Demon Cursed

by Karilyn Bentley

  I can do this.

  Straightening my shoulders, I stride to the front door. No bouncer outside tonight. No line. Apparently Wednesdays weren’t popular clubbing nights.

  Smythe opens the door to show the bouncer waiting inside. He checks our IDs and with a jerk of his head ushers us into the club. Smythe squeezes my hand, opting for telepathy over screaming.

  Take care.

  See ya.

  I give his hand a squeeze before heading toward Donny’s room. Since Donny’s bodyguard has yet to make an appearance, no telling if the star is here or not. I pause outside the door to the private suite.

  What should I say? Hello, here I am? Or not bother with him, making rounds like I’m scoping the scene? I glance around the half-empty club, looking for T. I could use our twin telepathy, but part of me wants to be surprised if he’s inside the club. Common sense beats out the small part.

  T? I’m at the club where Donny hangs. Are you here?

  Crickets answer.

  T?

  Either he’s not here or he’s ignoring me. I try hopping into his mind, but he blocks me. Okay then. He must be here someplace. Which means Jackie’s here too.

  Instead of hanging out by Donny’s suite, I should track down Jackie and look for my attempted kidnapper. Although, chatting up Donny could prove advantageous. Smythe didn’t say so tonight, but Donny still ranks up there on his suspect list.

  Not on my list. I’m almost one hundred percent certain the football star didn’t kill his fuck of the night and drop her body where he plays ball. He seems smarter than that. Or maybe I want him to be smarter than that.

  No matter what.

  In my playbook, he’s innocent.

  The door to his private suite opens. Donny pokes his head out.

  “You standing out there all night, Gin, or are you coming in?”

  I take a deep breath. Interview time it is.

  Plastering on a smile, I give him a wink. “Just waiting for the invite.”

  He steps back to allow me to walk in front of him. I brush his chest with my shoulder as I pass. My justitia twitches, puzzlement ricocheting through my veins. A shiver creeps across my skin as Donny shuts the door.

  Evidence too strong to ignore slams into me. I’ve written it off for too long, refusing to believe, refusing to accept. My jittering justitia only means one thing: Donny has cozied up to a demonic presence.

  Chapter Eighteen

  How can a demonic presence cover Donny like sludge without him becoming a minion? I stare at him for a second too long, activating the minion-trail sensors in my eyes, trying to determine why my justitia senses a demon presence on the football star.

  No minion trails. No demon. No good reason for a shivering demon-sensing justitia.

  Maybe it’s malfunctioning?

  Yeah, right. And maybe a pig’s ass isn’t ham.

  “What’s the matter, babe?”

  Might want to stop staring at him as if he’s a bon-bon, Gin.

  I smile. “Nothing. Just a bit embarrassed you caught me lurking.”

  “Friends can’t lurk.” He winks. “Come on in.”

  Since the door is shut behind me, entering is my only option. I head to where Donny gestures, to the sofas lining the wall, the scent of beer and liquor enveloping me as I walk. I lick my lips as a memory of whiskey slides across my tongue. The remembered taste vanishes as I catch a glimpse of who sits on an overstuffed sofa dressed to the nines in a red low-cut blouse and black miniskirt.

  Jackie.

  Damn it. I was really hoping she wasn’t here.

  If hopes were dimes, I’d be rich.

  A smile coats her face as she turns when Donny approaches. Until she notices me. I swallow a chuckle as her eyes flare, as her sexy pout turns hard. She glares at me when Donny sits beside her. Giving her a little finger wave, I settle on Donny’s other side, sinking into the overstuffed sofa.

  “Hey, Jackie.”

  “You two know each other?” Donny looks between us as if trying to guess where we met.

  Obviously, he fails to remember meeting us at the post-game party. Must be one tackle too many.

  “We do.”

  “Sorta.” She responds at the same time.

  Sorta? What the hell? She’s been camping at my house for way too long to “sorta” know me. The bitchy side of my personality I try hard to keep hidden soars to front and center. Plastering a sappy, fake grin on my lips, I lean across Donny.

