by J. A. Huss
I almost can’t tuck down the laugh.
“I d-d-don’t trust you,” she stammers, fixated on my bare chest.
“What’s not to trust, gun girl? I’m sure you’d like to get out of your wet clothes too. Hey, I got an idea. How about I take you upstairs and give you some dry ones. We can have coffee, warm up a bit, and by then the rain will have stopped and we can go see about your trailer.”
The whole time I’m talking, my feet are inching away from her, making her drop her guard. And that’s when I make my second move.
I drop to a crouch and start crawling along the side of the car. Not the direction she thinks. Because she thinks I’m gonna take the shortest distance. But she’s wrong.
“What the fuck are you doing?” She’s unsettled. Maybe even frightened. I can’t say I blame her. But a guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do to protect his man cave. “Oh my God,” she whispers. “Where the—”
And that’s when I get around to the front of the car again. I’m watching the shadow of her feet as she moves, unsure of which way to go. But she fucks up just like I knew she would. A moment later she takes a chance and loses when she rounds the car and comes right to me.
I spring forward, grab her by the legs, take her down to the floor, sit on her stomach, and pin her hands above her head. The nausea hits me again, only this time it’s so strong, I might actually throw up.
She writhes underneath me, still gripping the gun, but her finger’s not on the trigger. So before she can even think about shooting me, I drag that arm down, place my full weight on her wrist with my knee, and then grab the gun from her hand.
“Now stop,” I growl, as the saliva pools in my mouth. I might heave and my head is aching even worse than before. I need her to give in right now so I can stop this fight. “It’s over. You’re gonna cooperate, I’m gonna get you out of here, and we’re gonna forget this day ever happened.”
“Get off me,” she says, kicking her legs up, trying to unseat me. My head spins. Hold it together, man. Hold it together.
I lie down across her chest, almost smothering her with my weight. “Stop,” I say, leaning down to whisper in her ear. She shakes her head like it tickles, but I touch my lips to her soft skin and breathe, “I don’t want to hurt you, but you’re gonna have bruises if you keep struggling.”
“Let me go.”
“I will, but not until you’re still.”
She tries to take a deep breath to calm herself, but I’m too heavy so she can’t get enough air. I ease up a little and she draws in air through her teeth. My head clears and the sick feeling starts to subside.
Yeah, she’s still pissed and yeah, that sure the fuck was something I haven’t felt in fifteen years. I’m gonna have to get out the big guns for this one and put a stop to this before it goes too far. So I lean back down and kiss her.
She twists her head back and forth a few times, but I don’t give up. My lips lock with hers and then I’m probing with my tongue, trying to get her to submit.
“Stop,” she says with a little desperation.
But it’s a chance to kiss her deeper. I slip my tongue into her mouth and she goes still. A moment later her lips soften and she’s kissing me back. I let go of her wrist and ease my knee up off her arm to see if she’s gonna fight. But her hands go right to my hard muscled shoulders and she digs her nails in.
Fuck. That feels good. Good enough to make me close my eyes and almost make me change my mind about getting rid of her. I pull away and now we both need to catch our breath. “That’s more like it.” She turns her head away from me, unwilling to accept the fact she kissed me back. “Do you want to come upstairs?” I ask. “Get some coffee? Dry off and calm down?”
She’s very fucking cute. Little dimples in her cheeks, even when the frown is there. Her hair has a bit of wave to it and drapes over her shoulders. Something between blonde and brown. Her eyes are hazel. Swirls of brown and green and blue.
“I don’t know,” she says, interrupting my moment. “I really just…” Her body relaxes more as she gives in to me. “I really need to go.”
And fuck if I don’t like that little bit of giving in. Because what the hell… I can feel myself getting hard.
Well, I’m sure as fuck not giving her that power over me. So I get up and extend my gloved hand to her for the third time today.
She takes it, squeaking out a little, “Thank you.” She stands there, looking at the ground, like she can’t believe this is where we’re at.
