Hell Bent

by Devon Monk

  “Spiked my drink,” I said.

  Now we were standing outside.

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Naughty girl.”

  She sighed. We were moving again. Around the corner. “I am sorry about this. You could have just agreed. It would have been easier.”

  “You knew I wouldn’t. Otherwise why spike the shot?”

  “I wasn’t sure I could be convincing enough. One thing you need to know about me, Shamus Flynn? I never give up.”

  I would have told her the one thing she should know about me is I never do things the easy way, but the world was a blender of light and darkness. I didn’t know what she’d dropped in my drink, but it was not a drug or magic I was familiar with.

  That worried me.

  Could I use magic to get myself out of this? Sure, if I could concentrate long enough to trace the glyph of a spell.

  So: no.

  Could I just drain down her life?

  Strangely, and really, most frighteningly of all, I couldn’t even think straight enough to do that. That drink had pushed magic—even Death magic—way out of my reach.

  “Here we are,” she said. “You can just relax. Lie down. Let me take care of everything.”

  “I don’t even know your last name,” I mumbled. I thought she was easing me into the back of her car. I was pretty sure I heard a car door open.

  But I’d gotten that wrong too.

  She’d popped the trunk. And gave me a shove down into it.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” I laughed as the world spun and shook.

  “No. I am completely serious about this. Deadly, even.”

  She leaned above me, her lips slightly open as she adjusted something near my head. And all I could think of was I should kiss that woman.

  What can I say? I like a woman who can surprise me. She’d certainly done that.

  Too bad I couldn’t move.

  “You should be comfortable,” she was saying. “And don’t even think about using magic. It won’t work.”

  Too late. I was already thinking about it. But that was about all I was doing. Because the lumpiness I was lying on wasn’t the spare tire and crowbar. It was Void stones. As a matter of fact, the entire trunk was lined with them, completely canceling my ability to draw on magic.

  The woman knew how to plan ahead. I wondered if she’d lined the top of the trunk too.

  “I’d tell you to get some sleep,” she said. “But this is going to be a bumpy ride, so just try not to get a concussion.”

  As the trunk slammed shut, I noted that yes indeed. The inside of the lid was lined with Void stones too.

  Damn. I really should have kissed her.

  Chapter 8

  Here’s where I act the hero and do something smart, like call someone. Or do something brave, like kick out the trunk. Or come up with a sneaky plan, like find the biggest Void stone so I could brain the bitch.

  Instead I got nauseated and unconscious. In that order.

  I came to no longer in the trunk. I had no memory of walking or of her dragging me. But somehow she had managed to get me into a motel room and strap me down to a chair.

  This was so not how I had imagined spending the night with her. Well, not the first night, anyway.

  She was pacing. It was the thump, thump of her flat bootheels on the carpet that had brought me awake.

  Thump, thump, pause.

  “You are a very bad girl,” I said. It came out a little ragged. Whatever she’d poisoned me with had done some damage to my throat on the way down.

  “You do make me want to do bad things to you.” Her fingers drew across my shoulders and even though I was still clothed, I felt it like a lick of heat that made me shudder with need.

  No fair. Focus, Flynn. She doesn’t mean those kinds of bad things.

  “Aren’t you the sweetest?” I said. “How about you give a guy back some feeling in his hands?”

  She finally walked around from behind me.

  She was wearing a red satin bra and panties. And her combat boots.

  And nothing else.

  Well, a smile.

  Holy shit. Maybe she did mean those kinds of bad things.

  Please let her mean those bad things.

  She turned so I could get a good look at her ass too. Lordy. Someone spent time in the gym. Or chasing after her brother’s killer. I hear revenge is a great full-body workout.

  She turned back to me. With guns in her hands.

  “There’s some mixed signals,” I said.

  “This,” she said, “is to get your attention. How am I doing so far?” She bent at the waist so I got a good eyeful of her guns.

