Grave Mistakes (Hellgate Guardians #1)(11)

I look down and find leather scraps on the floor and sigh before snatching them up. “Gloves? Really?” I grumble, shoving my hands into them.

I wiggle my fingers, looking for the little finger holes, but I quickly discover they’re not gloves, but some weird leather forearm guards. I shake my head as I stare down at them.

Nope. Can’t do it. I’ll kick ass at guarding their graveyard, but this uniform is a no-go. I unlace the top, desperate to get out from the too tight leather. I swear it tightens around me like it doesn’t appreciate the rejection, and I battle to get it off. I fling it as far away from me as I can as soon as I separate myself from the top, and I just stand there slightly sweaty and breathing heavy from all the exertion.

I pull out my black racerback from the drawer I put my clothes in and breathe a sigh of relief when I pull it down over my head. I glance at myself in the mirror as I reach down to undo the crotch laces on the skin-tight leather pants, but I pause. I turn sideways and look at myself in the mirror. My purple hair and ivory skin really stands out against this leather. As I study my reflection, I arch my back and poke my ass out, unable to help myself, because what I have going on right now...is a look.

The owner of this place may be into Xena, but the sexy badass thing I’ve got going on right now is a way better choice. I kick out like I’m a practiced ninja. These pants are hot and practical. I double knot the bow at the top of the pants and decide to keep them on. They’re working for me. If I’m asked, I’ll just say the top didn’t fit. I hide the creepy forearm covers in a drawer and pretend like I never even saw them. I keep the sticky name label from the leather shirt and put it over my tank top, just in case.

After I’m re-dressed, I grab the flashlight and radio that were on the floor next to the boots. Luckily, there are helpful little holsters for both the flashlight and radio on my belt, so I guess it wasn’t as useless as I thought it was. There’s also a spot on the belt that looks like it holds maybe a nightstick—because, you know, this uniform is so practical—but I don’t see one of those.

I pull off the Post-it note stuck to the radio and eye the number five that’s written on it. I turn the radio around, studying the buttons, just as something crashes to the floor behind me. I whirl around and let out a little squeak of surprise. Or maybe that squeak came from the leather, I can’t really tell either way.

I stare at the long walking stick that’s now lying in the middle of the floor. I hadn’t noticed it before. Maybe it was tucked into a shadow in the corner or something. I sigh before picking it up. “Why do I need a damn walking stick?” I grouse to myself as I check out the smooth matte black wood. There are bands of silver metal inlaid sporadically along the shaft, and metal caps at both ends. I look from the walking stick to the holder on my belt that I assumed was for a nightstick. It looks like it will fit, but who the hell walks around with a small tree hanging on their hip? I sigh and decide to just hold the damn thing.

“Fucking weird.”

Gripping the stick in my hand, I quickly get out of the cabin before anything else leather or Xena-like can come for me. I hurry out through the door and head for the gate to the graveyard. The second I notice that it has a lock on it, I look down at my belt and notice there’s a convenient keyring waiting right there for me. There’s also a shit ton of keys and, for once, no label. You’d think the sticky note people would’ve realized that it would’ve been helpful to mark which key went where.

I go through about ten keys and a dozen swear words before I pick the right one and get the gate to swing open. Just as I step through it onto the graveyard grounds, something sharp pricks my hand. Apparently, the stupid walking stick has splinters or some shit.

I hiss and transfer the stick to my pain-free hand and see a drop of blood beading on my palm. I wipe it on my pants and then examine the microscopic wound in the waning light, looking for the splinter that the evil walking stick just attacked me with. I don’t see it. Another pinhead-sized drop of blood forms, but I ignore it and take the walking stick back in that hand so I can get to work.

A tingle shoots up my arm as I walk further into the graveyard and turn to shut the gate behind me. I better not get fucking tetanus from this damn thing. I swear, I’ll put in a Worker’s Comp claim faster than you can say “walking stick from hell.” I give the black wood and metal stick in my grasp the side-eye and then shake off Splintergate, ready to secure the shit out of this graveyard.

Looking up, I’m glad to find that it’s definitely still dusk-ish. I count that as officially making it to my shift on time. “Take that, Xena cosplay uniform,” I say in victory.

Just as I fist pump the sky, a loud crackle of static makes me jump and sends my heartrate galloping. I quickly snatch the radio off my belt and fumble with it. I stare at the dial and twist it until the number five lines up with the arrow.

“Main house to gate security, do you read me?” a deep masculine voice asks, the warm tone seeping out of the radio and filling the darkening night. Damn, that is a sexy voice.

My fingers fumble with the buttons. “Fucking shit…” Whoops, I think he heard that. “I mean yes! No shit...or fucking. Sorry,” I stammer out, talking really loudly into the receiver.

I would slap a palm to my forehead if I wasn’t holding the radio in one hand and this weird fucking splinter stick in the other. I press my forehead against the walking stick instead and roll my eyes at myself.