by R Phoenix
“Meaning what?” he asked, still short, still annoyed. He wanted to have answers, knowledge. He hated being the last one to know something, but here, in this field, he always was.
“Imagine sitting down for a meal,” Emma said slowly. “You see some great food, you try to eat it, but… nothing. It’s bland, and no matter how much you try to eat, you’re still starving.”
“Okay,” he said, not sure how the dots connected just yet, and he frowned. “What’s— I mean, is that what’s happening? It he just hangry?” Bryce asked.
“I don’t know,” Emma replied.
“You don’t know?” he repeated. “So could be bad news, could just be a pretty slave bracelet?”
Emma shot him an irritated look. “I know what it does, Bryce. It’s not some pretty piece of jewelry. I just don’t know if he’s… hangry. I don’t know how something like that would affect an incubus.”
“Normally, he’s quite charming,” he answered. He would never have gotten drunk with him and slept with him otherwise.
The skepticism in her expression irritated him almost more than the entire situation. “Mm,” she said noncommittally. “Real charming.”
“If you’re right, and he’s being starved, you can’t blame him for his mood, right? I mean, take away my morning coffee, or your bagel at lunch, and we’ll be insufferable. Well, I usually am anyway, but you know what I mean,” he said with a sigh.
“And there’s still nothing we can do about it,” she said, glancing at him.
He still hadn’t started the car, and they were just sitting there in the parking lot. Half of him wanted to go back in and drag Kolt out of there, kicking and screaming if he had to.
“Don’t even get any ideas,” Emma added after they’d sat there for a moment.
“Like what? Buying him from Leandro with all the money I make as a civil servant?” he asked dryly, even though he knew damn well she wasn’t talking about anything legal. “Don’t worry, I left my vigilante cape in my other car.”
“Good. Make sure it stays there,” Emma retorted. “You’re in way over your head, Ackerman. Now come on. Let’s get out of here before someone decides to try a repeat of the last time you pissed someone off in there.”
“The last time I pissed someone off in there was a great success,” Bryce retorted. “We had a successful raid, and that fucker Gabriel Fisher got dragged down to one of Tobias’ white rooms. Nothing wrong with that. It was the time before that, when I got my face rearranged for— Kolt.” He was aware that he was telling her perhaps a little too much about his history with Kolt and Leandro, but he wanted her to know he wasn’t just dicking around for fun here. This was important to him.
“When you got your face rearranged for Kolt,” Emma repeated, looking at him hard. “Don’t tell me you have the hots for the incubus or something fucking stupid like that.”
He was starting the car now, mostly to avoid her scrutiny but also because he was beginning to hear himself. “No, I don’t. I’m not that easily— I mean. He’s an incubus. You know, it’s… They’re hard to resist, and it wasn’t like it was disappointing, but no, I don’t have the hots for him.” he decided after some deliberation with himself about it.
Emma leaned in and pressed one of the presets on the radio. “Sure could’ve fooled me,” she replied. “Look, it’s good that you want to help him, but whatever the fuck you did to piss him off, he’s not forgiving and forgetting. You need to let this one go, Bryce.”
“You said he’s in trouble,” he argued. “Don’t we have some obligation to serve and protect, or is the Organization exempt from that?”
Emma hit another button, putting it on a country station. How the fuck had that gotten into the preset channels? “He’s also a slave, Bryce,” she replied. “It’s not so much that we’re exempt. It’s that he’s… well, property.” She didn’t give him a chance to protest, going on, “Whether you like it or not, the law is the law.”
Except for when it wasn’t, because he had spent enough time bending the fucking law in the past.
“And Leandro will kill you for messing with his property,” Emma continued, which was a slightly bigger concern, if he was honest.
He could make the law cooperate, but usually when he did that, the problem went to prison for a long time. If he helped Kolt, Leandro would still be an issue.
“You always have to ruin everything,” he complained, putting the car in reverse and pulling out of the parking space.
