Hell on Wheels (Faetal Attraction #1)

Scars

The sound of Reb’s snoring woke me up enough times that I started pinching his nose shut until he choked and woke up. I’d feel bad, but Archie and Javier thought it was hysterical. Angelo almost set him on fire once and Damon buried himself under the sheets, burrowing in like he was trying to get to Hell itself from their depths.

Note to self: Rebel sleeps in his own fucking room when he gets trashed.

Yawning, I wiggle my ass out of the pile of dudes to head for the bathroom. I need to clean up a bit before they wake up and decide they want something to eat before breakfast. I grin a little as they keep snoozing, grabbing my phone off the nightstand as I go. Swiping my screen open, I frown. There’s an email from the Council about a group of supes coming in from the Southern enclave area. It says one is on ‘furlough’ with monitoring, and the other five are royals and supe legacies. All the Guardians in the area are to be on high alert for chatter about assassins and snatch teams.

“That’s just what we needed right now,” I mutter to myself. “A fucking felon with a bunch of high-profile targets rolling into town for fuck knows what at Samhain time, with an Apalachin going on. What dumbass thought this was a good plan?”

Probably a man, that’s who. They never think of things in three-dimensions and it fucks shit up constantly. Sighing as I set the damn thing on the counter, I turn the shower on first, then use the restroom. Once the stall steams up, I hop in and groan happily as the hot water coasts over me. Taking this shower by myself means I get to do all my ‘maintenance’ without someone slobbering all over me while I try to hop on one leg to shave certain areas.

Thank fuck. I need a touch-up and as much as I love sex; I want to feel sexy while doing it.

“And now we feel all deliciously smooth and moisturized,” I say to the mirror as I finish my skin care. Smiling with fresh breath, I put my hands under my wet hair, using magic to blow hot air through it until it dries. Tying off fat twin braids on either side of my face, I pick up my phone to check what’s come in since I started.

Damn. More messages about these damn visitors. Reb’s going to shit a brick.

Wrapped in my robe, I step into my room to find everyone but my stepbrother staring at me as they lounge on the bed in sexy poses. “Oh, no. No fun for you. I’m clean and fresh for the day, boys.”

Archie pouts, stacking his hands behind his head and making his muscles ripple deliciously. “Man, I hate when Reb keeps us up with his fucking deviated septum. He’s getting an ass kicking when he finally rouses.”

Damon groans, nodding against his thigh. “No shit. He’s never allowed in the pile after he drinks that much again. Today’s meetings with Luca are going to be a bitch when we’re exhausted.”

“Luckily, Javi is going to make some serious energy drinks with the breakfast you’re cooking, bro,” Angelo yawns. “Then we’ll get our shit together and go kiss the ring.”

I frown. “Should I be going to this?”

“No,” Damon says adamantly. “Definitely not. This is whatever Luca’s doing to get ready for the meeting, so until you’re farther into the family, you won’t need to attend. But you need to nurse Rebel back to consciousness.”

“And hang with me until the delivery from Guillermo arrives. It’s gorgeous, so we can lounge by the pool.” Archie bobs his brows and I roll my eyes.

That’s not all he wants, but I’m not arguing that right now.

“We can do that. I need to dig into these Council emails I—and probably Rebel—got this morning. Some pack of freaks from the Southern enclave are coming in within the next few days and the shit is hinky.” I pull up the message, showing it to Angelo. “Feels weird that they’re coming here near the holiday and the big meeting, right?”

My demon twins look at one another, then back at me in their eerie twin thing, saying, “Very sus. We’ll poke around.”

“I have no idea how you guys do that and I don’t want to know,” I grumble to myself. “But thank you. I’ll ask around the Guardian network about the Southern players and this convicted murderess, too. Reb and I stay about as distant as we can until our charge emerges, so we’re not in on a lot of the Society gossip.”

“Yeah, that’s how we are with the bullshit going on downstairs,” Damon says as he sits up. “Seeing the folks from below at the party was enough to hold us for quite a while. The politics are worse than here and much worse than the Society stuff. Trust me.”

“But you guys went to school there for two years.” I tilt my head, looking curious. “Which, to be honest, I’m not sure how you did still. I mean, you weren’t gone two years. It was weird.”

Angelo smirks, shaking his head. “It’s so hard for you to get time that moves differently in other realms? Faerie certainly does. Hell is no different.”

“Ang, I haven’t been back to Faerie since I was adopted. I was a kid, and while I have some memories, they’re pretty fuzzy. I guess they fucked with them before they sent me to our folks. Rebel probably has the same issues.”

“That sounds pretty shitty, Wheels. Even I’ve been with one of my dads on some business trip. We should all go. You’re not under their thumbs anymore, so you can.”

I ponder that for a minute. When I was younger, I wanted to go back to find Reck, but now I don’t know. He’s been missing for so long that I doubt he’s alive and my life is here. Licking my lips, I murmur, “Maybe. I don’t know if I’m ready for that yet. But thank you… really.”

