Gaslight (Crossbreed Series Book 4)

by Dannika Dark

  “Jesus fuck,” Shepherd muttered.

  Wyatt had only played that song from his bedroom a zillion times. The haunting tune of “All Out of Love” would loop on his phone, echoing through the empty halls.

  When two workers hustled up to a room behind Customer Service and pounded their fists on the door, the volume cranked up.

  “Fucking hell,” Shepherd muttered. “Nobody’s got time for that.”

  An icy wind slapped him in the face as the automated doors slid open and he stepped outside. With a cigarette dangling from his mouth, he struck a match and cupped his hand around it. After a short puff, the paper lit and tobacco began to smoke. The flavorful drag slipped down his lungs on a breath, and he held it for a few beats before blowing it out. Sometimes that was all it took for his mind to stop spinning in circles. A cigarette made him feel present and was the least destructive vice he could have. Drugs were seductive and dangerous, especially those spiked with magic, so he avoided them. But every immortal had some kind of addiction. Sex, clothes, alcohol, killing. Christian had candy, Wyatt had computers, and Shepherd had nicotine.

  A biting chill skated across his neck, but his hard leather jacket kept him warm. When he heard the tread of little feet stomping in his direction, Shepherd glanced over his right shoulder. He almost looked away until he glimpsed wild black hair and blue eyes coming at him through a thin veil of fog.

  There was just a brief moment where he imagined the boy leaping into his arms.

  The cigarette slipped from his fingers and rolled into the street from a gust of wind. This was the first time he’d seen his son in person without a mask, and it splintered his heart. He’d memorized the picture on his phone, but now he could see every familiar contour—a blend of two people who had once loved each other deeply.

  He had Shepherd’s crazy hair—one reason Shepherd kept his own trimmed short. On the kid, it was tousled and made him look like a Lost Boy from Neverland. It had always appeared black indoors, but outside, it had more dimension and subtle layers of dark brown. Judging by his pale skin, Shepherd thought he probably didn’t get out in the sunshine much.

  The boy slowed to a stop by a brown mechanical horse, and they greeted each other like old pals. With feverish haste he climbed aboard, his eyes alight with daydreams of cowboys and wild mustangs hot on his heels.

  Shepherd tried not to stare at the scar on his face, the one that started near the outside corner of his left eye and curved across his cheek to his nose. At the far end of the shopping strip, through the fog, Shepherd observed two black cars that were a little too upscale for this neighborhood.

  A fleeting urge to kidnap his own son overtook him. But the thought disintegrated when the kid smiled gleefully and kicked his heels against the frozen horse. Shepherd guessed he was the average height for a five-year-old, and he seemed strong and smart like a little man. A lifetime of stolen memories flashed in his mind—late nights with the baby cradled under one arm and a book in the other, Maggie giving him his first bottle. Shepherd would never know if Maggie would have eventually formed a permanent life with him, but Patrick had destroyed all those possibilities. He had stolen those first steps and first words.

  Shepherd drifted toward the mechanical horse. The kid was too old for that thing; only toddlers rode them on the rare occasion when their mothers were busy on their phones and didn’t want to deal with a tantrum.

  “He got a name?” Shepherd asked, hand in his pocket.

  Avoiding eye contact, the boy shrugged.

  “He’s a fine horse. Think he can run fast?”

  The boy shrugged again, this time a smile ghosting his lips.

  Yeah, this kid had an active imagination. Most children did, but usually that quality developed more in kids who were isolated and alone. He remembered the empty bedroom bereft of color. No toy trucks on the floor, no stuffed animals on the bed, no airplanes hanging from the ceiling.

  Shepherd let a coin roll into the slot, and the boy yelped when the horse jerked to life. Within seconds, he was over his shock and riding it like a champ.

  Shepherd eyed Patrick’s car. “Better run faster, the bad guys are catching up.” When the boy gripped the saddle horn, Shepherd lifted the reins. “You need these to tell him which direction to go, little man.”

