JК
Blue Moon :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 28 из 327Something to take the terrible burden of knowledge that had made him what he was.
Jason limped over to us, loaded with suitcases. "One of his movies is about a vampire who falls in love with an innocent young human."
"You've seen it," I said.
He nodded.
I shook my head and picked up a suitcase. "You got a car for us?" I asked Jamil.
"A van," he said.
"Great. Pick up a suitcase, and show me the way."
"I don't do luggage."
"If we all help, we can load the van in half the time. I want to see Richard as soon as possible, so grab something and stop being such a freaking prima donna."
Jamil stared at me for a long, slow count, then said, "When Richard replaces you as lupa, I won't have to take shit from you."
"Fine, but until then, hop to it. Besides, this isn't giving you shit, Jamil. When I give you shit, you'll know it."
He gave a low chuckle. He slipped his jacket back on and picked up the trunk. It should have taken two strong men to lift it. He carried it like it weighed nothing. He walked off without a backward glance, leaving me to get the last suitcase. Zane and Cherry picked the coffin back up and walked after him. Jason shuffled after them.
"What about me?" Nathaniel said.
"Put your shirt back on and stay with the coffin. Wouldn't do to have someone make off with Damian."
"I know women who would pay me to take the shirt off," he said.
"Too bad I'm not one of them," I said.
"Yeah," he said, "too bad." He picked his shirt up off the ground. I left him sitting on the coffin in the middle of the Tarmac, shirt wadded in his hands. He looked sort of forlorn in a strange, macabre way. I felt very sorry for Nathaniel. He'd had a rough life. But it wasn't my fault. I was paying for his apartment so he didn't have to turn tricks to make ends meet, though I knew other strippers at Guilty Pleasures who managed to make ends meet on their salary. Maybe Nathaniel wasn't good with money. Big surprise there.
The van was large, black, and looked sinister. The sort of thing serial killers drive in made-for-TV movies. Serial killers did drive vans in real life, but they tended to be pale colors with rust spots.
Jamil drove. Cherry and I rode up front with him. The luggage and everyone else went in the back. I expected Cherry to ask me to sit in the middle because I was at least five inches shorter than she was, but she didn't. She just crawled into the van, in the middle, with those long legs tucked up in front of the dashboard.
Jason limped over to us, loaded with suitcases. "One of his movies is about a vampire who falls in love with an innocent young human."
"You've seen it," I said.
He nodded.
I shook my head and picked up a suitcase. "You got a car for us?" I asked Jamil.
"A van," he said.
"Great. Pick up a suitcase, and show me the way."
"I don't do luggage."
"If we all help, we can load the van in half the time. I want to see Richard as soon as possible, so grab something and stop being such a freaking prima donna."
Jamil stared at me for a long, slow count, then said, "When Richard replaces you as lupa, I won't have to take shit from you."
"Fine, but until then, hop to it. Besides, this isn't giving you shit, Jamil. When I give you shit, you'll know it."
He gave a low chuckle. He slipped his jacket back on and picked up the trunk. It should have taken two strong men to lift it. He carried it like it weighed nothing. He walked off without a backward glance, leaving me to get the last suitcase. Zane and Cherry picked the coffin back up and walked after him. Jason shuffled after them.
"What about me?" Nathaniel said.
"Put your shirt back on and stay with the coffin. Wouldn't do to have someone make off with Damian."
"I know women who would pay me to take the shirt off," he said.
"Too bad I'm not one of them," I said.
"Yeah," he said, "too bad." He picked his shirt up off the ground. I left him sitting on the coffin in the middle of the Tarmac, shirt wadded in his hands. He looked sort of forlorn in a strange, macabre way. I felt very sorry for Nathaniel. He'd had a rough life. But it wasn't my fault. I was paying for his apartment so he didn't have to turn tricks to make ends meet, though I knew other strippers at Guilty Pleasures who managed to make ends meet on their salary. Maybe Nathaniel wasn't good with money. Big surprise there.
The van was large, black, and looked sinister. The sort of thing serial killers drive in made-for-TV movies. Serial killers did drive vans in real life, but they tended to be pale colors with rust spots.
Jamil drove. Cherry and I rode up front with him. The luggage and everyone else went in the back. I expected Cherry to ask me to sit in the middle because I was at least five inches shorter than she was, but she didn't. She just crawled into the van, in the middle, with those long legs tucked up in front of the dashboard.