Read Online Grave Robber for Hire by Cassandra L. Shaw - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Cassandra L. Shaw
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and…” I sniffed loudly, “ while still fucking her .”
Tyreal squeezed me closer. “Jesus.”
My brain cells terror-blind skittered around trying to find paths of reason for what happened. It was as if Clyde wanted me to know what he’d done and reveled in revealing his evil. Viggo rubbed my back in steady circles and crooned in a soft chant. Tyreal stroked my hair. Beneath my ear, his heart beat steady and even, showed mine the rhythm it needed to mimic.
“When the girl was dead, Clyde dove for me. To—kill—me . He can sense or see me and that’s never happened before.”
Tyreal stopping stroking. I rubbed my cheek on the soft knit of his t-shirt. He tipped his head to look at my face. “If what happened isn’t normal, what’s different about these journals to the ones you normally read?”
I pulled away and sniffled and looked at his shirt, shook my head and wiped my nose on my hand. Using his shirt as a tissue might not be a great start to our business relationship. His yuck factor might not enjoy biological fluid sharing. I was fine with it, unless he wiped his nose on my top, then I’d deck him.
“Clyde’s?”
“Who else?”
“Nothing. Other than feeling more oily by an oil-well-mile with evil.”
With Tyreal’s help, I sat in one of the unmatched, multi-hued dining chairs, the sunny yellow one.
Tyreal tapped a finger under my chin. “You’re milk white and look pretty spaced. Don’t touch anymore journals. I’ll finish making food, we’ll eat.”
“Touching them is the only way I have of finding the Rembrandt.” I rubbed my temples with my fingers. “Why didn’t he hang for that girl’s murder?”
“Never caught or suspected. Or maybe he did find himself caught, and that’s why he was hacked to pieces. Vigilante style, eye for an eye, revenge. It’s always been popular. Now promise me, no more searching until you eat.”
Vig sat opposite me, keeping his gaze on my face he reached over and put his hand on top of mine.
Tyreal went to the kitchen and started rooting around in my cupboards. A minute later he plonked a very, very, large goblet of red wine on the table in front of me. “I can’t find any other alcohol other than this cheap red and a couple of beers. I presumed you need a belt of something.”
Vig removed his hand, and I gulped half the red elixir down. “Bring me the bottle. This cheap red is the only wine I like.” I slammed the rest down shot-glass fast. The bottle arrived beside my hand, so I topped up and guzzled and refilled. I didn’t drink water this swiftly on a summer scorcher.
Viggo covered the glass with his hand and pressed down hard enough that I couldn’t lift it. “Slow, Hayyel.”
No, the wine was mine, all mine. Mine-mine-mine. I did that kiddy thing where you mimic the person in a high voice. “Slow, Hayyel, slow, Hayyel.” Jeez. Uptight Guardian.
He stood and leaned over the table. “Hayyel! No be fool.” His face an inch from mine, his breath seared my cheek.
I stuck out my tongue. “Fine.” I whispered so Tyreal didn’t think I’d gone mad. Vig nodded and released my goblet. I picked it up and sipped the wine politely with my pinky sticking out, lifted my brows at him in a, ha up yours, then chugged.
Viggo slapped the table, pushed his face into mine and growled.
“Piss off, Vig. It’s medicinal.” Oh God, I’d just sounded like Aunty Glynnis. I eye rolled at myself like I would have at her. My head whirled, so I grabbed the table to stop myself from falling off my chair. Head still spinning, all edges blurred into a kaleidoscope of colors. Aunty Glynnis’ Buddha appeared to dance with my carved wooden zebra. I giggled. Tyreal better cook fast, because I was going to pass out cold in about ten minutes.
Or seven.
#
I woke and blinked into the sort of darkness where you can only make out vague shapes. Someone was stomping on my head, and they’d stuffed a sock worn by a footballer for a week in my mouth. I rolled
Tyreal squeezed me closer. “Jesus.”
My brain cells terror-blind skittered around trying to find paths of reason for what happened. It was as if Clyde wanted me to know what he’d done and reveled in revealing his evil. Viggo rubbed my back in steady circles and crooned in a soft chant. Tyreal stroked my hair. Beneath my ear, his heart beat steady and even, showed mine the rhythm it needed to mimic.
“When the girl was dead, Clyde dove for me. To—kill—me . He can sense or see me and that’s never happened before.”
Tyreal stopping stroking. I rubbed my cheek on the soft knit of his t-shirt. He tipped his head to look at my face. “If what happened isn’t normal, what’s different about these journals to the ones you normally read?”
I pulled away and sniffled and looked at his shirt, shook my head and wiped my nose on my hand. Using his shirt as a tissue might not be a great start to our business relationship. His yuck factor might not enjoy biological fluid sharing. I was fine with it, unless he wiped his nose on my top, then I’d deck him.
“Clyde’s?”
“Who else?”
“Nothing. Other than feeling more oily by an oil-well-mile with evil.”
With Tyreal’s help, I sat in one of the unmatched, multi-hued dining chairs, the sunny yellow one.
Tyreal tapped a finger under my chin. “You’re milk white and look pretty spaced. Don’t touch anymore journals. I’ll finish making food, we’ll eat.”
“Touching them is the only way I have of finding the Rembrandt.” I rubbed my temples with my fingers. “Why didn’t he hang for that girl’s murder?”
“Never caught or suspected. Or maybe he did find himself caught, and that’s why he was hacked to pieces. Vigilante style, eye for an eye, revenge. It’s always been popular. Now promise me, no more searching until you eat.”
Vig sat opposite me, keeping his gaze on my face he reached over and put his hand on top of mine.
Tyreal went to the kitchen and started rooting around in my cupboards. A minute later he plonked a very, very, large goblet of red wine on the table in front of me. “I can’t find any other alcohol other than this cheap red and a couple of beers. I presumed you need a belt of something.”
Vig removed his hand, and I gulped half the red elixir down. “Bring me the bottle. This cheap red is the only wine I like.” I slammed the rest down shot-glass fast. The bottle arrived beside my hand, so I topped up and guzzled and refilled. I didn’t drink water this swiftly on a summer scorcher.
Viggo covered the glass with his hand and pressed down hard enough that I couldn’t lift it. “Slow, Hayyel.”
No, the wine was mine, all mine. Mine-mine-mine. I did that kiddy thing where you mimic the person in a high voice. “Slow, Hayyel, slow, Hayyel.” Jeez. Uptight Guardian.
He stood and leaned over the table. “Hayyel! No be fool.” His face an inch from mine, his breath seared my cheek.
I stuck out my tongue. “Fine.” I whispered so Tyreal didn’t think I’d gone mad. Vig nodded and released my goblet. I picked it up and sipped the wine politely with my pinky sticking out, lifted my brows at him in a, ha up yours, then chugged.
Viggo slapped the table, pushed his face into mine and growled.
“Piss off, Vig. It’s medicinal.” Oh God, I’d just sounded like Aunty Glynnis. I eye rolled at myself like I would have at her. My head whirled, so I grabbed the table to stop myself from falling off my chair. Head still spinning, all edges blurred into a kaleidoscope of colors. Aunty Glynnis’ Buddha appeared to dance with my carved wooden zebra. I giggled. Tyreal better cook fast, because I was going to pass out cold in about ten minutes.
Or seven.
#
I woke and blinked into the sort of darkness where you can only make out vague shapes. Someone was stomping on my head, and they’d stuffed a sock worn by a footballer for a week in my mouth. I rolled
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