Hellacious: Hellacious, #1

Hellacious

Hellacious: Book One

Crystal-Rain Love

Spirit Blizzard Press

Copyright © 2023 Crystal-Rain Love

Cover Art by Gombar Sanja

All rights reserved. eBooks are not transferable and cannot be given away, sold, or shared. No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, faxing, forwarded by email, recording or by any information retrieval and storage system without permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law, as this is an infringement on the copyright of this work. Brief quotations within reviews or articles are acceptable.

Publisher’s Note. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to a person or persons, living, dead, or undead, business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental.

First Publishing; Spirit Blizzard Press: April 2023

Contents

1.CHAPTER ONE

2.CHAPTER TWO

3.CHAPTER THREE

4.CHAPTER FOUR

5.CHAPTER FIVE

6.CHAPTER SIX

7.CHAPTER SEVEN

8.CHAPTER EIGHT

9.CHAPTER NINE

10.CHAPTER TEN

11.CHAPTER ELEVEN

12.CHAPTER TWELVE

13.CHAPTER THIRTEEN

14.CHAPTER FOURTEEN

15.CHAPTER FIFTEEN

16.CHAPTER SIXTEEN

17.CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

18.CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

19.CHAPTER NINETEEN

20.CHAPTER TWENTY

21.CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

22.CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

23.CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

24.CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

About the Author

Also By Crystal-Rain Love:

CHAPTER ONE

What the… Where… Why…

Where the hell am I?

Not quite Hell, dear, but it’s not the worst guess I’ve heard.

What? What did that mean? I stared at the pretty blonde woman sitting behind the gray executive desk, doing her best to ignore me while she flipped through a file folder. She was very thin and pale, her eyes an almost unearthly shade of light silvery blue, and her long nails, although nicely polished and manicured, were a little too pointy for my taste. Her no-nonsense dark gray pantsuit suggested she was a professional, but a professional what I had no idea.

I looked around the office for a clue, but all I saw were gray walls and gray tiled floor. I was in a small gray cube with nothing but a desk and two chairs. The woman didn’t even have a computer or telephone, let alone a nameplate to identify her.

Where the hell am I?!

She lifted her eyes from the file, looked at me, and sighed. You don’t remember. Don’t worry. This happens sometimes when you die really fast and unexpectedly. It’ll come back to you.

"When you—when I… what? I’m dead?! I gripped the arms of my chair and started breathing fast, panting like an old, ill dog. I’m… I’m going to… I’m going to hyperventilate."

Well, it can’t hurt if you do. You’re already dead.

Stop saying that. I slammed my hands on the desk. I am not dead! I’m sitting right here.

Yes. Here in Purgatory.

Purgatory? My mind went blank right before it filled with images from season eight of Supernatural. Then I started laughing. Oh, this is great. You really got me. I suppose one of my friends is going to run in here dressed like a leviathan or a vampire? Who arranged this?

The woman sighed again. This time, the sound was huffy and loaded with irritation. Your death wasn’t arranged. You weren’t murdered.

I rolled my eyes. I meant the prank. Who arranged this prank?

It’s not a prank. You’re dead, Miss Malvada, and so far from what I’m seeing in your file, you don’t really have a lot of friends.

Sadness pierced my heart quick as a blade, but I shoved it down and straightened my shoulders. Then I got mad, because being angry felt better than being confused and scared. "So, then what, Candid Camera is being revived? Bring out the cameras because I’m not falling for this bullshit. I think I’d remember dying no matter how unexpected. A person should remember dying."

They usually do, but sometimes it happens too suddenly to process right away. She looked at me for a moment, twisted her lips in thought, and released another of those sighs. All right, so technically you’re not officially dead yet, but you’re on your way, hence your presence here. You’re mostly dead, so I’m just going to get a head start on your paperwork if you would be so kind as to quietly sit there until your memory of what happened comes back.

"Mostly dead? Mostly dead? I ignored the thin woman’s frustrated hiss of breath. What is this, The Princess Bride?"

This is Purgatory, she said in a clipped tone. I think I have been very clear about that.

So how did I die? I’m twenty years old and in good health, so I’m not going to buy a heart condition.

Twenty-year-olds die from heart conditions too, dear. You, however, were hit by a bus.

Suddenly, I heard a horrible screech, and it all came rushing back.

Dunce. Dunce!

