Muzzling the Beast: Taming the Beast, Book 4

by Tina Donahue

  She sighed. “Nothing. I have this unusual case.”

  Zoe snorted.

  Constance glared at her. So did Becca. Bringing the phone back to her ear, Constance continued, “I’ve already removed a few memories from this…ah…client. Now I—or rather the client—wants me to plant false memories. I’ll have to eventually remove them and possibly plant more while I’m also taking away the real ones. This could go on for a while. Weeks, months, possibly years.” If everything works out. She stopped to catch her breath and tensed as she asked, “Will it hurt him? Memory-wise, I mean.”

  “Is he mortal or immortal?”

  Constance held back a groan. “Mortal.”

  “You’ll fry his brain if you keep messing with it. Won’t be pretty.”

  Oh God. At thirty-two, Gabe’s future would be ashes, all because of her. Constance whimpered. “What if Heather tried to heal him?”

  “She’ll probably start crying because she doesn’t have the sheer force to undo what you will have done.”

  Constance’s stomach knotted. Already Heather was whimpering, no doubt having guessed her powers would be shit with this. “I’ve already altered his memories three times. Will the damage be permanent?”

  “Doubtful. I wouldn’t try for four though—is this client someone I should know about?”

  “No. Thanks for the advice. Bye.” Constance killed the call but couldn’t stop shivering.

  Becca hugged her first, followed by the others. They swayed in place, making her dizzier.

  “I have to give him up, don’t I?” Constance said. “I’m not going to have what you guys do. I’m always going to be alone. He’s the one man I have ever wanted, who really seems to want me, and there’s no possibility to have a relationship with him, no freaking future, because of who I am. I’m so damn screwed, aren’t—”

  She couldn’t finish, tears precluding it.

  Suddenly, everyone went still.

  “This sucks,” MJ said first. “Why are we giving her a hard time? She asked us to change this place to protect us when Gabe comes here. You heard her. He’s not going to give up. We have to help her. She’s always helped us.”

  “True,” Zoe said. “She gave the guys hell when she thought they’d ditched me for another babe in the second circle.”

  Heather nodded. “She offered to buy me lunch so I’d tell her about my first night with Daemon.” After a brief pause, Heather mumbled, “I couldn’t. I’m sorry. About this too. What kind of a healer am I if I can’t put Gabe’s brain back together?”

  “It’s okay,” Becca said. “You’re fine.”

  “We have to help her with this,” MJ said. “First with changing this place and then with everything else.”

  Becca looked torn but finally nodded.

  Constance swiped away her tears. “You guys mean it?”

  “Absolutely,” MJ said. “This’ll be a piece of cake, as soon as I know how you guys want the place to look.”

  “Wait.” Becca cupped Constance’s face in her hands. “You will have to tell him the truth eventually and risk everything. Are you willing to do so?”

  “I won’t expose any of you. He’ll never know you’re not mortal.”

  “What about you?” Becca studied her carefully. “Do you trust Gabe not to hurt you as a woman and as a voodoo priestess?”

  He’d wig out certainly when he learned about her powers, but Constance knew deep inside he’d never deliberately harm her. “Yeah. He’s a good guy.”

  Becca turned to the others. “Let’s do it.”

  An hour later, no one could decide whether the walls should be blue or beige, with Heather voting for white. MJ had provided several models for the treatment rooms. One had ornate furniture, the same as the kind in Becca’s office. Another was sleekly modern, perfect for today’s shrink, yet stunning too, as if Sigmund Freud had been a member of the fashion police. The third was utilitarian, the kind of room one would see in a state hospital.

  The second one with blue walls got most of the votes.

  “Now for you guys,” MJ said, studying Heather.

  She leaned away. “I’m not wearing my leather stuff here. It’s for Whatever Goes.”

  “Anything Goes,” MJ said. “How about this?” There was a faint popping sound. Before it faded, Heather wore a sky-blue peasant blouse and beige jeans, and had her hair done up in a ponytail.

