Wicked

by Jennifer L. Armentrout

  I opened my mouth but Ren beat me. Stepping around me, he stalked up to the counter and planted both hands on the glass case. "Is that how you talk to the lady?"

  Oh geez.

  Jerome's black brows climbed up his forehead as he met Ren stare for stare. "Who in the hell do you think you are?"

  "Someone who thinks you could learn to use a little respect," he fired back.

  I wiggled between Ren and a display of voodoo feathers that smelled like patchouli. "Ren, it's okay."

  He didn't take that glare off Jerome. "Not okay with me."

  Jerome crossed his arms and straightened, expression permanently sullen. I was surprised the deep grooves of his face hadn't truly frozen in a scowl. "No one asked you, boy."

  "All right." I held up a hand as Ren looked as if he was about to grab the old man and put him in a chokehold. "Seriously. It's okay. He's not being disrespectful." I glanced at Jerome. "Well, it's not a personal thing. He's a jerk to everyone."

  "Not everyone," he replied in a surly tone.

  I shot him a bland look. "Your dog doesn't count."

  A terse moment passed, and Ren finally looked down at me. Some of the hardness had left his gaze, but he still didn't look thrilled. "Still not cool."

  "Ren," I murmured.

  "Ivy," he repeated.

  Jerome rolled his eyes then lifted his chin. "Hey, you! Yeah, you over by the hot sauce," he shouted. Ren and I turned. A middle-aged white man halted. Two giant bottles of Voodoo Queen Hot Sauce were in his hands. "Those bottles are for buying and not fondling. Either buy 'em or put 'em down."

  "Wow," I said, turning back to Jerome. "I'm surprised this place makes any money."

  He snorted. "Like I give a shit if it does."

  Never really thought that he did.

  "Is there a reason why you called her in here?" Ren asked, folding his arms as the customer hurried out of the shop. "Because we actually have stuff to do."

  His gaze slid to Ren. "I kind of like you, boy."

  "Honored," murmured Ren. "And entirely flattered."

  I bit my lip to stop from grinning.

  "You owe me." Jerome pointed a gnarled finger at me.

  At first, I had no clue what he was getting at, and then I remembered the day. "Oh. Crap." I placed my hands on the counter. "I'm sorry. This has been one hell of a week. I forgot."

  "Forgot what?" Ren glanced between us.

  "Monday," Jerome grumbled. "Every Monday for about two years, and this is the first time you've forgotten."

  "Cake," I said to Ren, letting a little grin peek through.

  A brown eyebrow shot up. "Cake?"

  "Not just any damn cake!" Jerome slammed his hands on the counter, causing me to jump. "The best damn chocolate cake I've ever had. That girl brings it to me every Monday. I rearrange my points just to have that damn cake."

  Ren looked even more confused. "Points?"

  "He's on a diet." I grinned then. "I'm sorry. I'll bring it tomorrow. Okay?"

  Jerome grumbled something under his breath. "You better not forget. Now get out of here so I can order a pizza."

  The thing was, I hadn't been the only one who had forgotten.

  Outside the shop, we started toward Jackson Square. We'd made it about half a block before Ren laughed. "What?" I glanced up at him.

  "You bake?" he asked, nudging my arm with his. "You bake chocolate cake that's apparently the best in the whole world for a half senile old guy?"

  A giggle squeaked out. "Um, yeah. I do. Baking . . . is like a hobby." Okay. That was a total lie. The only cakes I could bake came out of the box. It was Tink who baked the cakes from scratch.

  "And why haven't I been offered any cake?"

  I wondered what he'd think if he knew the cake was made by a brownie. Sending him a quick glance, I smoothed my hands down my thighs. "You're going to have to get to know me better before you taste my cake."

  Ren opened his mouth then closed it a second before he stopped and stepped right in front of me. I skidded to a stop to avoid slamming into him. The guy behind us cursed and shot us a dirty look as he walked around us. Ren ignored him. "Was that an invitation? Because I'm willing to get to know you in any way possible if that means I get to taste your cake."

  "Invitation for . . .?" Oh my God. My words replayed. My face turned crimson. "You are such a pervert!" I smacked his chest hard. "That's not what I meant."

  "That's a damn shame then," he said solemnly.

  I hit him again, on the arm this time, then stormed around him. "You're such a dog."

  Tipping his head back, he laughed loudly and deeply, and in spite of my embarrassment, my lips formed a wry grin. I couldn't help it. The laugh . . . it was infectious. He was beside me in a heartbeat. "I really do want to taste the cake—the real cake. Well, I'd also love to taste your cake, too."

  "If you stop talking about cake in general, I promise I will get you a slice of cake," I said. "And I won't stab you."

