Mitch

by Dakota Rebel

  I glared at her, which earned me an eye roll, but she took her shoes off my leather sofa. She knows I hate when she does that, and I think that’s part of the appeal.

  “Donna wants to know if she can have the other ticket.”

  “No. And you need to call Mom and ask her if you can even go. Tell Donna I’ll take her if you can’t.”

  She stuck out her tongue at me. I smiled then walked into the kitchen to grab a beer. Her voice followed me.

  “Jarrod Axlerod is so fucking hot.”

  Fan-fucking-tastic. My little sister had a crush on a serial murderer. Like brother like sister, I guess. I leaned back my head, resting it on the cabinets and trying to hear more of her conversation, but her voice had quieted. I closed my eyes, opening them when I felt her take the bottle out of my hand.

  “Mom wants to talk to you.” She handed me the phone before walking back to the living room with my beer.

  “Use a coaster,” I called after her. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Hi, honey. Thank you for letting Reagan stay there last night. Are you okay? You sound tired.” I smiled. Mom put up with a lot of shit from her family. She’s spent thirty years married to a spook, then her queer son went and joined up too when he was only eighteen years old. Not to mention her seventeen-going-on-eighteen-year-old daughter was a lunatic. But Mom always worried about us first. She was our safe haven, the eye of our storms.

  “I’m fine, Mom, really. Reagan is just being a pain in the ass!” I yelled the last so Reagan would hear me.

  “I thought you liked it like that,” she called back to me.

  Bitch.

  “Reagan says you got her concert tickets. Are you sure that’s a good idea? She’s so wild right now. You’ll have to watch her like a hawk. God knows what she does when she’s out there on her own. I don’t want her drinking or doing drugs.”

  I took another beer into the living room then sat next to Reagan. I couldn’t believe I was about to talk my mother into letting me take my sister to a concert I didn’t really think she should be at myself.

  “It’s a concert, Mom, not the seventh circle of hell. I’m not going to let anything happen to her. Honest.” At least, that part was true. I started to feel a little better about her going after saying aloud that she’d be with me, and I would never let her get hurt. It might still be a stupid idea, but she would be safe with me, and it would only be a couple of hours at the most.

  “I know, sweetie. So this band… Reagan says they’re brothers, like the Osmonds.” I choked on my beer as I shot Reagan a dirty look. “So, I guess, it’s okay if you take her. But I don’t want her staying out too late. Promise you’ll take her home right after.”

  “Well, gee, Mom, we were going to hit a few gay bars together after the show or go down to the docks and try to pick up some sailors, but if you insist, I guess I can have her in bed by midnight.”

  “Mitchell Baine don’t get cheeky with me.”

  “Sorry. I won’t keep her out all night, and she can stay over here. I’ll have her home Saturday morning, safe and sound. Okay?”

  “All right. I love you, honey.”

  “I love you, too, Mom.” I hung up the phone and threw it at Reagan. “You told Mom that Heartstrings is like the fucking Osmond brothers?”

  “Not exactly. She brought that up, and since it seemed like a positive thing, I didn’t correct her. Who the hell are the Osmond brothers?”

  Christ, no one can make you feel old quite like a teenager can.

  “She’s going to kill me if she finds out I took you to a vampire concert. I never should have agreed to this.”

  This whole situation had the makings of a full-on disaster. I watched my little sister chug the rest of her beer and wondered if I was hurting her more than I was helping.

  With Dad gone all the time, Reagan had started to look to me as the man of the house. But I’d been too young to realize what was happening at the time. I just thought I was the cool older brother. I could protect her and give her some place to crash when she and Mom were fighting. But I was in no way equipped to be a parental figure. I didn’t make mature decisions for myself. Making them for a teenage girl was completely out of the question. Of course, by the time I realized what she had been trying to do it was too late, the precedent had been set.