  “Not bad,” Zoe said.

  Heather was clearly stricken. “These colors are so gaudy. We’re not even in a BDSM club, we’re at work.”

  “It’s only for tonight,” MJ said and turned to Becca, who quickly put distance between them. Grinning, MJ followed. “No reason to be scared.”

  “Easy for you to say. You were never called the F word in school.”

  “You’ll still be beautiful after I get through. Now hold still.”

  Before Becca could take another step, a new pop filled the room. She stared at her black silk pantsuit. Completing her outfit were designer heels and a silver clip holding back the right side of her bob. Even her makeup was subdued, simple and refined.

  Zoe frowned. “Didn’t you dress me in the very same thing the other day?”

  “Nope.” MJ faced her. “I don’t imitate, I innovate.” More pops.

  Zoe glanced down at her pale green dress, a simple A-line design radiating pure class. Her beige sling backs were another nice touch.

  “Now for your hair,” MJ said.

  “What about my—”

  Before Zoe could finish, her hair was in a severe bun.

  “Hey,” she said, clawing it. “This is so tight I can’t feel my scalp.”

  “Sorry.” MJ’s smile said she wasn’t. With another pop, Zoe’s hair was hanging loose again and smoking away. “Better?”

  Frowning, she massaged her head.

  “Can’t you stop her hair from doing that?” Constance said. “And her eyes are still flaming.”

  “No prob.” There was a rapid series of pops this time.

  Zoe blinked repeatedly. “What did you put in my eyes?”

  “Colored contacts. They’ll hide the flames.”

  Becca made a face. “What’s with the cig?”

  There was a lit cigarette between Zoe’s index and middle finger. MJ turned to them. “I can’t do anything about her belching smoke when she’s upset. Hopefully, Gabe will think it’s coming from her Virginia Slims.”

  “Against the regulations, but it’ll have to do,” Becca said. “What about her…ah…the sulfur smell?”

  “Flowers or spice?” MJ asked Zoe.

  “Neither.”

  “Flowers it is.”

  Zoe coughed and wheezed in a breath at the heavy perfume scent.

  Becca nodded. “Let’s not forget Stefin, Anatol, and Taro. They’ll have to smell like cologne and wear contacts, the same as Zoe, to hide the flames in their eyes.”

  “Totally doable,” MJ said. “Are we agreed on the middle one?” She gestured to the room models.

  Everyone nodded.

  “Hold on,” Becca said before MJ made any more changes. “We need to tell the guys what we’re doing before it happens, and get the clients out of here so they don’t wonder what’s up. Zoe, handle your enforcers.” Becca spoke to Heather. “Cancel all appointments until eight or so. Give those affected a discount on their next time here.”

  They nodded. Becca gestured wildly. “Go.”

  Everyone hurried out of her office except for Constance. Overwhelmed with gratitude, she could barely speak. “Thanks.”

  “Aw, sweetie.” Becca hugged her. “I want you to be happy. I hope you find what you need with Gabe.”

  Constance forced down a swallow, praying she’d have at least a little time with him, afraid she wouldn’t.

  A half hour before Gabe’s stated
arrival, Becca herded the guys into her office. Anatol, Stefin, and Taro kept squinting and blinking as if they’d been caught in a sandstorm, but at least the contacts had subdued the flames in their eyes. Gabe wouldn’t notice them at all unless he knew what to look for.

  Daemon raised his hand just like a kid in school.

  “Yes?” Becca said.

  “Should I offer to show Gabe my feet to prove I’m no longer a satyr?”

  Constance held back a whimper. No way were they going to pull this off.

  Becca grabbed Constance’s hand and squeezed lightly. “Everything’s going to be all right.” She spoke to the guys. “Don’t offer Gabe any information. In fact, once he’s here, don’t talk at all.”

  Anatol frowned. “Even if he speaks to us? You want us to be rude?”

  “Pretend you’re busy with something,” Becca said. “If you are, he won’t bother any of you.”

