The Only Witness: The Center City Series: Book One
Page 23
Her legs wrapped around his waist, her hips moving in a rhythm that she knew damn well he couldn't resist. The walk to the couch seemed to take forever, but he finally laid her down, his body over hers.
“Wait,” she pressed a hand to his chest, “I want to be on top.”
Deacon rose from the couch, unzipped the sweatshirt he was wearing and tossed it onto the coffee table. Vera bounced up, pressed a kiss to his lips before stepping back to toe off her shoes while yanking off her shirt. He kicked off his boots and let his pants follow the sweatshirt onto the table.
He watched Vera strip off her pants. She hadn't been lying—her skin was completely bare beneath. Deacon sat, already rock hard, and kept his eyes on her as she approached. “I ever tell you that you're beautiful?”
“Maybe once or twice,” she straddled him slowly. “No need for flattery now, you're going to get laid without it.”
“It's not flattery, it's the truth.” Deacon slid his hands onto her hips, guiding her towards his length. He could feel the heat radiating from between her legs. “Now's not the time to tease me, Vera.”
“Tease? Who? Me?” Her grin was wide and confident. “Would I be so cruel?” She gave him no time to answer because her mouth covered his, tongue tangling with his. Deacon tightened his grip on her hips, pulled her tighter against him and then he was inside of her.
“Fuck!” Deacon let his head fall back as she began to ride him hard and fast. He lifted his head to watch her. She was exquisite, with her head tilted back and her hair long and loose. It was only more erotic when she brought her hands up to cover her breasts.
Her movements became more frantic, the warmth of her body so tight around him. It all felt too good, too good for him to last if she kept bouncing on him the way she was. Deacon gripped her hips, tried to slow her motions, but she just began to ride harder and faster. Her cries filled the air, throaty moans and soft whimpers that let him know she was close.
With a roar, Deacon gave in to the lack of control, bucked his hips and slid his hands down to grip her ass. He thrust up, as hard and deep as he could, until he felt her walls clench around him. Vera's entire body went rigid. He knew what that meant, so he moved deeper and harder until all he could feel was her body clenching around him.
He came with a roar, hands moving up her back to keep her from falling. “Shhh.” Deacon ran his hand over her back, tried to slow his rapidly beating heart and catch his breath. Vera's shoulders were shaking, he knew she was trying not to cry. “It's alright, Baby. Let it out. Just let it out.”
<#<#>#>#>#
Vera remained on the porch long after the lights from Deacon's bike had disappeared down the dark road. He'd refused to tell her what the card asked of him. She hadn't pushed the issue, even though now her mind raced to every worst case scenario possible; there were a lot of those.
“Vera,” Susan spoke from behind her. “Come on inside, it's getting cold.”
She didn't feel cold; she didn't feel anything except something that she couldn't describe. It was unlike anything she'd ever felt before. “I'm fine,” Vera looked over her shoulder.
“Bullshit,” Houdini declared as he came out onto the porch. “You're not fine, you're nearly turning blue. Come on inside or I'll carry you in. It's your choice, make it now.”
“Seriously, Houdini, I'm fine. I just want to...” Vera let out a loud gasp as he closed the distance between them, lifted her over his shoulder and walked inside the house as if she weighed nothing. “What the hell!”
“I'm not letting you freeze to death and it's time for the ointment. Deke was real clear before he left, it's my ass if anything happens to you. So, do you want me or Susan to take care of your back?”
“I'll do it,” Susan spoke up. “Something tells me Deke would break all your fingers if you did.”
“Guess that leaves me to handle dinner. Pepperoni or vegetable pizza, Vera?”
It was no surprise dinner would be frozen pizza with Houdini cooking; there wasn't much else that he could make. He'd attempted spaghetti and meatballs once; it had been a straight out disaster. “I'm really not in the mood for pizza, Houdini. I'm not really hungry.”
“Doesn't matter, you're still going to eat.”
Vera nearly argued but thought better of it. Her friends would feel better if they thought that they were taking care of her. Hell, maybe she'd feel better if she could just relax and shake off the feeling lying heavily on her shoulders. “Can you make some soup?”
“It's in a can, right? I can open a damn can. I'll make grilled cheese, too. How hard can that be?”
“Not hard at all,” Vera replied. “Thank you. Thank you both for everything.” She wasn't sure that the words were enough; they deserved more for how they were going to stand by her. “I wish there was something I could do for the two of you to show how grateful I am.”
“You'd do it for us,” Susan answered. “And we stick together, end of story.”
“Yup and we're going to be there when the moon changes. You are not going to be alone.” Houdini's face was as serious as Vera had ever seen it. The look touched her, reassured her that she wouldn't be alone even if she wasn't okay.
“Actually,” Susan interrupted, “that's not entirely true. We both won't be there. You can't be, Houdini. You're human. It's too dangerous.”
“I can handle myself.”
“It's too dangerous,” Susan repeated.
“Can we postpone this argument until tomorrow?” Vera broke into the conversation before it could escalate any further. The last thing she wanted was to listen to them bicker, even though it could be entertaining, since they were both seriously in denial about their newfound relationship. “I'm really not up for it.”