  "You'd stab me?" Amusement colored his tone.

  I nodded. "Even after giving me a rose."

  "Okay. Deal. No more cake." He was quiet as we crossed onto Chartres. "Did you do anything on your day off yesterday?"

  I almost stumbled as I glanced at him sharply. Brighton hadn't called me back, which was no surprise, and I planned on paying her another visit. But there was no way he'd known that.

  A half grin curved his mouth up at one corner. "It's just a simple question. I'll tell you what I did. I slept in until about ten. Then I roamed around, a bit aimlessly to be honest, and found myself buying beignets. Then last night I staked out the hotel we'd seen the ancient fae go into. That's what I did."

  Words were reluctant to come to the tip of my tongue. "I didn't do much," I said after a moment. "I met Val and we went to a bookstore. Then I came home and pretended to tidy up. I had dinner with a friend. That's it."

  His gaze met mine, and I thought about the sorrow that had been so clear on his face when the man died. "See how easy that was?"

  I nodded, but it wasn't easy. Not at all. As we neared Jackson Square, the breeze off the Mississippi was much cooler, stirring the loose curls at the nape of my neck.

  "Those textbooks?" he asked, changing the subject. "What are they for?"

  Our steps slowed as I considered what I should tell him. Not that going to college was a secret. I ran my fingers along the fence. "I'm going to college—Loyola. Majoring in sociology."

  I could feel his eyes on me without looking. "You're actually going to college?" he asked. "You do that and this?"

  Nodding, I squinted up at the deep gray steeples breaking the blue skies.

  "Do you plan on leaving the Order?"

  I laughed. "I think the only way you leave the Order is in a body bag."

  "That's not true." Stepping in front of me, he faced me as he walked backward, his hand in front of mine, running along the fence. He was lucky there was a decent space without vendors. "People have left the Order, Ivy."

  "I don't want to leave. I just want to . . . I want to do more." My stomach dipped, and I suddenly wished I hadn't said so much.

  Ren stopped walking, and our hands collided on the fence.

  I started to pull my hand back, but held my ground in front of him. "I know it's strange, but yeah, that's what I'm doing."

  His eyes searched mine. "No. It's not weird. It's just different."

  Our gazes held for a moment, then I looked away, chewing on my lower lip. When I looked back, he was still looking at me in that way—like he couldn't see through me, but inside me. "What?" I demanded.

  "I was just thinking something." His finger had found its way onto mine. I looked at our hands, my breath catching as he drew his finger along my own. "I don't think I've met anyone like you."

  "Sounds like a bad thing." I dragged my gaze from our hands.

  He smiled. "It's a good thing. I think."

  That wasn't entirely a ringing endorsement.

  Slipping his hand away from min
e, he started walking again, but this time he was going forward, toward the way we came. "Come on. We have work to do."

  "Isn't that what we're doing?"

  He glanced over his shoulder at me. "What I'm looking for isn't here."

  "Oh, is that so?" I caught up to his long-legged pace. "Where are we going?"

  "Down here."

  My brows rose. "Pirates Alley?"

  Ren simply winked at me and kept walking. Having no idea what he was up to, I followed him beyond the entrance of the alley. We weren't heading in there, which was a shame, because the alley was pretty with all its colorful buildings and doors.

  He ended up on Madison Street, and I resisted the urge to point out that we could've just gone there instead of heading to the Square, but then again, our job pretty much required us roaming up and down the same streets all night.

  Ren walked up to some street kid standing next to a motorcycle. I didn't know what model it was, but it was sleek, black, and looked fast enough to break every single bone if you crashed while on it.

  "Thanks, man." Ren handed the kid a wad of cash.

  I stared at him as the boy scampered off. "The bike . . . it's yours?"

  He nodded.

  "What is that?" I stared at the bike like it was a giant two-legged insect.

  "Some call it a Ducati." Picking up two helmets, he arched a daring brow at me. "I came prepared tonight. One for me." He raised a helmet. "One for you."

  I shot him a dirty look. "And you expect me to get on that?"

  "Yes." He handed over a black helmet, and I held it like it was a grenade, away from my body. "Look, like I said, I've got a job to do that doesn't involve tracking down normal fae. I'm here to figure out what the ancients are up to and stop whatever it is that they want. You can come with me or not. I'd prefer that you did." He tilted his head to the side, and the late evening sun glanced off his smooth cheek. "If you're close, then at least I know you're not lying dead somewhere."

  My grip on the helmet tightened. "I can take care of myself."

  "I didn't say that you couldn't, but even though I've only known you for a short time, I know you're not going to run from a fight. You're going to run to it." The playful half smile appeared as he tossed one long leg over the bike and sat. "And that's incredibly hot, but also incredibly dangerous right now." And you're supposed to be shadowing me, at least until Wednesday. So shadow me on my bike. It'll be fun."

