Demon Kissed - Katie May Page 0,27
of the rent-a-cops takes the little girl by the hand, saying, “Let’s stand outside and see if we can find your mom, okay, sweetheart?”
As soon as the girl is outside, one of the security guys turns to us and exclaims, “Gonna need your ID. And if you give me any lip, I’ll just say you resisted.”
“Sure.” Akor leans forward, flicks his fingers, and an ID appears in his hand out of thin air.
The guard chuckles. “We got a Houdini on our hands.”
I see Akor bristle, and I worry he’s about to repeat the episode with the shop girl, making this burly security guard drop to the ground and flail around. Because, yeah, I believe he did that. I reach out and brush my hand over his. “Hey,” I whisper softly, drawing his gaze to me.
The blaze of fury in his eyes softens when he sees my face. His expression… Gah! If only William looked at me that way!
I bite my lip softly.
“Yes, beautiful?” he asks, his voice taking on a husky tone.
“Thank you for the adventure,” I tell him.
His resulting grin is as warm as sunshine.
“But I think I need to stop now. I don’t want to do anything that might get me taken away from Adam,” I tell him, trying to be gentle but get my point across.
Akor huffs out a long-suffering, overdramatic sigh. “Fine. Fine. I’ll play nice.”
I reach into my skirt and pull out my phone, which has my ID rubber-banded to it. I hand the ID over to the grumpy security officer, then sit back in my seat, awaiting my fate. But Akor can’t sit patiently. It’s not in him.
As soon as the guards are occupied, he starts a game of footsie with me, which progresses until we’re all out giggling and kicking one another from our seats.
When my parents walk in, I’m mid-kick. They both sweep in, wearing their dark-colored power suits, carrying briefcases like this is some meeting. They haven’t had to come in to pick me up for anything since the time I got tonsillitis in seventh grade. I’ve never even gotten detention. So the look on their faces, and the mere fact that they are both here, is immensely and nauseatingly uncomfortable.
Part of me smiles inside to see their confused expressions. The immature, teenage asshole part, I’m sure, but still. They have no frickin’ idea how many times I’ve had to walk into uncomfortable situations because of them. Hello, switching Adam’s daycare because the old place sucked but they couldn’t be bothered?
I bite down on my grin and try to stay quiet as my dad speaks to the security guards.
“The store wants to press charges—”
Akor leans forward in his seat, raising a hand like we’re in class. “Excuse me, but we didn’t actually steal anything.”
That makes conversation halt.
My parents both turn to stare at Akor. They eye him up and down, and my mother’s wine-colored, perfectly applied lipstick arches into a frown. It’s very clear she does not approve.
Something inside of me rebels at that. Who the hell is she to judge him? He was there for me when I was upset…which is more than they could ever say about themselves.
Akor slides his hand onto my knee and gently rubs a circle on it with his thumb. It’s actually really fucking sweet, until he says, “Aren’t you going to defend your daughter from these assholes?”
That really riles my parents up.
My mom marches over and grabs my arm, yanking me to my feet and then tugging me away from Akor. “Our daughter pleads the fifth. You can send any charges and evidence here,” she shoves a business card at the security guard. “But know that I’m going to request all footage of this mall for the past two years, and if I find any single thing to impugn your characters, I’ll get it splashed all over the nightly news so you can never work again.”
Damn. I’m slightly impressed by how growly and badass she looks at this moment.
Akor leaps up on his chair and claps.
Mom does not appreciate that. Her hand clamps down on my arm, and she shoves me toward the door. My father follows, silent but pulsing with fury.
I turn to glance back at Akor, but Dad growls, “Face forward, young lady.”
“I can’t even believe this,” Mom mutters as she drags me to the nearest exit, which turns out to be really far from where they’ve parked. But they’d rather have me out in the parking lot, where they can berate