“This isn't arguing,” Houdini protested, a grin on his face, “this is discussing.”
“Or foreplay,” Vera watched as Susan blushed ever so slightly and Houdini grinned wider. “Okay, it's ointment time. I'll meet you upstairs, Susan.”
Chapter TWENTY-FIVE
Deacon's ass was numb from sitting in the car for so long. He needed to take a piss, and some food would be nice. In fact it would be even nicer if his target would leave the house alone for once. It had been four days, plus one for traveling, so actually five days since he'd left Vera. It would take another day to get back to her. He'd wasted as much time on Guy Billings as he could.
Eventually Guy came out of the house. Today his wife was with him; she looked annoyed at being up so early, but followed him to his pickup without fuss. The man was the worst kind of coward; he obviously knew that his days were numbered, and he'd chosen to try and extend them by bringing along his loved ones.
Someone else might not have been bothered at the prospect of killing the man in front of either his child or wife, but Deacon knew it was too much to do. He had no problem killing Guy. Guy deserved to die, and the bullet to the head he was going to get was actually too good a death for him.
Guy had been brought to The Strays’ attention by the local pack. They were a small group with no real warriors who were noticing more and more of their members going missing. Local shifters reported the same problem. All in all, there were nearly twenty people missing, all under the age of thirty, which was a problem for keeping the Were and shifter population up in the area, which was why The Strays had stepped in, investigated and found that Guy and some friends had been up to no good. They were organizing hunts of shifters and Weres by likeminded hunters who were in the know on what was supposed to be a carefully guarded secret. And from the information he'd gotten from Lina when he called to accept the task, this wasn't exactly an isolated incident. There were reports of incidents all over the country. Lina had sounded downright stressed over it.
With the moon approaching, it was highly likely that Guy and his cohorts had already set their sights on a fresh group for the hunt. Time was ticking for them as well as Vera, and the weight of it was suddenly unbearably heavy on Deacon's shoulders. There was so much to lose i
f he stumbled. Failure simply wasn't an option.
He had the urge to call Vera, to hear her voice and have her tell him that it was going to be alright. Deacon could feel her, he could always feel her with him. She hadn't shut down on him. He was so glad for that, even if it meant feeling everything, including how alone she felt at night when she was alone in their bed. But he couldn't call her, it was against the rules. No contact with his life while out on a task, because the task was all that mattered.
It was becoming routine to follow Guy to the restaurant he ran, to watch from down the block, though his routine never really varied. With Deacon's luck, the first time he stepped away to take a piss or get a cup of coffee the man would disappear, he would be back at square one and away from home even longer. To pass the time he opened up the folder which had been waiting for him when he checked into his hotel.
He damn near had it memorized, but still it passed the time. Deacon must have read it a dozen times, backwards and forward, never coming up with anything new. He'd hoped to find some loophole into Guy's mind. With a frustrated sigh he flipped the folder shut. Several pictures slid out. Quickly he reached to grab them; the last thing that he needed was for someone passing by to see a spread of dead bodies on his seat. He couldn't afford the attention.
As he put them back in a pile, he realized that one picture was thicker than it should have been. He slid the picture between his fingers and realized that it was two. The two images had been held together with a shred of tape. It was much like the other pictures somehow borrowed from police files, a man on the ground, obviously dead. A jolt rolled through Deacon’s body, the image triggering a memory. Even though it had been years, he could still remember that horrible instant when without warning, Finn dropping to the ground, already gone. The man in the picture had also been killed by an arrow through the neck, a single blow which would have severed the spine. Death would have been swift and mercifully without pain. It was the exact death that Finn had experienced.
Deacon nearly tore the picture in his haste to grab the folder. He found the police reports; each one confirmed another similarity to Finn's death scene, because there was no trace evidence left behind by the shooter. There were no arrows but a good hunter collected their arrows. The pieces fell into place, the picture sharpened. Suddenly everything made sense, things that hadn't made sense in as long as he could remember now did. Piper's tragic death only cemented the knowledge, the hunts had spread across the country and hit Center City without anyone even knowing.
<#<#>#>#>#
It had taken him nearly two days to figure out where to take Guy and how to get him alone. He had a plan and it was going to work. Once he started, he had limited time before the moon. Deacon had to be home in two days, there was no other option, and if he didn't stop Guy, more would die. If he didn't get answers it wouldn't be easy to find more about the hunters.
Time was not on his side, not at all. He had to be back, it would take him a full day to get back home, which only left him twenty-four hours to get all that he could out of his target. It meant that he was going to have to do some things he wasn't entirely sure that he was comfortable with but there were plenty of compelling reasons for him to be sure he was capable of them.
He'd learned a lot from Fire, and surprisingly some from Whiskey, who never wanted to talk about how he knew what he did. There were tried and true methods to get people to talk, to give up the truth. It wasn't pretty. He'd nearly thrown up the first time he'd seen Fire work someone over. Now those tools were going to be in his hands.
