by Austin, RB
Halfway to the door a quiet sniffle stopped him. Another weight added to his chest, making it difficult to inhale. He frowned, hesitated, turned.
“Hey.”
Emma whirled. “Lucas. You startled me.”
He rubbed his twitching eyebrow. Yeah, I know. “Sorry about that.”
Emma used her free hand to rub her face. When finished, gray paint smudged her right cheek. Despite her state, Lucas saw why Cade fell. Large brown eyes, angelic face, sleek body. “I’m looking for Cade.” He made a pretense of glancing around the room.
“He’s not here.” She sniffed.
“You okay?”
She nodded as tears filled her eyes. “Sorry. Don’t pay any attention to me.”
He walked closer, gaze on her recent painting. “What are you working on?” He eyed the canvas, slowly tilted his head.
Emma sniffed again, setting her paintbrush on the easel’s ledge.
“Is it a flower?”
She nodded.
It certainly wasn’t a replica from Martha Stewart’s line. The green stalk sat in front of a semi-blurred hill filled with brightly colored flowers and sunshine. The main flower wasn’t colorful or in the sun. Its brownish-yellow petals drooped and wilted.
“It’s dying.” Her voice was flat.
The weight suddenly disappeared from Lucas’s chest, leaving him empty. He gazed at Emma’s profile. She was staring at the flower, the tears gone, her expression blank. “Do you want to talk?” he asked quietly.
She nodded, stopped in mid bob, shrugged, frowned. “It’s not a good idea. Cade might—” Another pause. Her eyes narrowed. Fists clenched. The roar in Lucas’s ears was almost overkill. He didn’t need it to know she was angry. “Yes, I’d love to talk. I have no one else, except for Gabe, but Cade doesn’t—” She broke off again, shaking her head. “Thank you.”
Lucas motioned to the black leather couch separating Emma’s art studio from Cade’s office. She walked a few steps, paused. “Maybe I shouldn’t sit. I don’t want to get any paint on the couch.”
“I wouldn’t worry. Martha complains she doesn’t get to clean enough in your wing. Apparently you make the bed and bring your clothes to the laundry room.”
A small smile lifted the corner of her mouth. It didn’t stay long. She sat on the edge of the seat. “It’s rude not to. She has so many other responsibilities. I don’t want her to have to pick up after me and Cade, too.”
“She likes her job. We wouldn’t give her duties she didn’t enjoy.”
“I know.” Emma grew quiet.
Anxiety and sorrow vied for the top spot in Lucas. He breathed slowly, trying not to let it affect him.
“I’m sorry,” she said just before tears fell down her cheeks.
Lucas put his arm around her shoulders. “Some emotions can’t be stifled. It’s—” He recognized the thump on his spine seconds before Cade’s voice, full of bridled anger, filled the room.
“What’s going on here?” Cade’s blue glowing gaze was locked onto their half embrace.
Emma raised her head. The Sept leader glared at Lucas, while holding his hand out for his bahshrett. She stood immediately and went to him. Her love for Cade was ten times brighter than the despair she’d shed moments before. Cade’s gaze moved to Emma when she neared.
“You’re crying. Why are you crying?” He cupped her face, thumbs wiping away the wetness. Cade’s head jerked up. His fangs flashed as a low rumble echoed through the room. “Lucas, what did you do? Why have you upset her?”
“He was helping me,” Emma spoke before Lucas could open his mouth. She laid her hand on the side of Cade’s face, overtop the scars near his left eye. “I was upset before he came in.”
Lucas felt his own surprising appreciation for Emma’s defense right before Cade’s anger rolled through him, taking control. Slowly coming to his feet, he willed his eyes to remain lightless, his fangs to stay embedded in his gums.
The light dimmed from Cade’s gaze. His shoulders fell and he closed his eyes, resting his forehead against his bahshrett’s. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten so angry.”
