Page 20 of Snag (Conduit #2)

The beast is shoved down deep within me, but I can still feel the ghost of its claws prickling against my brain warily.

What could possibly concern the death god that inhabits me?

The beast thinks Zaya is its mate. Soul bound by the universe and all that shit.

It doesn’t give a fuck that she abandoned us, then ignored us for over a decade.

So its cautious quiescence is disconcerting.

“Reck,” Zaya purrs, straw in her mouth, face angled slightly toward me. “Fancy meeting you here.”

I can’t see her eyes through the dark-tinted black sunglasses she’s wearing. Indoors.

I unbutton my suit jacket and slide onto the stool next to her, forcing myself to maintain my distance when I want to lean into her intimidatingly.

I’m wearing my typical black suit over a white shirt and black tie.

It marks me as an agent of the Authority almost as much as the badge in my pocket does.

Stupidly, I can still recall the contemptuous energy that emanated from Zaya outside the room at the Crescent Moon Inn— at the suit, at the badge, at her classifying me solely by those things. “Your type …” she said.

The awry have always sneered at authority in any form— and the Gage family even more so. As if they’re above it all. Better than the rest of us. They don’t need to follow the rules that govern all of those, all of us, with immense power.

“Don’t you have better things to be doing, Zaya?” I ask scathingly. “Day drinking? That’s beneath even you.”

“Even me …” Zaya murmurs, sounding oddly amused as she takes a long, slow sip, draining the last of her first drink.

The donkey or marmot shifter-fuck sidles up to the bar between us. His gaze is on Zaya as he asks me, “What can I get you, brother?”

“I’m not your fucking brother,” I snap, resisting the urge to reach over and slam his face into the bar. He’s flexing Outcast affiliation. But no matter what my uncle wants, even after all these years, I’m not an Outcast. I never will be. I made other choices. Choices I can never walk away from.

I’ll die with this Authority badge in my pocket.

I just want to take my fucker of a father with me when I do.

“Step back,” I growl. “Even better, go double-check your inventory for tonight. In the stockroom.”

The pledge stumbles back from the bar, from me. Then he takes off like I’ve just threatened to murder him. It’s possible that the steady presence of the cu-sith is making me come off even more unhinged than usual.

Zaya smirks at me, totally fucking delighted at my unintentionally aggressive display. “Nasty boy, Reck.”

“I asked you what the fuck you’re doing here, Zaya.”

“You didn’t, actually.”

I lean closer, trying to intimidate her. I can’t scent her at all or feel the energy that usually pours off her. She’s masking both somehow, even though she didn’t at the motel. More lies. More fucking games. “Take off your sunglasses.”

Zaya giggles. Then she plucks her straw out of her empty glass, pushes that glass away, and stabs the straw into the newer slushy drink.

The sound of that laugh creeps up my spine.

The cu-sith presses forward, just for a moment, and sloughs that sensation off as it would a malignant spell. Why would the beast react to —

Zaya’s grin widens. “When was the last time we fucked?”

I rear back from her, completely thrown and weirdly disconcerted. My stomach sours. And unlike my response to her mere presence in the clubhouse last night, I swear my dick shrivels at the question.

Zaya and I never fucked. We fooled around those last couple of months together.

But the three-year age gap between us had previously, and firmly, kept our friendship purely platonic.

I was such a simp for her that anything else wasn’t even a thought in my mind when she was underage.

Not until she climbed into my lap, in full view of my brothers, and kissed me.

A switch flicked then. All the desire I’d been channeling elsewhere homed in on …

I kill the thought. It’s all just more concrete evidence of Zaya’s manipulative abilities.

She continues undeterred. “We should fuck. You’re completely on edge. And I think this conversation will go better if we fuck.”

It’s not unlike Zaya to initiate. I would have happily continued in my older-best-friend role until we were both in our twenties, even knowing that she and Rought had consummated their relationship, and that she and Rath had been fooling around for a couple of years as well.

I was perfectly fine fucking other people.

Just using any warm and willing body to get off, not even remotely serious about any of it.

Though … only when Zaya wasn’t in town, and never with any of the locals or Outcast members. Not until after … after Zaya died.

Supposedly died.

Maybe even faked her death to get away from all of us.

To get away from me .

Zaya giggles again.

And again, the sound is irksome. I’ve never found anything about Zaya remotely displeasing before —

Pure, unfettered relief floods my system. The cu-sith retreats even further back in my mind, as if in denial.

