A Guardian Angel-in-training. A soul-eating djinn. A werewolf ex-convict torn between love and vengeance. More than a heart hangs in the balance.
Season 1 of Into the Wild Dark
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Wrongfully-convicted Jack Slobodnik wants his life back. Four years...
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Ch. 14: Sunny's Kiss
August 22 | Night
"Are strike-throughs and revisions allowed?" I asked the empty apartment. "On second thought, maybe throw this entire entry away. Confounded! I should have done this before meeting with Wallace."
I crumpled several sheets of notes and tossed them in the wastebasket. Per the phone lockscreen, I had been at the escritoire for the past hour, combing through handwritten report. I was stuck on a particularly droll description of Mal's shopping spree. Paring down of my report was sorely needed. An abhorrent number of private musings had made it into the book. Why did my mentor need to know my reaction to Jack's new cologne?
Someone knocked at the door. I ran a hand over my exhausted face and skirted the Eames chairs, wondering who could be calling this late. It was Jack through the peephole, sweaty and sickly-looking. I swung the door open.
"What's wrong? What happened?"
"Hey, is your job hiring?" He barged inside. Jumpy eyes darted around my living space before landing on me. I eased down the lid to the escritoire. The last thing I needed was for him to get a glimpse of my ledger.
"Hm, AngelGuard only hires former military guys, ex-law-enforcement, stuff like that. Why?"
"You want me to be honest?"
I pointed him toward a seat, and he shoved his fingers through his hair with a gusty sigh. Instead of sitting, he paced. The standing lamp cast shadows across his troubled features. I stood there, proffering a beer that he ignored. Pacing, pacing. Each pass in front of me brought a waft of that damnable custom scent. To make matters worse, he ripped off his t-shirt, complaining it was hot. His agitation thrummed the air. A discordant note that twanged against the soothing piano music playing in the background.
I placed the cold brew on a side table to lay a palm on his bare shoulder. "Talk to me."
His eyes connected with mine. Warmth radiated from my fingertips. Specks of light that he couldn't see collected around the outline of my hand. In the dimly lit room, they glowed like constellations. I infused calm and tranquility into my touch, and the tension bunching his muscles eased. I was surprised by the gloss of his tears.
"You can talk to me," I coaxed him.
"Did you know slavery was never fully outlawed in Louisiana?" Jack wrapped the shirt around his neck, sank into a chair, and bowed his head into his hands. Divine Touch had taken the edge off, at least. "Yeah, drive over to the state prison, and you'll see modern-day slaves. The warden hired–so say, 'hired'–a couple of us guys to build his half-a-million-dollar house from the ground up. Wanna know what he paid us? Get this, a new piece of shop equipment that belonged to the goddamn prison!
"Now, don't laugh. We jumped at that opportunity. You wouldn't believe how much a simple phone call out can cost, man." He lifted his gaze. The tears were gone, replaced by a sardonic smile. "But, hell, whether we wanted their peanuts or not, you try turning down the fella who gets the final say on your release date."