  She pressed her hands on her hips. Had a Glock in each hand.

  I wasn’t sure which guns I was supposed to be looking at.

  I gave her my best Flynn smile. “I like where this is going.”

  She straightened and I made an effort to pull my gaze up from her panties, her flat stomach, the birthmark just over her hipbone, the curve of breasts, and all the way up to those merciless blues. Got lost in the blues for a moment or two.

  “Good,” she said. “Because I’m just getting started. Are you fully awake, Shamus?”

  “How about you untie me so we can find out?”

  She shook her head, walked across the room to a crappy table there, with an even crappier chair. Wood. Scuffed legs, no padding. Probably matched the one I was sitting on.

  She lifted it, walked toward me.

  “I’m going to try this one more time,” she said. “Talking you into seeing things my way.”

  She turned the chair so that the back of it was toward me.

  “I asked nice last time. This time I’m not going to ask so very nicely.” She spread her legs and straddled the chair.

  Mercy.

  Everything went white noise for a moment or two while I did what I could to put out the fire in my groin.

  Don’t think of her mouth. Don’t think of her breasts. Don’t think of her thighs.

  “...heard stories about the great Shamus Flynn,” she was saying.

  “All true,” I interrupted. I had no idea what she was talking about.

  “Good,” she said. “Because I heard you killed Jingo Jingo, one of the strongest Death magic users around at the fight in St. Johns. And you single-handedly devoured six professional magic users—drained them down so there weren’t even bodies to bury. Then you took on two dead Soul Complements who tried to end the world. You came out of all of that still standing and were made into the head of the magic users in Portland.”

  Okay, now she was getting specific. These were things that were only known to the Authority. Maybe she’d dug through some top secret files the FBI or CIA had set up after the apocalypse to try to make sense of the whole ancient organization of secret magic users that had been operating under their noses since before they had noses.

  But what she most certainly had not done was get access to this information in any easy or legal manner.

  “Who do you work for again?” I asked.

  “Now, now,” she said. “That wouldn’t be any fun. First you tell me a little something I want to know. Then I’ll tell you something you want.”

  Her hand slipped up her thigh, stopping just short of her hip. She licked her bottom lip and smiled.

  She was so playing me.

  I loved it.

  However, the rope she’d tied me up with was weighted down with Void stones. While that would make it harder for me to use magic, I could still get out of the ropes if I wanted to. But I didn’t want to—yet.

  “Who killed your brother?” I asked.

  She raised one eyebrow and leaned forward into the back of the chair. Jesus, I wanted to be that chair.

  “Tell me if you’re as deadly as they say you are, Shame. Prove to me all those rumors are true. Better yet . . . show me.”

  Really? That’s what she wanted to know about me? If I could kill people?

  Fine. />
  I relaxed my hold against the darkness inside me. Let my hunger stretch out and breathe. Brought the monster front and center.

  I tipped my head just a bit. Caught her gaze. And held it until her smile dropped away. Held it until she shifted her grip on the Glocks. Held it until she instinctively turned the guns on me, stood up, and stepped back.

  “What I am,” I said, “is much, much worse than anything anyone has ever told you, love.”

  In the next several heartbeats I learned that Dessa knew fear. And I learned how she handled it: heartbeat elevated, hands steady on the guns. Taking the time to make a decision.

  Who wouldn’t shoot the monster if they had it tied up in front of them?

  I braced for the bullet I knew was coming my way.

  Instead she pushed the chair to one side. Knelt in front of me, then pressed up between my legs, her guns on the floor.

  Oh. God.

  “I think you’re lying.” And then she kissed me. Kissed me with all her body.

  Every inch of me flared at that touch, burning hot and hard.

  I let her kiss me, her mouth soft and hungry. And then I kissed her back, coaxing her mouth open, until she relented and let me taste her fully.

