Two Polluted Black-Heart Romances

by Kevin James Breaux

  “Natalia? You okay?” Cade asked as he entered the room and found her cringing on his couch.

  “I was looking at your picture book, when I heard that-that thing speak.” Natalia pointed.

  “Scared you, huh?” Cade asked, walking to her.

  “It did.” She stood. “The flags, barrels, baskets, knives, axes, guns, medals, uniforms: I understand why you have all these things. But this—”

  “This?”

  “Unlike your normally impotent American propaganda, this eagle looks…creepy.”

  “Creepy?” Cade placed his hand gently on the gargoyle’s head. “You hear that? She thinks you’re creepy.”

  “Tall and blonde. Russian accent. Is she a spy, Cade?” When the gargoyle spoke, its lips barely moved.

  “What?” Natalia seemed appalled.

  “Natalia meet my neighbor.” Cade smiled. “And he’s not just any gargoyle. Tell her.”

  It was a good ten seconds before the eagle straightened up and said, “6777 Hollywood Blvd.”

  “6777 Hollywood Boulevard,” Cade repeated proudly.

  “What’s that?” Natalia asked.

  “His name,” Cade said as he patted its head again.

  “His address you mean, don’t you?”

  “No, his address is Hollywood First National Bank, thirtieth floor. Or it was.”

  Natalia placed her hands on her hips. She had had enough. “I am no spy, 6777 Hollywood Boulevard.”

  “Call me, H.B.”

  Natalia nodded.

  “How have you been, H.B.?” Cade asked.

  “Very lonely. No new movies.”

  “Hasn’t Rue set you up with Internet?” Cade asked.

  “Yes. But such a long wait to stream at a reasonable price.”

  Natalia looked puzzled.

  “Never mind her, H.B.,” Cade said. “Look, you’ve been here a while. Have you ever heard of the Tainted? Have any of them ever lived here?”

  It took a minute, but the gargoyle answered, “Yes. Several.”

  “Good.” Cade looked around for Joe, but he was gone. “What do you know about them? Do you know what they might fear?”

  “I hated acid rain,” H.B. said.

  “Yeah, I’m sure you did.” Cade nodded. “Do the Tainted hate it too?”

  “No, the earth and mold types detest—”

  “Hey, hey, hey.” Joe dashed out of the shadows in time to interrupt. “We cross this line and there ain’t no crossing back.”

  “Let him speak, Joe.”

  Several seconds later, H.B. said, “They detest salt water—the ocean.”

  “Of course,” Cade said. “How many times have you heard people talk about the healing properties of salt water?” He looked at Joe. “Does it hurt you?”

  “It causes us lots of problems, okay? You satisfied?”

  Cade thought of his plan: Moselle’s house, Nicodemus, and the C4. It had added up, but this new ingredient changed everything. “This means I need to alter my plan a touch.”

  “Action?” H.B. asked. “Adventure?”

  “Yes.” Cade nodded.

  H.B. spread his wings; the motion sounded like stone scraping against metal. “Pity the bad guys.”

  Joe jumped up and down. “Yo, like Lethal Weapon! I love that movie.”

  “Me too.” H.B. tilted his head.

  Cade looked at Natalia, who had crossed her arms. The sneer on her face was one he had seen before. “What about you, Natalia?”

  “I much prefer a good Bond movie.”

  “Yo, which James Bond, sweetness?” Joe asked.

  “Sean Connery, of course,” Natalia said with a formal bow.

  Cade smirked. “That’s exactly what a good spy would say.”

  When the Past Comes Back to Haunt You

  Sabrina traded seats with Moselle. She wanted to be up in front with Jackson. She never enjoyed giving people directions. She was already anxious enough, and having to relay instructions from the back seat of the limo would have made her stress levels peak.

  Gripped in her hand was her cell phone. Sabrina had not let go of it since she left her room in Peter’s house. She felt it vibrate again; it had two voice mails and a text message, all from Peter. Seeing them there made her want to cry, scream, and smash the little thing to bits. She hated feeling like she had jeopardized all she worked for—especially when she was so close to reaching her goals.