  As she’d gotten older, I’d at least been able to keep her talking to me. She trusted me to pick her up if she’d had too much to drink at a party. She let me meet her friends so I knew who she was with. So it wasn’t a complete train wreck. If I’d been a hard ass with her, she probably wouldn’t tell me anything about her life. At least, she wasn’t out roaming the streets, completely out of control. Giving her some space and some freedom had probably worked out in the long run. At least, it was nice to think so.

  “Dad called me yesterday,” she said softly, startling me. I wondered how she’d known what I was just thinking.

  “Yeah, what did he want?” I was pretty cynical when it came to our father. He didn’t dole out attention without a price. At least, not to me. Reagan was his little girl. Maybe, it was different for her. I doubted it.

  I often wondered how he and Mom had ended up together. They were polar opposites. Or maybe he had forced her to be that way. She tried to make up for his lack of…everything. Attention, affection, even just presence.

  “Not much. He can’t make it home for my birthday.” She tried to sound casual about it, but I could tell she was disappointed. I was polite enough to ignore it.

  “Where is he now?”

  “He couldn’t say.” She rolled her eyes. “But he’s sending me a present. He wouldn’t tell me what it was.”

  “Yeah, he’s a secretive bastard like that.” For my eighteenth birthday, he’d given me my first solo hunt. It was a shape-shifter who had almost killed me. I think it was blind luck that had kept me from being infected during that fight. Thank God, Reagan was a girl. If Dad was smart, he would just send cash.

  “Well, I’d better get home so Mom can lecture me about the dangers of sex and drugs before the concert tomorrow.” She kissed my forehead. “Thanks for the ticket, Mitch.”

  “You’re welcome. Drive safe. Meet me here tomorrow at six, and we’ll get dinner before the show. Real dinner, not drive-thru.”

  She crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue at me on her way out the door.

  Maybe, I really was a bad influence on her.

  Chapter Three

  Friday night arrived all too quickly. Reagan showed up at my house two hours early so she could “get ready” for the concert. She’d walked in the door looking as if she were going clubbing, and I was absolutely horrified when she walked out of the bathroom an hour and a half later looking as if she were going hooking.

  “You need to change,” I said sternly when I saw her. She wore a skirt that barely covered her ass, boots that laced midway up her thighs, a halter top that left little to the imagination and enough makeup that Heartstrings themselves would be jealous.

  “I just did,” she called over her shoulder as she walked to the kitchen. I heard her open the fridge, bottles clinking together, then she walked into the living room with two beers in her hands. “Hey, did you want to borrow my lipstick tonight? Or maybe some of my blush?”

  “Go to hell.” I grabbed one of the beers, which she had already opened for me, and took a big swig. I would never live down the eyeliner thing.

  “Reagan, I try really hard to be the cool older brother,” I said, shaking my head. “But there is no way in hell I can let you out of the house looking like that.”

  “Like what?” she asked, hostility in her voice.

  “Like a prostitute.” I walked into my bedroom, shuffled through a drawer until I came up with a black T-shirt then took it to her. “Put it on.”

  She untied the halter and dropped it on the living room floor. I rolled my eyes before going to get ready to leave. I pulled on a pair of jeans and a tight white T-shirt in pretty much the same style as the b
lack one I had given Reagan. After securing my shoulder holster and adding my Glock, I threw on a light jacket to cover it all. I rubbed some gel through my hair and messily spiked it, then I was ready to go, too.

  I was glad to see Reagan had actually put on the shirt. She was as covered as I was going to get her so I would have to live with it. I think what bothered me about her outfit, aside from the fact that I was essentially taking her to work with me and didn’t need my sister looking like a whore and drawing attention to us, was how fucking old she looked. She could have passed for twenty, maybe even twenty-one, at any bar in Ferndale. Which, to be honest, made me feel older than I wanted to. She would be seventeen for another twenty-four hours, and she could fucking well look like it.

  Dinner was uneventful, except for the fact Reagan spent most of it on her cell phone bragging to her friends about her “cool ass older brother” who was taking her to “the concert of the century”. I liked being praised, but I hated it when people at other tables talked on their cell phone. By the end of the meal, I pretty much just wanted to kill her.

