I shook him off. “Thanks. Better find Tree Trunk.”
Rohan searched my face, then with a nod, stepped aside to let me go.
Ms. Clara ambushed me the moment I hit the ground floor, beckoning me over. “Well, don’t just stand there.”
“Better go,” Baruch said from behind me. “Clara gets a hard-on for signatures.”
She narrowed her baby blues on him. “I heard that, Mr. Ya’ari.” She clapped her hands. “Chop. Chop.” Tiny, breathy, and steel-spined. No way was I disobeying her.
I scurried down the hall past the conference room and a couple smaller meeting rooms/floating offices for Rasha or Executive in town, dragging Baruch with me. Rather, he let himself be dragged. “Since when are you given permission to call her Clara?” I asked in a low voice, as Ms. Clara turned into her office. “Are you and her…?” I was about to make a lewd motion but the look on his face had me rethink that. “Are you a thing?”
He didn’t answer me. One more item to add to my list of mysteries about these guys.
Her office was meticulous. Tasteful photographic prints of the city, from towering Douglas fir in Pacific Spirit Park to neon signs in Chinatown framed her white walls. Three normal humans would have been comfortable in the small space. With Tree Trunk in there, our fit was positively snug.
Ms. Clara sat down in her black and brushed steel Aeron chair that matched her desk. She twisted the large monitor out of the way, pushing a thick file with my name typed on the tab toward me. “This covers the basics of your employment.”
Like my severance pay body bag?
I flipped the file open. “Hang on. I’ve been here since Monday. It’s Thursday and you’re just getting around to having me fill out the paperwork now?” That seemed oddly lax for her. “Was the Brotherhood hoping I wouldn’t last the week so they wouldn’t have to bother processing me?”
Ms. Clara selected a pen from the cup on her desk with intense concentration while Baruch just sat there, arms crossed, poker faced.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I didn’t even apologize at Ms. Clara’s admonishing glance.
“I’ll need your phone and laptop,” she said, handing me the pen. “Your data will be transferred over to encrypted models.” Ari had been given his first encrypted phone from Demon Club when he was fifteen. I knew how this worked.
I signed about ten times, my writing furious scrawls before I was calm enough to speak. “You mean you’re going to track me. Glad to know I’ve earned that minimal protection.”
“Enough.” Baruch’s quiet command defused the temper tantrum I wanted to throw.
Ari. Ari. Ari. I set the mantra to loop in my head. “The phone is upstairs in my bag. I’ll bring in the laptop tomorrow.”
Ms. Clara leaned across the desk to tap a signature I’d missed. “Good. Our tracking program ups the odds of finding you should you run into trouble. Twenty-four hours of inactivity and the Brotherhood is alerted to its last known location. Same if it gets destroyed.”
Much as I loathed the idea of Big Brotherhood keeping tabs on my every move, I wasn’t about to argue with something that could save my skin.
Ms. Clara wasn’t kidding about the paperwork. Forget chosen one crap. I’d joined the mother of all corporations. My hand started cramping up from the sheer number of signatures and forms to fill out, like the swearing to secrecy shit. Damn, I hadn’t been bound by any oaths yet when I’d talked to Rohan in the library. “I don’t get it. You’re the housekeeper and clerical worker?”
Baruch guffawed.
Ms. Clara stilled, looking up from where she was initialing a form. “Housekeeper? Wherever did you get that idea?”
I edged back on the seat. Her tone was kind of scary and she knew how to use a whip. “I asked who cleaned the house.” Leaving who I asked purposefully vague since I wasn’t about to sell Kane out to a woman who could inflict thirty lashes. “And was told you took care of it. Plus, you made cookies.”
Yeah, that sounded like reaching, even to me.
Any hope of support from Baruch was pointless. He sat there, his eye blinks conveying his hilarity.
“I take care of it because I take care of everything in this house of overgrown children,” she informed me, her voice less breathy, more steely. “I’m in charge of all Brotherhood administrative business in Canada. Rasha, rabbi, or Executive member living or visiting this country, I’m their go-to.”
