Vengeance of the Demon (Kara Gillian 7)

Muffled voices in the background that didn’t belong to Angus or Catherine, but too low to make out any words.

“Hang on a sec.” Angus again, but sounding as if he spoke over his shoulder to another person.

“Angus?” Catherine, worried. “What’s going on?”

“It’s cool, baby. I promise I’ll—” More background voices. A few words rose above the others: Timetable. Critical. Master. A voice that might have been Jerry’s. A curse from Angus, then a rustling as if he’d put his hand over the phone. “Number six.” Muffled but audible. Angus, taut and stressed, speaking to the other person. “You and the boss are doing number six this afternoon. Now leave me the fuck alone for two goddamn minutes.”

More rustling. “Catherine. I love you. That will never change.”

A ragged breath. “Then do the right thing. Turn yourself in.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Won’t! You won’t do it.” An angry sob. “I don’t know who you are anymore. Where’s my hero?”

“I’m right here, baby. Listen to me—”

“No! I’m through listening. You had years to talk. Years, Angus.” Voice shaking. “Don’t . . . don’t call me again.”

“Catherine, baby. Don’t cut me out of your life. Please.”

“You cut me out of yours, you lying son of a bitch!” Crying. “You’ve left me no choice! I have to protect myself and my son. I . . . hate you. I hate you.”

“Baby, no! Listen. I’m—”

A click, then silence.

Pellini exhaled and rubbed a hand over his jaw. “That’s all of it.”

“Wow,” I breathed and sat back. “Bryce wasn’t lying about how those two were with each other.”

“Yeah. They sounded like the real deal. And he trashed it.”

An odd catch in his voice drew my attention, but before I could pry into the cause he shoved away from the table and stomped out of the room. Taken off guard, I stumbled up to follow.

“Pellini? You okay?” I made it to the hallway in time to see him stiff-arm the back door open, shoulders hunched and head down. Mystified, I continued after him. What in blazes had triggered this? Sammy ran up to him but, instead of frolicking as usual, he dropped his ears and pressed close to Pellini’s leg as if sensing his human’s mood.

Pellini stopped in the shade of a tall pecan tree then crouched and hugged the dog to him, not resisting when Sammy offered slobbery dog-kisses.

I cleared my throat softly. “Do you need anything?”

He blew out a breath and shifted to sit on the grass. Sammy draped himself over Pellini’s lap, eyes on his human’s face. “Sorry,” Pellini said with a grimace. “Old ghosts.”

I sat a few feet away. “Related to Angus and Catherine?”

“Nah, but they reminded me of some personal shit.” He stroked his dog’s ears. “Angus is a turd, and they’re going through hell right now.”

“And you know hell,” I said, echoing his own words from the other day.

Pellini didn’t bluster defensively this time. Instead he sighed. “We all do. Some more than others.” He lifted his chin toward me. “Like you and your scars and what Rhyzkahl did to you. And Idris . . .” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I can’t imagine having to watch what happened to his sister. Makes my shit seem pretty insignificant in comparison.”

“No,” I said with force. “No, that’s total hogwash. You can’t compare your trauma or grief to anyone else’s. Telling yourself that you have to smile through your pain because the guy next to you has it worse is as dumb as refusing to be happy because the other guy is having a better day.” I stabbed a finger at him. “Don’t invalidate your own feelings.”

Pellini blinked at me. “Did you really just say ‘hogwash’?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, and I can’t believe that’s all you got from that.”

He let out a low snort, looked down at the blissful dog in his lap with a soft smile. “Nah. I heard you. Every now and then you make a little sense.”