  “T says—”

  “Nothing. He says nothing.”

  Donny’s gaze darts from Jackie to me, surprise at the oncoming catfight covering his face with an oh-shit expression. “T?”

  “My brother. Jackie’s—”

  “Nothing. We broke up.”

  She glares.

  I grin.

  “Oh, right. My bad.” I pat Donny’s leg. “She’s my brother’s—”

  “Ex. He’s my ex because we broke up.” She explains in a slow drawl as if talking to a small child.

  I nod. I should close my lips since I don’t want to say anything that might cause her to return to T, but dayum, a little revenge for my twin never hurt nothing. Right?

  “He said it was so you could convince—”

  “Honey, let’s go dance.” Jackie sinks her painted nails into Donny’s thigh, leaning forward a bit to show off her cleavage. Which her blouse highlights like a glowing neon sign.

  Donny’s expression says he’d rather see where our conversation leads. As if he enjoys watching two women in a bitchfest. But the double-D’s win out as Jackie stands, tugging on his arm. With a shrug followed by an apologetic look, he follows her out of the suite, leaving me stranded with five hunky players and their entourage of dagger-eyed fuck-bunnies.

  Good times.

  Since Smythe didn’t take me clubbing for the atmosphere, I should get cracking on trying to find a killer and a kidnapper. Or maybe that person was one and the same.

  A shiver courses through me. Being kidnapped was bad enough. Being targeted by a serial killer worse. At least my kidnapper was thwarted by Smythe. What made me a target? Talking to Donny?

  “Drink, ma’am?” The woman server in a short skirt smiles.

  “No thanks.” After last Friday, no way in hell am I accepting a drink from anyone at this club.

  Not until I determine who stalks the place looking for victims.

  A sense of unease prickles my nape. Probably from the glares of the FBs in the room. Time to leave.

  No one says anything as I walk out the door, the pounding bass covering the click of the latch. A quick glance to the dance floor shows writhing bodies bathed in pink and purple lights, but no Donny and Jackie. I edge closer to the dance floor as if that will help me see between shadows of bodies.

  The same sense of unease I felt earlier returns. I turn, looking for a familiar face. Unfamiliar ones are all I see. Along with shadows, punctuated by strobing colorful lights.

  If only the bad guys carried huge signs on their heads notifying everyone of their nasty status.

  Although if they did, I’d be out of the demon hunting business.

  Which bothers me way more than it should.

  I circle the dance floor. Twice. Walk past the bar. Not only do I not see the guy with the bad dye job, I don’t see Smythe. Or Donny. Or Jackie. Unease follows me as I walk another lap around the dance floor.

  Why? Who or what causes that sense of being watched?

  I stop near Donny’s private room. Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes, tapping into my justitia. Perhaps it can identify why unease creeps across my skin like a rash.

  Nothing happens.

  Clearly the thing only works in the presence of demons and minions and not run-of-the-mill baddies.

  “Hey, babe.”

  A squeak escapes me as Donny touches my clothed arm. My eyes pop wide to see him staring at me, a smirk twisting his lips.

  “Geez, Donny, you scared the shit out of me.”

  “
Sorry. You looked deep in thought.”

  My bracelet shakes another warning about Donny. No good, no good, no good. Its thoughts circle around in my brain, confusion riding the words. Donny might not be a minion, but he’s definitely been touched by a demonic presence, according to my jittering bracelet. But how?

  “You seem…different.”

  His grin widens. “Good loving will do that to you.”

  I blink a couple of times as my brain sorts out that one. Did he mean…? “Where’s Jackie?”

  “Where I left her.”

  I circle my hand, urging him on. He rolls his eyes.

  “In the bathroom.”

  “Why…wait, never mind. I don’t want to know.”

  “She really your brother’s girl?”

  “Not anymore. You met them.” He gives me a blank stare. “Last week, at the after party.”

  Donny shivers, his gaze passing my shoulder. “Don’t want to think about that or what happened to Jenny.”

  “Did the police tell you anything?”

  “Naw, man, they cleared me. That’s all that matters. Don’t want to talk about it. You wanna dance?”

