Flock (The Ravenhood #1)(15)

But this can’t be my future.

I’ll go fucking insane. Three hours in, I’m glancing at my watch and again cursing the position I’m in. A year of this?

Not only that, I’ve been commissioned to work with the Chatty Cathy next to me, who appears to be the plant gossip and works at the speed of light, making me look like a fumbling toddler. All I have to do is give her a nod and she seems satisfied with the return conversation.

It’s when I’m in my fourth hour that I smell the familiar scent of cedar and nicotine. His breath hits my ear.

“How’s it going, Pup?”

I turn to see Sean mirroring me in wardrobe, khakis, and a short-sleeved collared button-down, which doesn’t do a damn thing to take away from his appeal. He’s got a clipboard in hand as he grins down at me. Ms. Chatterbox’s eyes volley between us, her interest piqued at the exchange.

“Pure adrenaline,” I deadpan, and he laughs as I scratch my ear beneath my hairnet.

“You need tunes,” he says, eyes widening at the woman beside me. He must be aware she’s got a motor mouth.

“I thought those weren’t allowed?”

“We might be able to work around it.”

Sean is technically my supervisor, which will make the job more bearable. He told me he worked at the plant for several consecutive years prior, earning him seniority, which he didn’t lose when he left. He’d only attended orientation that day as a formality and to brush up on plant policies. And right now, I can’t think of a better position to be in than beneath him.

We silently stare off until he nods past my shoulder. “Missed one.”

“You’re distracting me,” I say cheekily.

“Good to know,” he gifts me a slow wink. “See you in a bit.”

When he’s at a safe distance, Chatty, whose real name is Melinda, gives me the side-eye as she grabs another tub from the stack just dropped off at our station. “How do you know Sean?”

I shrug, stacking up the empty tubs. “We met yesterday at orientation.”

“You be careful with him. And steer clear of his friends, that dark one they call the Frenchman,” she leans in, “I’ve heard…things about him.”

“Really?”

The Frenchman.

It has to be Dominic she’s speaking about. I detected a hint of an accent when he spoke and have little doubt there’s truth to her warning. I’d been introduced to that infuriatingly gorgeous, dark cloud last night. He’s the mirror opposite of the spiked sunray that’s been taking up my thoughts today.

Melinda looks to be in her early forties. Everything about her screams of southern values. From her old school perm to her high-waisted mom jeans to the cross draped around her neck. After just a few short hours of listening to her, my conclusion is that she’s not only the plant gossip but the town gossip as well, and no secret of mine will ever be safe with her. I have no doubt I’ll make it into her future dinner conversations.

“Yeah. They don’t mess around. Fast cars, parties, drugs, and girls.” She leans in close. “I hear they share women.”

This bit of news is far more interesting than her dear friend Patricia’s boating accident last year and the fate of her eleven-year-old cocker spaniel. “Really?”

She leans in even closer. “I hear they smoke the weed.”

I can’t help my giggle. “That wacky tobacky, huh?”

She narrows her eyes at my condescension. “I’m just saying, be careful. One of them got ahold of my cousin’s goddaughter, and let me tell you, it wasn’t pretty.”

I can’t help my bite.

“What happened to her?”

“No one really knows, and no one has heard from her in months. That boy broke her heart so bad she rarely comes home anymore.”

She pulls her cell phone from her pocket, darting her eyes around because phones are forbidden on the plant floor. She scrolls through before she lifts a picture. It’s from a social media profile and the girl displayed on the screen is gorgeous. I tell her as much.

“She was the pride of my cousin, but once he got his hooks into her, she changed. I don’t know.” She glances over her shoulder. “Those boys, pretty as they are, I think might have the devil inside them.”

From my first and second impressions, I find it hard to believe that’s true of Sean, but Dominic might be a different story.

As wrong as it may be, I sidle up to Melinda for the rest of the shift, suddenly in the mood for conversation.





BACK ACHING FROM LONG HOURS on my feet, I unlock my car and practically fall into the seat, turning on the AC to get out some of the humidity in the interior. Tilting the vents my way, I let the warm sticky air dry on my face before I pull my phone from my purse and see I missed a text from Christy. I can’t help my smile when I see I also missed one from Sean.



Sean: Come to the garage. I’ll ping you.



It’s been a long day. I think I’ll just go home.



Sean: Bullshit. You can sleep in tomorrow. Pizza’s on me.



Sean pings me the location and I weigh my fatigue against the rush of seeing him again. Decision made, it takes me ten minutes to get there, and when I pull up, I’m shocked by the size of the garage. Next to a glass-enclosed lobby are six bay doors, the largest at the end, I assume for commercial machine repairs. It’s nothing like I imagined. A few of the cars I saw at the party sit outside in a large lot. Stepping out of my car, I hear music blaring from the other side of the dented bay doors. Clearly, business hours are over, with little sign of life inside aside from a dim light in the lobby. As I approach, an unmistakable smell invades my nose.