  I tried my best to ignore her though, instead trying to think of things I wanted to look for at the concert—like security that worked for the band itself and not just the venue they were playing. It was always helpful to know if the hit had someone watching his back before I tried to drive a stake through it.

  The list was short. I’d never had a contract on someone with such a public presence. And since I’d already seen him naked, I knew how he was built. All vampires were strong, but I had hands on experience with his strength, courtesy of him lifting my entire body with one strong jerk of his hands on a sofa in a backroom.

  I stopped myself mid-thought. It wouldn’t do me any good to think about Jarrod Axlerod that way again. It would distract me from the job if I remembered how good it had felt to be inside his warm, soft, wet mouth that night.

  I desperately looked around for the waiter. I signaled for the check and wiped a bead of sweat from the back of my neck. I glanced at Reagan who was finally off of her phone, but she didn’t seem to notice I was suddenly sweating.

  I paid the bill, and we left. The drive to the concert was blissfully quiet. Apparently, Reagan had already spoken to everyone she had ever met and could now focus on the night ahead of her. Since it was her birthday present, I did something rarely do. I walked the line to the door and flashed my badge to the security guard at the door. He nodded and lifted the velvet rope, allowing us inside before the doors actually opened. The people at the head of the line loudly protested, but it didn’t matter. The door clicked closed behind us, and we were ushered into the venue by additional security.

  I’d honestly never believed I would use my badge for special treatment at a concert, but I figured you only turn eighteen once, and I wanted the night to be special for Reagan. I didn’t feel too bad about it. I was actually working after all so I sent her down to listen to the opening band’s sound check while I grabbed a couple drinks from the bar.

  The bartender was obviously gay and didn’t try to hide it. He gave me a beer and a water for free and made sure to brush my hand with his own when he handed them to me. I smiled but turned and went to find my sister. I didn’t want to leave her alone tonight. I shouldn’t have brought her anyway, letting anything happen to her because I was flirting with the bartender would be stupid beyond all reason.

  I found her sitting at one of the few small tables that lined the floor of the venue. She was talking to a skuzzy-looking roadie. The heels of her boots were hooked on the rung of her chair, and her legs were parted slightly. Not obscenely, but not the demure teenage stance I would have preferred from her. The guy kept leaning in to talk against her ear, and she kept moving back, trying to stay out of his reach.

  Part of me wanted to walk over and sock him in the jaw, while another part of me wanted to wait and see how she would handle it. He leaned into her again, pressing his hips between her legs. I thought my decision had been made for me as I walked toward them, but she took matters into her own hands. I stopped a few tables away, setting the drinks down to free my hands in case she needed help. But I should have known better. I watched in amusement as she pressed a well-manicured nail into the hollow of his throat. He yelped and walked away, rubbing the spot.

  She looked around, finding me standing there and smiled as she walked toward me.

  “Do you have any hand sanitizer?”

  I looked down and saw her hand outstretched, blood covering her fingertip.

  “Jesus, you bled him?” I handed her the small bottle she knew I kept in my pocket. I am not a germ-a-phobe, but I sometimes get into some filthy situations. Better safe than sorry.

  She wiped her hand on a cocktail napkin then slathered on the sanitizer. She handed back the bottle, grinning up at me.

  “Are you mad I didn’t let you save me?” She took the water from the table, pouring it into her mouth so she wouldn’t have to press her lips to the bottle and ruin her lipstick.

  “No,” I said proudly. “I’m glad you know how to take care of yourself.”

  “Yeah, well, you taught me. And you’re the best. Thank you so much for getting me in here early. I know you hate flashing your badge around, and I know you did it for me. It means a lot, Mitch.” She hugged me while I just stood there stunned. I was a little surprised she’d realized what happened. I shouldn’t have been. She spends enough time with me to know what I’m like, how I think and what I feel. I liked that we were close, but I liked it more that she felt the same way.

