Heathens & Hand Grenades (Book 1 of the Heathens Duet)

Chapter 10 - Callie

A bunker. An honest to God bunker. The fluorescent lighting and the lack of windows tell me we're still underground. Two camel colored leather couches and a chair decorate the space just inside the door. It's a lot cleaner than I expected a place belonging to a bunch of twenty smoothing men, but it shouldn't have been a surprise. Nothing about these men was anything like the ones I was used to.

A can or two of soda litters the wooden coffee table, but that's to be expected. My apartment is likely in worse shape from this morning's rush. I know for a fact my bed is unmade and my bathroom counter is a mess of hairspray, brushes, and lotions.

Garth Brooks croons from further inside and the smell of tacos has my mouth watering. With everything going on, I guess it had slipped my mind that all I'd had all day was a cup of mediocre coffee and a granola bar from my purse. It could be poison, but my growling stomach tells me it would be worth the risk.

"Oh thank fuck, food," Cupid says, sliding around me. His hands tease my shoulders as he moves toward the kitchen, bouncing and humming along. Everyone loves Garth.

It's hard to tell the true size of the bunker, but it's way bigger than I would have imagined. It's surprisingly not cramped. White walls and a taller ceiling than the tunnels. Rave can stand up fully with a full foot between his head and the ceiling.

I am so out of my depth. I've been following Cupid's lead the whole time, but it feels like he forgot I was here. Unless there was someone here waiting for their return, God is our chef and with Cupid's departure, I'm left standing awkwardly with Pretty Boy and Rave.

Pretty Boy takes the only chair and watches the two of us like a king looking at his subjects, or perhaps more like a psychologist. Either way, I'm feeling under the microscope. This isn't just a hideout, it's their home. The music playing and the way that Cupid's shoulders relaxed and his whole body went from rigid to fluid as if he didn't have to project anymore.

Vintage or retro modern, it's clear the décor is less a design choice rather a failure to update. Small things have been brought down in the past few decades, but otherwise it's a time warp to the sixties and seventies. Very cool in a nuclear fallout shag pad kind of way.

Standing around in my muddy panty hose and hopelessly wrinkled uniform, I wait for something to tell me what to do. I don't want to sit down; I know I'll tuck my feet under me and then I'll have muddy feet and a muddy bottom and no change of clothes. My shirt came untucked a while ago and my slicked back pony is no longer slicked back, more hurriedly restrained. Mirrors would break at the image reflected and that's seven years of bad luck I can't afford.

God announces that the food is ready and Rave gets up with a nod to Pretty Boy. I'll just wait until they've grabbed theirs to feed the monster living in my stomach. Cupid flows behind him with his hands full. "Have no fear, I brought the beer!" Passing one to me, I startle. He just clinks my glass and gives me an easy smile before handing the rest out.

God comes laden with three plates topped with tacos and rice, dropping two down before setting the third down at a vacant spot in front of the couch. With Cupid following shortly behind them with two plates in hand, I realize the unspoken for plate is mine. That's nice of them. Despite the kidnapping, that's all they've been, if a little standoffish so I don't get why it constantly surprises me. Maybe he really did break me.

"Just sit down somewhere. We're not going to touch you and the door is locked," Rave barks.

My eyes tighten up and I wait for the blow. I should've known to sit down. They all did.

It's obvious Calista. Just like a Doll, can't do anything without me.

One, two, three. I chance a peek. No hand swinging my way, just Rave standing there staring at me like I've personally offended him for something.

"Fuck!"

The curse is punctuated by the sound of breaking glass and heavy footfalls that trail off further into the bunker. A minute later, a door slams not nearly as close as I would expect.

Another flinch. Not even here and I react.

Guess this is a much bigger bunker than I originally thought.

Pretty Boy has leaned further back in his chair watching me as if he can see through me. His smile, I can't tell if it's meant to put me at ease. The movements are all there, but it doesn't quite meet his eyes. A caricature of a relaxed smile. Turning my face away is almost a defense mechanism against a face like that, a male Helen of Troy with the powers of Medusa. "You're safe Bambi."

Sure I am. My pulse and I think differently.