“It’s okay. I understand. And I’ll tell George I can’t do the second showing.”
“No, you’ve worked so hard. We’ll think—”
Lucas eased from the room. His anger had evaporated with Cade’s, although the reverence and love coursing through him now was more unbearable.
Chapter 11
“Hey, honey, how about that sweet ass of yours takes a little rest on Johnny’s knee?”
Hey, Johnny, how about I cut off your balls and shove them in your nostrils? Kate forced a smile before facing the fat asshole. She leaned over, making sure to give pervy Johnny a good shot of her cleavage. “You know Bev gets pissed if I take a break. Are you trying to get me fired?” The sugary-sweet coo spewing from her mouth made her want to puke.
While Johnny’s gaze was on her tits, she turned for the bar, managing to sidestep his grab for her, but not fast enough to avoid the hard slap his buddy walloped on her ass. The table filled with raucous laughter.
“Fuckheads,” she muttered.
“How ya doing?” Bev asked from behind the bar. The owner stirred a Long Island Ice Tea with one hand and poured gin into a tumbler with the other.
Kate’s smile wasn’t forced this time. “Just fine, Bev. Tonight’s busy. It’s good.” The pay at Opulent was crap, but the tips, as long as she was willing to tolerate the Johnnies, were great. Which was good, because she still hadn’t found a second job, but if things kept up she might earn enough for a ticket to Chicago in two weeks. Three tops.
The bar resided in a semi-upscale location, which was why the clientele equated sexual harassment to foreplay. Most of the Suits worked for Philly’s major corporations and brought in big money for the city. No one was going to say anything about a little grab and slap. Least of all her. Especially if they kept tipping large bills.
Bev filled her order and Kate headed back onto the floor.
At three a.m. Kate set the last chair on top of the table. It’d been a long night. Fat pockets allowed her to smile through the exhaustion. Plus she managed to evade Johnny’s lap. Though it was more than possible a red handprint had been imprinted on her left ass cheek.
The Suits left two Benjamins on the table, so she’d grin and bear it, while rubbing cream on her butt.
How much would Johnny tip if she actually sat on his knee? She shuddered as unwanted memories from her latest nightmare rose. A heavy body pushing her down. Shirt ripping. Skin on skin contact.
“I think we’re done for the night.”
Kate whirled, hands raised.
Bev’s eyes widened.
“Sorry. You scared me.”
Her boss cocked her head. “You okay?”
“Been a long night.”
“Sure has.” She held out an envelope. “Here’s your pay for the week, hon.”
“Thanks.” Kate didn’t mind working for Bev. The lady was hardnosed and didn’t put up with any crap from her workers. Kate approved. Only idiots gave second chances. If she ever said the Suits’ hands were uncomfortable Bev would move her to different section.
“I already sent Tom and the other girls home. You get going, too. There’s nothing left to do.”
“Sure. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Kate walked out the front door. Once outside she crossed the dark street and slid into the shadows.
Fifteen minutes later, Bev stepped out. She locked the door behind her before slipping into a black sports car.
Kate waited another ten minutes, walked across the street, unlocked the front door, pushed it shut with her foot then turned off the alarm from the hidden panel on the wall. She’d watched Bev type the alarm code in one time.
&n
bsp; The bar’s safety lights were on and Kate made her way behind the counter. She squatted in front of the bottles of daiquiri mix and reached for her stashed bag.
She’d thought about staying at a shelter. They were good for a shower, a place to sleep, and a decent meal. They also required a name and asked too many questions. It was best to avoid them unless necessary. She’d seen an extra set of keys on Bev’s desk tonight and swiped them. She’d make a copy in the morning and replace them tomorrow during her shift.
Her stomach growled as she made her way to the women’s restroom. Inside she dug out her toothbrush and toothpaste. She learned a couple years back not to poach food from restaurants. They kept track of that stuff like mad.
