by Sierra Dean
“What did you guys do in New Orleans that might factor in here? Did you rob any banks I should know about?”
My headache was coming back, and this time it had nothing to do with magic. “We struck a bargain with Cain at The Dungeon.”
If Cash or Matt had been part of the supernatural community, this statement would have been enough, but they both gave me a look that said and…?
“Wait, are you talking about Beau Cain?” Matt asked.
“Yes.”
He scratched his head thoughtfully. “Huh. I thought that guy was a myth. Like a modern Al Capone for the supernatural set.”
“You know Al Capone was real, right?” I asked.
He rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. His name comes up in all sorts of cases all across the board. You name it, I’ve heard Beau Cain’s name mentioned.”
“He gets around,” I agreed.
“I can’t believe he’s real,” Matt said again, awed.
“He’s real,” Wilder said. “And Genie and I struck something of a devil’s bargain with him. Before we knew what was happening out here, that is.”
“What kind of bargain?” Cash pulled his chair closer. In spite of the fact Wilder was the one speaking, Cash was staring at me.
“We agreed we wouldn’t kill Timothy Deerling.”
“I do not want to hear any more about this.” Matt got up and patted his pockets until he located a pack of cigarettes. “I’m not on retainer to either of you, so if you’re going to talk about anything illegal, I need to go outside.”
Before I could offer to pay him for his services he was already through the door. He paced back and forth in front of the window, dragging huge puffs off his smoke, muttering to himself all the while.
“Go ahead,” Cash urged.
“Cain knew tensions might run high. Sometimes the way pack justice is served isn’t… Well, it might be frowned on if people knew about it. But that’s neither here nor there, because I gave him my word neither Wilder or I would kill Deerling.”
“What did you say you’d do with him?”
“I said we’d bring him back to New Orleans. Let Cain sort him out.”
I sat back in my chair and met Cash’s stare, challenging him with my own expression to say something.
Cash mirrored my gesture, his warm brown eyes showing how exhausted he was. Not just with this situation, but I think with me too. I had tried so hard for so long to be his perfect woman. Now he saw what a mess my life really was, and I didn’t know if he was too keen on the relationship he’d signed up for with me.
The look in his eyes was sad enough to make my heart hurt because there was nothing I could do to fix it. I’d pretended to be normal, but I wasn’t. This was my world. It was dark, it was bloody, and no one wished their way into it. But still, it was all I knew.
He was raised in a family where his biggest concern had been what law schools he’d be accepted to and whether or not he’d try to become a judge like his mother or go into politics like his father.
I guess I was debating my own political career now.
“So…” He left the sentence to trail off unfinished.
“So,” I agreed.
“Let Matt and me worry about Hank.” He got up and went to find the papers Matt had been poring over. “If you and Wilder are planning to do something to Deerling, I don’t want to know what it is. Confidentiality doesn’t extend to future crimes.”
Wilder and I exchanged uncertain glances.
Bringing in the cops wouldn’t work, but I still wanted to expose Deerling for what he really was, even if I need to resort to wild-kingdom justice.
I suppressed a grin because it would make me look as crazy as I felt in that moment.
I’d been willing to follow the letter of the law on this, but if the law was against us, we’d find our own way.
Cash was right to turn a blind eye.
He didn’t want to know how low I was willing to go to make Deerling suffer.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Stealth was out.
Following was out.
We needed a plan that would let us act quickly, grab Deerling without a fight and get him back to New Orleans. I worried about the Church, and whether they’d continue his legacy of death when he was gone. A small part of me was scared about what Cain planned to do with Deerling when we delivered him.
Then I remembered what those Church of Morning nutcases had wanted to do to me, what they had done to others, and my sympathy vanished.
Fuck him.
I hoped Cain would sell him into a life of service at a vampire blood den. I hoped he would be cursed to have his dick rot off. There was no punishment too awful to inflict on Timothy Deerling. If I could have made him suffer myself, I would.
I wondered about his kids. If the ginger army at the complex was his, that was a half dozen kids who would be left only with fleeting memories of their father, and God only knew what those memories must be. Then there was the baby yet to be born to think about. I felt the worst for that child.
Like me, they’d never know their father. Everything they learned would be someone else’s telling, if anyone told the kid anything at all.
