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“Shit. This is serious.” “No, really? And there was me thinking that regular deliveries of human cadavers were merely a demonic attempt at stand-up comedy.”
“Morning, my fellow fire-breathing bitch queens!” Harlow’s greeting was stolen from one of his favourite books. He loved how ironically it could be applied to the three of us. He swept in on a cloud of cologne that smelled of honey and oranges. “To what do I owe the pleasure of such an early morning—Oh, for fuck’s sake, not the rug again.”
Harlow clapped his hands together. “Well, while it’s been fun watching you experience emotions other than anger for the first time, we have a trap to walk into.” Mori side-eyed him. “The fact that you look so happy when you say that worries me.”
Before I could respond, Cal spun me around so my front was against the wall. With rough hands, he yanked my hips back and kicked my legs wider apart. Grabbing my wrists, he lifted them above my head and put my hands flat against the wall. “You’re not to touch yourself,” he growled as his teeth snagged my earlobe. “Your pleasure is mine to give. Understand?”
“I can’t decide if that’s hot or deranged.” He shot me a wink as he tied a towel around his waist. “Always both, sweetheart.”
“Is the scythe necessary?” I squeaked as he secured it in a hook over his back. “Nope,” he said cheerfully. “But it goes with the image, don’t you think?” It was official. Happy Mori was fucking disturbing.
