Xander extended his hand, proposing to seal the deal, and Dakota reluctantly shook. “Thank you,” he said, “for understanding. When this is over, we’ll help you with whatever you need. I swear it on Gabriel.” Making that kind of commitment was sacred beyond measure. Not only would breaking that promise result in losing his pact with the archangel, but his soul would be cursed with the mark of evil, and he would be hunted by the agents of heaven until the day he and his mark were destroyed. There wasn’t even a possibility of getting tortured in Hell. It was complete oblivion.
“I’ll take care of him,” Dakota said, staring Xander straight in the eye to emphasize she understood the weight of his promise. She turned to face me. “But I have shit to do, so I can’t hang out here all day.”
Xander pondered it, probably weighing the costs between leaving me alone, taking me to work with him, or having Dakota babysit me outside the condo, possibly putting us all in danger. “Fine.”
Dakota glared at me. “I don’t want to hear any complaints from you. I’m putting more than my job at risk by toting you around. You do what I say without question. We’re leaving—now.”
“But I need to go—” I started.
“Now.”
With that, she pushed by Xander and exited the apartment.
I frowned at him, squinting in the sunlight, and shrugged before hobbling after Dakota.
4
Dakota cleared the garbage and a winter-supply of jackets from the passenger seat of her Prius, tossing them into the even messier and more cluttered back seat. I closed the door to her Prius and settled into the crumb-littered and coffee-stained seat. She had about 347 coffee cups shoved into her cupholders, forming a leaning tower of trash. Peanut shells, gum wrappers, and used napkins served as a temporary mat for feet. A jagged crack ran the length of the windshield, right at eye level, obscuring my line of sight.
I reached over my shoulder to grab the seat belt and my fingers gripped a sticky, gooey substance adhered to the strap. I cringed, but powered through my disgust—and let me tell you something, it took a lot to make me cringe with disgust. After buckling, I tried not to think about what I’d just touched.
Dakota adjusted her rearview mirror and glanced at me. “You look like shit, you know that?”
I nodded, holding my breath for fear of catching a disease growing in the vehicle. My living habits looked damn immaculate compared to this. “This is a different vehicle than the one we drove in the other night.”
“That was my undercover car,” she said. “This is my personal one. My baby.”
I inhaled, and a strand of hair found its way into my mouth. I struggled to pinch it and pull it off my tongue, trying not to gag throughout the process.
“All right,” Dakota said, turning over a sputtering engine, “before we take care of my errands, we need to take care of you. The descriptive information that law enforcement agencies have on you pretty much creates the picture of a homeless person. Dirty, long hair, beard, bad breath—”
“Wait,” I said, still feeling the strand of hair stuck to my tongue. I fought against a gag. “Don’t be making shit up. I damn well brush my teeth every other day. So, let’s not throw bad breath into the mix.”
Dakota smirked, cranking the car into drive and pulling into the street. “If we clean you up a little, we can at least avoid having a deputy spot you through casual observation.”
I pinched the stray hair from my tongue and pulled it from my mouth, feeling it slide over my lips. It was long and blonde and didn’t to me. Unable to control it, I coughed and gagged.
Dakota glanced at me. “You okay? You’re quieter than usual. I thought you’d for sure say something about the mess.”
Wiping the hair onto the seat, I looked out the passenger window and tried not to vomit. “What do you mean, clean me up?”
“Haircut, then we’ll run by a store and grab you an outfit that actually…” she looked me over and scowled, “works.”
I looked down at the clothes Xander had left out for me to wear. “What’s wrong with this outfit? Yeah, it might be a little baggy, but that’s to hide all my guns. It also makes for a nice surprise when I take a lady home. It’s like, ‘What’s really under those clothes? Is he fat, skinny, buff?’ It’s a fun game, and the women love it.”
“I’m going to ignore the last part of what you just said and answer your initial question. There’s a lot wrong with that outfit. First, you look like a little boy trying to wear daddy’s clothes.”
“Like I said, part of the surprise. Women love little boys with daddy issues.”
“Xander is what, fifty pounds heavier than you and a few inches taller? You’re swimming in those jeans. You’re either reverting back to your adolescence and revisiting the baggy, faux-gangster style, or you don’t own clothes and you’re wearing whatever you can get. And don’t even say it. Women don’t like either one of those looks.” She turned left without using a blinker, like a demon’s spawn.
Damnit. Too soon. Considering my shadow magic, I might be demon spawn.
“Thanks for bursting that bubble,” I said. “The stuff about Xander being way better than me hurt the most. At least I have hair.” The mention of the word hair reminded me of that loose strand that had wound up in my mouth. I nearly gagged again.
Dakota tilted her head and pouted. “I kind of think bald men are cute—when done correctly, I mean.” She looked over and winked. “And he’s doing it correctly. Muscular. Well-styled. Trimmed beard. Color me interested.”
I bared my teeth and curled my lips as my ribs seemed to squeeze too tight into my body. “Serious? Him? I mean, yeah, sure, he more resembles a superhero from an animated
