Series: Sean Moriarty
Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 113805 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113805 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Looking at Nathaniel, James asks, “Want me to help set your phone up for you?”
“No thanks, I’ve already been warned about you setting things up,” Nathaniel says bluntly before turning to me. “Before we leave, I’d like to see you in my office.”
Now I let my sigh out. “Very well.”
The money Lucifer is willing to spend to ensure we’re all equipped and taken care of still surprises me. Perhaps it shouldn’t, but it does.
When I was out in the wild, I was constantly receiving stipends, gear, or supplies, depending on my needs. I never went without, almost as if Lucifer and Simon were adoring parents.
All of us in the inner circle are treated like spoiled brats when it comes to our toys. So it should be no surprise that our dear Doctor Nathaniel is treated the same.
His ‘office’ is actually more of an exam room with a trauma center attached to it.
“It’s fine,” I say to him as I take off my undershirt. “There’s no need for the continued monitoring. It’s been almost six months.”
“I understand that, but I like to keep track of things. You still had tightness in the area three months ago, and I want to make sure the scarring in the muscles and tissue has eased up,” Nathaniel says as his cool fingers begin to probe the healed but scarred flesh. “You were remarkably lucky with this wound. It could have gone through a bone, and you would have been forced to learn how to be ambidextrous.”
“I am to an extent,” I say with a smirk.
At least I am with shooting and knifework.
“Let’s see your range of motion,” Nathaniel says.
Over the next twenty minutes he runs me and my arm through a series of tests. If this was a true doctor, patient exam, I’d think he was just bilking the insurance company by how thorough he is. But that isn’t his style. He does it to keep all of us in perfect shape.
It’s strange to see a man taking care of my health with a Glock just like mine holstered on his hip. He’s a strange mix of a person. He’s used a gun before, there’s no doubt about that, but where?
Those are answers he’s only shared with Simon and Lucifer, I’m assuming. I’ll eventually be told, but I figure we all deserve our secrets.
They don’t ask me about my tattoos and I don’t ask James about his absurd Casper the Friendly Ghost comic book collection.
I wonder if I could somehow talk Lucifer into hiring a full-time tattoo artist. I truly feel the need for some ink therapy right now.
“Don’t forget to pack a silencer for the gun,” I say to Nathaniel.
One of his eyebrows lifts in question. “Do you think it’s going to be needed?”
I stand up from the exam table.“No? But better to be prepared.”
4
Eden
“I’ll take a piece of that ass.”
Looking me up and down, the customer leers at me while his buddies chuckle and elbow each other.
It’s hard keeping the smile on my face while I seethe inside.
He’s not the first asshole in a suit to say the same exact words to me, and he probably won’t be the last.
But if I want to keep my job, I can’t let on how much I despise him and his kind.
Stretching my fake smile even wider, I put a hand on my hip and bat my eyelashes at him.
“I’m sorry, honey,” I purr, “but I’m not on the menu.”
I do my best to make it look like I’m truly disappointed I can’t give him a piece of my ass and under different circumstances I’d be up for it.
It seems to work.
Relaxing back in his chair, he lets out a heavy sigh and looks to his buddies for compassion. “A shame.” When his associates nod in agreement, he looks back to me. “I guess I’ll take a whiskey sour.”
I nod and scribble that down, relieved he let it go so easily.
Some of the customers don’t always back off after the first try and it’s a real pain trying to let them down without making them angry.
If I’ve learned one thing from this whole experience, it’s that there’s a lot of men out there that can’t handle rejection. Their egos are so huge, they tend to blow up in rage.
You’d think after working here for three weeks, in a strip club called Cloud 69, no less, I’d be used to it all by now and wouldn’t let it get under my skin.
But I’ll never get used to being treated like a piece of meat.
Especially by the kind of men that frequent this ‘high end’ establishment. The elite of the elite in this godforsaken city.
Entitled assholes dressed in designer suits who probably spend their entire days figuring out how to rip off the working class only to spend their nights away from their families.