  His grin appears again, leading me to wonder if “dance” is a euphemism for extracurricular bathroom activities. At one time in my life I’d take him up on his offer, but now? I’d rather have a six-foot-five-inch mage at my command.

  I answer as if he means the dance floor. Because he might.

  “My feet hurt too much to dance.” I gesture to the writhing bodies on the dance floor.

  Donny’s grin widens. “Don’t mean that kind of dancing.”

  While I’m proud of myself for guessing his “dance” meaning correctly, I’m also a bit disgusted. How many times in a row can this guy get it up? That’s a question I really don’t want to know the answer to.

  I touch Donny’s sleeved arm. “Thanks for the offer, but no.”

  “You wound me.” He clasps a hand over his heart. “It never hurts to ask a pretty woman. She might say yes.” He winks.

  You already had one say yes. How many do you need in a night? Geez Louise. My grin feels fake. “You know me well. Where did you say you left Jackie?”

  “Second private restroom.” He points. “Maybe I should go with you. My money’s on you winning.” He runs his hand up and down my arm. As if the motion will help change my mind.

  “That’s not necessary. I’m sure I can find her myself.”

  “Come see me when you’re done.” His conspiratorial wink produces the opposite effect.

  Not happening, buddy.

  “Good night, Donny.”

  Before he can say another word, I walk into the crowd, heading for the restroom he pointed out. Gross. Toilets are germy enough without adding anything extra. Wonder what T will do when he finds out about Jackie’s tryst? Continue to stalk her? Beat up Donny? Nothing?

  Not likely on the last point.

  I push past drunk patrons until I reach the second private restroom. Part of me feels responsible for Jackie, which is ridiculous on so many levels. She’s a grown woman. I don’t like her. I don’t want her with my brother. Yet, I don’t want her to be hurt.

  And since that damn prickly feeling won’t leave me alone, I’m concerned for her safety. What if someone stalks this club to target Donny’s flings? Another dash of ice cold darts through me as I knock on the restroom door.

  No one answers.

  I push open the door. “Hello?”

  Nothing.

  No one is in the restroom except for me. Damn it. Where did she go?

  Smythe? Have you seen Jackie?

  A couple of seconds pass before he answers. No, why?

  Donny just finished with her, but I can’t find her.

  Maybe she left?

  I have a prickly feeling on my nape. And my justitia senses a demonic presence on Donny.

  Fuck. Did you stab him?

  Geez, Smythe, no. He’s not a minion, but something has been near him.

  It must be a strong demonic presence for your justitia to pick up on it. They don’t normally do that.

  What do you mean they don’t normally do that? It’s a demon-fighting bracelet—shouldn’t it pick up on a demon presence? You know what, never mind. We can discuss later. We need to find Jackie.

  Why?

  Because I think she’s the next target.

  Why didn’t you say so to begin with?

  I thought I did.

  He pauses. I can almost see him rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration.

  What was she wearing?

  A low-cut red blouse with a short, tight black skirt.

  I’m looking.

  While you’re at it, look for an average-build guy with a bad blond dye job.

  The one who tried to kidnap you?

  Yep. Oh, and if you see T, holler.

  Why don’t you holler?

  He’s blocking me. Damn it. Did I really leak to Smythe my twin telepathic ability? Good thing he can’t see the oh-shit look creeping across my face. Or feel my heart pounding behind my ribs.

  Puzzlement tinges his words. You do realize I know you and T talk telepathically, right?

  You know?

  Until you learned to block me, I’d sometimes hear you two talk.

  Oh God. He knows. He knows all my secrets.

  What secrets, Gin? His voice whispers across sensitive neurons, firing them into a panic.

  Throwing mental barriers around my secrets, my default mode takes over. Lie until you believe it’s truth.

  Nothing. Are you going to help me find Jackie or not?

  He pauses. My mental barriers flinch as he tries to push through. Nosy man. I lean against the wall, using all my power to strengthen my mental defenses. He will not break through. He will not. He will not.

