Octavian's Undoing (Sons of Judgment) (5 page)

“Riley accepted the waitressing position,” Liam answered for her. “She will be—”

“No! Absolutely not.”

“Octavian!” Kyaerin gasped. “What has gotten into you?”

“Can I talk with you… in private?” Octavian interjected with a sharp undertone that broached no room for argument.

Liam and Kyaerin exchanged glances, the surprise on their faces assuring her that this was not a normal occurrence. Clearly they were as dumbfounded by the anger in their son’s expression as she was. But they rose out of their chairs, murmured an apology to Riley and followed Octavian into the kitchen.

“Not her.” Octavian’s voice carried through as clear as a bell through the takeout window. “I don’t want it to be her.”

“Octavian!” Kyaerin scolded.

“She found her way here,” Liam said, calmly, but with an edge of warning. “There was nothing we could do. We have no choice. She’s hired.”

“Unhire her and send her back. They don’t ever have to know if you don’t report it.”

“Octavian, you know we can’t.” Kyaerin sounded outraged. “This isn’t something we can ignore.”

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but whatever it is, you need to work it out,” Liam said patiently. “We can’t let her—”

“They can’t know about her,” Octavian interrupted. “I can’t…”

“Well, I’m sorry, but you know the rules. She’s signed and we have an obligation to uphold.”

“Then I’ll make her quit.”

There was the thunder of feet and then the kitchen door flew open and Octavian stormed out. He marched through the diner without looking at Riley and disappeared out the front door. A moment later, Kyaerin and Liam slipped out of the kitchen, both looking grim.

“We are so sorry you had to witness that,” Kyaerin murmured.

“Octavian is a strong believer in keeping the business within the family,” Liam explained with a sad smile. “Which normally I would agree with, but a new face helps once in a while.”

Riley could only smile uncertainly. “If you need time to think about—”

“No!” Kyaerin all but shouted, making Riley jump.

Liam touched his wife’s arm lightly. “What Kyaerin means is that there is nothing to think about. We would like you to be here at seven until closing, which will be about one-ish. Is that all right with you?”

Unsure, but unwilling to let this opportunity pass her by, Riley nodded. “That sounds perfect. Thank you.”

With a smile, Riley waved and started out the door. She shut it quietly behind her and exhaled.

“Did you quit?”

Riley squeaked, and whipped around to face the owner of the voice. Octavian stood against the side of the building, arms crossed, expression sour. His shadowed gaze roamed over her once before locking with hers.

“What is with you guys?” she snapped, clutching the front of her shirt with white knuckles. “I’m getting you all bells for Christmas!”

Octavian snorted, shoved off the wall and sauntered towards her. “You don’t belong here.”

She sucked in a deep breath, as anger sparked behind her eyes. “Well, I’m not quitting.” Her chin shot up, a self-satisfied smirk lingered around her lips. “In fact, I start tonight so you’re just going to have to get used to me.”

The overpowering scent of wilderness blanketed her, suffocated her in the rich fragrance, and made her aware of just how close he stood, practically on her toes. At that distance, she was eyelevel with his chest, which forced her head back as far as possible to meet his dark gaze.

His eyes were the most beautiful shade of gray, she thought, mesmerized by the unusual swirl of colors. The overlapping grays reminded her of thunderclouds rolling through uncharted skies, varying in colors and tones, but always unpredictable and dangerous. She wondered if it was the light splintering through the knotted branches canopying them, or if eyes could really change like that.

“You don’t want to be here,” he told her quietly, his tone firm, but coaxing. “You know you should leave and never come back.”

Riley stared, bewitched by the low, hypnotic hum of his baritone voice pouring softly over her. The colors in his eyes darkened, the beginning of an approaching storm. The irises pulsed, expanding until it was as though she were summersaulting into the ends of time and space.

“Leave, Riley,” he wheedled. “Go now.”

He was right. She didn’t want to be there. She did want to leave. She should go.
But… why? Why do I need to leave?
She needed this job so it stood to reason that she needed to stay.

“No.” She squeezed her eyes closed and shook her head free of the heavy fog drowning her thoughts. “No, I’m not going.”

Disbelief painted his tone. “What?”

She forced her own eyes open and lifted them to his face. “I’m not going!” she repeated more firmly. “You can’t make me.”

He continued to gawk at her as though she’d grown another head, possibly two more. His eyes kept darting over her face, roaming and searching for something he couldn’t seem to find and the more it eluded him, the more confused he seemed to get. Finally, he straightened. His nostrils flared as he glowered down at her.

“Quit,” he said slowly, tightly.

“No,” she murmured definitely.

His jaw clenched. “You’re an idiot!” He shoved past her towards the doors.

Riley turned to watch him go. “It was nice to meet you, too!” she shot after him. “And you’re welcome!”

He ignored her, throwing open the heavy doors, but he didn’t go through. He paused with his head down and his expression thunderous.

“If you have an ounce of self-preservation, you won’t come back.” Then he was gone.

With a near steady hand, Riley added the final touch to her makeup. It didn’t do overly much in the way of dimming the glow to her Irish complexion and the speckle of freckles that came with it, but it emphasized her eyes, which in her opinion, were the best feature on her face. Her mother hadn’t given her much in the last nineteen years, except life and a set of really elegant eyes. That’s what her grandmother used to call the deep, almond shaped contours with their wide, dark lashes. They’d always appeared a bit cartoonish when she’d been younger, much too big for her small face, but like the rest of her, she’d grown into them. If only the remainder of her face had followed suit.

