Grave Mistakes (Hellgate Guardians #1)(18)
“Pranking you?” he drawls. “I don’t have time to prank Diluted.”
“I have no idea what that means!” I snap. “I almost scythed their asses, Iceman. I need to be informed if people are going to be in the cemetery and if they’re permitted to be there. I looked like an idiot.” Leather pants notwithstanding.
“Scythed them? Wait. Who did you see? Quīnque?” he asks, his voice taking on a more serious tone. “Even you should’ve been able to handle that.”
That fucking word again. “What the hell is a Kink-ay?” I ask in a huff. Is this a weird way of saying kinky? I shake my head before pressing the button again. “Listen, I saw the bosses, like I already told you, and they had weird names, Iceman. Weird. Names.”
“Says the girl who wanted to call me Goose.”
“It was merely a suggestion,” I staunchly defend.
“Who was it? No one should have been able to breach the gate tonight. We had it covered.”
“Their names were Echo, Jerif, and Crux.” I bite my lip in thought. “Shit, maybe they tricked me. They aren’t the bosses, are they? They totally made that up so I wouldn’t kick them out.” I slap a palm to my forehead. “Dammit, I think I got played. You’d better send some backup down here so we can chase them out of here. I left them in the mausoleum like a fucking rookie.”
There’s a long pause. So long, in fact, that I snap back on. “Iceman? You there?”
“Maverick, I need you to come to the main house.”
I frown at the radio warily. “Why?”
“Just come. Now...please.”
“Iceman?” I radio back, but all I get is static. “Shit.”
I blow out a breath, my eyes bouncing around the dark cemetery, the moonlight casting mocking shadows all around me. With nothing else to do, I drag myself up the path, making the very long trek back to the main house, as questions swirl in my head. I’m so confused about all of this, and it looks like the main house discussion is happening tonight whether I want to or not.
Well, if this all goes horribly wrong, at least they gave me a weapon.
Somehow, on day one, I’ve already fucked this up. I’m not even sure how much yet. It all went so wrong so fast. I sigh and try not to stomp my way back to the estate like some whiny kid being forced to do something they don’t want to. At least if Iceman fires me in person, I’ll be able to put a face to his sexy ass voice. Silver lining.
5
“Shit on a stick,” I grumble to myself as I approach the large, dimly lit mansion.
There are about a million doors and windows in this place, and I have no idea which one I’m supposed to knock on. I’ll probably get my ass handed to me by the butler again.
I debate for two seconds whether I should try for the back or the front of the house, but since I’m failing to see anything that’s marked servants’ entrance, I decide the front is probably my best bet.
I pass the fountain, the gardens, and the patio, and find myself climbing back up the stairs to the front door. I knock, cringing at the booming echo that it creates on the other side of the door. I look at my hand like it’s betrayed me. I swear I didn’t even knock that hard, and now it sounds like I’m demanding entrance. I step back and try to adopt some kind of mien that will convince Grumpy Lurch that I’m not actually trying to break the door down. I go with a half smile and some innocent blinks.
The door slowly opens with an ominous creak that I swear didn’t happen before, and the butler looks down at me with a sigh. “Yes?”
“Hey there,” I say, giving the butler an awkward two-fingered wave. “Me again.”
His pronounced brow wrinkles with irritation. “Why are you here again?” he asks.
“I was told to come to the main house immediately,” I croak out and then try to clear my throat of the toad that seems to have recently parked itself there.
The longer he looks at me, the more I contemplate just hopping on my moped and booking it the fuck out of here right now, but I keep telling myself that everything is fine, that Grumpy Lurch here doesn’t freak me out. That the trio in the mausoleum weren’t serial killers, and that Iceman isn’t leading me to my demise—either by employment termination or actual death.
Honestly, the only reason I haven’t ditched this whole scene already is because I’m not ready to let go of the daydreams I’ve been swimming in of what it will be like to have some money.
Besides, I could totally be overreacting. I’ve been known to do that from time to time. They’re having a party here tonight and that makes disposing of a body or firing an employee super messy, right? Maybe they really do just want to give me a promotion or something because they think I’m overqualified, though I have no fucking clue why.
“You came to the front door after I informed you earlier to never use the front door again?” he asks, his dark eyes matching the under-eye circles he has going on.
I shift nervously on my feet. At least he hasn’t commented on my outfit. “Yeah, you know, in hindsight, the back door would’ve been a better choice, but slap my ass and call me a rebel,” I joke nervously. He just stares at me. I blow out a breath. “Okay, I’m sorry, but it doesn’t help that you have about fifty back doors. For people who seem to be big fans of labeling”—I point to the name tag still stuck to my tank top—“you think you’d have at least one of those doors labeled with something classy and simple like Peasants Enter Here.”