Down & Dirty: Supernatural CLeaning Services (Book 7)

Things are about to get messy...

I’m Paige Harper, and while I’ve lost some things over the years—my parents, some business, a couple pair of panties—I think I might have finally found a man to settle down with...except he’s a werewolf.

Nico and I have barely had time to declare our feelings, much less get any time alone, when we discover there might be an answer to the big question of what happened during the Great Ghosting—a mass disappearance which claimed my family. In fact—we might even be able to reverse it. But that means going into the heart of O.H.I.O, a super-secret, anti-supe organization that has terrorized me and my friends before. I’ve got some info that could bring them down, and they’ve extended an olive branch...but there just might be a blade behind it.

When things turn sinister, it looks like one of us might end up dead before Nico and I get to seal the deal—in bed. My man will defend me to the end, but that means accessing his darker side, and the violence that’s led him astray before. When push comes to shove, will Nico become the cruel monster he was before I knew him? And, am I willing to give up everything – including my life, and a possible future with Nico - in order to get my parents back?

One things for sure—nobody is coming out of this clean.

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Excerpt:

Chapter One

Brent’s funeral is beyond awkward.

We’re in a church, one of those non denominational Christian types, with a stage and a band doing covers of music that would be better categorized as patriotic than religious. Brent never went to church a day in his life, not unless it was performative for his constituents. But with Brent’s parents long passed, Giselle must be the one putting on this show.

Beautiful, tall, smart Giselle. She tried to kill Brent once. She never did get around to divorcing him after that. Now she can play the grieving widow—and by the sound of the music—shore up her place in Humans First, the anti-supe political movement that has no idea Giselle’s sister is a witch.

I stand in the back, watching. How many of these people are O.H.I.O.?

The Organization for Human Improvement Options is a secret group with heavy ties to the Humans First movement. I’ve had my fair share of run-ins with Firsters, and they believe that humans are superior to supes. Full stop. They’re grubby and I’m ashamed that I once shared their values.

But O.H.I.O. is on a whole other level, operating underground in illegal and immoral ways. They killed Brent because he was a liability.

I scan the church. Everyone is dressed immaculately and showing just the right amount of grief—sad, but not too sloppy. A few women dab their eyes. I wonder how many of them he was banging. Although, I should be more charitable. Best I can tell, Brent never cheated on me while we were engaged. He just hopped into bed with Giselle about two seconds after it got called off.

“Paige…?” One of Brent’s Firster friends, Reggie, corners me.

I remember Reggie because Brent and I used to hang out with him and his wife quite a bit. I never really liked either of them. They made weird comments constantly about how much we must be having sex, because that was the best part of a new relationship. I’d try to politely laugh it off, but they were over-sharers too, who’d tell me exactly how many times they’d had sex in the last three years and how drunk they were each time it happened. It was uncomfortable to say the least.

“I’m surprised you’re here,” Reggie adds, leering down at me. He’s big, muscular, and one of the last people I wanted to see here. “Usually the mistress has the good grace not to attend the funeral.”

“I was never Brent’s mistress.” I narrow my gaze. “You know damn well I was his partner and we ended it with a clean break.” Brent would have liked to end it with a clean break to my neck, but that’s in the past. And just like Brent, the past is dead.

“Suuure.” He leans in closer, his hot stale breath nearly making me gag. “You come to gloat?”

“I loved Brent at one time,” I say.

“Love?” he scoffs. I honestly can’t tell if he’s skeptical of how much I truly cared about Brent, or if he thinks the whole notion of love is a lie.

“And I assume you were at least a little fond of him as well. Even if you did try to crawl into my tent during that camping trip. Are your lovely wife and children here?”

He holds up a hand to interrupt. “I’m not like that anymore. I stopped drinking.”

“Oh, so the alcohol made you a piece of shit? I always assumed you were just walking, talking excrement.” I breeze past him, feeling proud of myself for putting him in his place.

I’ve got my head held so high I walk smack dab into Giselle. Gi-fuckity-selle. I knew that I would see her here, but I’d been hoping to keep my distance. Whelp, so much for that.

As usual, she’s gorgeous, her shoulder-length hair coiffed to wavy perfection. I have a surge of joy when I remember that my roommate Shauna cut off all Giselle’s prized hair at one time and she had to sport a super short pixie cut. That joy is snuffed out when I remember how Giselle still looked like a supermodel, even with her beautiful hair gone.