My mother said my father was a killer. That might have been a dream, but it still nagged at me. It was hard to imagine my flesh and blood doing anything as awful as what Deerling had done. But wasn’t my mother a monster in her own way? What if my father had been worse? What did that make me?
I was struck by the sudden, intense need to show the world what Pastor Tim had done. They needed to understand that the man who was giving voice to all this hatred wasn’t basing his beliefs on fact. He wasn’t trying to protect people. He was using the approval of the public as permission to kill my kind.
The American TV-viewing public was sanctioning the murder of werewolves every time they listened to Maureen Cranston speak on CNN.
If the people wanted sensation, I could give them all the scandal they craved.
“Let’s go to the church,” I declared.
Wilder and I had taken Cash’s car again, broken window and all. The glass had been mostly limited to the backseat, and Wilder had cleared out the bulk of it, but I was still uneasy, considering all the trouble I’d recently had with my feet.
As far as shoes went, I’d been forced to make do with what was available to me. Since it was four in the morning and I couldn’t buy anything, I was wearing a pair of tennis shoes from Matt’s gym bag, with two layers of Cash’s socks to make them fit.
I couldn’t run well, but it was a lot better than going barefoot.
“You’ve lost your mind,” Wilder said.
“No, hear me out. I think he was holding Hank there. I think that’s where he sent the video from. And if we can get him to come to us, I think we might be able to get him to admit it.”
“This isn’t a bad TV cop drama, Princess. He’s not going to tell you about his nefarious scheme while you broadcast it to the world.”
“He was already dumb enough to send his video to Callum.” If this plan of mine failed, I’d get Callum to release that video once Deerling was in Cain’s hands. But I wanted Tim to confess to trying to kill me. I wanted him to admit he was responsible for the woman’s death. The more I could get him to cop to, the worse it would look for the church.
“This might be the worst idea you’ve had yet. The church will have a security system in place.”
“Good. I want him to come.”
“You know it likely won’t be him that comes, right? It’ll probably be the cops. And then we’re back to square one. Which is sharing a shitty jail cell with my brother.”
“It will be him.” I felt certain of this. I couldn’t imagine, given how much Deerling had to hide, that he’d let just any cop show up at his doorstep where they might trip over his dirty little secrets.
Who had been there when we were arrested? Anderson, the sheriff and another handfu
l of men, some of whom I’d seen during my time at the station. Josie, the female deputy, hadn’t been among them. I had a good feeling about her, especially after our chat in the diner. There had to be other cops around like her who weren’t corrupt.
Deerling couldn’t take the chance one of those good cops might stumble onto what he was most likely hiding in the church.
“How can you be sure? You exist in this insane little bubble of absolute certainty. I’ve never met anyone like you before.”
I smiled at him. “Thank you.”
“You would think that was a compliment, wouldn’t you?”
We parked in the lot of the closed drive-thru. The street was as abandoned as it had been the first night we drove into town, but still we cut the lights and sat quietly for a moment.
Wilder turned in his seat, his arm slipping behind my headrest. I was suddenly all too aware of how close he was and how little space there was between us. My breath came out in a stuttering exhalation. This sort of feeling should be illegal. People wrote poems about the quiver in my belly right now. Wars were started because of the way I felt sitting next to him in a car, his thumb pressing against the back of my neck.
I wanted to devour him.
I wanted to run away from him and never look back.
This man was so, so dangerous for me.
Instead I avoided his penetrating stare, knowing the combination of his eyes and lips and smell might be the last nudge I needed to do something I hadn’t thought myself capable of doing.
The air all around us felt hot and damp.
He’d been gearing up to speak, I could tell by the way he positioned himself, but he was hesitating for some reason. Heat rose, flushing my cheeks. If he didn’t say anything soon, I was going to get out and walk to the damned church.
“Why risk it?” His voice came out hoarse, hushed. He cleared his throat.
Why? Because it would be so deliciously bad for me. Like eating a whole cheesecake in one sitting.
Right, yeah, he wasn’t talking about what I thought he was talking about. Apparently not everyone’s mind went straight to the gutter at the drop of a hat.
“All we have is the video he sent us,” I began. “It’s proof of assault. It strongly suggests an intent to kill, but it’s not enough. Conspiracy of a plan, but nothing concrete. I need to hear him admit it. If we give him to Cain and he vanishes, he’ll be a martyr. People will assume it was us—”
“It will be us.”
