He pictured the dark man who claimed to be Ares, god of war, who commanded him to ‘lay waste’ to his ex-girlfriend’s apartment. Not the usual hallucinations for sure.
The footsteps approaching his cell drove spikes of agony into his temples.
“Ferris.” Kevin didn’t bother facing the newcomer. It hurt too much to move. “It’s your lucky day. You’re getting out of here.” He bolted up so fast his stomach contents sloshed to the back of his teeth. Every tendon in his body screamed, causing the room to lurch. The tinkling of keys and the metallic clang of the cage door pounded at his ears.
“How?” He wasn’t getting out for good behavior, someone had posted bail. But who? The chunky uniform scowled. “Your dad.” Kevin sneered. No fucking way. Nothing would move that limp old prick to help him. That bridge had been torched years ago with a lighter and a spoon.
Well, it didn’t matter. Kevin couldn’t score if he stayed in jail. He allowed the pig to lead him to the effects room to get his shit. An empty wallet and a couple of smokes. He already knew they’d taken his stash.
Fucking procedure took forever. Kevin loathed it. But he’d behave and slog through it. Anything to get out. Just when he thought his fingers would fall off from signing shit they brought him to the front desk.
“Mr. Ferris?” The cop addressed a distinguished gentleman wearing an expensive black suit. He looked out of place in the dinginess of the room around him; a gold tooth in a rotten mouth.
Kevin swooned on his feet like a girl. This asshole wasn’t his father but he sure as hell recognized him. His bowels churned so bad Kevin thought he’d shit right there on the linoleum.
“Thanks so much, Officer.” That voice. It wasn’t delirium. It really was the war god standing there. Beads of sweat formed on Kevin’s forehead and upper lip. His hands began to shake.
“I appreciate your help,” Ares said. “Did my son trouble you much?” The police man gave him a genuine smile. “Not too much, Mr. Ferris. He mostly kept to himself.” “Good to know.” The oily grin Ares gave the cop made Kevin’s skin dance with goosebumps. And when he fixed him with his cruel scowl, Kevin wanted to slink back to the safety of his cell.
“Stop staring, stupid boy,” Ares harsh voice rang throughout the room. “Have you no manners left at all?”
Kevin averted his eyes and swallowed. “S-sorry.” “Not as sorry as you will be,” Ares hateful glare turned Kevin’s intestines to squirming maggots.
“Okay, you’re free to go,” the guard said. “For now.”
# # #
The intense pressure of the man’s grip on his elbow added to Kevin’s discomfort as they left the station. Better make nice.
“That was cool shit. I can’t believe those dumb pigs thought you were my dad.”
The war god said nothing, just smiled that freaky fake grin as he led Kevin toward a black Porsche. The lack of conversation unnerved Kevin. He wasn’t stupid. This asshole wanted something. Possession had heavy bail bonds attached to it, and nobody did nothing for free.
“Get in.” Ares jabbed a finger toward the passenger side. Kevin did it, even though he hated fancy cars. He had a feeling this guy got pissed easily. Most people thought the Porsche was a wicked ride. Not Kevin. They smelled like clean leather, but that’s where the cool factor ended. They made him feel cramped, like his ass was too low to the ground and his knees were gonna hit him in the nose.
Besides, what kind of dickless corporate nerd did you have to be to drive something worth that much cash? Kevin pushed the thought out of his head when Ares took the driver’s seat. This guy had a nasty vibe, like he could make him have an aneurism just for thinking shit. Even his cologne smelled evil, like embalmed fruit or something.
“Here.” Kevin didn’t want to make eye contact. Instead, he concentrated on the packet that magically appeared between the man’s fingers. White powder glittered like fresh snow in a tiny Ziploc bag. It made Kevin’s nose itch and his mouth water. “What is it?” he asked, trying to mask his eagerness. Everything had a price.
“A little something a friend of mine conjured. She creates pleasurable substances; has done so for ages. Go ahead.”
Kevin willed his shaking hands to pry open the red seal. He didn’t want to appear desperate, but kind of figured Ares knew anyway. “Looks good.” The drug twinkled at him, seducing Kevin with imagined promises.