No one is more surprised than me. “Just let me get my keys, OK, gun girl? And then we’ll go talk about this like grown-ups.” I walk over to one of my big red toolboxes, open the top drawer, fish around a little and come up with what I need.
I walk back over to her. She’s still in the same place, but now her arms are wrapped around herself, like she’s freezing. She probably is. She’s soaking wet and covered in mud.
“Cold?” I ask, smiling down at her so she gets a little lost in my eyes. She nods and I pull her close to my bare chest, knocking her off her guard even further. I lean into her ear and whisper, “Sorry, gun girl. But I have no choice.” She tries to turn her head to look at me, but I’ve already bitten the cap off a hypodermic needle.
I stick it right into the fleshy part of her shoulder.
First Kiss
First Kiss
Chapter Five - Lincoln
The static hum of a police scanner fills my car as I ease my way through the dark, wet streets of Cathedral City. Sheila is commenting endlessly on the scanner though the computer in the dash, but I’m only half listening. Case is waiting for me and I’m late. I had to turn my phone off last night to stop worrying about his incessant calling, but everyone has to face the music eventually and my time is now.
The darkness of the city streets mimics my mood, but that’s not unusual. My mood has been dark for many years now. Too many to count. And looking back, was there ever a time when things looked bright?
If so, I’ve blocked it out.
What else can you do? I mean, why bother wishing for something you can’t have? Why bother with hope that will fail you over and over again, when you can count on revenge and retribution to deliver every single time?
It fills the holes. Maybe those holes aren’t overflowing with satisfaction yet, but that’s OK. Being filled up with indifference is better than being empty.
I pass one of the cathedral ruins that stand guard at the entrance to the Merchant District and look up for a moment. There was a time back in school when I was obsessed with them. I studied each of the thirteen cathedrals like a historian looking for the meaning of life. This one is barely standing. Three walls are gone, the stones hauled away centuries ago after the old city fell during a long-forgotten war, the treasures inside pillaged, the stained glass broken. There’s not one scrap of glass left. Not one shard, not one sliver of color remains.
And we’re back to the darkness.
Cathedral City has its fair share of darkness. Every metropolis has problems. But the recent downturn in the economy has taken a toll on the lower classes. Unemployment is at an all-time high. The crime is so bad on this side of town, most goes unreported. Education is failing. The kids drop out at an alarming rate. The streets, especially here on the south side, are packed with the homeless, the drug dealers, the criminals, and the morally bankrupt.
Public services are inadequate, politicians are corrupt, and the police are in the pockets of the tech industry that floods this town with wealth. Blue Corp is a giant among giants. They own almost everything. All the public utilities, even the mobile phone service. My jaw clenches just thinking of the insane power they wield. Law means nothing when you have fuck-you money. And Blue Corp definitely has fuck-you money.
People have no respect for good and evil anymore.
Easy, Lincoln. Just get this meeting over with and then you can get on with the night business. Just the thought calms me, and I take in a long draw of air as I slide up next
to M-Street Bar and cut the engine. There are no drug dealers eking out a living on M Street. Even they know enough to find a safer place to squat.
This is my little piece of the pie. This is my one place to feel safe when I’m here. One square block.
I get out of the car and the rain immediately starts pelting me, so I flip up the hood on the jacket I wear under my leather and jog over to the entrance where the unmarked door swings open before I even have to knock.
“Good evening, Mr. Wade.”
“Hey, man,” I say back as amicably as I can. I don’t need to be nice to him. It’s his job to be nice to me. But I am anyway. Maybe we’re not friends—I don’t have many of those—but I’m on good terms with Mac’s guys and I make a point to be amicable when I can muster it up.
I spy Case over at the bar talking to Mac, the bartender and owner of M-Street. Case looks over his shoulder when the cold, damp wind from outside makes its way over to him and gives me a disapproving shake of his head.
I ease into the barstool next to him. “Whiskey,” I tell Mac. He nods, and then disappears to give us privacy as he pours my drink.