  Stefin nodded. “We’ll mount Zoe in the break room with me doing her first. Our cries of delight will prove he shouldn’t disturb us.”

  Constance wasn’t certain whether to laugh or scream.

  Becca sighed. “No sex of any kind while he’s here and even after he’s gone, understand? This is a business, not a motel.”

  Daemon spoke sotto voce to the other guys. “Don’t show Gabe your cock either. Heather warned me about doing so in polite company.”

  The others exchanged glances.

  Heather suddenly called over the intercom. “Gabe’s coming up the steps.”

  Constance gasped. “Oh my God, we forgot about my office. Surely he’ll want to see it.”

  “MJ!” Becca hollered.

  The genie hurried inside. “What?”

  “You have to fix my office,” Constance said. “Make it normal.”

  “The wall outside the treatment rooms too,” Becca added. “Remove our slogan.”

  “Suppressing the beast?”

  Constance frowned. “What else?”

  “Hey, just asking,” MJ said. A split second later, there were two faint pops. “Done. Anything else?”

  “Maybe some music,” Constance said. “Normal office stuff.”

  Becca brightened. “And another recording to explain what the priest thought he’d heard.”

  Not a bad idea. “The regular music first though,” Constance said.

  “Sounds good.” Becca turned to MJ. “Do it.”

  “Your wish is my—”

  “He’s on the landing,” Heather cried.

  Chapter Eight

  Gabe reached for the door handle but didn’t lower it, uneasy about what might happen once he was inside. If he detected anything illegal, he’d have to investigate, which would totally fuck up his relationship with Constance.

  He wasn’t worried about her being actively involved in anything criminal—he knew her well enough already to know it wasn’t who she was. However, she did work with people who were most likely her friends. Messing with them would screw her livelihood and personal relationships. She’d have a hard time forgiving him for doing so, if she could manage at all.

  Shit. Why hadn’t Father gone to the correct office in the first place?

  If he had, you wouldn’t have met her.

  The thought of never having known Constance, or losing her, made Gabe’s belly ache. On a deep breath, he went inside.

  A cool rush of air-conditioning greeted him, along with the Carpenters’ “Close to You”. He tried to recall if schmaltzy music had been playing the last time he was here but couldn’t.

  As Karen warbled away, he turned to Heather.

  She wasn’t as blinding white as he remembered, her face and throat pink—no, wait. She was turning redder by the second and smiling so hard her mouth began to twitch. Must hurt like hell, given how her shoulders were tensed.

  Gabe stepped back, hoping she’d relax. “Hi. Heather, right?”

  She nodded vigorously, her ponytail bobbing like mad.

  “I’m Detective Legrand, remember?”

  Another nod.

  He hoped her reluctance to speak was simply because she was so shy, not guilty about something she’d done. Thankfully, she wasn’t hiding behind her chair as she had the first time he’d met—

  “Detective,” a light female voice suddenly said.

  He turned and blinked, stunned by the change in Becca. She looked great, totally normal, in fact.

  Uh-huh. Probably because Constance had warned her to make a good second impression, and everyone else to make nice with him from the get-go. “Ms. Salt.”

  “Becca, please.” Smiling, she offered her hand.

  Karen finished her song and it started right back up again.

  Becca called over her shoulder. “MJ, the sound system is still messed up. Please fix it.” She faced him. “If I have to listen to this one more time, I’ll scream.”

  He had to smile. “No kidding. Hardly my fave.”

  “We’ve Only Just Begun” came on.

  “Not much better,” Becca said, “but we like to keep things light and hopeful for our clients.” Before he could respond, she brought back her hand. “I must admit, I was surprised when Constance told me what your priest said. If he’d only asked us, we could have cleared up his concerns immediately.”

  Gabe looked up as loud hissing noises and howls floated down the hall. A quick glance at Heather told him she’d heard it too as her face had gone deathly pale. Becca, on the other hand, looked serene.

  He frowned. “Do you hear that?”

  The howling grew louder until the ear-piercing twang of an electric guitar drowned it out, followed by bass and thundering drums.

