thought it was kind of a lonely way to go about life. Always looking over your shoulder. Always wondering who was going to stab you in the back. Never being able to let down your guard for one second just in case someone or something came calling to kick your ass.
He supposed his life wasn’t all that different. He didn’t always have to look over his shoulder to see if someone was sliding a knife into it, but he did have to be cautious. He survived by procuring things. Usually the hard-to-find type of things. Items that were not for sale on eBay. Things like ancient talismans and old lost documents written in Aramaic. And most of these things he had to steal. He was good at what he did. He moved like the shadows and had never been caught. And he never planned to be.
His career wasn’t perfect. Most of his clients were ruthless and manipulative and shrewd. People he needed to be wary of, or he would be the one always looking over his shoulder.
She started the truck and they pulled away from the deserted spot near the water. As she pulled out onto a gravel road, she glanced at him. “There’s a blindfold in the glove box. Put it on.”
“You’re serious?”
“If you don’t want to wear it, I can pull over and you can get out right here and now.”
He pressed the button on the compartment. It sprang open and he reached in and took out the black cotton blindfold. He ran it through his fingers. “You know the rumors didn’t say anything about you being so kinky.”
“Did they say anything about me killing you for talking too much?”
“Why, yes, yes they did.”
She turned her head to look back at the road, but he caught the little smirk on her lips. Interesting. Maybe she wasn’t so indifferent to him after all.
“I’ll play your game,” he said, wrapping the cloth over his eyes and tying it in back, “but only because I find you quite fascinating.”
“I should have brought a gag for your mouth.”
“Next time, we can experiment.”
He heard her little chuckle and smiled. He then turned his head to the left and listened to the sounds outside the truck—the gravel crunching under the tires, a blast from a ship’s horn, the thump of music from one of the dive bars nearby. He may not be able to see where he was going, but he certainly could hear it. Despite her fears about him, he wasn’t about to tell anyone where her safe house was located. He needed her trust. If he was to achieve his grand plan, he needed her more than she would ever know.
An hour later, the truck slowed, turned left up onto a cement pad then eventually came to a soft rolling stop. Ronan heard the telltale drone of a garage door closing. They were in a suburb somewhere to the north. Since pulling away from the bay he’d known what direction they were going and had adjusted his inner compass with every turn she took. It wasn’t an exact science, but he felt more secure knowing roughly where he was in the city. Just in case he needed to disappear in a hurry.
Once the door was fully down, his blindfold was yanked from his eyes. He blinked at Ivy and smiled. “Are we there yet?”
She shook her head at him, then opened her door and got out. He did the same. He looked around the garage, noticing the starkness of it. There was no lawn mower parked in the corner, or workbench with tools spread across it. No lawn furniture or boxes of past things stacked in a neat pile along one wall. There was nothing there. No memories, nothing to hold a person to a place.
It suited Ivy to a tee.
“I never pictured you as a suburbanite.”
“Which is exactly why this is the perfect cover.” she grabbed her bag from the truck and headed for the door to the main house.
As she approached it, a rush of adrenaline kicked in Ronan’s gut. He nearly doubled over from the shock of it. Something was off. Something was wrong. He could feel it crawling over his flesh like angry army ants.
Before Ivy could grab the doorknob, he grabbed the back of her jacket and yanked her backwards. He wrapped his arms around her, pinning her arms to her sides.
She struggled against him. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Something’s wrong. I can feel it,” he said between gritted teeth.
She looked around the garage. “Are you sure? I don’t smell anything. No sulfur, no brimstone.”
“Sallos has revenants working for him, remember.”
“Do you smell decomp, then?”
He shook his head. “It’s just a sense of impending doom.”
“Let me go and I’ll check the door for any signs of disturbance. I put wards on it before I left. I salted it, too.”
Instead of letting her go, he picked her up and carried her back to the truck. He opened the driver’s door and shoved her in, following right behind. He grabbed the keys from her hand and stuck them in the ignition.
“What the hell?”
Ronan started the truck and put it in Reverse. He didn’t even wait for the garage door to open. He busted through the metal, tearing the door off the frame, and screeched into the street backwards.
“Are you crazy? You just wrecked my place,” she shouted, balling her hands into fists, looking like she was going to wail on him.
But she didn’t get the chance. By the time he put the truck into Drive, there was the smell of hellfire in the air. It was acrid, like the odor of vinegar.
Ivy must’ve noticed it, too, because she turned to look out the side window just as a huge fireball erupted from inside her garage.
Chapter 5
Ivy couldn’t believe her eyes as Ronan raced down the street away from her soon-to-be destroyed house. Flames were licking the outside of the garage, engulfing it in an orange ball of light.
“Is there anything in the house that’s incriminating?”
She shook the daze from her head, and looked at Ronan. “What?”
“In the house? Are there weapons or illegal substances that will lead to your arrest? There’re going to be firemen and police all over that place in minutes.”
“No. Not in the house. I have a safe buried in the backyard, under the shed.”
“We can come back for that later.”
She just nodded, then turned around in the seat to face the front and the road ahead of them. Sirens could be heard a few blocks from them. Ivy saw flashing red lights coming from her right about two blocks away.
She remained quiet as they sped away from the scene. She chewed on her finger as the anger built inside. The house was a write-off. She’d spent three months cultivating that safe house. Signing a lease, under a false name of course, moving in, making friendly with the neighbors. Putting up a false wall for others to see. She kept it up so that nothing would seem out of the ordinary. That