  We heard the crowd of people pouring in before we saw them. Reagan slid off the chair, grabbing my hand to lead me to the stage. I looked longingly at the beer I was abandoning, the cup sweating onto the table as if mocking me with its coldness, then followed my sister down to the front of the room. Security poured out from the wings creating a barricade between the audience and the stage. The guard that had been outside earlier recognized us and nodded, creating a space to allow us inside their blockade so Reagan and I could stand right against the stage. She wrapped her arm around my waist, planting a small kiss on my cheek in appreciation. I hugged her back briefly before she pushed away from me.

  I was secretly glad the guard had given us a little extra room. I didn’t like being in crowds with a gun no matter how well it was concealed. And if, God forbid, I had to pull it out, it would be easier without fighting thirteen elbows in the process.

  It seemed like forever before the opening band came onstage. The theater was so packed, I became instantly glad I wasn’t claustrophobic. Even with the small area of freedom the security guards provided from the rest of the pack, I could feel the bodies pressing in on me. Reagan didn’t seem to even notice. She stood transfixed when the opening act finally came on stage. I didn’t know their name, and by the time they were finished playing, I wished I had never heard them at all. It was the worst kind of candy punk I’d ever heard. I hoped like hell Heartstrings was not as fucking awful as they had been. There was no way I could stand through another hour of that shit. I might end up just pulling my gun and shooting Jarrod in the middle of the show. If I could explain it correctly, the Army might even understand.

  Reagan refused to move during the customary half-hour break between the garbage band and the band we’d actually come to see. She stood with arms crossed over her chest, waiting impatiently for her boys to hit the stage. When the lights dimmed, I felt her whole body relax. It was as if she had been afraid she wasn’t really going to see them, as if it had been some kind of cruel joke that was being played on her, but once the lights dimmed she could believe they were here. She would only be a few feet from the serial killer of her dreams. Joy.

  I wasn’t really sure why the Army had sent me the tickets in the first place. I knew there wasn’t going to be much I could do in the middle of a crowd of people. Despite my feelings toward the music and my ability to stand through another hour of torture, I couldn’t actually kill Jarrod Axlerod on stage. I couldn’t imagine
what I was supposed to learn from the field trip. All I could do was be glad I could give Reagan a great birthday present, no matter how uneasy I was about having brought her in the first place.

  I had known it was a bad idea to bring her, but when I watched her face as the band walked on stage, I seriously thought about throwing her over my shoulder and dragging her out. Her look was that of hero worship. For a minute, I was worried she would climb on the stage the way her body lurched forward. Luckily, I realized it wasn’t really her throwing herself at them. The entire crowd had surged forward knocking one of the security men into her.

  The band started playing, making me turn my attention back to the stage. I glanced around, but Jarrod Axlerod wasn’t up there yet. I stole another glance at Reagan who also seemed to be searching. The guitar player, Skip Axlerod, caught Reagan’s eye. He played on, but his eyes were glued to hers and hers to him. A blush crept up her neck, and once again, I felt the need to drag her out of there. One vampire crush was bad enough, but if she was lusting after two of them, I would flip my fucking lid.

  Then Jarrod walked on stage, looking like God’s gift to pre-pubescent girls. He stood in front of us, microphone in hand, staring directly at me. And I couldn’t help but stare back. He was beautiful. That was the only word for it. I broke away from his gaze to look over the rest of his body.

  He wore black jeans that hugged his thighs so tightly that, when he shifted his weight, I saw the muscles moving under them. His T-shirt was just as snug, gapping slightly above his jeans and showing off a small waist. I closed my eyes, remembering how those legs had felt under my touch, how his pouty lips had tasted against mine.

  I shook myself back to reality as he started to sing. His voice was amazing. I hadn’t bothered to listen to the CDs I’d been sent. I hadn’t thought it would be necessary. If I had, maybe I would have been prepared, then again, maybe not. The sound that poured from his mouth was like nothing I had never heard before. If I hadn’t known I was immune to vampire powers, I wouldn’t have believed anyone could actually sound like that. His range was all over the place, one line would be sung as if he were Barry White, then he would hit a note I couldn’t have managed even if someone kicked me in the balls. It was unbelievable.