And she looks elegant now. Her long slender form is clothed in a black dress that’s probably from a hoity toity designer. She wears emeralds to complement her red hair.

I tilt my head up, meeting her superior gaze in my twenty-dollar Target dress and manage to say, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Her nose wrinkles. Between clenched teeth she asks, “Why are you here? How did you find out about the will?”

“The will…? Brent’s will? Did he leave me something?” Whatever it is, I can’t imagine leading the rest of my life knowing that I’d benefited from his death. “I don’t want it. What I want is to talk to you about Langston Winters.”

She starts. “Lang?” Shaking her head she tries to get away, but I grab her hand and pull her close. I ignore her shock and simmering outrage.

A while back, Giselle and I had a brief moment of shared suffering in the parking lot of a super-shady supe establishment, when she realized that Brent was cheating on her. Apparently the camaraderie was destined to be a one-time thing, because she slides out of my grip with a look of disgust.

“Before he died Brent left me a message, telling me to find Langston Winters,” I press.

The name hits Giselle like a punch. Then her fingers close around my upper arm and she begins to drag me toward an alcove at the back of the church. “You simpleton!” she hisses. “You can’t just throw his name around.”

Her face is pinched and if it wasn’t so dark in this damn corner, I’d be willing to bet she’s lost all her color too. Giselle is scared.

“Who is he?” I ask.

“Someone you don’t want to mess with.”

I narrow my eyes, knowing that Giselle isn’t concerned for my safety. “What you really mean is someone you don’t want to mess with.”

“Yes, that’s right,” she snaps at me. “It’s called self-preservation. You wouldn’t know anything about it.”

“And it’s the only thing you do know,” I throw right back at her.

Almost snarling, Giselle leans in. “You have no idea of the pressure I’m under right now. I’m walking a very fine line between playing the grieving widow while also making it clear that I did not approve of Brent’s final actions.”

“People knew he was going to flip sides?” I ask. I had assumed he was smart enough to keep his mouth very tightly shut on that count. He had certainly been scared enough. Then again, I wouldn’t put it past him to take one last jab at his former compatriots before selling them out.

“They knew,” Giselle says darkly. “Which means I have to play stupid. I don’t think I have to tell you how badly that hurts my pride.”

No, she doesn’t. Falling back on the unsuspecting woman role probably burns like acid for her.

“Well you could always remind people of that time you tried to kill him,” I say with a faux smile like I’m being helpful. Six months ago Giselle wanted to make herself a widow by orchestrating Brent’s death when she found out he was cheating.

She lifts her chin and dares to look down her nose at me. “Every couple has their rough patches. But we worked it out.”

I shake my head, unable to believe her gall. “Well since you and Brent made up, I’m sure you want to honor his final wishes. And that was for you to help me find this Langston guy.”

She plasters a polite smile onto her face. “This is just more evidence that poor Brent really wasn’t thinking very straight at the end.” The smile turns, becoming vicious. “He knew that you're the last person I’d ever help.”

Of course Brent’s dying wish wouldn't be enough to get her to tell me. I’ll have to speak the language that rich people understand and talk to her wallet. “Help me find Langston Winters and I’ll waive my rights to...whatever it is Brent left me.”

“You’ll relinquish your claim on Brent’s bequeathment?” she asks, trying to hide her glee.

“Yes. I don’t want anything from Brent.”

My heart dips. I did love him once, it’s true. But that was a very long time ago and Brent was never the man that I thought he was. Taking money from his estate after his death would make me feel dirty. The type of dirty I’d never be able to clean off.

Giselle considers this and then nods. “He shouldn’t have included you in his will. Giving me what he left you is the right thing to do.”

“Whatever,” I say, refusing to agree with this sentiment, but sick of arguing. “So do we have a deal? My share of Brent’s estate in exchange for information?”

“Honestly, you are so tacky.” Giselle sneers as she straightens her dress. “If you had any class, you would know these things. Right now is the time for mourning. Later we can talk business.”

“You were the one who brought up the will,” I protest. But Giselle simply tosses her hair and turns her back on me to glide to the front of the church.

I find a seat in the back, far away from the coffin that holds however much of Brent they were able to scrape up off the pavement. I shiver, not wanting to let my mind wander to his last moments.

But my ex being blown into a million little pieces is something I can’t forget.