Borrowed Souls (Soul Charmer #1)(12)

“I didn’t know that.” But Callie thought it made sense. Gem City had more sanitariums than hospitals. The officials said they were the seat of the state, but maybe it had more to do with the side effects of having a local Soul Charmer.

“You’re probably not supposed to.” He laughed again, this time maudlin. “Never had a partner before.”

“Maybe you needed one.” What made her say that? Callie didn’t want to be here. Derek obviously liked working alone. She was only here to help her brother and get out. Why then did she have to fight the urge to reach across the table to take his hand? Clearly it’d been too long since she’d had an honest conversation with anyone.

Derek snapped out of whatever deep thoughts had turned his blue eyes to a cold grey. “Charmer doesn’t work in fate, and if he did you’d be getting the raw end of the deal. You’re a time-saver, though. Usually I drag their asses back to him for extraction.”

Her reply was cut off by the sound a key sliding home in the front door’s lock. Derek quickly shot her a “More, later” look and moved toward the door.

It was time to retrieve a soul. Her first one. Callie crossed her fingers that McCabe would be reasonable, that everything would go smoothly, that no one would get hurt. Deep down, though, she knew the odds weren’t in her favor.

Callie had already watched Derek flaunt his size and power once earlier. When he’d come to her aid at The Fall, it was the kind of thing you’d want your boyfriend to do for you, but would never admit aloud. Not that she found him lover material.

As McCabe’s key clicked in the lock, Derek pressed himself against the wall next to the door. Derek hadn’t suggested she move, so Callie remained seated at the kitchen table. She burrowed her hands into the pocket of her hoodie, finding the flask and pressing a clammy palm against the cool stone exterior.

McCabe leaned into his apartment. His head crossed the threshold before his feet. The smack of Derek’s hand connecting with the nape of McCabe’s neck made Callie flinch. Derek had ditched his jacket earlier, allowing him to move more freely. Not that it mattered much. While muscles popped and cut along his stretched arm as he guided McCabe forward, the rest of his body remained at ease. He swept a foot to the right and ghosted the man to the ground, pinning him there with only his hand and a knee.

Their target sputtered profanities and professed innocence in equal measure. Derek spoke over him, to Callie, as though the man pinned to the floor didn’t exist. “You waiting for a formal invitation?”

Her head spun. He’d been way too casual about throwing a man to the ground. She took a steadying breath. “Aren’t you going to give him a chance to return it?”

“He’s had plenty of chances to do that already. We don’t sell souls. Just rent them.” That callous tone, the same one he’d leveraged back at the bar, was in his voice again.

“Who’s she?” McCabe spat the question. Derek pressed the writhing man further into the floor.

Callie gritted her teeth. It was true; she didn’t know the history here. McCabe’s frame was lean—completely dwarfed by Derek, but then so was she—and track marks pocked his skinny arms. Junkies weren’t the most reliable. Josh taught her that.

It didn’t matter. Harvesting souls from meth heads while her terrifying biker acquaintance brought the muscle was now her night gig. And to think her mother worried she’d become a stripper.

Callie slid her hands out of her hoodie. She gripped the flask in her right hand. Her thumb skimmed up and down on the onyx inlay. She was ninety-eight percent sure her hand was tingling, but it could have been the lingering effects of mental whiplash from seeing Derek go from laidback to Rambo in the blink of an eye. He held McCabe so effortlessly. As if he did this kind of thing every day. Fuck. He probably did do this kind of thing every day.

She stood and stepped closer. “So I just touch this to the front of him, right?” She didn’t recognize her reedy voice. She’d been through so much and this was what tripped her up? She ordered herself to get a grip.

“Yeah. Get over here, and I’ll flip him.” Derek’s arm was flexed, but she didn’t see strain in the rest of his body. The edge in his voice steeled her stomach. If he could fake it, she could harden up, too—at least on the outside.

Callie was still standing two feet away from McCabe. She shuffled forward until the rubber tips of her shoes almost touched his elbow. The man’s skin was ashen. Derek grimaced.

“McCabe, no chance you want to make this a little easier for us?” Derek asked the prostrate man.

“Fuck, man! That’s what I’ve been saying. Just let me explain—”

“No,” Derek cut him off. “We aren’t here for stories and excuses. You’re going to keep your goddamn hands to yourself when I roll you.”

McCabe stopped thrashing and the muscles in Derek’s forearm visibly relaxed. Callie had no doubt he was still in control. “Right. Yeah. Whatever you say, man.”

Derek continued as though McCabe hadn’t spoken. “And if you so much as graze her, I’m breaking something of yours. We clear?”

“Y-y-yes.”

“What was that?”

“Yes.” His answer was firmer this time.

Derek inclined his head toward Callie. “Ready? One, two, three.” On the third count, Derek moved to McCabe’s side while wrenching the man’s shoulder to flip him onto his back. Once McCabe’s shoulder blades knocked against the worn floor, Derek snapped forward to press his forearm across McCabe’s cheek and neck. It forced the man to look away from her, but she still caught a glimpse of the dark halos framing his sunken eyes. There were decent odds Callie would be heaving shortly, as soon as feeling returned to her body, that is. At least McCabe wouldn’t see her. She let out a little sigh of relief. This ghastly man probably wouldn’t remember her after they left. He’d remember Derek though. There was security in pretending she wasn’t really a part of this moment.