Bev allowed the staff one free meal per shift. The double hamburger Kate put away earlier would have to hold until tomorrow. Back in the main area, she curled up on a booth seat, head resting on her pack, feet sticking out the end and closed her eyes. Maybe she’d splurge in the morning and get a five-dollar Grand Slam breakfast while she asked about a waitressing job.
Chapter 12
Lucas hit the gym for three hours. Swam laps for another two. Now, he was in his room, pacing. It was the middle of the day. He hadn’t slept. A tray of untouched food rested on the table next to his bed. Maybe eating would help him relax. Not feel like he was about to crawl out of his skin.
He stepped toward the tray. His mouth watered. Not in a dog-salivating way, but in the he was going to puke all over his shoes way.
Dammit. He grabbed a windbreaker and his keys, ripped open his door, and stormed down the hall. The HQ was silent and he saw no one on the way. It took five minutes to reach the end of the driveway despite pressing his SUV to the limits.
Emotions coursed through him. Nothing concrete to latch on to and eliminate. It was all balled into one. His whole body trembled.
When other vehicles came into view, Lucas forced himself to slow down. Why had he touched Emma?
It hadn’t even occurred to him at the time. She was a Follower. He was more susceptible to her emotions than anyone else’s. He should’ve known better. But he’d always been more lax at the HQ. Less guarded.
Couldn’t. Happen. Again.
He was in the downtown area now. Briefly considered racing through, crossing into Warrenton. Not stopping until he felt like himself again. A harsh laugh escaped. What did normal even feel like?
Would this be happening if he’d touched that Fallen?
Doubtful. Probably wouldn’t have even paused to comfort Emma. Not like he did that any way. Her emotions had lifted as soon as Cade walked through the door. Lucas had just been a living Kleenex.
He tore into the first free parking spot and slammed the car into park. Head on the steering wheel, he inhaled. Exhaled.
Deep breaths weren’t helping so he powered the stereo. The Three Tenors blared through the speakers. He closed his eyes, leaned back, and concentrated on the words of Pavarotti’s “Pourquoi Me Reveiller”.
As always, the orchestra was a balm for his soul. The opera singer, a speaker for the emotions trapped inside him.
By the end of the song he was mostly under control. He unclenched his hands. Opened the door. Paused.
It wasn’t the best idea to walk around a city filled with Followers, but he was afraid staying in the enclosed space would bring it all back as soon as he pressed on the gas. Besides, going back to the HQ was a no go, not until Emma’s emotions were completely dormant.
He stepped onto the sidewalk and zipped his windbreaker, ignoring the curious stares. Workout shorts weren’t an appropriate article of clothing for the middle of winter in Oregon. Too late now.
Head lowered, he walked away from the coffee shops and boutiques. When the population lessened, his gait slowed. The buildings that normally looked dark and suspected of housing evil appeared completely different with the Creator’s light shining. Black had turned to grays, reds, and browns. It almost made him feel—
He stopped, cocked his head. Was that a—
Yes, there it was.
A scream.
Instinct kicked in and he pinpointed the location in a matter of seconds. Five blocks away. He resisted the urge to increase his eyesight. It was easier to explain his Behn mask in the dead of the night than with the sun lighting his face like he was on the walkway of Project Runway.
Gabe’s choice of program, not his.
The scream and struggling noises led him to a deserted street. The buildings were tall and blocked most of the sun, forming shadows. He stopped. Closed his eyes.
Two pounding hearts.
Ice flowed through his veins. One in fear.
The other, excited.
He flicked his gaze from one brick building to another, stopping at the one with a rental sign in the window. It sat between a bondsman and a tattoo parlor. The tat place was closed. The bondsmen had a broken open sign that just flashed pen.
The middle building’s door was unlocked. Hand on the knob, Lucas stopped. Listened. Whoever was in the building wasn’t right behind the door. Inside he paused in an empty reception room. One small hallway to the left behind the counter.