“Where the fuck have you been?” Case seethes through his teeth. “I called you all last night after that monumental fuckup and Sheila said you were out.”
“I was out,” I say, catching the glass of whiskey Mac slides down the bar. I take a gulp and let the dark liquid burn my throat. “And now I’m here, so what do you want?”
Case stares at me, his blue eyes squinting down into slits as he looks me straight on. I might scare a lot of people in this town, but Case Reider is not one of them. We go back way too far. We’ve done too much, seen too much, and owe each other our lives many times over.
He’s wearing a suit tonight, and his fancy trenchcoat is draped over the back of his stool. His shoes are high-end leather. Unlike the biker boots I wear. And I know he’s got a knife strapped to his calf under those expensive trousers. It’s one more thing that sets us apart because I don’t bother with knives.
I prefer weapons that shoot shit. Anything. Bullets, cartridges, grappling hooks, grenades, rockets, and spears. If you can blast it out of a barrel and use it to climb, kill, escape, maim, or poison, I’ve got a way to shoot it. Ballistics weapons are my best friends. I live, eat, breathe, and dream of ways to use them.
I don’t use them. Not yet. Don’t have to. My methods right now are discreet and untraceable. The guns are being saved for something special.
And of course, I have Sheila to make sure my aim is true. Because every gun I make is coded with her AI program for accuracy. Just like the car. Just like the bike—before I crashed it, anyway. I need to fix that thing because the new prototype isn’t ready yet.
“You’re gonna fuck this all up, I just know it,” Case says, taking a sip of his own drink. He prefers a nicely aged Scotch, while I like domestic whiskey. The mountains flanking Cathedral City on all sides are home to some of the oldest distilleries in the country and I like to take advantage of that. “And that’s why—”
His words are cut off by another blast of cold air from the door. I reach for my gun under my coat, and I’m pointing it at the shadowed figure in the doorway before the wind dies.
But I lower it just as quickly and snarl, “What the fuck is he doing here?”
Thomas Brooks’ gaze wanders down to my black leather gloves before he stuffs his own pair into the pocket of his dark gray trenchcoat. He walks towards me as Case stands.
“I was invited,” Brooks says simply, sliding his coat over the back of the barstool on the other side of me. “Because you don’t seem to be very dependable these days. You’re going off the rails, brother. And Case thinks you need a little intervention.” He sends me a snarled grin. “Isn’t that right, Case?”
I turn to Case and he’s already shaking his head, knowing I’m about to protest. “Don’t bother, Linc. He’s right. I told him everything. You can’t go off-script like this. You can’t just start killing whoever you want and call it justice. We’re not on board with the way you’re handling things.” He pauses to stare me down. “You need to remember what the hell we’re doing here, man. That’s all this is.”
“That’s fucking classic coming from the two of you.”
“Martini,” Brooks says to Mac, who, when I look over at him, is looking like he might bolt out the back door any second. “And relax, Mac, it’s me. He’s not doing anything stupid tonight because we all know who’s in charge when I’m in the room.”
“You prick—”
“Lincoln,” Case says, grabbing my shoulder and turning me around to face him. “Shut the fuck up and listen. Because he’s back and when he’s back, he’s the boss. There’s nothing you can do to stop that aside from killing him, and we all know you won’t do that.”
“We have history,” Thomas says, talking more to Mac than me. “And if you want a fight, Lincoln, I’ll give you one. But don’t expect me to pull any punches for old times’ sake.” He shoots me a semblance of a smile before turning his head to hide it. “Besides, we’re on the same side. We’ve always been on the same side, Lincoln. You just require regular convincing.”
My anger peaks, and maybe I can’t kill him. But that doesn’t mean I don’t get to have my say. “And why do you think I require regular convincing? Where the fuck have you been for the past fifteen years? Huh? You just pack up and leave, no big deal. Case and I were the ones to put shit back together. You’re nothing but a corporate sellout. A pig in a sty filled with filth just like all the others.” I sneer it at him, seething with anger. “You know what Case and I call you behind your back?”