“How does the Executive work? Do they fly out here often?” With all the training and plotting, I hadn’t had a chance to learn much about them yet and every bit of intel helped.
“No. Rabbi Abrams passes on any local concerns that they need to be involved in. The six rabbis chosen to make up the Executive handle big picture organizational issues like establishing new chapter houses.” Ms. Clara pointed at a couple of places where I’d missed signing.
“We have them in many major cities across the globe but as global crises change,” she said, “so do locations and the number of Rasha stationed there. Hunters are reassigned all the time. The Executive has been busy with field offices in Northern Africa these past few years. And of course the head of the Executive, Rabbi Mandelbaum, also personally interacts with the intelligence department.”
“Like hunter Homeland Security?” I glanced at Baruch to see if he’d weigh in but he was checking something on his phone.
Ms. Clara kept up the explanation. “Security on an international level. They monitor crimes across the globe for certain details that could be evidence of demonic activity. Social media activity as well as anything gleaned through work under DSI. All intelligence gathered goes through them before being handed over to Rasha as specific missions.”
I shook out my hand. “James Bond epic.”
“As for the cookies–”
“Really, really good cookies,” I interjected.
Her expression softened. “Thank you, doll. I like making cookies.” She picked up a stress ball from her desk, squeezing it. “With this bunch in town, I need all the stress relief I can get.” She winged the ball at Baruch’s head, nailing him in the temple and killing his amused eye blinks.
Baruch bent to retrieve the ball from the floor and placed it back on her desk. He tucked his hair behind his ears, sliding his phone into his pocket. “Our stress is what makes you the most in-demand dominatrix in the country. You wouldn’t be half so good if we didn’t push you to your breaking point.”
“You wouldn’t even begin to know where I break,” Ms. Clara replied darkly.
“Perhaps not.” Baruch shrugged and I leaned in. This was better than HBO. Oh, to have popcorn.
Sadly, Ms. Clara veered off the juicy stuff to give me a lecture about requisition forms that was so dull, my eyes glazed over. Though I did perk up a bit at the myriad of medical treatments I was entitled to. “Two massage therapy sessions a month, you say?”
“No one uses them,” Baruch said with a dismissive wave.
Ms. Clara eyed him with distaste before turning back to me. “I’d be happy to provide you with a list of approved practitioners.”
Twisting her monitor back into position, she pressed her palm to a small pad on her desk to be scanned. Once the light turned green, she started typing. “Better than a password,” she said, noting my curiosity.
I placed the last of the signed forms in the file. The Brotherhood could proclaim Rabbi Abrams was in charge here, but it was clear to me who really ran the show.
The final item of business was to get my palm scanned so I could access the Vault and stuff on my own. Ms. Clara explained it would take twenty-four hours to process, then pronounced us done.
“Excellent. I promise to behave like a pampered princess and exploit every last thing I’m entitled to.”
One side of her mouth quirked up at that. “Provided you have the correct requisition form,” she said.
That’s when Baruch hit his limit. He engulfed my hand in his and tugged me to my feet. “Yes, Nava will pretend the best of
intentions for your forms and you will pretend you don’t enjoy filling everything out on our behalf, and natural order will be maintained.”
He dragged me to the door.
“Leave the pen,” Ms. Clara called out.
Baruch growled.
I tossed it back at her as I cleared the door, being rewarded with a wink.
Oh yeah. Way better than cable.
Baruch warmed up on the punching bag. I watched him in amazement for a few minutes as I stretched. I’d never seen anyone’s fist almost punch through the bag before. The most astounding thing of all was how calm he was. It was pretty sexy the way he pummeled the thing in a total state of Zen. The fact that he’d taken off his shirt and was working out bare-chested didn’t hurt the cause any, even if he was more muscular than my tastes generally ran.
One thing Baruch had gotten into my skull was staying in the present during any fighting since letting my thoughts wander led to meatsack tenderization. Even with my accelerated healing, I was tenderized enough. “Doesn’t super strength usually come with anger issues?”
He stopped punching.
