Read Online Kept by Shawntelle Madison - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Shawntelle Madison
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clavicle bone. My soft sighs as his hands drifted over the tips of my breasts. All the while, in the background, a haunting trumpet would play, its horn lulling me to sleep with the promise of a sweet dream next to Thorn.
My voice was jittery when I spoke. “Once in a while I do.”
“I still do, too.”
I was glad I was facing the window and he couldn’t see my face flush with heat. My body was most likely betraying my feelings. It was something wolves couldn’t hide from each other: the quickened breath, the heated skin. But I refused to look at him and acknowledge what he’d severed when he left me five years ago. It was plain and simple. We were simply friends now—maybe even something less than that if I ever managed to stomp my raging hormones into the dirt.
To violently stab and bury my libido as quickly as possible, I asked, “Does Erica like jazz music?”
Thorn laughed. “She’s educated and all, but her idea of music, whether classical or modern, is a pop video with dancers gyrating.”
I rolled my eyes. “Isn’t that what guys like? Buckets of breasts and thighs shaking like they’re fresh out of the oven from Kentucky Fried Chicken?”
We’d finally left the city and were now driving westward along Highway 30. We’d hit the first place pretty soon.
Thorn continued. “Not every man needs to see that kind of thing to be entertained.”
“Oh, c’mon. You can’t tell me you don’t like watching scantily clad women doing a stripper-pole dance in what someone would call a music video.”
“If you want to put it like that, then yes. On occasion I’ve enjoyed a video or two enough to press rewind on the DVR a few times.”
I cringed for a moment, thinking about the conditions of the Grantham cabin. Back before the battle with the Long Island werewolves, I’d gone to Thorn’s father to seek protection by rejoining the pack. During my (blessedly short) visit, I’d come to find so much disgustingnessaround old Farley’s La-Z-Boy—crumpled-up chips, a greasy remote, and much more—that I found myself wondering how I’d survive another visit if it came to that. “You actually touch the remote in that house?”
Thorn didn’t answer my quip. My gaze went to the window again. I’d seen as much of the city as I’d ever want to take in, but it distracted me nonetheless.
A few minutes later, we pulled off the highway and into the parking lot of a newer building right off the road. A sign with the words “Flat Iron Tires and Servicing” hung in a precarious manner. The building was obviously far newer than the sign, with its bright red brick and three closed garage doors. Through the windows, I spotted cars waiting for repair inside. We’d sold garage equipment at The Bends before, so I could tell the equipment didn’t appear to be in the best shape. But it was otherwise just your normal mechanics garage.
Not far from the side of the building stood a set of tire racks. A few tires were stacked carelessly—perhaps waiting to topple over a hapless human. After a few steps toward them, I caught the goblin’s scent. A rich and earthy one, yet slightly metallic, similar to what I often noticed on Bill.
Our target obviously had a budding black market enterprise that had garnered him enough money to buy a newer business front. I smiled, thinking about all the humans at The Bends who never knew they were handing their credit cards to a scheming goblin.
Bill always said, “Back in the Dark Ages, I could squeeze cash out of a rock if I tried hard enough. You need to have that mind-set, Nat. Stay focused on the prize and just hand the customer some lube so it doesn’t hurt as much when you screw them over.”
Right. I’ll be sure to keep that lube handy .
So far, no sign of Dad. No scents. Nothing to indicate he’d been here, from what I could tell.
Thorn strolled around the front, but I motioned for him to join me in a walk around the back. Everything was quiet until Thorn’s cell
My voice was jittery when I spoke. “Once in a while I do.”
“I still do, too.”
I was glad I was facing the window and he couldn’t see my face flush with heat. My body was most likely betraying my feelings. It was something wolves couldn’t hide from each other: the quickened breath, the heated skin. But I refused to look at him and acknowledge what he’d severed when he left me five years ago. It was plain and simple. We were simply friends now—maybe even something less than that if I ever managed to stomp my raging hormones into the dirt.
To violently stab and bury my libido as quickly as possible, I asked, “Does Erica like jazz music?”
Thorn laughed. “She’s educated and all, but her idea of music, whether classical or modern, is a pop video with dancers gyrating.”
I rolled my eyes. “Isn’t that what guys like? Buckets of breasts and thighs shaking like they’re fresh out of the oven from Kentucky Fried Chicken?”
We’d finally left the city and were now driving westward along Highway 30. We’d hit the first place pretty soon.
Thorn continued. “Not every man needs to see that kind of thing to be entertained.”
“Oh, c’mon. You can’t tell me you don’t like watching scantily clad women doing a stripper-pole dance in what someone would call a music video.”
“If you want to put it like that, then yes. On occasion I’ve enjoyed a video or two enough to press rewind on the DVR a few times.”
I cringed for a moment, thinking about the conditions of the Grantham cabin. Back before the battle with the Long Island werewolves, I’d gone to Thorn’s father to seek protection by rejoining the pack. During my (blessedly short) visit, I’d come to find so much disgustingnessaround old Farley’s La-Z-Boy—crumpled-up chips, a greasy remote, and much more—that I found myself wondering how I’d survive another visit if it came to that. “You actually touch the remote in that house?”
Thorn didn’t answer my quip. My gaze went to the window again. I’d seen as much of the city as I’d ever want to take in, but it distracted me nonetheless.
A few minutes later, we pulled off the highway and into the parking lot of a newer building right off the road. A sign with the words “Flat Iron Tires and Servicing” hung in a precarious manner. The building was obviously far newer than the sign, with its bright red brick and three closed garage doors. Through the windows, I spotted cars waiting for repair inside. We’d sold garage equipment at The Bends before, so I could tell the equipment didn’t appear to be in the best shape. But it was otherwise just your normal mechanics garage.
Not far from the side of the building stood a set of tire racks. A few tires were stacked carelessly—perhaps waiting to topple over a hapless human. After a few steps toward them, I caught the goblin’s scent. A rich and earthy one, yet slightly metallic, similar to what I often noticed on Bill.
Our target obviously had a budding black market enterprise that had garnered him enough money to buy a newer business front. I smiled, thinking about all the humans at The Bends who never knew they were handing their credit cards to a scheming goblin.
Bill always said, “Back in the Dark Ages, I could squeeze cash out of a rock if I tried hard enough. You need to have that mind-set, Nat. Stay focused on the prize and just hand the customer some lube so it doesn’t hurt as much when you screw them over.”
Right. I’ll be sure to keep that lube handy .
So far, no sign of Dad. No scents. Nothing to indicate he’d been here, from what I could tell.
Thorn strolled around the front, but I motioned for him to join me in a walk around the back. Everything was quiet until Thorn’s cell
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