Darkness Brutal (The Dark Cycle Book 1) by Rachel A. Marks Page B

comes into the house through the back door. He’s tall and broad, maybe eighteen, with dusty-blond hair, cut neat over his ears, and a serious tan. The skin on his nose is peeling—obviously a surfer.
    “We got the job,” he says, walking into the kitchen. “Time to get to work, boys.”
    “Yes! I knew it!” Lester shouts.
    “You didn’t know anything,” Jax says.
    “The peek stone showed the outcome looking positive,” Lester says, a smug grin on his face. “And it got us the freaking Benson job.” He folds his arms across his chest.
    Jax snorts. “You mean the fucked - up Benson job. You’re just lucky that ghost had a thing for peppermint schnapps or you wouldn’t have gotten her Depression-era ass outta that sticky skin of yours, and you’d have been one weird Italian-Indian lady—”
    The older blond boy spots me then. He hits Jax on the arm. “Shut it. We’ve got a spec hovering.”
    All eyes fall on me. Jax leans back in his chair, giving me a harder look than he did before. “He’s waiting to see Sid. Kara let him in. She thinks he’s a keeper, Connor.” He makes a crude gesture with his hands to the older boy. “Kara likes ’em fresh and dumb.”
    “Then why’d I shoot you down, Jax?” Kara asks, coming down the stairs. She doesn’t look at me, just walks by the living room and enters the kitchen. She asks the Connor guy, “Where’s Sid?”
    Lester grins. “This new job’s a shoo-in, Kara. The peek stone said—”
    “Shut up!” Connor snaps. “We wait till Sid is here, then have a vote for a go or not, like always.” He looks at Kara and adds, “Sid’s right behind me. He just stopped to do something in the shed.” Then he looks at me. “Ten more minutes, Kara, and if Sid isn’t inside, this spec needs to be gone.”
    Kara follows his gaze. “He’s harmless, Connor. Guy doesn’t know what the hell’s going on.”
    Very true.

    Sid reminds me a little of a young used car salesman. Not just because of his suit—though it’s really nice, well fitted, and stylish. He’s got a pin-striped vest on, a thin silk tie loose at the neck, and his shirtsleeves are rolled up to just below the elbow, revealing heavily tattooed forearms. He grips a black walking stick with long and delicate fingers, tapping it on the floor as he paces in a semicircle in front of me.
    He could definitely be a used car salesman, but I get the feeling I’m not a customer. I’m the car he’s trying to figure out how to sell.
    He looks like he’s in his early twenties, not much older than the blond kid, Connor. He’s medium height, with dark eyebrows and sun-kissed skin, bald as a billiard and clean shaven. His features are almost feminine, graceful. But there’s a sharp line to his hazel eyes. They cut into me, peeling back layers of my defenses until I wonder if he’s seeing me for real. Like through my skin. How I see people.
    It’s a bit terrifying to imagine how I might look from that angle.
    By his face, I’d say it doesn’t look good. That frown could strip paint.
    The other inhabitants of this madhouse clutter the opposite side of the room, facing the couch where I’m still sitting beside Finger. They watch Sid watch me like they’re not expecting much. This must not be the first time they’ve considered another recruit to this . . . whatever this is.
    It’s definitely not a church-charity group home thing, obviously. And I don’t get a drug house vibe or a sex thing—if I did, I’d be out the door faster than Finger’s fingers tap on that Xbox controller. If this ghost hunter thing is a front for something else, it’s a really good one.
    “Stand up, boy.” Sid waves his walking stick, pointing at a spot in the middle of the living room floor.
    I rise from the couch and move to where he motioned. “Listen, Mr., um, Sid. I just—”
    “No talking,” he grumbles, tapping my leg once with his stick.
    It’s just a small tap, but I jerk back and glare at him. I don’t like