Page 69 of Crown of Death

I say it all in a rush while staring into the fridge. I’m not hungry. My stomach is full of knots. There’s not a chance I can eat. But it’s habit, and there’s something human and comforting abouthabit.

“From your tone I assume you’re not going to say what this ‘thing’ is,” Cyrusstates.

He’s just walked down the stairs and stands in the doorway to the living area. His hair is wet, slicked back. He slowly buttons up his shirt. He leaves the top threeopen.

“It’s all part of our deal,” I say emptily. “Closing up my humanlife.”

Cyrus looks up at Mina, who gives him a doubtfullook.

“You can take the night off, Mina,” Cyrus says as he begins rolling up his cuffs, exposing his lean forearms. “I trust Logan when she says she won’trun.”

I nod my head in thanks as I close the fridge. I grab my purse off the counter and head for thedoor.

I feel Cyrus’ eyes on me as I walk past him, but I don’t have the mental energy to put on a show of strength and bravado forhim.

It’s the longest and fastest day of work,ever.

I keep looking at the clock every five minutes. Every time I look, it’s half an hourlater.

Time speeds along, and all too soon, it’s five and I’m clocking out. Mina and I drive back to thehouse.

Fredrick is serving dinner, and no one says a word as weeat.

At twenty to seven, I head to my bedroom. I pull open my bottom drawer and pull the folded up hundred dollar bills from a sock. Only five of them. Not enough. But it’s everything Ihave.

I suppose it’s a good thing vampires still have to eat. I wouldn’t be able to afford to feed myself if I wasn’t living here in thishouse.

I may not have had a choice, but there have been several unexpected benefits to being aprisoner.

“I’ll be back soon,” I say when I reach the bottom of the stairs. I don’t even look around to see if anyone is around to hearme.

I imagine all the bones Shylock could break as I drive to our meeting place. Fingers. Toes. Legs, if he’s feeling particularly angry over five hundred dollars. Maybe my nose. A black eye might satisfy him over a few weeks’delay.

By the time I pull into the parking lot of the gas station, I’m about ready to puke. Every one of my nerves is on high alert. Fight or flight is raging through my system at supersonicspeed.

I’drun.

Without adoubt.

But he knows where to find the people I careabout.

My knees quake as I climb out of my car. Half of me feels numb as I walk around to the back of the building, to the narrow alley between the shops behindit.

He’s alreadywaiting.

The moment I step into the alley, he pushes off the wall and walks towardme.

Shylock. The money shark. The man I turned to when everything in my life fellapart.

The shark that’s been breathing down my neck for the past twoyears.

“Let’s make this quick,” he says, looking around to be sure no one is watching. “I have another appointment afterthis.”

Appointment—as in someone else to scare half todeath.

Shylock is tall. Probably weighs two hundred fifty pounds. His too-thin hair hangs long and dirty down his back. He wears a long black jacket, even though it’s summer. Black boots are strapped around hisankles.

Picture a money-loaning lowlife, and you can imagineShylock.