“Shit. Really?”This place was hell for gossip, mostly the workers. They traded in gossip. It just sucked being the one gossiped about. “I think it’s Mercy’s sick joke.”
“Nah, I think she’s being smart,” he said.
“And why do you think that?”
“She’s making him your responsibility. She’s forcing you to take accountability.”
I kicked at his beanbag. “Shut up. You’re one to talk accountability.”
“Hey, I rehomed those folks when I got it covered in bullet holes,” he said, shifting his weight around strangely, wiggling almost since he only had the one arm free to help position himself on the bean bag. “And it could’ve been worse, they could’ve been home when it happened. But I made sure they weren’t, so double accountability win for me.”
“They still brough that legal suit against you.”
“Me?” he laughed. “They sued everything they could. At one point they even tried the gun manufacturer.”
“Was that before or after you bought them a new house?”
“That’s—” he scoffed, shaking his head.
“Exactly what I thought. You did it because you were told,” I said, now struggling on the bean bag. “Fuck, who decided on these things.”
A worker approached with a tray and two fresh smoothies. “There are actually many benefits to bean bags. You’ve got ergonomic support, pain relief from pressure, improved circulation, they also act as stress reduction from the sensation of sinking,” he said with that signature Sanctum smile. “Anything else I can get you?”
“A shot of a whiskey in my next smoothie,” Reaper chortled.
“Sir, Mr. Harlan, you know the rules on that,” he said.
Once he left, I kicked at Reaper’s bean bag again and laughed. “Mr. Harlan,” I snickered. “I can’t imagine people ever full naming you. Jacques Harlan, you sound like you’ve got a house on the Upper East Side that looks out over the city.”
“I do,” he said. “I’ve got investment properties all over the city.”
“Next, you’re gonna tell me you’ve got a kid,” I laughed.
“Definitely not,” he said, almost recoiling. “And if I did, I’d like to know about it. I think I’d be a pretty good dad.”
I looked at him my eyes narrowing. I’d been friends with Reaper for year—as acquaintances, we knew each other, but not well enough to be seen hanging on the outside of this place. Out there, letting your guard down was sometimes a death sentence. And I’d had mine down a lot, drinking and ordering taxis to drive me around as I get drunk because a moving target is always harder to catch.
“Training is the next best thing,” he added. “You’ve got the power to mold their little brains into a weapon.” He tried demonstratingmoldingbut with only one hand, that was somewhat a difficult task. “You think I should settle in here for a while and train someone.”
“I’d offer you mine, but Mercy appointed him to me specifically,” I said, like it was news—everyone knew.
“Would I get to fuck him?”
I booted the bean bag and Reaper went backwards. “Don’t,” I let out in a whispering growl.
Two workers were on him to push him back into his seat as he laughed it off. “I’ll have to get you in cage,” he said, shrugging his shoulder in the sling. “But the two of you are screwing still, right?”
“No, I’m being professional,” I said, taking my smoothie and sipping to do anything to take my mind off this conversation. I wasn’t going to let Artemis get attached to me like that again, I felt like I’d already taken his life from him because he was down here.
“You’re a better man than me, Don,” he said. “I’d be—”
My glare said it all.
“Fine, he’s off-topic,” he laughed. “But it could help with the training.” Shuffling forward, he leaned in as much as the bag and his back would allow. “Orgasm denial, one of those vital rings, he should already have one of those, but you should be hooked into it, make sure you don’t see any after hours activity.”
I leaned in as well, the bloat in my belly making it a struggle. “We’re not fucking, I’m not going to tell him he can’t masturbate.”
“I’m just saying, if you want to take control over his training, you should take control overhim,” he said.