  The boy took the reins from Shepherd and curled his fingers around them. Shepherd was pretty sure the kid was reading his emotions, and he wanted so badly to know what the boy thought about him. Resisting his Sensor urge to find out, he put his hands back in his pockets.

  The boy sat up straighter, confidence building as he looked over his shoulder and squinted. The expression reminded Shepherd of himself.

  Patrick stalked in their direction, one of his guards following behind. The boy quickly dismounted and stared dolefully at his racing colt.

  Shepherd squatted down and held out a coin. “Take this. Put it in your pocket and don’t show it to anyone. When you feel like running away, this is all you need.”

  The boy palmed the coin and locked eyes with him.

  “I’m like you,” Shepherd said. “Do you know what I mean by that? I feel things with my hands.”

  He didn’t really have a point; he’d just decided it was important to let the boy know there were others like him. Chances were Patrick had kept Sensors away from the kid. Shepherd had put a lot of emotion into that coin so the boy would know he was telling the truth. Patrick was probably brainwashing this kid, and Shepherd couldn’t live with the idea of his own kid growing up to hate him. Maybe somehow that coin would plant a seed of doubt.

  Shepherd quickly rose to his feet as Mr. Bane closed the distance between them.

  “Boy, what did I tell you about running off?” Patrick chided, his soft brogue laced with annoyance.

  The boy shuffled submissively behind his caretaker. Shepherd refused to think of Patrick as any kind of father. Slave master was more like it.

  Patrick narrowed his green eyes, his complexion withering against the nasty chill. He put his hands in the pockets of his long coat and appeared surprised to see Shepherd at a grocery store on this side of town. This douchebag probably did most of his shopping in human places to avoid scrutiny from immortals who believed a Mage had no business with a child.

  “Have a meaningful chat?” Patrick asked. “Rest assured, it’ll be the last.”

  “You should keep your eye on him. Someone could have snatched him up and run off.”

  Patrick sniffed, drawing attention to his red nose. “I hardly think so. I have eyes on him at all times.”

  Shepherd locked eyes on the guard and gave him a frosty glare. “Doesn’t seem like it to me.”

  “You insolent fool. Do you think a man in my position would take chances with an innocent child?” The words hung in the air like a veiled threat.

  Patrick turned a ring on his finger and flicked a glance toward the parking lot. It made Shepherd look, and that was when he saw them. He counted four men standing in key locations—one behind a column, another by a lamppost in the parking lot. They had Asian features, and one of them was a big motherfucker. The longer he stared, the more Shepherd was certain he’d seen those men before.

  “It’s quite astonishing how little compensation some men require for honest work. I suppose it helps when you have common interests. Until we meet again, Mr. Moon.”

  As he pivoted away, Shepherd had an impulsive urge to reach around and cut his throat. But not in front of the boy. Not with Patrick’s new bodyguards, who were armed to the teeth by the looks of it. Instead, he clenched his jaw and let them walk away. The boy never looked back. He put a skip in his step to catch up with Patrick, little hands tucked in his coat pockets.

  If Shepherd were his father, he would have bought him gloves. Not because of the cold, but a Sensor that age was too young to be touching things in public without proper guidance. People left behind all kinds of dirty emotions on inanimate objects. Patrick wouldn’t know something like that—he wouldn’t und
erstand the harm it could do to a child.

  When the automated doors opened, Wyatt emerged. “You bunch of heathens!” he yelled over his shoulder. “Can you believe that? They were going to call the cops on me for playing a little music. That’s what’s wrong with people—they don’t know how to have fun. Rules, rules, rules. Do you think a Breed bar would toss me out or report me to the higher authority for dancing on a table? Hell no.”

  “Where’s Blue?”

  Wyatt hugged his bare arms. “Inside paying for everything. They wouldn’t let me help her out, so now she’s stuck with a shitload of bags. You better go in there before she gets pissed and flattens your tires with her axe. Bring my jacket out while you’re at it.”

  Shepherd heaved a sigh and tried not to look back toward Patrick, but he couldn’t help himself.