  “You okay?” Jackson asked.

  “I’m fine.” Sabrina nodded. “We’re almost there.”

  “Yeah, but are you really okay?”

  Sabrina looked at Jackson; his face showed his compassion.

  Yet another reason why Moselle must love him, she thought. Sabrina looked back at Moselle. She was reading something on her phone. Calm as always. You have no idea what you have here—what you stand to lose, do you?

  “Have you ever seen your dream and then watched it stolen away from you?”

  Jackson smiled. “You know I have,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  He took a moment before responding, his face turning sour. It looked to Sabrina like he was reliving some serious pain. After he got his emotions under control, he pointed at the scars on his wrist. “I should be playing in the NHL right now.”

  “Right, you got hurt.” Sabrina remembered.

  “I did.” He nodded. “Almost killed me… I mean it almost killed me that I got hurt so bad.”

  “Then you know how I feel,” she said with a nod. “I feel like my world is ending…again.”

  “I’m sure Peter will understand.”

  “Last night, we discussed the future of my career. We were supposed to have another special talk tonight.” Sabrina sighed and gazed at her phone. “I ran out on him.”

  Moselle cleared her throat and spoke. “He is following us.”

  “What?” Sabrina and Jackson both said.

  “Peter is following us.”

  Sabrina looked in the side mirror. Sure enough, she spotted one of Peter’s cars behind them. “How long has he been back there?”

  Moselle shrugged. “I only noticed when we switched seats.”

  “Moss—” Jackson began.

  “Jesus, Moselle! You should’ve said something.”

  “I thought you knew,” Moselle said nonchalantly.

  Sabrina put her head in her hands. She had had all she could take and still held back the tears, because she knew if she started crying now, she may never stop. But the touch of Jackson’s warm palm on her thigh snapped her back to reality. She stared at his hand and then, slowly, she looked up to make eye contact with him.

  “Did you miss that signal?” he whispered.

  Sabrina shook her head. She got the signal and the connection to the conversation they’d had in her bathroom. When he started to release his grip on her leg, Sabrina reached out and held it still. Don’t let go.

  In time, Jackson slipped his hand out from under hers.

  “Do we turn up here?” he asked.

  Sabrina wished he would touch her again. But how could she say anything with Moselle right behind them? “Yes, at the light.”

  “Everything will work out. Okay, Sabrina?” he said.

  “Okay.”

  Jackson nodded. “Peter’s probably worried about you. I know I would be…if I was him. I’d probably follow you too. And when you got out of the car, I’d grab you and hold you tight.”

  “I’d like that.”

  Sabrina’s mind went elsewhere until she heard Moselle’s cell phone chime.

  “That was Cade. He’s arrived at my home.”

  “Who’s with him?”

  “Let me ask.” Moselle typed away and waited a moment. “He says Natalia and Joe.”

  “The ballerina,” Sabrina sneered. “I know of her, but I have no idea who Joe is. What about Nico?”

  “No mention of him.”

  “That’s odd. Nico wouldn’t let Cade face anything this big without him. He’s hiding som
ething.”

  “Maybe Joe is a new vampire?” Jackson asked.

  “Dunyasha would never allow it. Anyway, all the youngest vampires would need to be asleep right now. It’s a mistake for them to fight the pull, they’ll end up like rotting zombies.”

  “What did you say?” Moselle inquired as she leaned forward.

  “You don’t know?”

  “Know what?”

  “That when a vampire goes against his nature, when he rejects the slumber, he turns into a ghoul.”

  Moselle waved her hand about. “That is preposterous.”

  “It’s not. And I can prove it. We’re here, Jackson.” Sabrina pointed. “Turn there.”

  “Into the storage facility?”

  “Yes.” Sabrina reached into the limo’s console and dug out several dollars. “We’re going to need a few sodas.”

  “You know that stuff will rot your stomach,” Jackson teased.

  “Not for me, for Lonzo,” Sabrina stated. “His stomach is already rotted.”

