Page 179 of Problematic

My stomach rolled. I stopped near a closed tattoo shop, one hand braced against the brick. The wall was cold and damp under my palm. My other hand went to my neck again, because, apparently, I wanted to torture myself recreationally.

The mark had texture now. Raised lines under my skin, delicate and vicious. I traced one curve and gasped when the bond flared. I felt him. Pain. Restraint. Want. A silence so heavy it pressed behind my teeth. He was pacing the tower. I yanked my hand away.

“Nope.” My voice broke. “No. You do not get to play the sad tragic broken heart card. “

The worst part about all of this? I believed him.

By the time the coffee shop came into view, dawn had smeared pale light across the windows. NEW ABADDON CITY COFFEE buzzed green above the door, a little crooked. The sight should have comforted me. Work was simple. Coffee was simple. People wanted caffeine, I gave it to them, they complained about it, I fantasized about quitting and marrying a financially stable demon.

Normal.

My hand shook so hard I missed the keyhole twice. “Get it together,” I muttered. The third try worked. The door opened with its familiar bell chime.

The smell of beans and sugar wrapped around me, and I hated that my body loosened. Hated that this place still felt like mine even though I had walked in wearing another man’s shirt under my jacket, with his mark burning on my throat.

I locked the door behind me, then stood in the dark shop. The pastry case hummed. The espresso machine sat silent, smug little beast. I sat my bag down behind the counter and pressed both hands flat to the cool surface. My fingers spread wide. My nails were bitten short. There was dried blood under one of them, and I didn’t know if it was mine or his or whoever had been unlucky enough to require his attention personally.

The bell over the door chimed.

I jerked upright, wiping my mouth with my sleeve. “We’re closed.”

Sam stood in the doorway with her coat half buttoned, curls wild, face bare. Behind her, Mandi held two boba drinks and a paper bag against her chest. Sam’s eyes went to my face first then straight to my neck. “Oh, honey,” she said.

That was all she got out before I broke. I covered my face with both hands, and her arms wrapped around me. Mandi locked the door behind her. “Okay,” she said, voice too calm. “Nobody gets coffee until we figure out who I’m killing.”

Sam rubbed my back. “Breathe, Liv.”

“I hate him,” I choked.

“I know.”

“I love his face.”

Mandi sucked air through her teeth. “Okay, so are we pausing the murder part, or . . . ?”

A sob burst into a laugh, and it hurt so much I pressed my forehead into Sam’s shoulder.

“He knew,” I said. “He knew the whole time.”

Sam’s hand paused against my back. Mandi went silent. She eased me toward a chair. “Sit.”

“I have to open.”

“You are not opening.”

“I need to work.”

“You aren’t even scheduled today,” Sam said, gentle and pointed at the same time.

I blinked at her. Right, it was my day off. My brain had skipped that detail, which felt fair since my brain had spent the last several hours screaming behind a locked door. Mandi set the bag on the table and pulled out a breakfast sandwich wrapped in foil.

“I don’t want food.”

“You are a newly activated succubus with a mystery mate mark on your throat.” She pushed the sandwich closer. “Take a bite before I start making airplane noises.”

Sam’s eyes kept flicking to my neck then away as if she wanted to respect my privacy while also cataloging evidence for future reference.

I touched the mark.