Gypsy Freak (All The Pretty Monsters #2)(9)

“I told her she cleaned up nice. She never listens to me,” she drawls, mocking me a little as I continue to stare at the way her waist dips in, showing off every perfect curve on Violet’s tempting body.

I down the glass of whiskey. The first bottle didn’t knock the edge off. The second is slowly starting to work its way into a steady burn in my veins.

She pauses, staring at the corner of the room. “How odd. I’ve never seen it without a giant dildo there,” she tells me, causing me to choke a little on the sip. “It’s never really been there, has it?”

I just shake my head in response, and she huffs out a breath of laughter.

“You’re a little early,” I say as I stand to collect the most expensive bottle of bourbon I could acquire on short notice, and walk back over to the table, pouring her a glass.

“Well, I don’t have quite as much time as I’d hoped, so I decided to skip the massage Violet scheduled for me and come straight toward the main event of the evening,” she answers, her voice sounding like Violet’s but her tone completely different.

She takes a seat, sniffs the bourbon in the glass, and a smile crawls over her lips as I lower myself back to my seat. “Now this is the good stuff. Lie to Violet. Tell her I love the cheap bourbon she bought me.”

I’m not sure why I smile.

“She’s breaking all sorts of gypsy laws to give you this day,” I decide to tell her.

She nods as she sips the bourbon and moans around the edge of the glass.

As she lowers her drink, she smirks over at me. “She chose you because she’s the least attracted and least drawn to you.”

I bristle, unsure how exactly I feel about that, and her smirk grows more taunting.

“She thinks it’ll be less awkward afterwards because she never sees the two of you in a similar situation,” she goes on, swirling her drink.

“Why exactly are you telling me this?”

She shrugs a shoulder, still smiling. “Because I always root for the underdog. Terrible habit of mine.”

Scrubbing a hand over my jaw, I lean forward. “I think you’re confused about my interest in Violet.”

“I think you’re in denial about your interest in Violet,” she’s quick to volley.

Sitting back, I watch her as she studies me with a shrewd eye that Violet lacks. Her age is showing.

“How did Violet raise Arion?”

“How did he make her forget she did that?” she asks instead of answering.

I huff out a breath.

“Please answer my question. It’s important I get details before I deal with him next time.”

“I honestly don’t know. I wasn’t there when it happened,” she answers, clearly playing coy as her eyes dart around the room. “I expected a lot of swords and things to be hanging in here, since you’re a Van Helsing.”

“Not my room,” I remind her as I sit back. “It’s just on loan. And my weapons stay in their vault, regardless. Who tricked Violet into helping them raise the bastard? And don’t dodge the question.”

Her eyes connect with mine. “Sitting here, seeing a dildo-less corner, and no purple gorilla following us around, I question how much I truly know. I feel it’d be reckless or dangerous to give you misinformation as truth, considering I could most definitely be confused about what I do or don’t know. I’m dead; I shouldn’t involve myself with problems of the living. It defies a natural order,” she goes on, striking a nerve with that last comment without realizing it.

“Very well.” I decide not to point out that possessing a body to have a fun blowout party before final decay oblivion is also defying the natural order.

“Is he a threat to her?” she asks me, eyes on mine. “He made her forget everything, but he was spewing some romantic gibberish during an orgy, I think.”

“Orgy?”

“Yesterday. When you came to save her,” she goes on, gesturing toward me.

I laugh humorlessly, realizing just how misinformed her information must be.

Then, on an annoyed exhale, I tell her, “I’m not sure about anything involving Arion right now. I can’t get into the cemetery until the acidic fog in there dissipates. It nearly burned my eyes out when I tried.”

“Enough gypsy talk. Let’s talk more about Violet.”

“Violet’s most certainly a gypsy,” I point out, lips twisting in a semi-suppressed grin when she rolls her eyes.

“Well aware. She’s a pitiful little gypsy who has no idea what’s going on around her, and God help her for relying on me to help her through it. She’s going to need someone much saner and more dependable when I’m gone.”

The seriousness to her last note has me sipping more of my whiskey. I say nothing to her as she looks down at her glass of bourbon.

“Violet is the one soul who cares for me.”

“Since your death?”

Her eyes level mine with a cold look. “Ever,” she answers with a tight smile.

She bends to pick up the bag and starts walking toward me again.

After she deposits the bag to the table, she opens a compact, inspecting herself in the mirror, softly touching her face as she just stares.

“Violet isn’t fragile, but she’s not yet strong either,” she goes on, snapping the compact shut as her eyes find mine.