  Slow. Deep. I savored the taste of her mouth—alcohol, and the sweet of oranges. Felt the low groan in her throat. She exhaled and her body melted into mine.

  My hands were still tied. Her hands slid up my chest to the edge of my jaw. Her fingers drew across the stubble of my beard and then back, to knot behind my head and tug at my hair. She dragged my face closer, her fist in my hair.

  My turn to groan.

  We kissed, hot, wet. I couldn’t think. Didn’t want to.

  Yes. God, yes.

  The hunger inside me was not Death. Had nothing to do with magic. I wanted to taste every inch of her. Wanted to kiss her until she shuddered in my arms.

  I tugged on the ropes. The chair creaked.

  Dessa suddenly pulled back and rocked up onto her feet, eyes wide, lips plump and wet, her lipstick smudged.

  Lord.

  Her fingers flew to her neck, then her arms, brushing over them as if assuring herself she was still whole.

  I wasn’t the only one wondering if I’d survived that contact. I wasn’t the only one breathing a little harder.

  Her pale skin was scorched red across her chest and cheeks, hot with arousal. If my hands were free, she wouldn’t be standing alone right now. She’d be in my arms, in that bed.

  “You could have killed me just then,” she said with a catch in her breath.

  It took me a minute to reply. Finally, “You’re the one with the gun.” It came out slow, low, and I watched her pupils dilate in response.

  “But you could have killed me,” she said softly. “Drunk down my life.”

  There was no reason to deny it. “Yes.”

  She licked her bottom lip, and I blinked slowly, unable to look away.

  “I need you, Shamus. You are the man I’ve been looking for.”

  There was something about the way she said it that made me think she wasn’t talking about sex.

  “How about you untie me, then?”

  She drew her fingers through her hair, pulling the stray locks of it away from her face. Her heartbeat was still elevated. She swallowed and took a few more steps away from me as if space would cool the heat between us. “First,” she said, “I want you to name your price.”

  “For?”

  “Helping me find my brother’s killer. I can’t . . . do anything else with my life until that happens, Shame.” She studied my lips with a soft longing as she said it, then stared into my eyes. Her cool blues darkened with need. “Just help me find him, and if I can convince you that he deserves to die, help me kill him.”

  “And then?”

  “You can name your price. Tell me what you want.”

  “I don’t kill people for sex.”

  Yet.

  She shook her head. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just . . . I didn’t realize what you are . . .” She licked her lips and stared at my mouth again, then my eyes. “How very good you are. You tell me what you want in exchange, and I’ll do it.”

  Jesus, I was going to explode.

  Eleanor drifted into my line of sight. I had completely forgotten about her. She floated up behind Dessa and put her hand on her shoulder.

  “Don’t,” I warned her.

  Dessa frowned, and a roll of goose pimples pricked across her skin. Eleanor’s touch was grave-cold.

  “Don’t?” Dessa asked.

  Before I could answer her, Eleanor was floating between us. Ghosts can occupy the same space as people, so even though you couldn’t have fit a first grader between Dessa and me, Eleanor hovered there just fine.

  Eleanor lowered her hand toward my crotch and raised one eyebrow.

  “No. No,” I said. “Do not touch me.”

  Dessa took another step away, obviously reassessing my level of crazy.

  Eleanor did not pull away. She cupped my junk like a doctor. Then wiggled her fingers around a bit more just to make sure she had covered all the ground.

  Her ice-cold touch ended all my happy-sex thoughts, and not in the good way.

  Bitch.

  “You weren’t complaining just a minute ago,” Dessa said.

  “It’s . . . Jesus.” I scowled at Eleanor. Took a deep breath and tried again.

  “It’s not you. Listen, love. I’m all for the sex-as-bribery thing. A fan of it, really. But if we’re going to trust each other enough to actually do anything about this killer of yours—not that I’m agreeing to help, let’s just assume I’m entertaining the idea—you have to untie me and tell me the details of what I might—might—be agreeing to.”