Before anything, he needed to succeed in grabbing Guy. Since it didn't seem like he was ever going to leave without using his wife or kid as a shield, Deacon had decided to take another tactic. He'd take the man right out of his house, no harm done to his family. Hopefully the wife would be smart enough to pack up and get out as soon as her spouse was out of sight.
Their house was set a bit back from the street; the one close neighbor had left for work an hour before. As far as time went, it was the best opportunity that he was going to get. Deacon felt just a little sick to his stomach as he came through the backyard and popped the lock.
The wife was in the kitchen. She startled at the sight of him but didn't scream. “Just let me get my son and go, please.” She whispered the words, her eyes wide with fear. “Please.”
“Do not warn him in any way or I will kill you.” Deacon wasn't sure that he could back up the threat if it came to it, but the expression on her face told him he had nothing to worry about.
“He's in the shower,” she whispered the words, “upstairs and to the right.”
Deacon wanted to be grateful that she was helpful, but he couldn't help but wonder if it was part of a preplanned set up and he'd find Guy waiting for him armed and ready. There was only one way to find out, and he walked up the stairs as the wife rushed out the front with her son.
She was telling him the truth, the shower was running, and he could see the outline of Guy Billings as he washed his hair. Truly there couldn't have been a better moment to catch him off guard, and Deacon took the offered opportunity. There was no need to look a gift horse in the mouth.
The man screamed, like a teenage girl in a horror movie, when Deacon pulled the curtain back. “Hands up. Get out nice and slow, we're going for a ride, Guy.” He waited for the expected objection but the man gave none.
“If you've hurt my family,” Guy's voice shook; it was either with rage or fear but it didn't matter to Deacon.
“They're fine. For now, depends on you if they stay that way. Put clothes on, but try anything funny and I'll paralyze you and let you watch me tear your family apart. And I mean that literally.” Deacon thought the threat might be over the top, but it seemed to hit just the right spot with Guy Billings.
He could never have imagined how easy it was to get Guy into the trunk of the car. The drive to the abandoned factory he'd set up went without incident. Even getting the man inside was surprisingly easy. It should have worried him how easy it was, but instead he felt empowered, took it as a sign that he was doing the right thing.
The setup inside was almost cliché, seen in every torture porn movie released in the past decade. It was a room that spoke for itself. “You living is not an option,” Deacon decided there was no need to sugarcoat the shit that they were in. “You can either die easy or hard, those are your only choices. Now, tell me who you work for. Who is behind the events?”
“You really think they tell me that shit? Look, I'm just a wrangler. I grab the folks they tell me to grab and drop 'em off where they tell me.” Guy shrugged his shoulders. “I don't know what else to tell you.”
“And where is that?” Deacon knew Guy knew more than he was letting on, with time wasting they needed to get down to business.
“Changes from time to time. Come on Man, I don't know anything that can help you.” Guy attempted a smile. “You sure that we can't work something out? I can give you money. I've got money.”
“I don't want money. I want answers. Answers that I know you have. Guess you've made your choice, then, Guy. It's going to be the hard way.” Deacon dragged the man over to a sturdy metal chair and tied him down.
It was downhill from there, thanks to Guy's ability to stay silent even as Deacon began to work his way through the tools on the table. Hours passed with only screams and stoic refusal to speak, it was getting to the point where Deacon was starting to wonder if he was going to have to take things to the next level.
He was just about to get the salt and ice when Guy coughed, blood landing on the floor when he spit. “I take them to a farm.” He rattled off the location in a town that Deacon had never heard of. “There's a couple there, they hold 'em until the moon. Shoot them up full of something to even the odds if they're really spirited.”
Deacon's stomach turned. “What's the couple’s name?”
“They didn't introduce themselves and I didn't ask. Once they're inside I get my envelope and I go.”
“I don't know a name. I'd get a call on the phone they gave me.” Guy was sweating profusely now; he'd obviously realized that his time was limited. The realization could make it easier for Deacon, or it could make things harder if the man got stubborn.
“Where's the phone?”
“At my house, probably on my dresser. You're really going to kill me, aren't you?”
“I was very straightforward about that,” Deacon pointed out. “Now, I don't believe you don't know any names or anything. So, you can start telling me or I'll see how many pieces I can cut you in before you die. Don't worry about passing out, I've got something that'll bring you right back around so you won't miss a thing.”
“And if I tell you what I know?”
“Bullet to the brain. Squish. End of story.”
“There's a notebook at the house, in the top dresser drawer. Everything I know is in it. I'll take the bullet, but first, tell me that my family is safe.”
“They're safe,” Deacon confirmed. “I never had them, the minute your wife saw me she asked me to just let her and the boy go. Said I could have you if I did, told me where you were. By now, I hope that she drained every cent out of your bank accounts. You're certainly not going to need it.”
Deacon didn't hesitate or feel any regret as he pulled the trigger. Guy Billings slumped to the side, the life gone from his body. He would never hurt anyone again, though the same couldn't be said for whoever he was working with. The death of one man would barely send a ripple through the world.
Chapter TWENTY-SIX