Octavian's Undoing (Sons of Judgment) (6 page)

Inwardly, Riley sighed, grinding her fingertips into the pulse at her temple. She had no illusion that this was a life she wanted forever. She still had dreams of going back to school and getting her degree in bio chemistry. She just needed to get through reality first.

Final Judgment loomed, a sprawling structure against a blanket of black. The trees enclosing it like a lover’s arms shielded it from the eyes of the moon. Gold light shone from the bay windows. Shadows splashed across the glass as bodies moved restlessly inside. Yet the gravel parking had no more cars then there had been that morning. Bemused, Riley jogged up the steps to the door and wrenched it open.

Gone was the desertion, the empty tables and chairs. Shadows painted over figures, obscuring faces, except for where halos of light stamped through the darkness. It illuminated just enough to prevent chaos. Riley let the door close behind her as she edged deeper into the unfamiliar. Her gaze wandered the room, taking in the single room dwelling with its litter of tables, chairs and bodies. Every spot was occupied now, brimming with unmoving lumps sulking into glasses. Candlelight flickered over drawn faces and reflected over sharp, glassy eyes that lifted and pinned her to the entry way. Some even raised their heads and sniffed the air, the way zombies in movies did at the scent of human flesh. The sight sent a chill down Riley’s spine. Yeah, so not creepy. What was even creepier was the fact that everyone seemed so normal. True, no one was gnawing on anyone else so she took that as a good sign that she hadn’t just stumbled into a zombie apocalypse, but their reaction was still way strange. Then, one by one, they dropped their gazes, forgetting all about her.

Relieved, Riley unclasped the buttons on her coat and ventured deeper into the room. She noticed for the first time the small, triangular stage erected in the far corner next to the bar. Three women in long, flowing dresses in stark white stood on top, playing something that drifted over her like a caress. It wove through the sultry air, heavy with promise of things that made her cheeks flush even has her body tightened in all the right places to make her squirm. The faint light glinted off the gold frames of their instruments, a harp, a flute and a violin. Riley watched them sway to the stream of their own magic and felt the pull propelling her forward in the direction of the women and the things they promised before sense prevailed and she gave herself a mental shake

“Focus!” she scolded herself, turning in the direction of the bar and the man behind it.

Even in the dim light, she recognized Octavian immediately. It was impossible not to. The man was unbearably beautiful, but more than that, he radiated danger the way most men exuded cologne. It seemed to halo around him, a sharp, crackling black that warned the approaching soul to fuck off. He wasn’t the nicest of people, she decided, but he was certainly very nice to look at, from a far distance. Kind of the way one would study a feral wolf, beautiful from behind fences and many miles between them, but too dangerous to approach.

Yet, her feet were moving, closing all that safe distance until she stood facing the beast head on like an idiot. She wondered if it was rational to be so utterly fascinated by a complete stranger, even if he had the face of a condemned angel with its sharp angles, hard contours and rugged curves beneath taut, olive-toned skin. There was just something wicked about studying him when he had no knowledge of it. To just stand there in one of the shadowy corners and trace the sharp lines of his cheekbones and watch the lights reflect off his cold, hard eyes. He would never know.

The thought made her bite back a giggle. She felt like such a pervert, spying on a man like some peeping tom. The only things missing were binoculars and forehead grease smearing his bedroom window.

Her gaze wandered over his broad shoulders and that wide expense of chest made especially to pillow a woman’s head, and sighed. The man was all kinds of trouble. But he wasn’t a man, she thought, studying him, trying hard to gauge his age through the haze. Yet, in the same dim light, he was. His age seemed to shift the harder she tried to pin it down. Maybe it was his height, his massive build, his scowl, but he appeared both old and young. She pushed away the urge to ask. Something told her he wouldn’t tell her anyway. Plus, did she really need to know? It wasn’t as though they were ever going to get past the whole him wanting her gone and her refusing thing. Why did the hot ones always wind up being the assholes? Was it written somewhere? Or, while the girls were being taught about their period and birth control during health class, were the boys pulled into another room and told the one-o-ones of asshole-ism?

You’re not here to worry about that,
a bossy little voice at the back of her head reminded her. And it was right. She wasn’t there to ogle hot men — that was just an added bonus with a family like the Maxwells who seemed seriously blessed with the hot gene.

Possible or not, she made up her mind to simply ignore the man behind the bar, or rather, ignore the tug she felt whenever she looked at him. It was crazy anyway. She would do her job and prove that his parents hadn’t made a mistake hiring her. It seemed like a rational, safe thing to do anyway.

He seemed preoccupied when she crept closer. His hands were busy drying shot glasses with a white rag, but his eyes were fixed unseeingly across the room, a forlorn gleam in them that made her wonder what he was thinking that had his guard so completely down. It was almost a shame to disturb his reverie.

“Hello,” she whispered, stopping at the bar.

Octavian blinked. His hands stilled in their task as his gaze dropped to hers and for that heartbeat of a second there was no annoyance or frustration, only a mild curiosity as he searched her eyes, seemingly trying to read something there that puzzled him. Then, as quickly as it happened, it was all sucked into some invisible vortex and the scowl was back.

“You came.” The accusation mirrored the annoyance in his eyes as they bore into her.

Riley cleared her throat before speaking. “I said I would.”

He set the shot glass down with enough force that the resounding
clank
splintered through the ruckus around them. “So you did.” He stared hard at her, picking at her consciousness until she wondered if he was trying to read her soul. “There’s still time to change your mind,” he told her. “Just go.”

“I won’t,” she replied.

