“This one would be a profitable hunter. I’ve got two higher on the pay scale, so I’ll be expecting you to accept your laptop right along with your chicken.”
“You’ve done good for yourself, Uncle Henry. You work with several bounty hunters who bring you in that much?”
“It’s hard work, and no, I absolutely refuse to teach you how to do it. You would get into trouble, possibly take over, and use your powers for evil.”
“I don’t want to be some bounty hunter’s handler.” Being a handler would put a major damper on my work. And pay less. “Your job is safe. I think I’d rather deal with idiots on the phone.”
My uncle chuckled. “Had a rough call today?”
“It was not particularly enjoyable, but I endured, got through the call, and my boss praised me for handling the idiot with grace.”
“Well done.” My uncle hopped to his feet and caught me in a hug. “Come along, little kitten. I’ll give you your hard-earned presents, and then you can run off with your momma’s chicken and go on your vacation. But mark my words. Next year, we’re coming for your vacation, and we’re going to treat you properly. No matter what you think, you deserve it.”
As arguing would land me in hot water and delay my escape for hours, I surrendered. “I get five days off, and I have to preplan them, so I guess I’ll just tell you what my schedule is.”
“That’s a good girl. And think about the loan. I can afford it, and I don’t care if it takes you decades to pay me back. If you need the scars removed to be happy, then we’ll get your scars removed. It’s that simple.”
I’d let him think what he wanted. I understood my scars weren’t my fault, but I wished I could walk out my door without needing to cover my face to keep people from wincing—or yelping and running away.
Sometimes, I thought my virus hated most males because it recognized when my face repulsed potential partners and spared us both from the anguish of having a partner who couldn’t accept me as I was. Maybe that was why my virus enjoyed making Sebastian roar.
I pissed him off so much from walking into the room that he didn’t give a shit about what my face looked like.
Oh well.
Three
Using the kittens was rather ruthless and drastic, yes.
When my family decided to do something, they forgot their limits, cared little if they drove themselves straight into debt, and could teach demons lessons about excess. The laptop had cost my uncle thousands of dollars; I’d be able to play the latest and greatest games on it without issue. My brothers worked hard to ensure I could play the latest and greatest through forcing me to accept their gifts of said games, using the kittens to win my cooperation. When the kittens gave me boxes wrapped in pretty paper, using their devilishly cute pouts as their weapon of choice, ‘no’ abandoned my vocabulary.
I accepted the gifts along with a new purse my mother foisted on me to carry some of my ill-gotten gains.
Shaking down my family for lunch money scored me almost six thousand dollars, more than enough to go get a new piece of shit vehicle. Or pay for numerous scar-removal consultations.
My bastard family would have to pay for their reckless rampaging of their accounts to spoil me.
“This is too much,” I declared, holding up my purse filled with cash, gift cards, and a new makeup kit I’d put to good use as soon as I found somewhere to pull over without getting caught. It included glittery eyeshadow, and while it wouldn’t cover my scars well, I’d have pretty eyes.
I’d leave the state before making use of my better makeup kit to hide my scars.
“Deal with it,” Harvey ordered before kissing my cheek. “When you refuse our offers of help, we have to resort to drastic measures.”
“Using the kittens was rather ruthless and drastic, yes.”
“But effective. Be careful with the chicken. Mom’s brain is broken, and I’m pretty sure she used cinnamon to go with the cayenne, and she had the saffron out. I hope you survive. I hope we survive. The kittens are getting macaroni and cheese just in case Mom made poison instead of fried chicken.”
Fortunately for Harvey, our mother hadn’t heard him. “You better get one of our brothers to take over the cooking until the second trimester,” I muttered.