Becky froze in her tracks, turning her wide-eyed gaze toward them. “That is not an appropriate way to address a coworker, Mr. Gushiken.” Her disapproval practically oozed off her, but to Blade’s credit, her disdain didn’t seem to faze him.
In fact, he seemed to be oddly fueled by her censure. “Perhaps we should discuss this further at the Evergreen Tavern.” He somehow found the bravery to wink at her. “You can read off your very long list of complaints.”
Pushing her glasses farther up her nose, Becky sniffed and looked at him like something foul she’d stepped in. “I would rather drink paint than converse with the likes of you in my free time. The only reason I’m doing so now is because I am being paid to tell you that your hygiene leaves everything to be desired.”
She eyed the blood sliding down his cheek, gritting her jaw before adding, “Your blood is as offensive as your smell. Take care of both immediately or you’ll find yourself without a paycheck at the end of the week.”
Evie rolled her eyes as the she-demon stormed away. “Why do you press her like that?”
Blade shrugged, using one of his leather wrist cuffs to dab up some of the blood. “Because it’s fun when she gets ruffled.” Eyeing the closed doors, Blade lowered his voice. “I’ve heard there’s been another bust on a shipment. How’s he handling it?”
“Did you see the entryway?” she answered dryly.
“So normally, then?” Blade chuckled and then froze, remembering how close they were to The Villain’s office.
“You can speak freely. He’s been everywhere but here the past couple of days.”
“No arson for you today?” Blade gave her a mock pout.
Evie huffed a laugh, which was unsettling because the man was hardly joking. She’d started quite a few fires since she obtained the job, figuratively and literally. “That’s not my only job here, you know.”
He nodded quickly. “Oh, I know. I heard from someone you’ve cut the boss’s destructive tirades down to two a week.”
“I don’t let him talk to any of the interns before he’s eaten breakfast—that’s the key. He’s crabby on an empty stomach,” she said, wondering just how many of their workers’ lives were saved because of a frosted pastry.
Evie leaned back against her desk, gaze going to the large clock on the wall. The loud clang of the bell rang throughout the room, startling some workers at their desks and causing others to bolt from their seats, their bags already gathered to return home to their loved ones.
A few stopped to eye the closed door of The Villain’s office. It wasn’t often the boss was absent at the end of the day. He usually opened his door to indicate he wouldn’t kill anyone for making their daily escape.
Evie looked at them and nodded with quiet authority. “Go on. He’s gone for the day.” She’d reap the consequences if the boss was angry.
Without question, they all scurried toward the hidden door, the bounding of heavy footfalls on the stairs ringing in their wake. Moving to her own bag, Evie packed up her few belongings, trying to ignore the uneasiness she felt.
Where in the deadlands had The Villain gone lately?
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Blade reassured, waving to Tatianna as she ventured through the hallway into the open room. “Hey, Tati!”
“I wasn’t worried about him—” Evie started.
But Blade was already running toward the healer. Tatianna studied his forehead, then gave him a long-suffering expression as she pointed him in the direction of the healer’s quarters, following closely behind him.
Evie gathered the rest of her things, giving the boss’s closed office door one last, longing look.
Don’t care more than you should, Evie.
Sighing to herself, she headed for the stairs.
Too late.
She passed through the doorway, unable to stop herself from glancing back at The Villain’s closed door again, wondering if one of these times he wouldn’t return.
Chapter 5
Evie
“It tastes watery,” Evie’s ten-year-old sister, Lyssa, muttered under her breath.
“Shhh.” Evie held her finger to her lips as her father moved slowly to the table, his own bowl of soup in hand. He’d been in a spectacular mood when Evie returned home that day. Which meant he would be cooking.
Since their father’s illness began, he’d found few pleasures, but one of them was that when he felt up to it, he’d cook dinner for his children. It was his way of taking care of them. So even though the things he made often tasted like liquid shoe leather, Evie would be damned if she and Lyssa didn’t swallow every drop.