“Come on, Lincoln—”
“No, fuck you, Case. You get all paranoid because I go missing for a few hours—”
“A whole fucking day, you asshole. A night and a day, actually. Where the hell did you go? And what’s the deal with the girl?”
“It’s been taken care of.”
“I hope you did it right,” Thomas says, taking his martini from Mac, who makes another quick escape down to the other end of the bar. “Because you’re fucking up a lot of plans right now.” He glares at me from the corner of his eye. “And we never gave you authority to start killing people.”
“We? What is this we shit? You’re so sure we’re on the same team, Thomas?” I laugh, it’s so absurd. “Maybe we were way back, but you haven’t been one of us for a very long time, brother. Way too long to just start talking about bygones. So why don’t you put your fancy black gloves back on, take your coat off that stool, walk back the way you came, and go fuck yourself.”
“Shit,” Case says with a grunted laugh. “You’re an idiot, Lincoln.” Case grabs my gun hand and points it at Thomas. “Shoot him, then. If he’s not one of us, then shoot the fucker and prove it.”
I can’t shoot him. The three of us know this. And it’s not that I’ve got some sentimental affection for the old days. Some long-ago sense of loyalty. No. I simply cannot shoot him.
My hand trembles and I’m not even aiming, Case is. My whole body starts to sweat and my hands heat up. Perspiration collects on my forehead in drops and then it’s rolling down my face. The shakes start and I’m ready to double over from the nausea. Another second and I’ll collapse to the floor.
I wrench my gun hand away from Case, lower it to the ground, and the symptoms of inhibition poisoning ease back. But it takes many more seconds to recover than it does to be affected.
“I guess I am one of you,” Thomas says with a satisfied smile as he takes another sip of his martini. “Now be a good boy, Lincoln, and do your job like we planned it. Stop this madness before you get us all killed.” He gulps the rest of his drink, places his glass on the bar, and then reaches for his wallet, throwing down a twenty. “I’ll see you both Friday night at my new headquarters for the SkyEye party. And feel free to bring your date, Lincoln. I’d love to see her.”
“It’s sick what you did over there,” I say.
“So you saw
it?” Thomas asks, one eyebrow raised. “I think it’s quite spectacular.”
“Yeah, if you want to be reminded of death.”
“You’re so dramatic, Lincoln. Grow a pair, will you? This is the big leagues and I’m not going to let you mess this shit up over petty vengeance.”
“Says the kettle to the pot.”
“My plans are a lifetime in the making. A legacy. I’m only taking what’s owed to me. And don’t you ever forget that I’m the one who saved you, Lincoln. I could’ve walked out and never looked back.”
“I thought that’s what you did,” I growl.
Thomas looks over at Case. “You better get him on a leash,” he says, turning his back to us and walking out. “Or I’ll step in and do it myself.”
There’s a lingering silence as the door whooshes shut after Thomas makes his exit and when I finally look over at Case, he’s got lots of questions. “What?” I ask.
“What did you do to the girl?”
“I took care of it.” And I did. But damn if she hasn’t been on my mind ever since. Everything about her has been on my mind since the minutes we wanted to fight out on the road. And she had a badge in her purse issued from the CCPD.
Detective Molly Masters.
Why didn’t I know she was the new detective?
“What if she…” Case stops, maybe choosing his words carefully. “What if she becomes a problem?”
“I told you,” I growl, giving him a look from the corner of my eye. “It’s taken care of. She won’t be a problem.”
I leave Case at the bar, all his questions unanswered. If I wasn’t offered answers about why Thomas is here, then why should Case get answers about me?
“You better go home tonight, Linc. I’m fucking serious.”
I shoot him the finger over my shoulder as I walk out the door.
Chapter Six - Molly
“Hello?” I croak out, my voice raspy and my throat so dry it feels like sandpaper.