Her nose was a bit on the wide side, a hand-me-down from her grandfather, and her chin was a tad too pointy on her oval face, another gift from her grandfather. Then there were the freckles, which she never minded unlike some girls. They didn’t so much take over her face as sprinkle across her cheeks and over her nose. Most of the time, she could cover them with foundation so it was never a big deal. Then you got to her lips and suddenly her face went from semi-average to
what the hell just happened
? On the scale of things, it could have been worse, but as it stood, it was as though someone had snipped a set of lips from a magazine and slapped it onto her face. Her mouth was too full, a bit on the wide side so against the rest of her face, it seemed out of place and disproportioned.

Nevertheless, she added a coat of gloss, set the tube aside and took a step back to get a better look at the rest of her five-five structure.

She never really considered herself
average,
because in her mind average meant someone like everyone else. Her shape had never really been normal in her mind. There was just too much going on for it to really be considered a real silhouette, but Stan — her college boyfriend and the only guy she’d ever dated — had once called her athletic, so she’d always gone with that when describing herself, although, she had never been overly athletic. In reality, she hated anything that made her sweaty and tired. She wasn’t so much lazy as uninspired to
feel the burn.
Besides, working out meant having time to workout, which she didn’t have and didn’t care to make time for.

“Well, you’re as dressed up as you’re going to get,” she told her reflection, tugging on the hem of her black turtle neck sweater. She smoothed a hand down her front, dusting away invisible particles from her black pencil skirt.

It was a bit fancy for a bar, but as outfits went, beggars couldn’t be choosers, especially when it was either this or jeans and she really didn’t want to start off her first day wearing something wrong. Plus, the outfit was reasonably comfortable, even if it made her complexion practically glow an eerie white. She wondered if she should change, wear something with colors. But one glance at the alarm clock on her nightstand and the idea was pushed aside. She snatched up her coat from her closet and left the room.

Her father was in the kitchen, bent over a bowl of cereal despite the late hour. He held a tattered copy of
AutoTRADERS
in one hand while he shoveled colored O’s into his mouth with the other. Brown strands fell over his brow, covering the puckered strip of flesh underneath where he’d injured himself at work several years back running into a forklift. That single disfiguration was the only reason they hadn’t starved all those years. Between worker’s compensation, unemployment checks and income assistance, they’d just made it by on the skins of their teeth. Her father was a thin man, almost gangly with a mop of unruly curls that always seemed to need cutting. They hung in tendrils over his green eyes. He wore his flannel shirt over a white shirt and jeans. There was a healthy growth of stubble across his jaw that looked like a moving carpet when he chewed. He glanced up when Riley walked in and hurried to the fridge.

“You’re dressed pretty,” he commented. “Going out?”

Riley grabbed the orange juice from the fridge, shook it, and sighed when only a mouthful sloshed at the bottom of the container. “I got a job.” She muttered, turning. “I told you to throw the box away when it was empty.”

“Sorry.” He muttered. “A job where?”

“A diner down the road. Final Judgment.” She tossed the container into the trash bin. “As a waitress.”

Her father frowned over his elevated spoon. “I didn’t know there was anything down the road. Never heard of Final Judgment.”

Riley fiddled with the buttons on her jacket. “Me neither, but it’s close to home and the pay’s good.”

Her father continued to frown quizzically at her. “Final Judgment,” he mused slowly as though if he said it enough times, memory would click and he’d remember. “Nope.” He finally decided, giving up and returning to his late — or early, depending on how you saw it — breakfast. “A bit late isn’t it? Aren’t most places closed at this time?”

She closed the last snap and faced her father. “They also have a bar that runs late.”

“Not a biker bar, is it?”

She met her father’s surprised gaze with a bit more disgust than she meant. “Does it matter? We need the money.”

He stabbed a pink O with the end of his spoon “We don’t need the money that badly.”

Riley grabbed her bag, slung the strap over her shoulder. “Yes, we actually do. We’re late a full month of rent and in two weeks, we’ll be late two months. There’s nothing in the fridge but a brick of butter and you need new socks. That’s not including those.” She jerked a chin towards the stack of bills on the counter. “We need the money.” She softened her tone when her father’s shoulders slouched. She hated having this argument with him. It never did much good and it definitely never changed anything. Her father was just built the way he was and she’d given up all thought of changing him years ago. “It’s just until you find something, okay?” She fidgeted with the strap on her purse, not really good at comforting people. “I’ll be home a little after midnight, all right?”

Not waiting for his reply, she slipped out of the apartment and hurried down three flights of stairs to the lobby. The air was cool with the lingering scent of autumn as she pushed through the glass door into the night. Silence draped a heavy cloak about her as she padded quickly down the uneven sidewalk. Her senses jumped and flickered to every sound and whisper as the nocturnal world awoke.

The winding road alongside her wove through miles of uncharted brush, broken only by a handful shops and residences. Her apartment was one of the few built along the truck route. The city had started to clear away the forestry and had even installed sidewalks along some of the curved road, but only half had been done while the rest remained dirt and gravel. She wasn’t sure if the city had run out of money to continue or if it was just not that important, but there hadn’t been a new business or house built on that road in five years. They were at the end of civilization, she liked to think. Very few people ever commuted the road, making it nearly deserted at all hours, which was why she was so surprised by Final Judgment’s mysterious appearance. There was never any sign that there had ever been a dirt road turning into the middle of nowhere and a restaurant.
How did they make business when no one knew they existed? Clearly they were doing something right because hadn’t Liam said Final Judgment had been in the family for years?
Ah well, she wasn’t there to be their marketing manager.