“I know,” she said pitilessly. “Logic is always the buzzkill.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The premonitions were almost enough to make Gideon want to stay the hell away from Kolt. There was so little good in the incubus’ future, and he could make even less sense out of his visions than usual.
Kolt’s future was muddled, twisted, dark and ravenous, but differentiating between events was hard and exhausting. He’d stopped trying to get a clear picture. Maybe something just needed to give, and if he could get his hands on that contract — even if Kolt didn’t want to speak to him, maybe he could trick Leandro…
Which was a laughable notion.
He might not enjoy being around Kolt at the moment, but even if he didn’t want to accept it and would never appreciate it, the incubus needed help. The whole thing was making it hard to sleep.
He was at the bar, drinking down his third cup of espresso so he could at least be on the ball for work tonight when Darcy approached him.
“You okay?” she asked.
Gideon nodded. “Yeah, it’s nothing,” he said. “You take the door. I’ll—”
“Keep an eye on the room. Again,” Darcy said, and he wasn’t sure he liked her tone.
He didn’t argue, though. He didn’t say anything, just put the small cup back on the bar for Keith to take and refill again from the espresso machine.
He watched Kolt on the floor. He drew plenty of attention, but he didn’t stop for anyone, no matter how much they called or leered.
He looked like a caged animal showing atypical behavior in a fucking zoo. Leandro was on the other end of the casino floor, taking a cigar from one of his new friends. They would retire to one of the back rooms soon for whatever business it was. Gideon knew he should be more concerned about that and Leandro’s safety than Kolt, but his gut told him to stay with the incubus.
“Thanks,” he told Keith when the bartender gave him another espresso, but he left it there, on its saucer. He glanced at Leandro, who vanished as predicted.
Kolt clearly noticed it as quickly as he did because the incubus’ demeanor shifted. His shoulders lifted, and he turned for the door.
Gideon’s heart skipped a beat as he saw the intention of his action. Even though he didn’t try anymore, not where Kolt was concerned, he couldn’t help but see the flash of his future. This time, the outcome was as clear as fucking day. If Kolt left the casino, death would follow swift and hard.
Gideon would find a way out for him, but all his good intentions wouldn’t mean shit if he didn’t drag Kolt back from the specter of death that lingered over his head. The more he read him, the more Gideon was sure that there would be nothing but grim outcomes, all of them ending in death.
He jolted back into the present, his eyes snapping back to Kolt.
No. He couldn’t let that happen.
He’d stood by for long enough, convinced that whatever fucked-up relationship Leandro and Kolt had was something consensual, at the very least. But he couldn’t get the incubus’ words or the bitterness he’d seen in Kolt lately out of his head.
He had to intercept him. He had to keep the incubus here, no matter how unlikely it was that he’d succeed — no matter how little Kolt would appreciate it.
He never did, and Gideon wasn’t going to explain it in some inadequate attempt to justify what he’d done.
“Kolt,” Gideon called out, sharp and cutting through the chaos of the casino as he closed in on the incubus. “Come on. I think it’s time to go bac
k upstairs.”
“You don’t tell me what to do,” Kolt snapped at him, but he did stop — or at least, he turned to glare at him as he took several steps toward the exit.
Even if death might be swift, which wasn’t likely from how dark the foresight was, he couldn’t let it happen.
Ordering Kolt around was only going to make him more sullen, more recalcitrant. He lowered his voice as he took a few steps closer. “I’m not going to tell Leandro. Let me get you a drink,” he urged.
“Tell Leandro what?” Kolt dared him.
It should’ve been obvious, but maybe… The lines between reality and his visions began to blur with the close proximity, and he couldn’t figure out what Kolt was planning or thinking. “Let’s get that drink, then we’ll talk,” Gideon said.
His fingers twitched, and he wanted to radio to Darcy to shut the whole place down, to make it impossible for Kolt to leave. But those futures didn’t look good either.
“Please.”
