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twelve

I was used to doing unusual things in the name of a hunt. In fact, it was one of the things I loved most about the job. No day was ever the same, nothing was ever boring. Boredom, for me, was worse than death.

Brunch coming in at a close second.

“Do you want bottomless mimosas?” the waiter asked.

I grimaced, offended that I looked like someone who wanted a fucking mimosa. “Is bottomless vodka an option?”

He blinked once, then his features stretched into an amused smile. “We have Bloody Marys.”

“That’ll do.” I nodded. At least tomato juice counted as a vegetable, and I was less likely to get scurvy. “And I’ll eat whatever has the most bacon and butter in it.” I handed him the menu, which featured acai bowls and homemade granola. What was wrong with pancakes and sausage?

He grinned again. “I’ll get them to rustle something up and make your Bloody Mary a double.”

“My kind of man.” I tossed him a wink.

“Just orange juice for me.” Shay handed the waiter her menu. “And eggs and bacon.”

I was relieved that she didn’t order whatever the fuck an acai bowl was. “You’re not drinking?” I wasn’t against drinking alone. Actually, it was my favorite pastime. Second favorite, if you counted killing monsters.

“I don’t drink.” Her lips curved into a shy smile. The meek version of Shay was back, now that we were in a public setting. The change was stark, compared to when I’d seen her in her element at the morgue. She had been more self-assured, confident, powerful. Here, with oppressive sunlight streaming in the windows, she seemed to shrink rather than bloom, her shoulders hunched forward, eyes darting around to signify her discomfort.

But she’d agreed to be here; I hadn’t bound and gagged her or anything.

“It’s a good thing I like you,” I said, once the waiter left. “Or I’d be questioning hanging out with you on principle.”

She twirled her watch. “What principle is that?”

“That you don’t drink.” I thrummed my fingers on the table, my knee twitching as my eyes scanned the room. This restaurant had not been here when I was a teenager. Pale pink walls, plants everywhere, soft music playing. And the place was fucking buzzing. Every table was occupied. Mostly by women, pretty much all of them sipping mimosas from champagne flutes. None of their foreheads moved, and they were all wearing outfits that I guessed cost more than my car.

Not my comfort zone in the slightest. But I’d asked Shay to brunch because I figured that was a female bonding ritual, and the bars weren’t open this early. Though she looked just as uncomfortable as I felt. Shay, it seemed, did not frequent brunch. Her sensible pants and crisp white shirt were at odds with all the floral and pastel in the room.

She laughed quietly then took a sip of her water. “Uh, no, I don’t drink.”

“Like … ever, or just before noon?” I questioned.

She smiled. “Like … ever.” Her eyes went faraway for a moment. “Though I’ll have one every now and then to celebrate a special occasion.”

That blew my plan to shit. I’d been intending on getting her drunk then pumping her for information.

“How do you survive this shitshow, then?” I waved my hand around the room, though I was referencing life in general.

“I have my vices,” she said quietly, getting my point.

I sat up straighter, noting the shadows under her eyes denoting hidden depths to the former high school nerd—for lack of a better word. “I’m interested in what those vices are.” I was being genuine. I loved to find out the crazy, weird shit people did. Meeting the freaks who lay under the veneer of the façade they presented to the world. Not the literal monsters hiding under human skin but the run-of-the-mill weirdos. Fetishes, addictions… They were all reminders that everyone was just pretending. We were all just primates, after all.

Shay opened her mouth, but the waiter returned with our drinks—well, mine—with a liberal amount of vodka as promised.

“Well, he earned his tip already,” I snickered after swallowing and coughing once.

Shay demurely sipped her juice. “You don’t strike me as a brunch kind of woman, Hadley.” Her tone was soft, but her eyes were sharp on me. Aware. Cunning, even.

I sensed that she was still waiting for the rub, for some kind of warped Carrie moment, even if I looked nothing like the vapid, vaguely evil cheerleader who might pull shit like that.

I didn’t like that Shay still expected that. That even as a grown woman, to be tortured for no other reason than because she was smarter than everyone else and had an extra supply of sebum in her teens.

Life had scarred her. Even if her skin was flawless and blemish free now.