“Only the best,” Ares said. “You must be suffering. Try some.” The words smacked of kindness and generosity, but Kevin wasn’t new to this game. This would cost him. “What do you want? “ he asked. “I want to be friends,” Ares said, his voice smooth.
Sure he did. But Kevin needed the fix. He dipped his pinky nail for a generous scoop, and an intense snort launched it to his brain. “Ahhhhh.” “What did I tell you? My girl does fine work.” Kevin barely heard him, didn’t care either. He tasted acrid chemistry before his face went numb.
His body seemed to liquefy, slumping while everything he saw turned to gold. It was all so…shiny. He’d never had anything this good. What few coherent ideas he still had in the back of his skull worried that it could be too good. Anything this awesome had to be pretty expensive.
“You can have as much as you like,” Ares said. The grin on his face seemed genuine….but that could just be the drugs making him look human.
“Uh-huh…” Even in his haze of beautiful giddiness Kevin wondered, “So what do you want?” “I need you to do a few odd jobs for me.” Another pouch appeared in the palm of his hand, this one a sandwich sized Ziploc bag full of glorious white excellence.
“You want me to sell it?” “If you wish. But this is all for you.”
Kevin’s mouth hung open. He could make a lot of money on this shit. It got him higher than anything he’d ever done in his life, even heroin. Maybe he’d hoover it all himself. Didn’t matter. He had to have it. “What I gotta do?” he asked.
“Nothing too perilous.” Ares’s smile seemed pointy, like a shark. “Do you like Bentleys, Kevin?”
“Hate ‘em. Hate the guys who drive them too.” “Good,” Ares said, passing Kevin a new stiletto dagger. “Then you will enjoy this.”
CHAPTER THIRTY “Sarah?” At the sound of a booming knock, Strife checked the motel’s clock radio. Twelve thirty. Ranjan arrived sooner than expected. He must have sacrificed his lunch hour and surpassed speed limits to get here. How sweet. “Are you there, Sarah?”
Strife arranged her silk robe off a creamy shoulder and strolled to the door. She spared a moment for the mirror. She’d spent an hour styling her tresses to this sleep-tousled look. It flowed like a restless night.
The things I do for men. She spritzed spicy green apple perfume on her throat and wrists, placing an appropriately scared expression over her features. “Sarah?” Three, two, one…
In a well-practiced move, Strife flung the door open and leapt into Ranjan’s arms.
“Oh, Ranjan! I’m so glad you’re here.” Strife articulated a loud sob, squeezing close. She willed moisture to spill from her eyes until they tracked itchy trails down her cheeks. “I was so frightened.” She nuzzled into his sandalwood-curry scented neck as Ranjan led her away from the hot sidewalk, back into the airconditioned shadows indoors. “We could have been killed.”
“Sarah,” His voice held tenderness. “You sounded so scared on the phone. We are perfectly safe, I promise.”
He settled her on the orange bedspread, his demeanor that of concern. Until the television stole his attention.
“Is that it on the news now?” “Hold me.” Her words dripped with damsel in distress drama, but her hero fixated on the broadcast. “Police are not saying whether the attack was the work of Frank Fleisher’s vigilante group,” the newscaster said. “Or perhaps retaliation for the bombing of Buddy’s earlier this week.”
“Pure speculation,” Ranjan said, his brow crinkling. “But it’s still not good.” Strife placed her hands on Ranjan’s jaw, pulling her aromatic body parts in line with his nos
trils. “I’m so scared,” She put as much tremor in her voice as possible. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
She eased into his lap and wrapped her arms around his shoulders… …And felt him stiffen in all the wrong places.
She glanced upward. Instead of the dull, adoring glaze she’d become accustomed to, his narrowed stare defied her. How could this be? Her olfactory spells and seduction had failed. Surely he must have consumed the tainted city water at least?
But when she searched his coffee-colored gaze, she found no madness, no drug induced haze, and no evidence of magick. If anything, he seemed suspicious. She searched his mind and feelings. Apprehension crept up Strife’s spine. She’d gone too far. He found her attempts to bed him reprehensible. Cheap and manipulative. His thoughts stung her.