Kolt’s hand went to his wrist, tugging hard at the bracelet Leandro had given him. Clearly it wasn’t going to break, though, and he seemed to be aware enough of that fact. “I don’t want a fucking drink.” He cast a glance in the direction of the exit. Kolt wasn’t being exactly subtle, even though Gideon knew the incubus was better than this.
Gideon wasn’t sure what to say to convince him. Maybe he should’ve just threatened to tell Leandro. Kolt at least still feared Leandro in a way he’d never actually feared Gideon — though he probably should have.
“Fine.” Kolt yielded after a long moment of tense silence between them. Without saying anything else, the incubus headed for the bar.
Gideon wanted to put his hand on the small of his back, to urge him on as well as to keep him close and from doing anything stupid.
The crop top Kolt was wearing showed an impressive stretch of skin, and it stopped him from going through with it. He followed close behind him instead.
“Bourbon,” Gideon told Keith as he leaned against the bar, gesturing at the top shelf. The warning bells didn’t stop going off in his mind. The danger wasn’t over, not by a long shot, and he couldn’t help but read the situation. There were just too many possible outcomes for him to see them all, let alone try to stop all of them.
He glanced back at Kolt. He still had the option of telling Leandro and letting the fae deal with it, but he had a feeling… No. It wouldn’t be a good idea. But he didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t make things worse.
“So talk,” Kolt said, gazing hard and steadfast at the drink Keith was pouring, as he sat down next to Gideon at the end of the bar.
Gideon had never been the talkative type, let alone the therapeutic type. Chances were that he was going to fuck this up so bad, but he had to at least try. His eyes flicked to the bracelet then returned to Kolt’s face.
He didn’t know how Leandro didn’t see it. The incubus was on the edge, and all it was going to take was a push.
“What can I do?” he finally asked, his voice pitched so only Kolt could hear him.
All it did was provoke a laugh that looked as ugly as it sounded, and he drew in a slow breath, already knowing the answer.
“I couldn’t let you go. It’s too risky,” he tried to explain, as well as he could without tipping his hand.
“Okay,” Kolt said, taking the drink from Keith and offering the bartender a smile that looked too radiant, given his mood and bearing.
That ‘okay’ was a little too off for him too. Gideon tilted his head slightly, and while Keith gave him a look, the bartender went back to work right away.
Gideon grabbed the espresso he’d abandoned before, downing that on top of the rest of the caffeine keeping him functioning. “It’s fucked up,” he mumbled. “What he’s doing.” He didn’t know if he dared say anything else.
“Okay,” Kolt said again, though this time was more frosty than neutral. His hand returned to tugging at the bracelet, even harder than before.
Gideon realized he wasn’t helping the possible futures look much brighter. Why couldn’t he have been good at shit like this? Have some words of wisdom to share? “When did you feed last?” He was already dreading the answer. There was no telling how much damage an incubus could do before someone managed to stop him.
“Why? Are you scared I’ll fuck you to death if this thing comes undone?” Kolt asked, looking pointedly at his wrist.
“Maybe I just don’t want to see you like this,” Gideon retorted. He wished Kolt would think about all the times he’d stepped in for him.
Then again, he was Leandro’s muscle.
“So take it off,” Kolt dared.
Gideon’s heart sank. “I don’t know how,” he admitted. No. No, the alarm bells were getting louder. He had to fix this… somehow. “But I can find out.”
Kolt shot him a look that wasn’t in any way normal or healthy. “You’re good at one thing, Gideon,” he said, his voice eerily quiet now. “If you break the thumb, it’ll slip right off.” He flexed his hand, tugging the chain down to illustrate his point.
The sight of that thumb snapping flashed before his eyes, so insistent that he couldn’t have ignored it if he wanted to. “You want me to break your thumb so you can slide it off,” he repeated. He couldn’t have heard that right, but Kolt just looked at him expectantly.
He’d heard it correctly. He just wasn’t sure what to do about it.
If Kolt didn’t feed, there would be a disaster. Leandro was trying to starve him. And what would happen if he broke that thumb and took it off? What if it made the outcome worse?