It’s a nice offer, but there’s enough on my plate in this realm, thanks.

After breakfast, I walk upstairs to check in on Rebel. He still isn’t awake yet, so I pad into the bathroom to grab sun supplies. Damon and Angelo are getting ready to go see Luca, and Javier is going to go check in on the day shift at the Lotus. Tiptoeing through my room, I sneak in and snatch the pre-packed sun bag, then slip back out. That Fae liquor hit him like a ton of bricks because he hasn’t moved an inch—and yes, I checked his breathing.

I should make a mental note not to let him drink that shit ever again if it knocks him out this hard.

“Wheels, get your sexy ass down here!”

Shaking my head, I smile to myself. Archie is like a giant, muscled puppy dog sometimes and it’s adorable as hell. His sunshine-y attitude makes all this nonsense a little easier to deal with. “I’m coming, Arch. I don’t wanna scorch my ass this late in the year, especially since I have to wear that damn dress soon.”

As I come down the stairs, I see him waiting for me in low-slung board shorts, his golden skin and tatts on display in such a delicious way that my thighs clench. All that practice has him cut as hell, and his natural leonine grace shines through as he stretches his arms up toward the ceiling. I’m not sure if I could be a luckier bitch—a golden hockey god, a haunting Fae racer, light and dark twin demons, and a fiery phoenix, all to myself.

It’s like half of the Hot Guys of the Supernatural Calendar living in my house.

“Why are you smiling so big, babe?”

I duck my head, completely unwilling to admit my drooly thoughts to him out loud. “I’m glad we’re hanging out today. Though, it seems like you get stuck with me a lot. Are you my babysitter now?”

He smirks, arching a brow. “Does that make me your ‘manny’? ‘Cause I could get into that, maybe. A little rich lady-young domestic thing, maybe…”

Snorting, I hold my hand up. “Absolutely not. I’ll roleplay a lot of shit, but asshole rich people are a hard limit.”

“You know, one would think that wouldn’t be in the same list as fluids and yet…”

Giving him a stern look, I flick my towel out to catch his leg. “Stop it. Don’t be gross and don’t kink shame. Just because we don’t get the appeal doesn’t mean other people can’t do whatever the fuck floats their goats.”

His eyes roam over my bikini-clad body with a wicked sparkle in them, and I shiver. I have no illusions that he’s not thinking about every single thing that bobs his knob right now. If I don’t shake a tail feather, he’ll be stripping me in the living room and I won’t get the chance to work on my stuff. “Well, I definitely?—”

“Nope.” I stride past him with my head held high, making for the sliding doors before he can catch me. “Not a chance, buddy. I want to sit out here and surf with my phone so I can find out shit about these visitors. I don’t like the idea of new players arriving when we have all this chaos going on.”

“Party pooper,” he grumbles as he grabs an ice bucket of drinks from the counter, as well as his tablet. “And that’s just a saying, not a suggestion.”

“Oh, my god!” I screech as I jet outside, leaving him snickering behind me. “Fucking men are so gross.”

I settle in my chair, putting my phone aside to slather some sunscreen on, then I look at the blonde shifter fussing around our seats. He’s got the bucket with drinks set up, but now he’s arranging an umbrella and muttering to himself about snacks. Waiting for him to stop fussing, I pick up my phone with a small, secret smile. I refuse to tell anyone how much I’m enjoying these silly boys fluttering around me like little worker bees, determined to bring the food back to their queen.

If I said something, they’d likely stop, and I’ve never had this before.

“We just ate,” I say casually, keeping my sunglassed-eyes on my screen. “I think we’ll be okay.”

“Wheels, I eat like a bazillion times a day. I’m in training.” He frowns and looks at me suspiciously. “Speaking of which, why aren’t you? It’s match season.”

“Because roller derby isn’t rolling in the dough you knife-footed gremlins are? We don’t have trainers and food specialists, dummy.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t do it yourself,” he chides. “Let me make up a sort of program for you. I’ve been doing this long enough to know how.”

I look up finally, shaking my head. “ Hell no, Archie. I don’t care how beneficial it would be; no woman wants some random dude telling her when and what to eat. We spend most of our lives hearing that shit from the entire breadth of media. I’m sure as hell not asking someone to do it for me.”

His head tilts back, looking pleadingly at the sky. “Rogue. I’m not talking about simple calorie deficits and shit like that. I mean real sports meal planning to maximize your performance. It’s not like fucking Atkins or some shit.”

How the hell does he know about Atkins? Whatever.

“I don’t know, babe. I’m not super touchy about my body, but I’m not shaped like the rail-thin models girls my age used to worship. I’m thicker, in lots of places, and curvier, so I had little success with other chicks in high school. You and the guys know that.”

“Do you trust me?”

Aw, fuck. Of course he’d ask that. Now I’m screwed.