I looked at my watch while tapping my foot on the tile floor and wondered how long it took to pour coffee into a cup and add six squirts of cinnamon dolce syrup, six squirts of chocolate syrup, and six shots of espresso. I couldn’t function at my job without my morning coffee, but if I didn’t get it and get moving, I was going to miss the bus. I could not be late for work.

"DUNCE!"

Suddenly aware of snickering and the heat of someone’s focused attention, I raised my head to see nearly every customer in the busy coffee shop staring right at me. I quickly checked myself. My silky white button-down blouse and black slacks looked in order. My black heels matched. I’d used the mirror to put on my makeup and my dark hair had looked fine when I’d left my apartment that morning. I couldn’t have anything in my teeth because I was still waiting for my pumpkin spice muffin and coffee.

Dunce! Hey, you want your coffee or not?

The people staring continued chuckling, except one woman who was nice enough to point toward the counter where the same mousy-haired barista who’d given me so much attitude while taking my order stood glaring at me, a large coffee I assumed to be mine stretched out toward me. Seriously? Dunce?

"It’s Dul-say, I snapped, and stormed up to the counter. Heat filled my cheeks and started to spread, now realizing the woman had been calling me a dunce in front of everyone and I’d just stood there oblivious while being pointed and laughed at. D-U-L-C-E, almost like the D-O-L-C-E syrup shots in the coffee I get here every weekday morning. It shouldn’t be that hard to read, even with a limited intelligence quotient."

Are you calling me stupid?

No, but I am calling you rude. I come in here almost every single day. You know my name, and I’m not sure what that glare is all about, but if I wasn’t running late already, I’d be having a chat with your manager about it.

Whatever, Karen. Do you want the coffee or not?

She turned away as my jaw dropped open, my coffee held hostage in her hand. I all but leaped over the counter to snatch it out of her hand before she could toss it into the trash. I had no idea what the woman’s problem was, given I’d never so much as raised my voice in the café before and I was a regular and a damn good tipper, but I didn’t have time to find out. I was also quite over being stared at and I was pretty sure some jerk was filming us on his iPhone. Coffee finally in hand, I turned on my heel and rushed past the entertained strangers to get to the door.

What about my tip? the woman called out behind me, making sure to draw attention to the fact I hadn’t left one, the one time in my life I hadn’t tipped.

I skipped the verbal response and raised the middle finger of my free hand in the air to the mixed sound of boos and applause as I pushed through the door. At least some people seemed to notice the unfair hostility I’d been treated with and were on my side. Sadly, the boos nearly drowned them out.

Halfway to the bus stop, I realized I’d never gotten the pumpkin spice muffin I’d paid for. I turned back toward the café just in time to see my bus zip past. Crap!

Forgetting the muffin and the wasted money, I ran like the devil toward the bus stop, shouting, Hold the bus! Hold the bus! For the love of all things holy, hold the friggin’ bus!

I could not be late. I worked for S&R, a large fashion store in the mall. Retail wasn’t my dream, but it beat working in food service or collections, two other jobs I’d had and never wanted to go back to, and if I got a management or visual position, I could make decent money instead of just scraping by. The bigwigs were coming to the store today, so it would be the absolute worst day to show up late. Hold the bus!

I sprinted my way to the stop just as the last person got on and the door closed in my face. I pounded on the glass. Wait! I’m here! Let me on!

The doors opened, and I met the glare of the very annoyed bus driver. Geez, like that one second was going to throw him off his schedule for the rest of the day. I tapped my fare card on the panel and made sure to smile prettily with my sincere apology and thanked him for letting me on. I got a grunt in return, and before I could make it to a seat, he floored the gas and sent me tumbling forward. A quick-handed man caught me before I face-planted in the aisle, but not before coffee sloshed out of my cup to splash the front of my white blouse. Just what I freaking needed on the day the bigwigs would be arriving. I was so peeved about that, I barely noticed the way the hot liquid scalded my skin.

I thanked the man and found a seat. Unfortunately, it was next to a man in a ratty old jacket that smelled like urine. Fortunately, he was asleep, so at least I wouldn’t have to worry about him talking to me. If I’d learned anything about public transportation in the past two weeks, it was that bus riders were a mixed bag, and that bag was full of nuts in the morning. At least it was on my route.

I made a mental note to call the garage working on my car first thing when I got to work. Well, second thing. First, I had to grab a clean shirt. Meeting the bigwigs in a brown-stained blouse wet enough to now be partially see-through would not do. I took a much-needed drink of coffee I hoped hadn’t been spit in and tried to relax… just in time for the smelly man to fall over into my lap.

