Borrowed Souls (Soul Charmer #1)(8)

“Seems like a car would be better for, you know, collecting things.” It was a last-ditch argument. Even Callie heard how silly the words sounded aloud.

“The flask in your pocket doesn’t require a whole lot of cargo space,” he pointed out.

She wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of admitting defeat out loud. Callie snatched the helmet from him and strapped it on her head.

“Thank you,” he mumbled as he swung a leg over the machine. He leaned forward enough to make sure there was enough room for her.

Callie climbed on behind him. It had been a long time since she’d been on a bike. Only once her legs were pressed against the outside of his did she realize what she’d inadvertently signed up for. No doubt that she would be getting damn cozy with Derek in the weeks to come. He’d made it clear he was as excited about her involvement in his day as she was, and now she was pressing her chest against his back. A meet cute, it was not.

“Hold on tight.” His words rumbled in echo of the engine firing beneath them.

Derek’s muscles were hard and unforgiving, but as he drove them down the street, the wind whipped at her face, and she welcomed his warmth. A few turns later, and Callie found herself leaning toward the simple and clean scent of soap escaping over the edge of his jacket. He took a quick right and her nose grazed his neck. He stiffened in her arms, but didn’t say anything. Though, she wasn’t sure if she would be able to hear a grunt of displeasure over the roar of engine.

They weren’t on the bike for long.

After five minutes of dodging Gem City’s famous potholes, Derek pulled the rumbling motorcycle up to the curb and killed the engine. She wasn’t struck by silence after the roar died—the street they were on had enough locals on stoops and kids yelling from the basic playground at the corner to fill the void—but Callie was surprised to find the cold stole her breath as she leaned away from Derek’s solid frame.

She bristled at the thought, and climbed off the bike in a hurry, only to find she had nowhere to go. She didn’t know the plan, and wasn’t ballsy enough to ask what it was. She shoved her hands in the front pockets of her sweatshirt, her fingers finding the flask, and stared with faux purpose at the boys riding too-small bicycles up the street, doing her best impression of a tough, relaxed woman who did this shit all the time.

She had only herself to blame for the discomfort. She’d put herself in this situation. Blaming Josh would have been nice, but it was her own damn fault for lending him money. She’d never said no to him. He’d been the cool older brother who took her to concerts and introduced her to pot. But where she’d only dabbled, Josh had taken the whole gateway drug thing as a challenge. He fell deeper and deeper into heavier and heavier narcotics and amphetamines each year. When he’d come to her door, skinny as a rail and saying he didn’t have money for food, she took care of him. She fed him and slapped a couple twenties in his palm. Then she did it again, and again, and again, until she lost count. And she’d lie to herself, telling herself that he was using the money she gave him for bread and meat.

But now her eyes were open, and she was done with all that. Callie put herself on the Soul Charmer’s doorstep, and she had no choice but to follow through. Even if the process made her as uncomfortable as a punk rocker at a country line-dancing bar.

Derek bent forward to stow his gear, and she couldn’t resist picturing him kicking up hay at a hoedown. She snickered into her fist, and it made her feel a little better.

He led her toward the street corner. His legs were much longer than hers, and as he neared the intersection with Eighth Street, he leveraged his ample stride to put a small bit of distance between them. He didn’t look back once to see if she followed. His shoulders remained rounded forward, muscles tight. It was as if he could sense her behind him.

The door handle to The Fall disappeared in Derek’s grip. The bar was unmarked on the street. The faint echo of the street number—a seven and, possibly, a one—were hazy on the door’s window. The lone window—if one could call it that—had the look of antique brass. But she wasn’t in some steampunk den, and it wasn’t for looks. Time and neglect had filled the glass with green and brown fog. The picture frames at the Soul Charmer’s shop, she remembered, had the same ghastly visual, and both came with a steady, unsettling sense of danger. A shiver snaked around her spine and Callie jerked forward involuntarily.

Derek, waiting just outside the doorway, caught her shoulder. His hand lingered after she’d steadied herself. “You been here before?” His rough tone softened.

She gave him a quick shake of her head. She didn’t trust her voice to be steady. Worries were piling above her head, and acknowledging any of them would trigger an avalanche she wasn’t prepared to deal with. At least not now. On a street corner in front of a sketchy bar. With him.

He grunted. Callie thought he sounded pleased, but she didn’t speak Neanderthal. Were they going to communicate in grunts and shrugs like this for the next two weeks?

“Try not to make eye contact inside.” He jerked his head toward the door. He still clutched its handle. “It’ll start trouble.”

Callie was trying to recover, to ignore the twist in her gut. “Do I look like trouble?”

The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Actually, yeah. You do.”

The compliment washed over her, warming her a little. “Hey man, I’m just along for the ride.”