I’ve been released. Or I’ve overcome the terrifyingly intense attraction, the desperate need to belong to Zaya.

I’m free of her. Free of the obligation of the bond.

I have no idea what happened last night to trigger that disintegration. But I’m fucking free. Free to just sink into the darkness, to wallow within the depravity that I confront every day in my job. Even free of the retribution, the revenge, I’ve worked toward for the last thirteen years.

Zaya Gage didn’t die.

I’m not responsible for the death of my soul-bound mate.

I don’t need to avenge that death.

No bond lingers between us. No obligation.

I’m fucking free.

I throw my head back and laugh. I laugh and laugh, ignoring the tears edging the corners of my eyes and the cu-sith’s claws once again digging into my brain.

Zaya laughs as well, sounding as completely unhinged as I know I do.

I grasp her wrist. A shock of energy shudders between us. But it’s just another layer of disturbance across my already fucked-up senses. So I tighten my hold, dragging her off her stool and pulling her with me back toward the hall and the empty offices.

Still laughing, she follows me willingly.

My beast scrapes sharp claws against my psyche, against my insides. Hard enough to bleed me out, to bruise. Mentally, at least .

I ignore it. I keep the beast at bay. I have enough practice to withstand anything. Zaya Gage insured that with the sharp crack of her neck and her lifeless body hitting granite.

If I ignore it for long enough, the cu-sith will fade away again, smothered in the vast emptiness of my soul.

Just like it did after Zaya died.

“Not dead,” I say, laughing again. My chest aches like my heart has been ripped asunder. My head aches as if my brain is bleeding, my sight too sharp and hazy at the edges at the same time.

My body aches as if I’m dying. It’s possible I’m having a stroke. Or a heart attack.

I’m gripping Zaya too tightly. She’ll have bruises on her wrist.

But she doesn’t pull away.

Skin-to-skin, I can feel the lie of her.

I have no idea how she ever fooled me before.

The abilities lent to me by my unusual beast usually don’t work in the presence of awry.

They never worked with Disa, around Disa.

Though perhaps Zaya’s aunt never outright lied to my face.

But now, somehow, for some reason, my beast offers me protection against all of Zaya’s manipulations, even inadvertently.

The soul bond was a fucking lie.

A trick.

Even as a child, Zaya had abilities beyond what a nine-year-old should wield.

She could twist luck, occasionally even knowing the outcomes of minor incidents ahead of time.

Games we would play — no player ever bested Zaya fucking Gage in a game of chance — or things like running out of gas or a dramatic switch in the weather.

How didn’t I know, even then, that those abilities were some sort of mental manipulation? Catching the youngest of us three — Rought — in her snare so easily. Then Rath … then —

Zaya grabs my face with her free hand, lifting up on her tiptoes to bite my bottom lip. Hard. “Pay attention,” she snaps. “You have a room?”

“The office,” I grunt, licking blood off my lip. Nausea roils through my stomach. The bones of my face ache, especially where she’s touching. I twist out of her grasp.

“Fuck the office,” Zaya says, looking up and down the empty corridor. “Do it here. I like an easy exit.”

“What?”

She backs up against the wall, hiking up her dress, grabbing my hand and yanking it between her legs.

She isn’t wearing any underwear.

She’s also smooth shaven.

I feel like I’m functioning, barely, on some sort of time delay. My mind is struggling to catch up as Zaya grinds against my hand, panting dramatically.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

Lie. Lie. Lie.

“Take off your glasses,” I demand, trying to find her clit. And failing. She’s acting like she wants me, but her flesh isn’t as capable of lying. She’s not wet, not even damp.

Zaya laughs nastily. “Want to look me in the eye when you fuck me? So romantic, Reck.”

“Every fucking word out of your mouth tastes like poison.”

She giggles as if I’ve just complimented her, yanking at my belt and then my zipper. “That doesn’t stop you from wanting to fuck me,” she says. “All three of you cunt-struck idiots. You were just the easy target.”

“What? ”

She shoves her hand in my boxers. I’m soft. So soft that I’m surprised she finds my dick at all.

I grunt.

She pouts, tugging on my limp dick hard and fast. “Really? I expected more.”

I snarl, getting seriously pissed off. It’s not like she’s ready for me either.

I jam my dry fingers into her. She mews, arching off the wall and shoving her breasts forward. As if she’s actually enjoying being fingered, but …

I still can’t smell her, still can’t —