“I am sorry,” she said, sliding to the corner of the mattress. “I don’t know what came over me.” An unrehearsed shiver raised prickles on her skin. He hasn’t succumbed to my will. “I’m alone in a city that’s had two bombings in one week.”
Kindness returned to his expression. “Edmonton isn’t usually like this.” He reached out to stroke her back. “We don’t have explosions or riots. Okay, maybe when the Eskimos or Oilers win cups.” Ranjan shrugged. “This is the City of Champions.”
Strife relaxed somewhat. Perhaps she could salvage this fiasco. She didn’t need alchemy to control this man, just old-fashioned feminine wiles.
“Can you get me out of here?” she asked. “I don’t want to be alone in this ugly place.”
Ranjan’s sense of chivalry returned with puffing chest and a resolved stance.
“Absolutely. I’m here for you, Sarah.” “That makes me so happy.” Strife clenched her teeth in what she hoped resembled a lovely smile. “You’re such a good friend. I’ll get dressed.”
Ranjan beamed as she clutched modestly at her robe, backing into the bathroom. Strife nudged damp, faded tangerine towels away with her toes and shut the creaking door. She locked it, just to demonstrate shyness. The human should believe she hadn’t been serious about her intentions.
Musty fingers locked on her face. Another arm slithered around her midriff in a constrictor’s embrace from behind.
Despite her closing airways, Strife smelled old wine on the breath of her assailant.
Did you miss me, Strife? Ares words hissed through her brain like rushing blood. Vomit burned the back of her throat.
You’ve been slacking off, Strife. Going on pleasant excursions instead of fostering war. I am not pleased. The hand on her waist crawled to envelop her breast. He crushed it, pinching the nipple until Strife whimpered and fought against his pitiless groping.
You know what happens when I am not pleased. Strife understood all too well, but her efforts to break free were meaningless. Still, she writhed from the heat of Ares’s lengthening member.
He crushed her against the wall with his chest. Even with her mouth now free she lacked the ability to scream.
So you want some dark meat, do you Strife? He pushed her ankles apart with his foot and shoved his calloused fingers inside her, scraping and jerking them in a mockery of foreplay before wedging his cock against her anus. Panic fluttered in her chest.
Please, master. Not that. Not again. Strife heaved sideways from the wall with all the strength she had left. She took a sparse, noisy gulp of air and shrieked as Ares gripped a fistful of her hair and dragged her down. Her vision blurred with the pain of a tortured scalp and bruised knees but she couldn’t shirk from the mottled prick before her.
Take it in your mouth, bitch. “Sarah?” Ranjan’s muffled voice gave Ares pause. “Sarah, are you alright?” The sharp rapping of knuckles on wood startled Ares into releasing her.
Strife sank to the floor, grateful for the timely interruption and oxygen flooded her lungs.
The lock on the doorknob jiggled, echoing in the cramped space. “Sarah? Please open up.”
Strife sensed rage draining from Ares, watched his cock diminish in size. He snarled in contempt, not bloodlust.
This isn’t over, Strife. Ares faded like a bad dream. His essence left an odor of blood Strife nearly tasted.
“Sarah!” Strife fumbled with the doorknob until she heard the clunk of disengaging tumblers. Ranjan spilled inside to drop to the floor. “Are you alright?” He tucked strands of wayward locks away from her temple.
“I’m fine,” she said while the precious gesture, coupled with his worried expression ruined her practiced stoicism.
Strife coughed forth a broken dam of relief. True tears gushed hot and salty down her nose and mouth. “Oh, hey…” Ranjan said, venturing closer to cradle her. She allowed it, and he massaged her back again in that soothing way she’d grown to appreciate.
Strife nuzzled into him, listening to the babble of some North American soap opera on the television, as he rocked her shuddering body. She preferred their perils over her own.
“Did you faint? I should get you to a hospital. The stress of this city has really gotten to…”
“No!” Strife smeared sorrow from her face. “No hospitals. I’m fine. Just…get me out of here. Take me someplace safe.”
She beseeched him with her eyes, knowing his immunity to chemical charms. A war of indecision clashed in his mind.
His shoulders slumped. Fortunately his virtue won out. “Alright,” he said, lifting her to her feet. “I’ll take a sick day. Where’s your luggage?”