  Damn, he missed Maggie. It gutted him to look into that little boy’s eyes and see a piece of her staring back.

  Wyatt followed his gaze to the man disappearing through the fog. “You know that guy in the trench coat?”

  Shepherd managed a dispassionate reply as he lightly touched the tattoo on the back of his neck. “He’s no one.”

  Chapter 9

  Techno music pulsed like an adrenaline-fueled heartbeat, and bodies swayed as the weekend crowd engaged in their ritual mating dance. Christian and I had decided to stay at the club a little longer to get a sense of the crowd and how busy the evenings were. Most of the women wore painted-on skirts, tall heels, and heavy makeup. My hoodie, jeans, and lace-up boots weren’t going to cut it if I wanted to blend in.

  We didn’t plan on returning until after Wyatt posted his message on the Vampire website. I could have written one myself, but I wanted professional nerd advice in case we needed to cloak the profile to make it untraceable. I knew nothing about the Vampire we were tracking and how computer savvy he was, so I wasn’t taking any chances.

  I’d lost track of Christian, and the few times I found him, he was dazzling a woman with his roguish charm. Had I been a jealous woman, it would have bothered me. But flirting was the most effective way for him to go unnoticed. Loners stood out in busy clubs, one reason I was more chatty than usual with the people around me. I glued myself to the bar to avoid weirdos asking me to dance. Niko hadn’t made an appearance after I’d left him with his women, but it wasn’t unusual for him to step outside when there was an abundance of charged energy in the air. Club energy was like a heartbeat against my skin—so chaotic and wild that it reminded me to conceal my light. Even though we were supposed to flare our energy in public places, I was undercover, so waving a sign around that I was a Mage wasn’t an option.

  “I like your necklace.”

  I turned to the woman sitting next to me at the bar. She’d been nursing a margarita for so long that the crushed ice had melted.

  “I noticed it earlier.” She twirled the ends of her short blond hair.

  “Thanks.”

  Over the years, I’d developed a talent for reading people. This one was in a transitional phase of her life. Late thirties, insecure, professional manicure, and she wouldn’t stop touching her hair. People usually underwent drastic makeovers when starting over. Probably a recent divorce. Either that or she was trapped in a loveless marriage and searching for a man who would give her the attention her husband didn’t. I couldn’t see her ring finger to confirm, but the desperate look in her eyes whenever a man walked by hadn’t escaped my attention.

  “Did your friends ditch you?” I asked.

  “No. I’m all by my lonesome. I haven’t been here in a long time. It seems different, but nothing’s changed.”

  “I guess that means you changed.”

  She smiled ruefully. “I guess it does. Are you waiting for someone?”

  “Mr. Right.”

  She belted out a laugh and raised her glass. “I’ll drink to that.” I didn’t have a drink in front of me, so she went ahead and took a sip.

  I wrinkled my nose at my basket of mini pizza rolls, which had turned out to be thoroughly disgusting.

  “Sorry if I’m bothering you,” she said, watching me tuck my necklace beneath my shirt.

  “No, you’re the best conversation I’ve had in here all night. And that’s not saying much.” I grimaced, hoping she didn’t take it as an insult when I just meant that we’d only exchanged a handful of words.

  “I’m too old to dance, and I’m too young to sit home alone. What’s a girl gotta do these days to get a man’s attention that doesn’t involve shaking her assets?”

  I bristled when someone wedged between us. He leaned his hulking body against me to grab the bartender’s attention. The man had thick arms beneath his long-sleeve shirt. Not exactly muscular, but I thought he had large bones, judging by the size of the meat hooks he called hands. Why the hell was he wearing leather gloves? This wasn’t a biker bar.

  “Can I buy you a drink?” he asked the blonde next to me.

  “Um…”

  I couldn’t see her face, but it sounded like she was terrified and uncertain. Maybe this guy was her last hope.

  “What’s your name?” he asked, his deep voice rumbling like thunder.

  “Denise. And you are?”

  “Boomer.”

  I snorted.

