freedom is relative to what one believes enslaves him.”

“How so?”

“They might view where you live, how you live, as enslavement, by their standards.” His gaze trailed to her and back to the road. “And yet, you’re not troubled by it. You might view my work ethic as enslavement.”

“And so freedom doesn’t truly exist for anyone.”

“It does for those who accept their situations.” At the corner of her eye, she caught his shrug. “Here I’m enslaved and, yet, this is the most freedom I’ve had in years.”

The comment brought a smile to her face. “Are you asking me to up the ante on your punishment?”

“Not at all. I’m just saying, I’ve accepted the fact that my life isn’t what it was a few months ago. I’m content.”

“Something tells me you’d never be content with being content for long, Gavin.”

“True. But for now, I’m rolling with it.”

CHAPTER 7

The hatch to the attic remained cracked, and through the gap, Gavin could see the small art nook tucked up there. Sabelle stood before a canvas, painting away. Soft music played on in the background.
Nina Simone
. He’d have left her alone, but the ladder propped in the hallway heightened his curiosity, and he widened the gap and climbed inside.

With her back to him, she continued working at the piece on the easel. Gavin’s gaze roved the art on the wall. White faces, aside from a singular distinct feature on each. One showed a very detailed eye, down to the wrinkles and crow’s feet. A man, judging from the heavy brows and stocky figure. The rest of the face was white, blurred. Another seemed to be the same man. His top lip had a very distinct curve to it below a mustache that needed trimming and hung low. Again, the rest of the face, aside from that one small detail, remained white, blurred, almost unfinished. Another showed indistinct red script inked across what appeared to be a forearm—the words faded, as if she’d only tried to capture shapes of the letters.

In all cases, it seemed to be the same man. Like a puzzle of pieces that made up a single painting.

“What are you doing in here?”

Gavin spun around, taking in the paint splattered on her plaid shirt and the muss in her hair. He jerked his chin. “Who is he?”

“No one.”

“Those features are amazing for no one.”

“He’s … someone I used to know. Are you hungry? I mean, do you guys get hungry? I noticed you haven’t eaten much since you’ve been here.”

“We eat mostly for taste and socializing.” Gavin turned back toward the painting. “These paintings are great. So haunting. Dark. Almost an evil undertone.” He paused a beat, eyes focused on the image, which emphasized the subject’s rough hand, balled into a fist. “Has this person hurt you before?”

“He’s my father.”

Gavin didn’t bother to turn. Doing so might’ve made her stop talking, and since most succubi didn’t know their fathers, he was suddenly intrigued.