  Jackson pulled the limo into the darkest corner of the storage facility. Once parked, Sabrina took the handful of cash and ran across the street, bought several sodas and three bottles of water, and walked back.

  It was just enough time for Peter to catch up to them, park his car, and wait at the entrance for her. Sabrina would have liked time to prepare her thoughts, but sadly, that wasn’t possible.

  “Peter, you shouldn’t have followed me. This…this is not something I want to burden you with.”

  “Let me choose how I burden myself, Sabrina,” Peter answered.

  “Fine.”

  “Look, if there is some sort of trouble here, I have resources. I can help. Is there someone after you? Is it your ex-lover? Is he dangerous?”

  “You have no idea,” she said under her breath.

  Peter looked about. “What are you doing back here?”

  “Back here?” Jackson asked as he walked over to take the drinks off Sabrina’s hands.

  “I was hiding here the other night. It was safe then, so I figured…” She shrugged.

  Jackson and Peter looked around. She knew what they were thinking: this part of town, this time of night—nothing was safe about it. But they were wrong.

  “Sabrina, my dear, can we talk in private?”

  She handed all but one of the water bottles to Jackson and then gestured to him that it was okay. “All right, Peter. Follow me.”

  Sabrina walked down the rows of storage units, swinging her hips and holding her head high. She looked over her shoulder, but not at Peter—instead, she was searching for Jackson. There was just something about his hand on her thigh she could not stop thinking about.

  “Where are we going?” Peter asked.

  “To my unit.” Sabrina paused. “Oh, and my friend Lonzo, he might be at his unit across from mine. If he is, don’t stare at him. Just let me talk to him a moment, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Peter sounded hesitant and Sabrina guessed why. “Not used to someone else taking charge are you, Peter?”

  He chuckled. “No.”

  “Well, do your best to trust me,” Sabrina joked. “I’ll get you out of this one alive, swaddy.”9

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She smiled. “Very good.”

  When Sabrina reached her storage unit, she was disappointed that Lonzo’s door was all but closed. He must be sleeping, she thought.

  To her surprise, the lock she had burned off her unit the other night had been replaced with a new one. Did the owners do this, or was it Lonzo? As she lifted the padlock, a pair of warm hands gripped her waist and turned her slowly around.

  “Peter?” Sabrina said breathily as she came face-to-face with the man—unaware of his intentions. “I…”

  Peter leaned in slowly, his gaze seemed to reach inside her. She normally closed her eyes when she kissed, but now she kept them open as long as he did, unable to break his gaze. When their lips touched, she rose to her tip toes and pressed herself into him. His hands glided around to the small of her back and up to her ribs. To Sabrina’s dismay, Peter’s kiss did not rouse her desires; it did nothing at all.

  She tried to rise higher on her toes, to guide Peter’s hands down—to see if that would change how she felt—but her heels would not allow it, and soon she found herself wobbling. When she finally dropped down, she took a deep breath and sighed. That felt all wrong.

  “Peter—”

  “Forgive me, Sabrina. I had to know.”

  “Don’t apologize.” She smiled.

  “Did you like it?” he asked ponderously.

  Had Peter been any other man, had his kiss made her feel like it should have, she would have reached out, took his hand, and slipped it up her dress, between her legs. She would have had let her actions speak. But having felt like she’d just kissed an uncle, she held back.

  “Yes.” She ran her hand down his arm to his hand, and lied again. “It was nice.”

  Peter took a step back and frowned.

  He knows I’m lying. “What’s wrong, Peter?”

  “We need to talk.”

  Sabrina tried to bite her tongue. But the words just slipped out. “Talk. Talk. Talk. Look, I’m sorry. We can try again. It was me, I was distracted.”

  “Sabrina, please listen.”

  She leaned in. “Kiss me, Peter.”

  “Sabrina stop.”

  “Stop?” Fuck, she thought. I’ve done what Weston warned me not to do. I’ve ruined it all. “I’m sorry.”