“I mean, you’re pretty mellow. Which is great. I, for one, would not want my baggage infringing on Drio’s. Because holy wow, two wounded angry people. That’s not even counting Rohan, although Drio would win any diva-off hands down.”
Baruch lifted the punching bag off the hook with one hand. “Do you say everything you think?”
“Nope. Amazingly I share merely a fraction of the brilliance in my head.” I followed him over to the wall.
He touched a light on a small display panel and part of the wall slid away to reveal another good-sized room, filled top to bottom with weapons and training equipment.
“Cool,” I breathed, peering in. “Did you design all these?”
“Some.” He pushed me back a few steps. “You haven’t unlocked entrance privileges yet,” he said, heading inside.
“Nerd,” I teased.
He gave me a sheepish grin as he stashed the bag up on a hook.
I eyed the weapons: knives of all shapes and sizes, throwing stars, staffs, iron-based things that I couldn’t discern the purpose of but given their scary shape was certain I was better off without the visual, boxing gloves, pads, and whatever was stored in the cabinets running the length of one wall. No guns though.
The Brotherhood required a massive bottom line to run.
“Who funds the Brotherhood? Can we change the name now that I’m here?”
“It funds itself and no. Hundreds of years in investments plus, these days, the income DSI brings in.” He smiled. “We don’t come cheap. The Brotherhood takes care of us. If we die, our funeral expenses are handled.”
My gut twisted at that last sentiment. “You’re awfully matter-of-fact about death.”
He spread his hands wide. “We do what we do. We try not to die but it happens. Which is why I will train you to have the best shot at walking away.”
See, this was a guy who genuinely had my back. “Teach me fight moves.” Defense wasn’t going to be enough when I came up against Asmodeus.
He assessed me for a long moment. “Most demons will be larger than you. Stronger.”
“That’s a yes, then?”
“But that also means their balance and speed is compromised as a result.”
I eyed him up and down. “Speaking from experience are we, Tree Trunk?”
“You’re very annoying,” he said.
“It’s my birth power,” I replied.
“Oh? That’s not being delusional?”
“Ladies and gentlemen, Baruch Ya’ari,” I said. “He’s here all week. Try the shrimp.”
He peered at me. “Is English your first language?”
“Vaudeville? The old schtick? Nothing?” I shook my head in dismay before dancing around him, throwing air punches.
He swatted me away. “Build up your side to side movement. Get inside the tip of their punches and kicks. Build an infighting and clinch game. Get comfortable striking and fighting from your back in case you’re thrown down.”
Baruch showed me some basic moves–a couple of punches and a few kicks–running me through them over and over again, making minute adjustments. Talking me through both my mistakes and what I was doing right.
I stripped down to my sports bra and booty shorts which was great on the heat front but left more exposed skin, and psychologically, made me feel more vulnerable. My muscles quivered as every attack became more of a grinding exertion.
The flooring pads became sticky with sweat, each footstep a pronounced slapping sound, the room turning steamy and dank. Finally, Baruch called a much-desired halt to the training but only to bring Kane down to ensure I didn’t get complacent fighting just him.
Kane raised an eyebrow as he handed me a glass of Ms. Clara’s electrolyte-filled iced tea. “Well?” he asked Baruch.
I’d gulped back the cold liquid by the time his question was asked.
“Help me attack her on two fronts,” Baruch said.
I left the empty glass in a corner, my arms wobbly. “Awesome.”
Seeing me swipe at the sweat on my neck, Kane boosted the air conditioning to blessed arctic levels and then the two of them leapt into battle against me. All right, they engaged me in slow motion combat while Baruch barked grips, counter-grips, and attack strategy, showing me how to use my weight against them.
The cool part was making connections on my own about how and where certain moves would come in handy. When my suggestions were wrong, the guys showed me why, then explained the better way of proceeding.
“For someone who hasn’t spent years training, you pick things up fast,” Kane said, after I’d executed a pretty sweet roundhouse kick.
“Your power isn’t there yet and your technique is rough, but balance, even speed?” Baruch’s approving eye blink was the sweetest compliment ever.