  She hesitated. I didn’t blame her. But what she wasn’t seeing was that my head was finally, for the first time since before the bar, completely clear.

  Maybe it was from the ghost clutching my junk. More likely whatever she’d slipped in my drink had worn off.

  I could break out of these ropes and suck all the binding bits out of the wooden chair and free myself, Void stones or no Void stones. But it was my turn to see if she really wanted to negotiate. Really wanted to trust me.

  “Set me free and we can bribe each other like adults,” I said with a smile.

  Her eyes flashed, then settled into a deep smolder.

  She walked slowly around me. “Do you think I don’t know how dangerous you are?” She paused at my back. I wondered if she was reaching for her guns. Wondered if I’d have a bullet in my head.

  “Do you think I’m going to trust you enough to just let you go?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Yes, I do.”

  She was silent for a second or two. Then she bent down and her voice was warm against my ear, sending a fever across my skin. “You’re very good, Shamus.”

  A hard, sharp jerk at my wrists. The rope cut free and fell away. I pulled my hands apart and rolled my shoulders.

  “What about my feet?” I asked, hoping for another chance at her, on her knees in front of me, and me, with my hands free this time.

  “You can handle that, can’t you?” She dragged her fingers up the back of my neck then tugged on my hair.

  I arched my head back, eyes closed, neck bare. Wanting her touch. She let go.

  Damn.

  I bent and took some time untying the ropes around my ankles, fingers thick and numb.

  Then I stood.

  I’m not going to lie. I was sore and bruised. I didn’t know how long I’d been crammed in that trunk, nor if she’d gone through the trouble to beat me with a tire iron before tying me up. Or I could just be hurting from whatever it was she’d dosed my drink with.

  Still, it wasn’t the worst date I’d ever had.

  “So, what exactly did you poison me with?” I turned.

  She was shrugging into her shirt—a button-down that was not buttoned.

  She looked over her shoulder, and her li
ps curved at one corner. “Just a little something I have and you want.”

  “Mmm,” I said, not paying a lot of attention to her answer.

  She must have picked up on that. She bent and, holding my gaze, took her time pulling her jeans up her long, smooth legs and over her hips before she tugged on the zipper.

  I swallowed to get my tongue working again. “So we’re going to bargain and blackmail over every last detail? Is that any way to build a relationship?”

  “Look at it from my perspective,” she said. “Having the upper hand with you is the only way you and I can have a relationship. Plus, it’s a lot more interesting that way, don’t you think?”

  I could lie. I didn’t.

  “Yes,” I said, rubbing at my wrists and the ache there. “Much more interesting. I don’t suppose you’d like to kiss on it to seal the deal?”

  She started buttoning her shirt. “We have a deal?”

  “We do if you tell me who killed your brother. And before you refuse, listen to me, love. There are certain people in this world I will not kill. Will not. No matter what manner of horror they have committed.”

  That seemed to speak to her. She nodded.

  “I don’t know his name,” she said. “But he was a member of the Authority. Dangerous then. More dangerous now. I have information that says he might be in the Portland area.”

  “Why? Do you know what he’s doing here?”

  “No. My guess is he’s planning to kill more people.”

  “Or he’s visiting his dear old gram for all you know. So far, I’m not seeing a lot to go on. Do you know why he killed your brother?”

  “My brother was . . . mixed up with the Authority. I didn’t know it then. He never . . . said anything to me.”

  “There’s only one way to keep a secret organization secret,” I said.

  “I didn’t want to believe it. Didn’t even find out about it until I pulled his files. He worked for the group in Seattle.”

  “Do you know what style of magic he used?”

  It used to be a big hush-hush that there were more styles of using magic than Life, which doctors tended to use, or Faith, that teachers liked to use. We’d pretty safely kept Death and Blood magic out of the public notice, although there were just enough Blood spells leaked to the public to keep the druggies and thrill seekers happy.