  A tendril of irritation weaves through my mind.

  We’ll discuss this later. Take the left side of the dance floor. I’ll take the right. We’ll meet at the end.

  I sag against the wall in relief. A reprieve. For now.

  Doing as Smythe asked, I search for Jackie while avoiding servers and patrons. No Jackie, on the dance floor or off. Then again, the club possesses more shadows than lights.

  Smythe stands at the end of dance floor, arms crossed, an avenging god on the warpath. Which does not bode well for me.

  “I didn’t see her.” I pitch my voice to be heard above the music.

  “Me neither.”

  “Got any magic tricks to locate her?”

  “Not her, no. Let’s search where I found you.”

  “Where’s that? I don’t remember much.”

  He grabs my hand, his grip adjusted more to holding a flailing patient than a strolling girlfr—I mean mentee. Leading me to a door close to the club entrance, he shoves his way inside to what is clearly a row of offices.

  The music level diminishes as soon as the door clicks shut. A long hall stretches before us, punctuated on either side with closed doors.

  I freeze one step inside the hall, my heart pounding a race beneath my ribs. This was where I almost died. Where some creep tried to kidnap me. Where Smythe rescued me.

  My breath comes in little puffs, dizziness overtaking me. I sway.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I almost died here. In this hall. In this club. Small, shallow breaths lead to a crushing dizziness as my knees go weak. Smythe drops my hand, wraps an arm around my waist, supporting me as I sag.

  “Gin? What’s wrong?”

  I manage to draw in a deep enough breath to chase off the blurry vision. After a couple of lung-filling breaths, I wave a hand at the buffed concrete hall. “I almost died here.”

  Smythe tightens his hold on my waist. “You were drugged, not dead. Big difference.”

  I pop him on the arm. One side of his lips kicks up. As if he wants to goad me. As if goading me will stop me from panicking.

  He’s cra—

  My heart no longer pounds as if running a marathon. Damn it.
He’s right. As usual. Not that I’ll admit it.

  “Okay. Drugged. I thought I was going to die. So that makes it the same thing.”

  “If you say so.” The one-sided lip turn becomes a full-fledged grin. But only for a moment as determination casts his face in lines. “What makes you think Jackie’s a target?”

  I push away from him, determined to stand on my own. My breathing normalizes as my heartbeat calms. Score one for mage anxiety-calming powers.

  Now for my explanation.

  “It dawned on me, sitting in Donny’s private room when she left with him, that the reason I was drugged was because I was with him. They had a, ahem, ‘dance,’ ”—I use my fingers to draw air quotes around “dance,”—“in the restroom. If someone is targeting the women Donny ‘dances’ with, then maybe they would target her.”

  “You didn’t have sex with him.”

  “No, but I was alone with him in his room. If someone was watching, they would’ve noticed me with him.”

  “Are you certain Donny didn’t drug your drink?”

  “Yes. Bad Dye Job Guy bumped into me before I started feeling wonky. Maybe he dropped something into my drink. It was after that I felt drugged.”

  “Maybe Donny put him up to it. There’s something off about that guy.”

  “Jealous much?” I refuse to admit the thought has crossed my mind. I’m holding on to Donny’s innocence with the tenacity of a cat caught in a tree.

  Smythe shoots me a get-real glare. “You know it’s a possibility. Just because you don’t want it to be doesn’t mean it isn’t.”

  Busted. I sigh. “Okay. You might have a point.”

  “Might?” He raises a brow.

  “Fine. You have a point. Donny didn’t drug my drink. At least not that I saw. And Bad Dye Job bumped into me, which was a perfect opportunity to do the deed. It was after I ran into him that I felt drugged. Donny might have been around a demonic presence, but neither of them are minions.”

  “Jenny was killed by a minion. We saw the trails. As you said, the guy who tried to kidnap you was not a minion. Since when do minions hire humans to do their dirty work?” A line twists between his brows. “They prefer to do the deeds themselves.”

  “Maybe he’s an odd one.” I shrug. “Can we discuss this later? I feel like we need to find Jackie before someone else does.”