  As I stared at him, I wanted to demand that he stop being so damn good looking and charming. It was hard to argue with his logic when he laid it out there with a sexy grin and pretty words.

  "Are you coming or not?"

  Sighing, I glanced at the helmet then back to him. A slow smile spread across his lips. "Fine."

  His eyes deepened to a forest green. "Then get on."

  I bristled at his commanding tone, switching the helmet to one arm and flipping him off with my free hand.

  Ren laughed, the skin crinkling around his eyes.

  "I don't like you," I said.

  He grinned as he cocked his head back, eyeing me knowingly. "Don't lie. I know better. You might not want to, but you like me."

  Hiding the fact that he'd been unerringly observant, I smirked at him. "You are grossly mistaken."

  "Uh-huh." Thick lashes lowered, shielding his eyes, and then his arm shot out. He hooked his fingers through the loop in my jeans and tugged me forward. Balancing the bike with just his legs, he reached up with his other arm and curled his fingers around the nape of my neck.

  My breath caught as my eyes widened. I almost dropped the helmet as he guided my head to his. Too shocked to resist, I found myself staring into his eyes, our mouths so close I could feel his warm breath dancing over my lips. He didn't take his eyes off mine as he shifted his head. His lips brushed the curve of my cheek, and my pulse thundered with excitement and dismay. I didn't want him to kiss me. Or did I? His breath tickled the spot just below my ear, and the muscles low in my stomach clenched. I shivered. Okay, maybe I did want him to kiss me.

  Ren's lips swept over the line of my cheek and his nose brushed mine. "I bet you have the softest pair of lips out there. And I bet you taste sweet—sweeter than one of those beignets you've got me addicted to." His hand squeezed around the back of my neck. "But you got one hell of a bite—a kick to that sweetness. It'll be rough getting in there, and you're going to fight it every step of the way, but it'll be smooth once I'm there."

  My eyes grew to the size of saucers. There were no words. None whatsoever.

  "You like me." Letting go, he smiled up at me, that angelic face a picture of innocence. "You just aren't ready to admit it."

  All I could think as I gawked at him was, what an observant son of a bitch.

  Chapter Ten

  The first thing I discovered after ignoring what Ren had just said and done was that there was no graceful way to get on a bike. Not like Ren had done it. I almost kneed him in the back as I climbed up behind him. The second thing I learned came after I put the helmet on and Ren did the same. They were wired with microphones. High tech right there. But the final thing was when I sat rigid behind him, my thighs resting against the outer length of his—I had no idea where to put my hands.

  "Ivy," he said, clearly amused. "You're going to have to hold on to me and get closer or you're going to fly off this bike, sweetness."

  "Don't call me that." I ignored his answering chuckle as I lightly placed my hands on the sides of his waist—his extremely hard waist. Under my fingers, I could feel the outline of daggers, but I could also tell there wasn't an ounce of fat on his waist.

  Ren grabbed my wrists and yanked my arms forward, forcing me to slide on the back until my thighs cradled his ass. My eyes went wide as he folded my arms in front of him, just below his navel. "There," he said. "This is how you ride."

  My breasts pressed against his back, and I was grateful for the helmet shielding my burning face. "I'm pretty sure I don't have to be this close."

  He chuckled and then the motorcycle hummed to life under us. My heart jumped unsteadily. Out of all the crazy things I did for my job, I'd never been on a motorcycle, and I wasn't quite sure what to expect.

  "I'm taking your cherry, aren't I?" he asked.

  I rolled my eyes. "Classy."

  Another rolling laugh came through the speaker, and then we were off. Ren did not ease me into the experience. He kicked off the training wheels and tossed me face first into it. My arms tightened around him on their own, and at first, I squeezed my eyes shut as he headed for the busiest streets in the Quarter. I didn't want to see all the people I knew we were narrowly missing, but the wind—the rush of air over my fingers and bare arms was too tantalizing. After a minute or so, I pried my eyes open.

  Stores and people blurred by in a dizzying stream, and it was frightening and crazy how fast we were going, but it was . . . it was also amazing. I turned my head, eyes wide as I soaked it all in. There was something freeing about this. Was that why so many people rode motorcycles? I wanted to know what it felt like to have the wind in my hair. However, I wasn't brave or stupid enough to whip off the helmet. The tension eased out of my thighs and shoulders, and I knew I could lean back without toppling off, but I didn't.

  I could feel the power in the corded muscles of Ren's back as they tensed and rolled. Under my folded hands, I felt his taut stomach jump every couple of minutes, as if his body was unconsciously reacting to something.