Free The Wicked City by Megan Morgan Page B

didn’t like sleeping in jeans. “Don’t worry. It’s like that everywhere.”
    “The news in this city, especially when it comes to the paranormal, is incredibly biased. One way or another. It’s either long on sanctimony and short on facts, or long on criticism and short on sympathy.” He thrust the remote at the TV. “All they do is argue.”
    “Those bastards.” She sat up fully.
    “Aaron Jenkins will be on this morning. He wants to talk about Rose’s death, too.”
    June shuffled through the layers of confusion and drama in her head to recall the name. Aaron Jenkins. Current leader of the SNC. “I don’t wanna miss that. So I’m gonna go piss and smoke.”
    Micha smiled.
    “What?” she asked.
    “Nothing.”
    “What?”
    Micha chuckled. “Your bed head is cute. You look frightening and charming at the same time.”
    She reached up and raked her fingers through her hair. Disgusting. Definitely shower day. If she wanted to punish Micha for being a tease, she had probably done it by marinating the bed in her funk all night. She threw the covers back and got up.
    “Did you see anything last night?” Micha asked. “After you came in here?”
    “Is there a puddle of piss in the bed?”
    She looked around for her smokes. They were in her jacket, by the balcony door. She made a quick attempt to tug her jeans out of her crotch.
    “Don’t make fun of me,” she said. “I hate it when my jeans crawl up where they’re not supposed to be.”
    “I’m not making fun of you.”
    “Not sleeping in them again. If I’m here tonight, I’m sleeping in my underwear like you, and you better still behave yourself.”
    “Jeans are uncomfortable to sleep in.”
    “And when I get a frontal wedgie, it sucks.” She hobbled around the bed and passed in front of the TV. “I have a clitoral piercing. It rubs. Uncomfortable as hell.”
    “A—” He widened his eyes.
    “Clitoral piercing. I have a ring through the hood of my clit. I’m gonna go smoke.” She left Micha lying on the bed, staring after her.
    She peed, smoked a cigarette on the balcony, and returned to the warmth of the bed.
    “Order me some coffee.” She snuggled under the blankets.
    Micha reached over and picked up the phone. “Breakfast? Some eggs?”
    “Allergic.” She sat up, fluffed her pillow, and lay back down.
    “Pancakes?”
    “If they’re gluten-free.”
    “Damn.”
    “See if they have any veggie bacon. Vegetarian stuff I can usually work with.”
    Micha curled his lip. “Veggie bacon? Are you allergic to meat as well?”
    “No, I’m just used to the vegetarian version of everything. I know, it’s deplorable. Isn’t that one of those big words you like?”
    Micha chuckled. “Good thing you’re not allergic to booze.”
    “Yes, a woman has to have her vices. I still give blowjobs in train stations, too.”
    Micha blinked at her.
    “I’m kidding. That only happened once. Gimme my breakfast.”
    Micha placed an order. Tea, coffee, eggs, and pancakes for himself, and of course, they had a large vegetarian selection being such a fancy joint, and they had veggie bacon. The interview with Aaron Jenkins came on right after Micha placed the order, and he turned up the TV.
    Aaron didn’t hold a press conference like Eric Greerson had, taking his interview in what looked like an office. A middle-aged man with thick sandy blond hair and a sturdy jaw, he had the air of a politician, sporting a burgundy tie and a neat black jacket. He struck her as oddly familiar, but she couldn’t place why. The young woman interviewing him had upswept brown hair and thick-framed glasses. At the bottom of the screen, they flashed her name: Amy Mahoning, Investigative Reporter. She started by asking Aaron what his feelings were on the latest tragedy in the paranormal community.
    “I think it’s horrifying.” His voice matched his suave appearance. “Though many think my organization would revel in the loss of such a key figure in the paranormal