By the time I reached my stop, I was sure I smelled like pee, but all I could do was hope the sweet scent of delicious coffee covered it up. The bus stop was at the edge of the mall parking lot, so I’d had to sprint across it and through the closest mall entrance, which, of course, was the most crowded one. I swerved around people walking like turtles and moved as fast as my legs and pumps would take me. I glanced at my watch, only to see my wrist bare. What the… Sonofabitch, I thought, pretty sure the smelly guy had swiped it.

Am I late? I asked with what felt like my very last breath as I raced past my co-worker, Brittany. She stood at the counter, gawking as I sped past.

Right on time, but you need to do something about that shirt. What the heck happened to you?

It’s been the morning from hell, I called back as I snatched a shirt off a rack and ran into the dressing rooms. I sped into one, yanked my purse strap over my head, and ripped off my soiled shirt. The one I’d grabbed was burgundy and long-sleeved with a scoop neck. I was just pulling it over my head when I heard the store manager, Chaz, introducing Brittany and asking where I was. The man couldn’t speak in a normal tone if his life depended on it.

Right here, I announced as I stepped back out onto the sales floor with my soiled shirt stuffed into my purse. Chaz glanced at the purse in my hand and scowled, figuring out that I’d just arrived at work. I ignored him and beamed a smile at the man and woman with him, both of them tall and very thin, which only made Chaz’s short, rounder stature more noticeable. I was just helping someone in the dressing room and found this purse.

Chaz narrowed his eyes, knowing damn well I was carrying my own purse, but let it slide as he introduced me to the regional managers, Jon Peterman and Natasha Harlow. He didn’t miss the opportunity to shoot me what I felt was my last warning look before he ushered them toward the back of the store, where his office was located.

Brittany, the pretty blue-eyed blonde who’d started working at the store a few weeks ago, released a breath of relief. That was close.

You wouldn’t believe my day. I set my purse on the shelf under the counter just as a Hispanic woman somewhere in her late thirties to early forties slapped a small pile of underwear on the counter in front of my register with a receipt and said something in Spanish.

Ah, here we went. I’m sorry. I don’t speak Spanish.

She looked at me as if I were covered in dog crap. Sad youth. You know nothing of your culture.

I didn’t have a culture. I was an orphan, not that it was any of the woman’s business, but I kept my thoughts to myself. I’d been through this before. I had Latina features, but I couldn’t tell you whether either of my parents had been Mexican, Puerto-Rican, or Columbian. For all I knew, they could have been Narnian. I’d bounced around from foster home to foster home, and they’d all been white or black families. I didn’t speak Spanish. I’d taken Spanish class in school and could never get past the numbers and colors, and some of the words that sounded close to the English versions. I just wasn’t good with languages. Hell, some days I felt challenged enough with English, especially before my coffee kicked in.

How can I help you?

I want to return these.

I looked down at the pile. These are underwear.

Yes, I’m not stupid. I’m returning them.

We don’t take returns on underwear.

Why the hell not?

Because they’re underwear. We can’t resell underwear that has left this store.

Since when? No one has denied me before. Do I need to speak to your manager?

I thought back to my visit to the coffee shop and wondered if I’d seemed as horrible as this lady when I’d brought out the manager card, even though that barista had been a little bee-yotch before I had.

Today was not the day to call for a manager. I took a deep breath to calm my temper, which was already on a very short leash after the events of the morning and reached for the receipt on top of the panty pile, carefully picking it up with two fingers. With my other hand, I pointed at the fine print on the bottom. It says right here that we do not take returns on undergarments.

She started yelling at me in Spanish. I didn’t understand the words, but I was pretty sure she’d just called me three kinds of bitch. Ma’am, you will have to calm down or leave the store.

I’ll leave when you give me my money back. These are still like new. Smell them! She picked up a handful of the undergarments and shoved them toward my face.

I backed up, just barely missing getting some strange woman’s panty crotches shoved under my nose. That’s it! Ma’am, you’re going to have to leave before I call security.

Call security? Call security?! She placed her fisted hands on her curvy hips and puffed her chest out. "I’ll call security. Security! Security!"

I shared a panicked look with Brittany as the woman started screaming for security and drew a small crowd of customers to the front to gawk at the floor show. Chaz had to be able to hear it. I was so fired if I didn’t get rid of her. Ma’am, I’m very sorry, but—

You’re about to be sorry! The woman leaped over the counter and down I went with her on top of me.