Lucas reached for the gun at his hip and the knife at his back, patting only skin. A soft growl rumbled in his chest. No weapons. Hopefully the Follower didn’t have a gun. He wasn’t in the mood to dig bullets out of his body.
Another scream, this one muffled. Lucas jumped over the receptionist’s counter and flew down the hallway. He checked the first two rooms. Empty.
He moved faster than any Follower could trace, raced across the entrance to the third, glanced inside, pivoted, tore into the room, grabbed the male off of the nheqeba and threw him.
The zakaar slammed into the wall, head cracking before he slid to the floor, not moving, pants around his ankles. Lucas crouched next to the female. She lay on the unclean floor, eyes glazed. Tears, blood, and dirt ran down her cheeks. Lucas straightened her dress. Her panties had been ripped off.
Anger roared dully in his ears. Lucas met the nheqeba’s gaze. She stared at him. Eyes widening. In fear.
Shit. When had his fangs descended? Lucas couldn’t beat them back, not with the fierce wave of hatred storming through him. He entered her mind, set her at ease, and erased his image. Gently untying the ropes around her wrists, he helped her to the door.
Before releasing control, he implanted a memory. She managed to get away from her rapist but needed medical assistance. The police department was closest, but he gave her directions to the hospital.
No need for officers coming to investigate so soon. He wanted a bit of time with the zakaar first. Her fear, as he released her mind, was a dash of ice that didn’t completely fade when he stormed back to the room.
Lucky day, the male had begun to stir.
“Wakey, wakey.” Lucas rapped the side of the zakaar’s head with his knuckles.
The Follower groaned.
Lucas paused. Followers fell under the Creator’s protection.
Why would the Creator choose to protect this monster? The male was no better than a Fallen. Preying on the weak. Abusing his strength and power.
“Wha-what’s going on?”
Lucas’s eyes glowed, giving off its blue Behn light, and he didn’t bother to hide his fangs. “You like to abuse females?”
The zakaar blinked. Blinked again, like he was having trouble focusing. He opened his mouth and inhaled, no doubt to pussy scream. Lucas clapped a hand over the male’s mouth.
“You don’t get to scream. You don’t get to ask for help.”
The zakaar struggled to escape. He repeatedly banged into the wall. Did he hope each time would give him a different result? A rush of fear swam through Lucas again. Stronger than this zakaar could emote.
Lucas whipped around, expecting
the nheqeba’s return or perhaps another Follower had ventured inside. The room was empty. Still holding the zakaar down, he used his senses to search the building. No other heart beats, no other scents. He turned back to the zakaar. They were still alone.
Lucas grinned, knowing the sight of his fangs and glowing eyes would look Walking Dead freaky to the POS.
Another flash of ice zipped through Lucas. Colder than the Artic. He spied his hand against the zakaar’s mouth and froze. His ungloved hand. He stood. Instantly his veins beginning to thaw.
After what happened with Emma, he should’ve known better. Did he want another overload?
The zakaar watched him, fear still evident in his wide eyes and stiff posture. Lucas glanced at his hand then the zakaar.
He wasn’t a Fallen, but he was as evil as any one of them.
Hand.
Zakaar.
His thoughts raced. Indecision, rage, wonder, and hope mixed with the male’s fear, worry, violence, and evil. The zakaar struggled to stand. One hand pulled up his pants.
Could he? Would it work? If it did, he’d no longer have to push the male’s emotions away. A thousand gnats against one overripe banana.
Hand.
Zakaar.
The male’s fear increased. Lucas didn’t want ice. He wanted equator heat rushing through him from his own rage. The waterfall roar in his ears. Wanted to get lost in it and show this asshole what it felt like to be the victim. Give him what he deserved.
Hand.
Zakaar.
If Lucas was consumed with the male’s emotions a part of him would hold back. The zakaar’s fear would stay his fist when all he wanted to do was punch him in the diaphragm.