He muttered something she was sure it wasn’t pleasant, then, “Reggie!” he shouted without taking his eyes off her.

Reggie turned from where he stood at the far end of the bar, flirting with a trio of women old enough to be his mother. “You rang, Boss?”

Octavian stuffed the rag into the front pocket of his black cargo pants, still watching Riley. “Our
guest
has arrived.” The way he spat out
guest,
nearly made her wince as though he’d thrown an insult at her. It also brought to surface the urge to smack him.

Reggie turned brown eyes on Riley, his grin mischievous. “You returned. I was sure Gideon and Magnus scared you off.”

Riley chuckled tightly. “No.” She turned her gaze on Octavian and gave him a cutting smirk. “I don’t scare easily.”

Octavian said nothing, but he leaned a hip against the counter and folded his arms in a manner that insisted he was silently challenging her. The fire in his eyes burned through her, making her painfully self-conscious of just how dangerous the game being played was. But there was more at stake than the sparks dancing between them. There was a thin piece of thread holding up her pride and somehow, by breaking that connection, she was severing that tie. So she hung on, returning his bold stare even as her cheeks flushed and the urge to drop her gaze became almost unbearable. Her heart rocketed in her chest, growing embarrassingly violent with every passing second and she briefly wondered if he could hear it, because the rest of the world had gone unusually silent around them. Even the music had faded so it felt like they were completely alone, but she couldn’t look away to check.

Reggie cleared his throat, tearing out the bottom of their bubble and dropping them unceremoniously back into reality. “So, not to interrupt this very R-rated moment, but the kitchen is this way.”

Riley flushed, dropping her gaze. But even then, she could feel Octavian’s eyes sweeping over her, warming her skin beneath the sweater she now wished she hadn’t worn. The stifling heat was overwhelming. It pulsed off her in waves. But she sucked in a deep breath and, with as much dignity as she could muster, she lifted her chin and turned to the boy at her side. “Lead the way.”

Reggie made a dramatic gesture with his arms, propelling her away from the bar and the man that needed a
handle with extreme caution
sign. Riley followed, curious as to where her kneecaps had gone. They seemed to have been missing as she fought not to let her legs completely desert her. A tiny voice at the back of her mind prodded the wisdom of working with a man that had that kind of power over her with only a mere glance. It certainly could not be a good thing. Weakness was weakness no matter which way it was turned and Riley disliked being weak.

As a dare to herself, she stole a peek back over her shoulder, merely to prove to herself that he had no power over her or her knees, that she was in control. Bad idea all in all when she found him watching after her with a look that said very clearly that this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

She was so screwed.

“Okay, so this is where the magic happens.” Reggie pushed open the doors leading into a spacious kitchen and held them open for Riley to pass through. The music faded when the doors swung closed behind them, locking them in with the scent of grease, fried meat and pine cleaner.

Riley had never been inside a restaurant kitchen before, but she knew enough to find the enormous, wall to wall stone fireplace a bit out of date. A fire leapt in the grate, licking the bottom of a giant, cast iron cauldron. Steam rose from inside, filling the room with the subtle scent of vegetables and meat. On the opposite wall, beneath the window overlooking the dining area, was a row of granite counters that curved left. It was interrupted by a stone basin before continuing on to stop next to a wood cook stove. A massive, solid oak preparation table sat in the center of everything, cluttered with pots, vegetables and an assortment of herbs, slabs of meat and powders Riley didn’t recognize.

A mountain of a man stood behind the stove, flipping burgers in an old fashioned iron skillet with one hand and stirring a saucepan with the other. He cast them a brief glance before going back to his task. His dark chocolate skin glistened with sweat that he wiped away with a beefy forearm.

“That’s Gorje,” Reggie said with a nod towards the hulk of a man. “Gorje, our new waitress, Riley Masters.”

Wiping meaty hands on his stained apron, Gorje turned to them. He took one look at Riley and jerked back as though he couldn’t believe the rubbish Reggie was introducing him to. “She’s—”

“Short?” Reggie intervened sharply. “Yeah, I guess we’ll have to help her with those high shelves. Moving along!” He took a hold of Riley’s shoulders and forcibly maneuvered her in the opposite direction before she could discover what the hell the look of disgust on Gorje’s face was for.

They went past a walk-in freezer toward three sets of doors just past the kitchen, down a wide corridor. The two on the right led into a broom closet and a storage area choked with boxes. The third opened to a long, dark hallway. Riley poked her head in to have a better look, but Reggie was closing the door before she could see anything else.

“That’s the family living area,” he informed her, motioning her back towards the final door off the kitchen.

Riley hurried to catch up. “You guys live here?”

He eyed her with a droll stare. “Have you seen the size of this place? Of course we don’t.” He took several heel to toe steps backwards, still watching her with eyes that glinted with mischief. “It’s much too small.”

His sarcasm had her lips twitching even as she rolled her eyes. “Har-har.”

Grinning, he flipped around to face forward. He led her to an opening tucked away opposite of the kitchen. There was a round table taking up most of the space, surrounded by four mismatched chairs. Beyond it was a coatrack, six lockers and a door that looked like it led into a washroom. On her right, a large, metal shelving system took up what little space was left. It was choked by organized and neatly labeled Rubbermaid containers.

“I think Mom’s borderline OCD,” Reggie said, catching her staring at the shelving unit. “Octavian got her a label maker for her birthday last year and she’s gone around labeling everything, even the light switches, like we might wake up one morning and forget what they’re for.”

Riley laughed. “Is that what the dead body was for? Revenge?”