Read Online Feeding Frenzy (The Summoner Sisters Book 1) by Allison Hurd - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Allison Hurd
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guffaws. Add “guffawing” to the list of things you don’t really know how to define ‘til you see it. Over the crowd, I see Steve waving. He gives Lia and me a thumbs up and puts his hand on his wrist, signaling break time.
“C’mon, Gregor. Wanna chat outside?”
“You betcha.”
I smile weakly and weave through the patrons to the front door. Outside, we trail away from the crowd of smokers and various drunk people until we have some modicum of privacy without looking too suspicious.
“So,” I begin. “What brings you down to Roanoke?”
“Have a job I’m trackin’ through the area. Got your email. Thought I’d stop by.” He cracks a lopsided grin. “Feelin’ pretty good about that decision, too.”
“Well, always glad to make a fool of myself for other people’s entertainment,” I say sarcastically.
“This part of the gig?”
“Well...partly. Our target’s been known to hunt in these waters.”
“But you coulda just hung around the bar if that was your plan.”
“I guess. The other part is we needed some cash.”
“Easier ways to earn a buck,” he observes.
“Not that presented themselves to us faster’n this one.”
He quirks an eyebrow. “You’re not enjoying the five finger discount?”
I clear my throat a little. “No, Gregor, no. Lia and I are sort of doing this all above board. I know. This is much more glamorous. Make sure you credit us when you make the switch.”
“Can you see me fittin’ my gut in that little get-up?” He laughs again. “Naw, ‘fraid prostitution ain’t my callin’.”
“Whoa, no one’s prostituting anything.”
“It’s mighty convenient, bein’ able to practice both arts at once,” he continues as if he hadn’t heard what I said, or the warning I had tried to convey with it.
“Listen, dude, tips are for serving food and putting up with the public for hours on end. That’s the full list of services I offer.”
“Of course. Sure your daddy’s right proud of you girls.”
I cluck my tongue impatiently. Part of me wants to get in his face for talking shit like that, but Gregor’s a scary mofo. In person, you can really see how’s he’s cultivated such a reputation. His face is more scar than skin, and he’s freakin’ enormous. Seriously. If he laid off the beer, he could probably give The Rock a run for his money. “Getting in his face” would in fact require that I get a step stool.
“Gregor, I’m workin’, man. Why are you here? Got intel?”
“Might know a thing or two,” he hedges, sizing me up. Like I said, I don’t have a poker face. I can lie all right, but trying to get my expression to convey emotions I’m not feeling is a totally different skill set, and I’m missing it. I can tell you the pen is blue when it’s black, and probably get you to believe it. Ask me to look sad when I’m happy though, and it’s game over. If ever I was fool enough to try to play cards with a professional, they’d probably know my hand, social security number, guilty-secret celebrity crush and my bank password before I’d finished counting the chips to deal in. That being the case, he can likely tell that my initial reaction was to clock him as easily as I can see that he hasn’t seen a dentist maybe ever.
“If you’re lookin’ for a pay out, this machine’s closed. Tell me or not.” I try to swallow the angry words that threaten to spill out. Humility is a virtue, after all, and I could certainly use a few more virtues as a general rule. “But I’d take it kindly if you had anything that could help us find the kids.”
“I know it’s seven people missin’. I know that whatever it is, it ain’t your garden variety spirit. And I know if you keep backin’ it into a corner, it’s gonna get messy.”
I look at the large man warily. “What are you saying? Do you know what it is? How do you know about the boys?”
He
“C’mon, Gregor. Wanna chat outside?”
“You betcha.”
I smile weakly and weave through the patrons to the front door. Outside, we trail away from the crowd of smokers and various drunk people until we have some modicum of privacy without looking too suspicious.
“So,” I begin. “What brings you down to Roanoke?”
“Have a job I’m trackin’ through the area. Got your email. Thought I’d stop by.” He cracks a lopsided grin. “Feelin’ pretty good about that decision, too.”
“Well, always glad to make a fool of myself for other people’s entertainment,” I say sarcastically.
“This part of the gig?”
“Well...partly. Our target’s been known to hunt in these waters.”
“But you coulda just hung around the bar if that was your plan.”
“I guess. The other part is we needed some cash.”
“Easier ways to earn a buck,” he observes.
“Not that presented themselves to us faster’n this one.”
He quirks an eyebrow. “You’re not enjoying the five finger discount?”
I clear my throat a little. “No, Gregor, no. Lia and I are sort of doing this all above board. I know. This is much more glamorous. Make sure you credit us when you make the switch.”
“Can you see me fittin’ my gut in that little get-up?” He laughs again. “Naw, ‘fraid prostitution ain’t my callin’.”
“Whoa, no one’s prostituting anything.”
“It’s mighty convenient, bein’ able to practice both arts at once,” he continues as if he hadn’t heard what I said, or the warning I had tried to convey with it.
“Listen, dude, tips are for serving food and putting up with the public for hours on end. That’s the full list of services I offer.”
“Of course. Sure your daddy’s right proud of you girls.”
I cluck my tongue impatiently. Part of me wants to get in his face for talking shit like that, but Gregor’s a scary mofo. In person, you can really see how’s he’s cultivated such a reputation. His face is more scar than skin, and he’s freakin’ enormous. Seriously. If he laid off the beer, he could probably give The Rock a run for his money. “Getting in his face” would in fact require that I get a step stool.
“Gregor, I’m workin’, man. Why are you here? Got intel?”
“Might know a thing or two,” he hedges, sizing me up. Like I said, I don’t have a poker face. I can lie all right, but trying to get my expression to convey emotions I’m not feeling is a totally different skill set, and I’m missing it. I can tell you the pen is blue when it’s black, and probably get you to believe it. Ask me to look sad when I’m happy though, and it’s game over. If ever I was fool enough to try to play cards with a professional, they’d probably know my hand, social security number, guilty-secret celebrity crush and my bank password before I’d finished counting the chips to deal in. That being the case, he can likely tell that my initial reaction was to clock him as easily as I can see that he hasn’t seen a dentist maybe ever.
“If you’re lookin’ for a pay out, this machine’s closed. Tell me or not.” I try to swallow the angry words that threaten to spill out. Humility is a virtue, after all, and I could certainly use a few more virtues as a general rule. “But I’d take it kindly if you had anything that could help us find the kids.”
“I know it’s seven people missin’. I know that whatever it is, it ain’t your garden variety spirit. And I know if you keep backin’ it into a corner, it’s gonna get messy.”
I look at the large man warily. “What are you saying? Do you know what it is? How do you know about the boys?”
He
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