  “Are you finished?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Good then. Maybe you can listen to me a moment. I think you—”

  She would have liked to listen, but her racing thoughts would not allow her a moment’s break. “Peter, I’m so confused. Last night, I wanted to, I did, and now I’m just—”

  “My wife and daughter weren’t killed in a car accident. They were killed in front of me. Killed by something—some monster that I cannot even begin to explain.”

  Peter’s words stole the breath from her lungs.

  “She-she would’ve been your age…or thereabouts,” he said.

  “Your daughter?”

  “Yes.”

  Sabrina took his hand. “I’m so sorry, Peter.”

  “I look at you, Sabrina,” Peter said and then rubbed his eyes in attempt to hold back the tears. “I look at you and cannot help but think of her.”

  “We look alike?”

  “Not quite. But like you, she exuded life.”

  “Peter—”

  “I had to ask myself: Is it the man in me that is drawn to Sabrina London: her beauty, curves, and sensuality? Or is it the father that misses his daughter? Is that why I want you around, why I want to take care of you, see you succeed? I fear it might be the latter.”

  “I understand.” In some ways, Sabrina felt relieved.

  “Do you?” Peter looked to the sky. “Because God almighty, I don’t.”

  Sabrina laughed as it became more apparent. “We’re perfect for each other.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes,” she sighed. “Don’t you know? I have daddy issues.”

  Peter stared in disbelief. Sabrina did not know what he was going to say next. Was he shocked, appalled, disgusted, or amused? It was hard to say.

  “You’re off your trolley.”

  “I’m what?”

  “You may understand this better,” he said. “That’s fucked up.”

  Sabrina didn’t laugh until Peter did and then she roared.

  Everything’s going to work out in the end, she told herself. Everything’s going to be fine.

  “I’m sorry, Peter. Sorry for being insensitive. I’m sorry for being such an ass. Friends?”

  “No worries, love.”

  She smiled. “Can I still stay at your house?”

  “Instead of this fine bed and breakfast?” Peter joked. “Of course you can.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You
can thank me by winning a Grammy.”

  “Only one?” Sabrina laughed.

  * * *

  9 British slang for a private or soldier.

  On Shaky Ground

  Moselle read and reread Cade’s newest text message. She was unsure what it meant. And when she texted him back, he didn’t clarify. What are you planning, Cade? Why do you refuse to answer me?

  She put her phone back in her pocket and gazed at the limo. She would have rather been home than this dirty, indefensible place in a part of the city that smelled of piss and smog.

  Why would Sabrina think this place is safe? These fences would not hold a dog back, let alone something more sinister. They should have listened to me. We should have gone back to my house.

  Moselle looked at Jackson. He fidgeted anxiously with his pocketknife, opening and shutting and opening it again. He stared off in the direction Sabrina was; he had not stopped since he’d returned with the drinks.

  What fills his mind? Does this place make him nervous too? Or have I lost him? Moselle breathed heavily. I am the master of my own fate…or am I?

  She gazed back at the limo. Inside the trunk was the scepter—her scepter. She walked around to the back of the limo and placed her hands gently on the trunk.

  “Open it.”

  “Did you say something, Moss?”

  It sounded like she had woken him. “I said, open the trunk.”

  Jackson fished the keys from his pocket and pressed the button. Moselle reached inside and pulled the staff out. This belonged to me…

  “What are you doing with that?”

  “It belonged to me,” she said.

  “Okay, but why did you bring it?”

  “I can’t leave it behind.”

  “Because it’s your precious?” Jackson joked.

  “My what?”

  Jackson looked disappointed as he turned away. “Never mind.”

  Moselle placed the scepter back in the trunk and stared at it a moment. “I should be home. Would you take me home?”

  Jackson faced Moselle again, his expression slightly different from the last time she’d suggested it. Now he looked equally annoyed and angry. “No, Moselle. It’s not safe.”

  “Cade is there—”

  “So?”

  “He said he searched the perimeter already. There was nothing, no one, it’s safe there,” she said. “Cade knows what’s happening, Jackson, and—”