“I’m not a trained fighter, but I am a trained dancer. I was always good at picking up moves quickly, getting new routines faster than other people. Tap taught me balance, weight placement, being aware of my body. Those skills are transferable,” I informed them.
“Those skills are a foundation,” Baruch said. “Do the kick again. Don’t throw your left hip out so much this time.”
Neither of them held back or went easy on me because I was female. I appreciated that up until the point that I collapsed on burning legs with a plea of “Have mercy!” Not even my most rigorous dance session had drained me this much.
Kane prodded my belly with a toe. My tummy jiggled. His bare-chested, rock hard body didn’t. “We better feed her. And hose her off.”
I think I gave him the finger but I might have just imagined it, distracted as I was by the shiny of his nipple rings. That boy had two modes of dress–barely and horribly. I vowed to do a fashion intervention one day.
“For God’s sakes, woman, get up,” Kane said, holding a hand out to me.
I lay there, too tired to even reach for him. “Can I have a cookie?” I wheezed.
“Yes, Nava,” Baruch said, sounding amused. “You may. They’re in the cupboard upstairs.”
“Will you get it for me? Pleeeeeeaaaase?”
He nodded, pulling his hair free from his elastic band. Pretty hair.
“Todah rabah,” I called out in thanks as he and Kane left. I closed my eyes, my arm thrown over my face. If I played my cards right, maybe I could pull this off. Maybe Ari and I could be real live Wonder Twins soon. But you know, not lame. For the first time since I’d become Rasha, I felt like I could take a deep breath.
Footsteps neared and fabric swished as Baruch knelt down beside me. I opened my eyes, hand out to take the cookie, and then drew back. It wasn’t Baruch. It was Drio, squatting down. I burst into full-body Lady Shock mode, my exhaustion trumped by adrenaline.
“Showing off or scared?” he smirked.
“Touch me and find out.” I sat up as calmly as I could manage, given I was alone with a man who aggressiv
ely hated me and whose powers were a giant question mark. I didn’t trust his promise to keep me safe.
Where were my guards? The ones that liked me. Or at least tolerated me.
He pursed his lips. “Just came to see the progress. Checking if you’re earning your keep.”
“Impressed?” My heart was hammering and I could feel the electricity rising and falling like swells within me.
“I’ve seen better.”
“Sorry to disappoint.” I scrambled to my feet, sparking so brightly that residual blue sunspots danced before my eyes.
Drio stood up as well. “Shut it down.” He scowled at me.
The electricity flared, cresting off my skin in sharp bursts. I tried to visualize the off-switch but nothing happened.
“Nava.” He grabbed me by the shoulders, but after one quick shake was forced to release me, flinching in the wake of my magic.
A hot tight pain speared my chest. I clutched at it, my eyes watering, sensing this was all about to go sideways.
“Porco Dio,” Drio swore. “Baruch!” he yelled.
I hyperventilated. Pops and crackles jumped off my skin, a metal burning smell clogging my nostrils.
Footsteps pounded down the stairs.
I fell to my knees, feeling every charged particle in my body as the electricity wrapped around me like a snake with its coily embrace. I wheezed, desperate for air.
A heavy blanket lined with rubber enveloped me, arms holding tight around me. “You’re safe,” Rohan said. “Turn it off, Nava. You can do it.”
My cheek pressed against the blanket resting on his chest, I latched on to the even rise and fall of his breathing like it was my lifeline. He kept murmuring to me that I was safe, cradling me in his arms, and ignoring the small sparks not contained by the blanket that were blackening his skin in tiny dots. His voice was hypnotic, soothing me enough that my magic turned off. But I still couldn’t breathe for the pain lancing my chest. I shot him a panicked look.
Rohan lay me down on the floor. The last thing I heard was, “Clear!”
Not more current, I thought, and blacked out.
I came to, still on the padded floor, with four male faces showing varying degrees of concern hovering over me. Baruch crumpled the rubber blanket in one hand. Kane held a defibrillator limply. Rohan’s left eyebrow was scorched.
The Unlikeable Demon Hunter Collection: Books 1-6: A Complete Paranormal Romantic Comedy Series Page 11