Deals With The Devil's Spawn

Prologue

When you live in Satan's butthole, you learn a few tricks to keep yourself from going insane. Like where the best burgers and shakes in town are. Or how to get past the moron that works at the theater's concession stand, without a ticket. These little tricks, of course, are just small little ways for you to make the fact that you live in a butthole of a town a bit bearable.

The tricks that come in handy, that actually help you survive, are the ones you learn the hard way. Like never carry two hot coffees in one hand. Especially if you're the town's clumsy psychopath. If you volunteer in a hospital like I do, stay away from the trays of pee; they're Satan's little minions in the form of small cups.

But the most important one, the one you should repeat to yourself every day in front of the mirror before you leave for the day?

Stay away from any person with blue eyes and a sharp tongue.

If for some reason you find yourself ignoring the most important rule, and you somehow end up mixed up in a deal with the owner of the bluest eyes you've ever seen, I've got bad news for you.

You're totally fucked.

For me those eyes came with Brayden Cavanaugh, or better known as the meaner half of the hurricane twins.

Brayden Cavanaugh.

When thinking of Brayden, words that could perfectly describe him, seemed to elude me. The only words I could think of were, 'Damn, throw me against a wall,' and 'Holy shit, run, you idiot, run'. He was an enigma. A puzzle that for some reason I just couldn't solve.

The first time I actually spoke to Brayden, I made myself look like a moron with a monkey's brain. A fact that most people seemed to find horrifying and creepy. But with this half of the hurricane twins, not even spilling hot coffee down his pants, seemed to deter him.

I hadn't been expecting him. I sure wasn't expecting to spill hot coffee on his crotch area, giving him first degree burns. He'd surprised me when I was holding a cup of hot coffee. I like to think that it was his fault. It really wasnt, but it eased my conscience.

“Are you hiding from someone, or do you just like hanging out in the men's bathroom?” Those had been his faithful words. The ones that had caused his demise. So maybe that's a bit dramatic, but he'd been fucked the minute he snuck up on me.

I swung around in time with the squeak leaving my lips, the hot delicious coffee that I had really been enjoying, flinging out of my hand and landing directly on his crotch area, the content seeping out, and soaking his jeans.

I hadn't expected him. I really hadn't. The hospital had been mostly empty the entire day, and the bathroom I'd chosen to hide in was all the way in the back. Patients usually used the bathroom near the cafeteria or the ones in their own private room. The fact that I had mistakenly gone into the men's room instead of the ladies, was not the point.

“Holy shit, that is hot,” he gritted out, pulling his wet pants away from his skin, and rushing over to the bathroom sink.

“Oh my god, I didn't mean to do that, I am so sorry,” I rushed out, moving towards the paper towels and grabbing a handful. Walking back towards him, I tried patting him with them. “I am so sorry. You just surprised me,  and I'm really jumpy...and it's not like I'm blaming you for this. You're definitely not to blame for this. You're just some poor guy, really hot poor guy-not that I'm checking you out or anything, but if I were...Um, I'm really sorry, you probably just need to pee, and instead you got soaked with hot coffee, and sexually harassed. I'm sorry about your crotch. I mean your pants.”

“Don't worry about my crotch, sorry, I meant pants,” he smirked, staring down at me with gorgeous blue eyes. “Do you make a habit of cornering strangers in bathrooms, and patting them down?”

Pulling my hands away from his body, I felt my face flush with embarrassment. “Some people would say that I do. You shouldn't believe them.”

“I have a feeling that I should,” he replied, grinning, his eyes twinkling with mischief, and I let out a nervous laugh.

“You should listen to that feeling,” I told him, turning away from his blue eyes, and dumping the damp paper towels in the trash.

“You never answered my question, you know.” I heard him ask from behind me.

“That's because I forgot what it was that you asked,” I admitted, turning around and trying really hard not to let out another word vomit. I was probably starting to look like a swollen tomato, if that was even a thing. If it was, it was exactly what I resembled.

“I asked if you were hiding from someone,” he replied. “Or were you waiting for your next victim?”

“My what?” I asked, my heart stopping with dread for a minute. He grinned, looking down at his damp pants.

“Well, I guess you don't have to wait any longer then. I'm actually wondering how I'm going to explain this to people,” he stared at me with a grin. “I saw a pretty girl in the bathroom, and pissed myself? What do you think?”

I fought the urge to laugh, grinning instead. “Or you could tell the truth.”

“I could,” he replied. “But I don't think people at the hospital would take too kindly to one of their patients getting groped in the bathroom by one of their candy-stripers.”

I gasped. “I did not grope you.”

“You didn't? I definitely felt a grope. I'm pretty sure I'll find fingerprints on my ass when I get home,” he answered, a smirk on his face.

“My hands went nowhere near your ass,” I fought back, glaring. They really hadn't. They'd been to other places they probably shouldn have been, but nowhere near his ass. The nerve.

“Don't worry, I'll keep it between us. No one has to know of your groping hands,” he replied, laughing when I growled, making my glare deepen. “Try not to grope anyone else, and keep those hands to yourself, huh?See you around.”

And with that Brayden Cavanaugh walked out the bathroom, hand in hand with the last shred of dignity I had left.