“You drunk? I’d like to see that,” he said with mischievouseyes.
The legal drinking age had lowered to eighteen shortly after the Dream Wars began. Driving had lowered to fourteen, and gun ownership was now when you hit puberty. When you fought for your life on a nightly basis, a double scotch was sometimes necessary to calm thenerves.
Damien walked over to Mr. Hansen and patted his back. “Go and relax, I’ll clean up here. Thanks forcooking.”
The butler nodded. “How’s yourshoulder?”
He shrugged. “I’mfine.”
There was concern in Mr. Hansen’s eyes, but after a lingering moment, heleft.
As I finished my lentil loaf and coffee, I watched in fascination as Damien did the dishes and cleaned up the mess that was made while cooking.Who is this guy? He cleans up after his butler?Ugh, I was going to have a serious moral dilemma when we voted on whether or not to keep thisjob.
“Tatum, your mom will be here soon. We should train,” I toldher.
She nodded. “She texted. They had a rough night, but everyone’sfine.”
God, that morning text from your family saying they survived the night. I would give anything to get rid of that. My mom was my only surviving family member. I was an only child, and my sweet, nonviolent dad died my first year of cadet school. My mother, however, was made of whiskey and steel. She was still alive today due to the military training I’d given her, living in a shared apartment in Miami with four of the craziest old ladies I’d ever met. They drank wine like water, had full moon goddess rituals and sometimes shared boyfriends. My mother was happy and safe, and that’s all I cared about. She and her tribe protected each other. I didn’t need to call and check on her daily. If something happened to her, one of the girls would call me. But that woman would probably outlive me. Her lifetime as a yoga instructor had kept her body in peak shape, though she no longer Namaste’d, sheNamakill’d.
“Right through this corridor on the right. Big double doors. Help yourself to anything,” Damien said from his place at thesink.
A shirtless man washing dishes.Yum.
I shook my head to clear my thoughts. I didn’t do this. I didn’t lust over guys and get all attached. That was a good way to get hurt. I had enough attachments in this life. Ronnie, Maxine, Brisk, Nox, Tatum and my mom—that was it. I couldn’t afford to love and possibly mourn any more people. It would ruin me, and I was a survivor. Mentally, emotionally, and physically, I would survive the fucking DreamWars.
“Thanks,” I muttered, then blasted out of the kitchen like my ass was onfire.
Falling for Damien Striker was not going tohappen.
Chapter Six
The Striker trainingroom was what I imagined Brisk’s wet dreams probably were about. They had combined two rooms so the space was nice and wide open, the floors were a rubberized foam to soften the blow, and they even had a pair of drill bots—robots that moved and acted like ghouls so you could fight them as close to real life as possible. I actually squealed like a tween when I’d thrown the weapons cabinet wide open.Maybe I should keep these clients just for the training spacealone.
Tatum and I trained hard; she was nearly at puberty now, so I didn’t go easy on her. She would need to learn these skills to fight for her life. A bruise was starting just beneath her eye where I’d accidently gotten her with my bo staff. It was warm in the room, and I was in tiny gym shorts and a sports bra. Tatum was wearing something similar. One of her buns had come undone and hung limply to the side. She clutched her bo staff like it was a real samurai sword, her face masked with determination. I liked that. It was fuel for the fire she’d need to live everynight.
A throat cleared behind me. I spun to see Damien wearing a full business suit, the fancy custom-made kind. It hugged his muscles nicely. His hair was slicked back with gel and he looked handsome as hell, ready to run some stuffy boardroom meeting. My blue hair was stuck to my head with sweat, and I wore twenty-four-hour-old makeup. I probably looked like a drowned rat, but there was no sense in showering before aworkout.
“Tatum’s mother is here,” heannounced.
I wondered where Mr. Hansen was and why he wasn’t delivering the message, but I nodded inacknowledgment.
“Good training, kiddo. See you tomorrownight.”
She nodded. “At your loft orhere?”
My eyes flicked up to Damien. “I’ll message you. I’m not sureyet.”
One thing I was sure of, I wasn’t going back in that night. No way. We’d only sleep when we needed to, especially if I was going to keep this dangerousclient.
Tatum grabbed her gym bag and headed for thedoor.
“Don’t forget to get your homework from Ronnie!” I remindedher.
She waved meoff.
Damien hadn’t moved from the doorway, his gaze onme.
“Two bots?” I raised an eyebrow. They were like a quarter millioneach.