Before I had time to process what was happening, my back hit the floor, knocking the breath out of me. Then my head hit, and I saw stars. Then I only saw the screaming, ranting pit bull on top of me and a flurry of claws as I struggled to defend myself from her acrylic daggers steadily swiping at my face and yanking at my hair.

What felt like an hour later but couldn’t have been because I was pretty sure the psycho would have killed me if she’d been given that much time, she was finally yanked off of me by Brittany and a mall security guard. Chaz helped me up, growling under his breath the whole time that I was fired.

What? The woman attacked me. You can’t fire me because a woman attacked me! Especially considering she attacked me for not going against the company’s return policy.

But what of the company’s policy regarding theft? The stuffy female regional manager, Natasha What’s-her-face, reached under the back of my collar and pulled out the tag. I thought I recognized this blouse as part of our new collection that just went on sale this morning. Chaz, she must have been in the process of stealing it before we were introduced this morning. That’s what she was doing in the dressing room.

No! I fell on the bus and my coffee splashed all over my blouse. I wanted to look nice, so I grabbed this shirt when I got here. I was going to pay for it, but that crazy woman flung her underwear at me before I could!

I’ll show you crazy! The woman lunged for me, but the security guard wrestled her under control.

Are we pressing charges? he asked.

Yes. Chaz made a shooing motion. Call the police to collect her and get her out of here. We’ve put on enough of a show.

That was when I noticed the crowd of people openly watching, many of them recording. I was really starting to hate cell phones.

You’re fired, Dulce, and unless you pay for that blouse right this second, you’re going to jail with that woman.

My jaw dropped open, and I felt tears burn the backs of my eyes as I looked at an equally gobsmacked Brittany. What the hell had just happened? But—

Guard! Chaz raised his index finger in a gesture for the security guard to wait a moment, then stepped closer to me. Pay for the shirt and leave on your own without embarrassing the company any further or you can be dragged out by the guard too.

I took a deep breath, willed back my tears because I damn sure wasn’t going to let him or anyone else standing there see me cry, and grabbed my purse.

Check her purse, the snotty regional manager said, and it was snatched out of my hand.

Chaz did a thorough search, unfolding my soiled blouse and checking it for tags before Brittany snapped that she’d seen me come in wearing it and knew I hadn’t stolen anything. He gave her a hard look, but fortunately, didn’t scold her.

Once he handed my purse back to me, I tore the tag from the back of my shirt and started to scan it.

No! He yanked the tag from me and pointed in front of the counter. You’re no longer an employee. Pay like a customer.

I bit my tongue and kept my head held high as I rounded the counter to pay like a customer, even when I heard some jackass behind me all but yell, "Dayyyyum. Fired the girl after that lady beat her ass and then took her money too!"

Paying like a customer meant I didn’t get the employee discount. Just my luck, I’d snagged a sixty-dollar blouse in my desperation to change before management saw the coffee stain. S&R rarely even sold items above twenty dollars. I should have just allowed myself to get fired for the stain. At least that might not have been recorded. By the time I stepped out of the mall, a migraine was forming and the last thing I wanted to do was get on a bus and risk sitting next to another smelly man.

My boyfriend lived close enough to the mall. I took my cell phone out of my purse and called the garage as I headed toward Barry’s apartment.

Sal’s Garage. Ugh. I’d had to call the garage so much over the past two weeks, I was far too familiar with the owner’s voice, and it grew more irritating to me by the call. His voice, and the dollars that kept getting added to the initial estimate I’d been given.

Hi, Sal. It’s Dulce Malvada. Is my car ready yet? Please, please be, I silently begged. I was so tired of the bus and since it looked like I was about to be going through the job interview cycle, I preferred more reliable transportation, the kind that came without the risk of smelly men falling asleep on me… or faking it so they could rob me. Thank goodness I always carried my purse with the strap crossed over my torso.

Ah, Missus Malvada. Yes, yes. No, my love. We’re going to have to replace the carburetor.

The carburetor? I felt my temperature rise. You said the problem was the alternator, and before that, it was the… something else-a-nator.

A car this age, my love, it has issues. Sometimes we don’t see a problem until we fix the problem hiding it.

Yeah, I was pretty sure I was getting screwed, but I didn’t have enough knowledge about cars to actually call Sal out on it. I think I’ll just pick it up today and take care of the carburetor later.

If you wish to, my love. Do you need me to recommend a tow service?

A tow service?

My love, it will not run until we replace the carburetor.

