Dead Man’s Deal
The second book in a sexy, dark and gripping new paranormal romance series by New York Times bestselling author Jocelynn Drake.In a world where elves, faeries, trolls, werewolves, and vampires swim free in a sea of humanity, sometimes you need an edge.Looking for a little love? Need some luck? Desperate for revenge? Gage can give you what you need. The most talented tattoo artist in town, he knows the right symbol and the right mix of ingredients and ink to achieve your heart's desire. One tattoo is all it takes. But remember, everything has its price…Gage learned that lesson long ago, in ways he'd rather not remember. But the cruel and powerful wizards in the dreaded Ivory Towers he escaped aren't about to let him forget. Though Gage has managed to stay out of sight, he can't outrun the past forever. The wizards know Gage is using forbidden magic, and they intend to punish him for his transgressions. Too bad if innocent humans and monsters-entire cities-get in the way. They will quell a nascent magical uprising and Gage will be the sacrifice they need. First, though, they have to find him.
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To all my peeps back on Finchley and Stevies. You are missed.
Table of Contents
1
THEY WERE KILLING pixies.
I glared at the brown brick house with its neat little lawn and trimmed hedges. I wanted to storm inside and set the pixies free before I took a baseball bat to the head of whoever was running that slaughterhouse. Instead, I slouched in the passenger seat of Bronxâs Jeep, thinking of all the ways I would love to kill Reave, but I was no closer to getting out of the car.
I couldnât set the pixies free and I couldnât beat anyoneâs head in. I was there to set protective wards on the house, not burn it down.
Bronx shifted in the driverâs seat, watching the house as well. âYou know we canât sit here all night.â
âTheyâre killing pixies,â I said, glancing over at the troll. âTheyâre making fixâkilling not only pixies, but anyone who is stupid enough to take the drug. I canât put a protective ward on that house. Iâd rather hand myself over to the Ivory Towers.â
âReave isnât going to let you out of your deal just because you have moral objections to his business pursuits.â
âFucking bastard.â
Months ago, Reave discovered that I was a former warlock. Well, just a warlock-in-training, but the information was enough to get me killed. To keep him from selling me to the highest bidder, I had to work for him. And because I was an idiot, Bronx was stuck working for the dark elf Mafia boss as well. I needed to extract both myself and the troll from this mess, but I didnât have a clue as to how. So for now, here I was protecting drug manufacturers and helping them kill creatures for their livers.
Sitting up, I unbuckled my seat belt. âI warned Reave that I wasnât going to kill anyone for him. Protecting these assholes would make me an accessory to murder.â
âThen we go back to Reave and we tell him that weâre not going to do it,â Bronx said as he reached for the key still sitting in the ignition.
âNo,â I snapped. I wasnât angry at the troll. I was angry at Reave and maybe even angry at myself. If it was just me, Iâd tell Reave to shove his little task up his ass. But Bronx was in this mess too, and if I told Reave to fuck off, Bronx would get hurt.
Unlocking the door, I pulled the handle and rolled out of my seat to the sidewalk. Bronx climbed out of the Jeep at the same time and walked around to stand beside me. The large troll with the spiky blond hair scratched the stubble on his chin as he stared at the house. âLetâs take a look,â he suggested. âYou should know what youâre protecting. Things could go wrong, through no fault of your own, if you donât know what youâre dealing with.â
An evil grin spread across my mouth as I shoved my hands into the pockets of my baggy jeans and strolled down the block toward the two-story house. Man, I loved his wicked sense of humor. We were going to see what kind of trouble I could cause while maintaining a somewhat believable alibi. It was unlikely that Reave was going to buy any excuse that we came up with, but it was worth a try. If I taught the Svartálfar anything, it was going to be that you never backed a warlock into a corner.
A woman with a blue handkerchief wrapped around her greasy brown hair jerked the door open after we stood pounding on it for a couple of minutes. A cigarette was pinched in the corner of her mouth, while lines dug deep furrows in her face. Working for Reave wasnât helping her preserve her youthful vitality.
Slipping the cigarette between two fingers, she pulled it away long enough to blow a cloud of smoke in our direction before barking, âWhat do you want?â
âReave sent us,â Bronx replied while I coughed, gasping for some clean air.
âOh. Youâre him, huh?â Her eyebrows jumped toward her hairline and her mouth hung open in surprise. Apparently I wasnât exactly what sheâd been expecting.
âYeah, Iâm him,â I said.
âYou gotta come inside to do your thing?â
âIt helps. Reave said he wanted this place thoroughly protected. If I donât know what Iâm protecting, things could go wrong.â I leaned close, flashing a wicked grin while struggling to ignore the gagging body odor rising from her. âHorribly, painfully wrong for anyone inside.â
The woman jerked away from me, her dull brown eyes going wide. She pulled open the door and moved out of the entrance so Bronx and I could enter the house. From the exterior, it looked like a normal suburban house. You would have expected to see a tidy living room with upholstered furniture in floral patterns, neatly piled magazines on the coffee table, and maybe a stack of cartoon DVDs beside the TV in the corner. You would have been wrong.
