“Can you be helped?” I ask. “Or are you taking the ‘eyes on Cherry’ part of your orders too literally?”
With a slight smile, Rattler pulls something out of his pocket and sets it on the counter between us. “Wanna tell me what you were going to do with this?”
He moves his hand and a laugh bursts out of me. My seven inch butterfly knife sits on the counter. The stiletto blade is still folded into the handle. It gleams under the kitchen light, the acacia wood inlay glowing as if lit from within.
“I wasn’t planning to do anything with it. Ialwayscarry that knife. Given who I’m related to, I’d have to be pretty stupid to walk around without a way to defend myself.”
Rattler grins and asks, “So, you’re good with it?”
I nod. “I wouldn’t carry it if I wasn’t.” He pushes the knife toward me. I glance at it, then back at him. “Is this a trap or some kind of test I’m supposed to pass?”
“Show me.” He says the words so simply, but something about the way his lips move and the fascination in his eyes makes my world move in slow motion.
“You sure?” I ask, doubtfully.
“You gonna stab me?” He retorts.
I give him an appraising once-over. “Not today.”
“Then show me.”
8
RATTLER
Cherry palms the knife and takes a step back. From the instant she flicks it open, my jaw is on the floor. It spins so fast in her hands that there are times I can’t even follow it. She isn’t just proficient. She’s an artist. Her expression is softly focused; a far away stare in her eyes as the knife twirls. After a minute, it whirls into the air. Cherry turns, catching it behind her back. With a flick of her wrist, she slides the closed blade back across the counter to me.
“I’m assuming I can’t keep that,” she says archly.
I pocket it again. “After seeing what you can do with it? Hell, no,” I snort. She rolls her eyes and sips her coffee, but she keeps watching me. Tingling heat flickers in my chest as I think over what Beast said.Besides Elle, has there ever been a single woman you’d want to keep between the two of us?
It’s an easy answer. No.
I can’t explain it, but Icraveher. Before I’d even heard her voice or knew who she was, I knew she was different. Special.
“Why’s your road name Rattler?” she asks, nodding at my hand.
“I actually earned that before I was a prospect,” I chuckle. “It just carried over. You ever been out to the Yates’ Reptile Zoo?”
Cherry nods. “The one on the side of the road?”
“That’s the one,” I confirm, loving the warm smile that parts her lips. “And it just so happens that you are having coffee with Ryland Yates the Third. My grandpa built it as a tourist trap. Dad used it for—club business.”
“Money laundering,” Cherry says with a knowing grin. “Dad had a bunch of those, too.”
I laugh. “Yeah, how many laundromats did Peril have back in the day?”
Cherry squints out the window, lips pursed as she counts in her head. “Seven, maybe eight? One on every corner. But don’t forget the cigar shop, the KornerStop, or Shear Perfection — oh! And the nail place… what was it called?”
I crack up. “You mean Nailed Hard? Holy shit. We use to prank call that place. Hang on, hang on, hang on.” I have to force myself to make a straight face, otherwise I can’t do the accent. I pause, running my hand down my face and pushing my lips into a frown before leaning into the worst English accent on the face of the planet.
“Yes, hello. I’d like to get nailed please. I want to get nailed so hard. What do you mean you don’t do that? Well, I’m happy to do the nailing myself if it’s a labor shortage issue — oh, it’s not? Well, there’s just no truth in advertising anymore.”
Cherry cackles, leaning both palms on the counter. “My aunt used to bitch about those calls! Oh, just wait until I tell her. You’re in for it now. Last month, I saw her chase a kid down the streetin her wheelchairbecause he kicked her newspaper.”
“Tell her,” I say, calling her bluff. “If she wants to track me down with a switch, so be it.”
“Who’s going to beat you?” Beast says, stomping through the front door. A chilly breeze whips through the house, stopping abruptly once he kicks the door shut behind him. “Fuckin’ cold out.”