The worst part was that he was considering it. For a second, he considered it, then he let out an almost nervous-sounding bark of laughter. “You’re kidding, right?”
Kolt sculled the drink he’d been holding but said nothing for a long moment. It was perhaps the most tense moment he’d ever experienced in the Lucky Blight. “Sure,” Kolt said, the word almost as emotionless as his ‘okays’ had been. He got up, abandoning his seat at the bar.
Gideon straightened and followed him with his eyes as Kolt moved around the bar, reaching for the bottle of bourbon that Keith had poured from.
“Hey, come on, Kolt,” Keith snapped, stalking over like an angry cat. “You can’t be behind the bar while we’re open. You know the rules,” he said, snatching the bottle of bourbon from the incubus’ hands. “Go sit down, and I’ll pour you some.” Keith instructed.
Gideon saw it a split second too late, too preoccupied with watching Kolt to see what was about to happen.
Kolt let go of the bottle, but he immediately made a grab for the impressive-looking ice pick in the small bucket of tools on the bar. He brandished it like a fucking weapon, jabbing at Keith. He didn’t hit him, not really. It was just a graze across the forearm, but Keith dropped the bottle of bourbon regardless. It fell, shattering into pieces as it hit the floor and instantly drawing the attention of everyone at the bar.
“Stop telling me what the fuck to do!” Kolt snarled in the shocked silence that followed. “I can’t do fucking anything without someone telling me!” he added, his voice pitched to a tone and volume Gideon had never heard.
“Kolt, calm—” Gideon started but changed his mind. “Will you calm down, please?”
He only earned himself a withering glare.
“No!” Gideon snapped, but all he could do was watch when Kolt deliberately placed his hand on the edge of the bar and smashed the hard back of the ice pick down.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Kolt was burning hot; he was wired. He didn’t even feel the pain when the joint snapped in the wrong direction. All he felt was the way that bracelet slipped over his hand and down his fingers until it clattered onto the bar.
Immediately it felt different, like he could breathe again. He let out a sigh of relief. He could sense everyone.
He was vaguely aware of Gideon standing there on the other side of the bar, staring at him, Keith cursing before exclaiming his disgu
st with a noise — and someone at the bar who felt the same as the bartender.
His gaze shot up, spotting Nero, who was far from repulsed. Trust the fae to be drawn to something like this — to chaos, pain, and horror. Kolt wet his lips while dropping his injured hand to his side, breathing deep.
“Kolt, stop,” Gideon hissed at him, but he didn’t reach out to physically stop him.
Keith veered aside, and Kolt realized he was still holding the fucking ice pick like a weapon.
“Don’t,” Kolt warned Gideon as he slipped out from behind the bar, heading backwards toward the door. He could sense the attention of everyone around them, and it was intoxicating. He needed this, and who the fuck would deny him now?
He smirked as he bumped into someone — someone who felt repressed and pathetic — and the smirk quickly devolved into an ugly chuckle, followed by a hollow laugh. He dropped the ice pick when he’d put enough distance between himself and Gideon, and he took off, making a mad dash for the exit. He wove through the people, half-aware that Gideon could have the front doors closed before he could get to them if he didn’t hurry.
But Darcy was at the door, and even though she saw him coming, she didn’t stop him either. He shoved through the doors, out into the cold air of the night where he could think clearly again — away from the casino, away from Leandro’s magic, and the illusions and glamours of that fucking gilded prison.
He was out in the parking lot when a car’s headlights came at him, stopping a mere inch from hitting him in the legs. The driver slammed on the horn as well as the brakes, and Kolt looked over the lights to see the man behind the wheel. His own heart rate jumped up when he heard the thundering heartbeat of the human in the car. Without thinking twice about it, he went to the passenger side of the car and got in.
“What are you—” the man asked.
Kolt didn’t give him a chance to finish, putting a hand on his leg and squeezing lightly. “Just drive, and I’ll make it worth your while,” he promised, his voice sounding vaguely alien, raw but hot and smooth as fucking silk.
