Page 73 of Ghost Hunted

“Hope you guys like it spicy. I got salami.”

Damien sits down, swearing when he opens the box. “Goddammit. They didn’t cut the pizza. Seraphina, want to get a knife—no, on second thought, never mind.” He laughs. “We have enough on our hands with one killer.”

Seraphina crosses her arms and I shake my head. “I guess you’re right to be afraid of your girl’s knife-wielding skills,” I tell him. “You are insufferable. I don’t know how I got the clown label at Devil when you’re such a jerk. I think I preferred you pining over Seraphina; you spent so much time being angry and frustrated that you stopped trying to rile me up.”

“You should be thankful I was so out of it,” he growls, “or I’d have beaten the shit out of you for the number of times you went against my orders.”

I stalk off to the kitchen to grab a knife for the pizza, loyalty tying my tongue. He’s right; I never used to disobey him. He’s always been the leader, and I’ve always been loyal. But I’d do a lot worse than disobey him for the sake of my girls, and he realizes it.

When I return to the living room moments later, I find Seraphina straddling Damien’s lap, his hands wrapped firmly around her wrists.

“I like making this one angry,” he chortles. “She’s adorable, isn’t she?”

I know better than to answer him, merely looking on as Seraphina twitches around on his lap, trying and failing to struggle out of his grip, her eyes flashing. I can see it turns him on. He’s sitting comfortably on his chair, smiling lazily as she practically cries in frustration. For someone who’s so obsessed with her, he sure does like pissing her off.

But I guess I give him a good run for his money with Lia.

“Want me to take my pizza to my room?” I ask them. “Looks like you two need some alone time.”

“No, stay,” lashes out Seraphina. “I don’t want to be alone with him.”

I shrug, cutting up the pie and grabbing a slice. “When exactly is the baby due, Seraphina?”

She’s so slim it’s easy not to notice her round belly under the flowing dress, but I caught sight of it when she was struggling in Damien’s grip.

“I don’t know,” she mumbles.

“That’s okay, pet.” He must have seen he went too far, because he holds her to him, stroking her hair, and she at last gives in to his caress. “Soon, very soon. Maybe we’ll have a French baby. Wouldn’t that be nice? Hey, darling, don’t be sad. You’re far too pretty to be sad. See, Logan? That’s how you resolve fights in relationships. Not with a bazooka.”

“Fuck off.” I help myself to a slice of pizza. “I guess the other way is to pay a fifteen-year-old to off your wife, isn’t it?”

“Nah.” Damien reaches out for the pizza and hands Seraphina a slice. She takes it begrudgingly, but I can tell the storm has already passed. She loves him far too much to resent him for long. “They weren’t a real couple. I mean, he didn’t love her. He just wanted to take control of the Syndicate. He paid me to kill her, and I had a lot of fun doing it, too.”

I grab three beers from the fridge to put an end to his rambling.

“She’s not drinking that,” growls Damien when I toss one to Seraphina.

“I’ll just have a sip,” she says, and before he can stop her, she takes a long swig.

“Seraphina!” He stands up, grabbing her by the wrist. “Sorry to cut this conversation short, Logan, but I think we’re going to need that alone time after all.”

I see her satisfied little smirk as he pulls her into their bedroom.

_

“No. Tighter than that. We have to make sure it’s not wider than a head.” I pause. “I don’t know how wide her head is, so just make it as narrow as possible. Okay?”

“Okay.” He shrugs. “I’ll tighten the spacing, but it’ll cost you. I have to prepare extra bars.”

“Sure. That’s fine.” I settle back on my bed, pretending to watch the television fixed to the wall that blares out the news in French, rather than the cage that Igor’s guy has spent all day assembling.

It’s pretty spacious for a cage, though she might not find it so. She won’t have much room to move, but she can stand up and take three steps in each direction.

“Now, about the bed.” He wipes his forehead. “I need to put it in now, or it’ll be too late. I won’t be able to fit it through the door.”

“Hmm. Well, I haven’t decided on whether to get her a bed or not. I was thinking she’d have to earn it, you know. Can’t you Ikea that shit?”

He draws himself up, looking very angry. “I don’t do Ikea. I’m an artist.”