I stopped and clenched the phone so tightly in my hand I could almost hear it cry out in pain. I took a deep breath and slowly pushed it out, pretty sure if I gave in to the emotions raging inside me, I would completely lose it. When I spoke again, I spoke slowly. I just lost my job, Sal. I need my car to go to interviews, so just do whatever the minimum is to get my car running for the least amount of money because as of this hour, I am unemployed. Do you understand?

Yes, my love. I will call you as soon as we have her running.

Looking forward to it. I disconnected and shoved the phone back into my purse. And quit calling me ‘my love.’

I continued to Barry’s apartment, trying to pump myself up with thoughts of Barry wringing the mechanic’s neck. I didn’t like the thought of running to my big, buff boyfriend to solve my problems with his big, meaty hands, but if Sal dared tack on another couple hundred dollars to my bill, I just might make an exception.

I reached Barry’s apartment building and cut across the street before entering. He lived on the third floor, so it wasn’t too much trouble to take the stairs. I usually took the elevator, but after the way my day had gone so far, I was not about to tempt fate by getting in the elevator. I’d either get stuck in it or the whole thing might fall to the basement and kill me on impact.

I hoofed it up the stairs and took out the spare key Barry had given me, knowing he was at work. That was fine. I was sure he wouldn’t mind me using his shower and borrowing his computer to look for a new job until he got home. Then he could drive me back to my apartment. I didn’t want to even see another bus after the morning I’d had.

I heard sultry music as soon as I opened the door and grinned. Barry was always leaving the radio or TV on. He was a great-looking guy, had a decent job, and drove a nice car, but he was kind of lazy and a bit on the messy side. I headed toward the bedroom where the music seemed to waft from, picking up his clothes along the way, but stilled as I reached a red, lacy thong that definitely wasn’t mine. I’d barely finished following the rest of the trail of clothes when I heard the unmistakable sound of a woman reaching the big O… or an alley cat. It was a little hard to tell.

I pushed the door open so hard it slammed against the opposite wall, and stood there, jaw hanging open, heart stopped, and eyes glued to the absolute horror in front of me. As if my morning hadn’t already been a royal shitfest, there was my boyfriend’s pasty-white naked ass jiggling as he pounded away inside some woman with pink hair and a very impressive octave range.

What the hell? she stopped caterwauling long enough to screech as our eyes connected over Barry’s left shoulder. Who is this bitch?

This bitch is his girlfriend, I snapped as blood rushed back into Barry’s brain and he realized he and his morning bang had an intruder. Shock filled his eyes before he scrambled out of the woman and off the bed to stand next to it, stark naked.

Dulce! What the hell are you doing in my apartment?

"You gave me the key and told me to use it anytime, asshole. What the hell are you doing in your apartment, with whoever the hell that is?!"

You didn’t say you had a girlfriend! The woman yanked the sheets over her buoyant breasts and curled her lip as she looked at me. She doesn’t look like much.

I’ll show you much, I thought as my hands curled into fists of their own accord and I heard a snarl escape me, but before I could lower myself to the point of actually fighting over a man who’d just proven himself not worth it, I came to my senses and shook my head. I didn’t know the woman, and I didn’t care to know her. My beef was with Barry, and he could go to hell.

Dulce, honey, it’s not what it looks like.

Don’t you ‘honey’ me, you piece of shit, standing there with your boner still pointing north! The overwhelming urge to yank the appendage off and slap him around with it overcame me, but I sucked in a breath and threw my hands up in the air. You know what? Fuck this! I’m not even going to ask how long this has been going on or waste another second of my time wondering anything about it or about you. You can drop dead!

I turned and fled the apartment, my head screaming with every angry step. Now I had no choice but to take the freaking bus, which only made the migraine rage harder. From the looks I received from people as I stormed out of the apartment building and down the sidewalk, I knew I looked a sight, and I probably had bloody scratches on my face from the fight at S&R along with the tears in the stupid sixty-dollar blouse that had been damaged before I could even pay for it, but I didn’t care. All I cared about was getting home, getting some painkillers for my headache, and finding a new job so I could pay my rent and get my car out of the damn shop. To hell with what anyone thought about me, and to hell with Barry!

There was a coffee shop across the street. It wasn’t my usual one, but I was sure they could make a decent cup of coffee and after the day I’d had, I deserved a second cup. And I could get a muffin and finally get some food in my stomach. I stepped off the curb, looking forward to at least one good thing finally happening, and heard a horn blast and the near-deafening screech of brakes squealing as the scent of burned rubber filled the air.

Based on the complete loss of color in your face, I’m going to assume you just remembered what happened.