# # #
“Adrian? Earth to Adrian.” He jerked to attention, sitting up so fast his paperwork scattered.
“My, aren’t we jumpy today.” Adrian rubbed grit from his eyes. He must have dozed off. He squinted through the sleepy haze to see the slim silhouette of his boss looming.
“Mrs. Bailey,” he said, rushing to his feet. More important documents hit the floor. “I’m sorry. What time is it?” Mary or ‘Bones’, as many called her behind soundproofed doors, Bailey checked her watch. “Quarter after one. I tried to call you, but your messages are full.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, repeating his apology like an idiot. What else could he say? He tucked his wrinkled shirt and tightened his tie. Caught snoozing when he had files to process.
He pawed at the odd sensation on his mouth to find a stuck paperclip covered in drool. Nice.
“Poor thing.” Behind her thick spectacles, Mrs. Bailey’s gaze drooped as though tired herself. “Didn’t get much sleep last night, did you?” “No…I didn’t.” His reluctance came from the truth. He didn’t have a decent excuse for slacking. He shouldn’t have taken yesterday afternoon off. If he hadn’t he wouldn’t be in this awkward situation.
“It’s understandable that you’re burnt out,” she said. “I’m not. I just…”
Mrs. Bailey raised skeletal fingers to shush him. “Don’t argue with me, please.” She positioned both hands on the maple desk and leaned in. She hovered close enough for Adrian to smell tuna on her breath. So she does actually eat, Adrian thought, suppressing a gag. “We need you in top form, Adrian. I understand that the Frank Fleisher case is important to your status in the firm.”
Not so much anymore, Adrian thought, but he wasn’t about to correct her. Mary Bailey had no respect for anyone who wasn’t a team player. Hints of resentment would cost him.
“But you’re no good to us if you’re sleeping on the job. Go home and get some rest. None of these files are going anywhere.” She straightened and adjusted her glasses before fetching him a nicotine grin. “We’ll see you tomorrow, bright and early.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Mrs. Bailey departed without further comment, leaving Adrian to collect his wits. Lucky him. He gathered photocopies and triplicates as fast as his groggy state permitted. Old Bones wasn’t a moron. Sooner or later she’d catch on. He’d take her advice and get the hell out of here before she figured out he’d been dipping his wick instead of working.
Adrian’s groan echoed in the empty office. Poetry. She’d been on his mind all day.
He’d b
een a jerk this morning. The drive to her loft had been worse than uncomfortable, without small talk or eye contact. Adrian hadn’t missed how her body language went from the bowed shoulders of brooding acceptance to the rigid posture of indignation. He didn’t need a criminal profiler to know she’d written him off as a creep. Poetry’s terse goodbye as she slammed the car door rang in his memory. Adrian cringed, feeling the cold breeze of manufactured air on his gums. It sucked to be an asshole.
At the time, he’d worried about how her temper affected his wheels. You don’t just wing the door shut like a Ford truck, for God’s sake. But right now he cared more about her mood than his precious machine. He stood and stretched until his back cracked. Adrian surveyed his clean but cluttered surroundings. His sigh came back to him in a tinny vibration.
Just yesterday Poetry came to see him, looking like Little Blue Riding Hood with beer and other goodies. An unexpected smile stretched his face. He could almost smell garlic.
If this were a movie, she’d stroll in right about now with forgiveness in her eyes and an unseen orchestra would play something cheesy and romantic. He shook his head. She wouldn’t be out there today. He’d seen to that.
He put the image out of his mind. Since when did he think like a paperback romance? He must be wrecked. He began straightening his paperwork, but decided against it. He’d be back in the morning. Time to disappear. He grabbed his cell phone and headed for the underground parking. This way he’d steer clear of any ambitious reporters.
It wasn’t a long walk, just a contemplative one. He twirled his keys, pondering his case. Frank Fleisher was a jackass, for sure. He admitted to racism and shooting the trespassers because of some misguided ideas. Would he lie about the bombings? Truth be told, Adrian probably wasted time worrying. It wouldn’t hurt his case, they couldn’t link his client. Frank had been in jail.
Aphrodite's War Page 14