  Boomer was the name of a three-legged Chihuahua my childhood neighbor once owned. Before the lady died from a stroke, she used to come over to our trailer with her dog under one arm and oatmeal cookies in the other hand. She didn’t seem to mind my daddy’s surly demeanor or the fact he’d lock himself in the bathroom each time she appeared at our door.

  When Boomer glared over his shoulder at me, I caught my reflection in his wraparound sunglasses. I bet Claude would have loved to shave off this guy’s thick, blondish beard. It practically had room in there for spare keys and a phone.

  Boomer and Denise made an odd pairing, but they chatted for a while. Maybe it was the tight pants she wore or the copious amount of perfume, but Boomer was so enamored by her that he didn’t care that his big ass was all brushed up against me. He was acting as if this was his turf, yet he didn’t exactly blend in with the other men hanging around the club. Could this be our Vampire?

  I decided to sit back and observe.

  As Boomer stepped away, Denise slid off her stool and winked at me. “Good luck,” she whispered, as if we were part of some secret club of women who were desperately hoping to find true love in a bar.

  Though I had to laugh, considering where Christian and I had first met.

  My attention wandered about the room as I searched for possible suspects. When I turned back around, I caught a flash of someone’s arm moving away from my basket. I looked left at a man with fat chipmunk cheeks. He held a casual pose and attempted to smile with a mouthful of food.

  I shoved my basket of uneaten pizza rolls toward him.

  With a sheepish grin, he scratched the back of his head. “Didn’t think you’d mind,” he said, attempting to swallow what he’d already pilfered.

  “They’re all yours if you’ve got an iron stomach.”

  “I saw the guy bring them around a half hour ago and came this close to ordering some,” he said, holding his thumb and index finger an inch apart.

  “Decided to wait and see if I survived?”

  He gobbled up another. “Exactly.” After wiping his hand across his shirt, he held it out, displaying black nail polish on his fingernails. “I’m Chase.”

  When I shook his hand, my real name almost slipped out. “Simone.”

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Simone. I shan’t be bothering you a moment longer.”

  He stood up with the basket in hand and took a quick glance around before grabbing a half-empty beer bottle that someone had left behind. Torn jeans were in fashion, so it wasn’t easy to ascertain if he was down on his luck or stylish. But his scavenger ways reminded me a lot of myself not so long ago.

  “Do you normally take a lady’s food and run?” I quipped.


  He peered at me over his shoulder. “Was I rude?”

  I waved my hand. “I don’t care. Just giving you a hard time.”

  While the music thumped loudly, he stared at me for a beat, his hazel eyes flickering between a greenish and brown hue. He set the basket on the bar beside me. “Women don’t tease men without a reason. There’s always an ulterior motive behind it. I wasn’t trying to be rude; I just hate to see food go to waste.”

  “It’ll go to waste if you leave it there, so do what you want.” I tucked my fist against my cheek. “You remind me of someone I used to know.”

  He held the rim of the beer bottle just below his mouth. “By the look on your face, I’m guessing it’s you?”

  Christian eased up out of nowhere and tugged my arm, dragging me out of my seat. “Care to dance?”

  Chase stood up and captured my other arm. “Should I step in? ’Cause I’ll totally step in.”

  Christian let go and clenched his jaw. “If you want to step outside like gentlemen, then I’ll lead the way.”

  My partner wasn’t asking to dance. It was Christian’s subtle way of telling me he was ready to blow this joint. Honestly, so was I.

  I left a tip on the bar. “It’s all right, boys. I was on my way out anyhow. Better luck next time.”

  “For feck’s sake,” Christian muttered, stalking off as if he didn’t know me.

  I grabbed my purse and headed toward the door.

  “Wait!” Chase called out.

  I turned around. A spotlight beamed on Chase, brightening his white hair, which was styled in every direction.

  He handed me my leather jacket. “Sorry if I made that weird.”

  I took the jacket and saw the honesty in his eyes. He seemed like the kind of guy you could easily befriend over a beer. “Do you come here often?”

  He snickered. “Often enough.”

  “Maybe I’ll see you again.” I turned and walked away.