  Becca shouted above the noise, “MJ, none of Jason’s stuff. I told you to keep it light and hopeful.” She spoke loudly to Gabe. “Her boyfriend, Jason, is the lead singer in Death Grip, an alternative band he just started. MJ likes to play their stuff here, hoping to get them some exposure.” She rolled her eyes. “The hisses and howls make my teeth hurt. MJ!”

  The racket stopped. Gabe’s ears were still ringing as Barry Manilow’s “Weekend in New England” poured from the speakers.

  Becca sighed. “As I was saying, Detective—”

  “Gabe.”

  She nodded. “Gabe. I’m guessing your priest heard Jason’s latest. No wonder the poor man jumped to such a wild conclusion.”

  Sounded reasonable, and yet the cop in Gabe told him it was a bit too pat, the same as her sudden change of clothing and makeup. “He’s not my priest. He’s a friend of my parents. Mind if I look around, have a chat with your people? What you’re doing here fascinates me. I think it’s wonderful you’re helping so many guys who’re having trouble with women. I know a few who might be interested in your services.”

  She looked briefly wary before composing herself. “Not at all. We’re very proud of what we do. Let me show you around.”

  As they went down the hall, Gabe heard shuffling from numerous feet, as though several individuals were ducking back into their offices after having spied on him and Becca. Glancing from side to side, he wondered which door belonged to Constance.

  As if by magic, she suddenly appeared at the end of the hall, her off-the-shoulder rose-colored gown hugging her curves and complementing her beautiful complexion. Gabe came to an immediate halt, his knees sagging. God, she looked luscious enough to eat, right here and now, her expression telling him she felt the same about him.

  Tenderness, desire, and excitement sparkled in her eyes. She smiled.

  Gabe did too, feeling Becca watching them both.

  She cleared her throat gently and called to Constance. “I was just showing Gabe around. Would you care to join us?”

  “If you don’t mind,” Constance said to him.

  If she’d asked him to crawl naked over hot coals studded with broken glas
s, he would have complied with a happy smile. “Not at all.”

  He reached for her hand, then brought his own back, remembering he was here on business.

  Becca led them to the first room. After rapping gently on the door, she opened it. The décor was tasteful and subdued, the guy standing next to the desk tall, bronze, and blond. He was dressed in black and blinked repeatedly as one would if bothered by the bright overhead lights.

  “Sorry to disturb you,” Becca said. “This is Detective Legrand—Gabe. He was asking about our services.”

  The man approached. “Stefin here.” He clasped his hands in front of himself and lowered his head. “I came from a poor Russian village. Times were terrible—the poverty, the official corruption—you don’t want to know.” He sighed. “It’s a miracle I survived as long as I—”

  “Absolutely,” Becca interrupted, “which is why Stefin’s no longer there, but here instead.”

  Constance nodded. “We’re glad he is. He’s helping our clients as we helped him.”

  His cologne was so strong Gabe could barely breathe. “You’re his sponsors in this country?”

  Becca and Constance exchanged a glance. “Of course,” Becca said, natural as could be. “We like to help when we can.”

  “What do you do here?” Gabe asked him.

  Stefin puffed up. “I’m an enforcer. The best there is. You can tell Daemon so for me. He seems to think he’s far better.” Stefin brought up his arm and made a fist, his biceps bulging through the sleeve of his shirt. “All I can say is—ha.”

  Confused, and a bit uneasy, Gabe turned to Constance. “Enforcer?”

  “A lot gets lost in translation,” Becca said. “There are tons of rules and regulations in a business like this. Stefin helps to keep everything running smoothly.”

  “No one gets past me,” he said through his teeth. “I dare them to even try.”

  Constance leaned toward Gabe and whispered, “He likes to think he’s in charge. We humor him.”

  Her breath was warm against his ear, sending ribbons of pleasure down Gab’s throat, straight to his cock.

  “Thanks for the chat,” Becca said. Closing the door promptly, she looked a little wilted.