I was hit by a bus.

Yes.

I was hit by a bus!

Again, yes.

I was hit by a bus. I ran my hands over my body, checking my torso and each limb.

I’m starting to realize you’re not the brightest crayon in the box.

I was hit by a freaking bus! I checked my head, relieved to find it still firmly planted on top of my neck. I’m all in one piece. My clothes are even all right, except for the tears already there from that pit bull at the store, so it couldn’t have been real. I’d be broken and bloody.

Dulce, I assure you it happened. You need to accept it. Your mortal life is over. You were hit by a bus. You don’t walk away from that.

But I’m not a broken mess.

Of course you’re not a broken mess. The woman rolled her eyes. Your physical body is in an emergency room in the realm of the living, winding down to its final gasp of breath. Do you really think we’d want you here in that condition, all twisted and bloody and reeking of urine and feces?

Reeking of urine and feces?! Why the hell would I be reeking of urine and feces?

You were hit by a bus, she said slowly and clearly. What do you think happens to a person’s bladder and bowels when they get slammed into by over twenty-five-thousand pounds of metal? Everything breaks and bursts. If you were a cartoon, you would have been scraped off the pavement with a spatula. Your breasts would have been between your shoulder blades, your cooter would have been hanging out your pooter, and you’d be able to see behind you without having to turn your head. You were hit by a bus. Steamrolled. Splattered. Flattened. Killed.

"Ohmahgawd, I’m dead."

I give up. The woman waved her bony hand in a shooing motion. Just sit there quietly, please. I am trying to calculate.

Calculate what?

How long I can put up with these interruptions before I lose my temper and give you a second death by my own hands, she snapped, and her oddly colored eyes flashed like twin balls of pale blue fire.

Deciding that was creepy and the frail-looking lady might be scarier than she appeared, I zipped it and just chewed on my lip until she felt inclined as to speak to me again. The lip-chewing did nothing to ease my nerves as I watched her flip through the papers in the file folder, making little disapproving grunts here and there as she did. Whatever calculations she was doing, she must have been doing them in her head because at no time did she break out a calculator or even a pen and piece of paper.

I felt myself nodding off and had nearly fallen asleep when she gasped and quickly shuffled back a few pages before returning to the page that had apparently caused her alarm. She looked at me, looked down at the paper again, looked at me, looked down at the paper again, flipped the sheet, scanned the next one, and then stared at me as if I’d grown a second head.

When she just sat there gaping at me with what seemed like no intention of speaking anytime soon, I opted to risk her wrath. Um… is there a problem?

She blinked, snapping out of the staring spell, and quickly gathered the file and all its papers up. This has to go to the big guy.

The big guy? You mean… I pointed up toward the direction I assumed the heavens would be.

Petie.

Oh. Petie. Of course. Nothing said big guy like the name Petie.

Stay here. She held the file tight against her flat chest and quickly shuffled toward the door.

Wait just a minute. I stood to follow her. Maybe I should—

Stay here! she roared as she pointed her bony finger at me and those oddly colored eyes turned into blazing blue fireballs. Her face elongated and wrinkled as her thin lips peeled back to reveal a cavernous black hole outlined with a rim of tiny, sharp teeth.

I screamed and jumped back until my butt hit the desk, and she left the room, the door disappearing behind her. Like, completely just vanishing as if it had never been there at all, leaving me completely sealed-in within the gray cube. Oh, sure. Like scaring the bajeezus out of me was necessary to get your point across when there’s not even a freaking door I could get out of if I wanted to! My voice steadily rose until I yelled the last part. I checked to make sure I hadn’t pissed my pants before I sank down into the chair. Well, on the bright side, my day couldn’t possibly get any worse.

I was only allowed a few precious minutes to believe that before an alarm blared and the walls started flashing red.

Well, shit. What now?

CHAPTER TWO

Everything disappeared in a bright flash of light and I felt a hard yank before I found myself sitting across from another gray desk in another gray room. This one had bookshelves, though, and windows. However, I couldn’t see anything beyond them because the gray shades were drawn.

The woman who’d been calculating whatever the hell she’d been calculating in my file stood next to the gray marble desk and a man in a silvery gray suit and tie sat in the gray leather chair behind it.

I yelped, surprised by the abrupt change of venue, but quickly gathered my wits. Let me guess. Petie?

The man nodded as he stared at me.

The big guy was kind of a runt. He couldn’t have been any more than five feet tall, if that. He was kind of plump, with jowls and a