“You know what I mean. Us with a capital U. Werewolves en masse are going to be held accountable for him disappearing. They’ll assume Hank killed that woman and that the pack held Deerling responsible for threatening us. Instead of seeing him as a monster, it will prove his point in the public’s eyes. It will erase any progress we’ve made, all the goodwill.”
“Why should we care what the normies think, huh? We did fine without their stamp of approval for decades. They can’t dictate what we do.” He shifted back in his seat and stared out the window. I could tell he didn’t believe his own words. It did matter.
“If they think we’re senseless killers, they’ll kill us. Not the way Deerling has been. Mass exterminations. I’m not just talking about us being downgraded as citizens, losing the right to vote, to own homes, all that. I’m talking about a world where people can hunt us without retribution. You want to be part of a society where people can buy licenses to go werewolf shooting on a full moon? I don’t.”
“This guy doesn’t have that kind of power.” The ideas were starting to sink in, though. I saw how people were reacting to vampires, and how the debate raged about whether or not they deserved human rights since they were dead. It was a big, messy situation. And no one was arguing that vamps had once been human. What about shifters? Our DNA was fundamentally different. We carried a specific gene that allowed us to shift if we were bitten by another werewolf. Only those who carried the gene could become wolves.
It should have made us less scary, but I saw things going the other way.
If our genetic code was different, how much of a stretch would it be to say we were closer to wolf than human, regardless of our form? This situation had become so much more than I’d ever expected it to. I thought we’d come here and save Hank and make our way home again, unchanged.
Now I was worried about the future of every werewolf, not just the ones in my pack. Tensions all over the country were running high since we’d been revealed. Deerling might be the poster child of a whole movement, and I didn’t want to be responsible for setting that ball rolling.
“Before we make him disappear, people need to know.”
“And if it doesn’t work? Because it probably won’t work, you know.”
“Gee, thanks. Your vote of confidence is really making me feel good over here.”
“If I was trying to make you feel good, you’d know it.” He paused. I blushed. “I’m trying to talk some sense into you.”
I let out a rough laugh. “You must not have a lot of experience with McQueens.”
“The learning curve is steep. I’m figuring it out fast.”
“Listen.” I turned towards him, allowing myself to look at him dead-on finally. “You don’t have to come. If you want to go to the station and wait for Hank with Cash and Matt, I understand. We came here to help your brother, and I know you want to see him get home safe. I’m giving you an out.”
“You’re giving yourself an out. You don’t want to be responsible for anyone else.”
I shook my head firmly. “If that’s what you think, you haven’t been paying attention. I want to be responsible for everyone. And I can’t put that on you. You can save Hank and go home feeling accomplished. I can’t leave here unless I know my whole pack is going to be okay.”
He stared at me for so long I worried I might have said something terribly wrong. The air between us felt alive, electric, and the way he looked at me made my skin burn in a way no magic ever had.
Just when I thought he was going to speak, he kissed me.
It happened so quickly his lips were already on mine before I knew he’d moved. He cupped the back of my head with both hands, and I gasped into his open mouth. When his tongue grazed my lower lip, I braced my hand against his chest, but instead of pushing him back I balled his cotton T-shirt into my palm.
My whole body shuddered from the intensity of just one kiss. Blood pounded in my ears, and my skin broke out in goose bumps. I let myself kiss him for one long, slow, hungry moment, then shoved him back. Wrenched free of his grip, I was left panting, putting both hands on the dash so I wasn’t tempted to touch him again.
He licked his swollen lips and took a shaky breath.
“Sorry,” he whispered.
“Uh-huh.” Words were too much right then. I couldn’t tell him it was okay. It wasn’t okay. He had crossed the line, but I had smudged it out with my toe. No one was faultless in this, and just knowing that made me feel guilty.
“Actually I’m not.”
I looked at him, holding tight to the dash. I would not, could not touch him. “We can’t.”
He shook his head. “We can. And we will. Because as nice a guy as Cash is, he’s not supposed to be your guy, and we both know it.” Wilder’s hands shook when he started the car and turned us away from town, towards the church. “And if you think I’m going to let a lady who kisses like that walk into certain death alone, you’ve got another thing coming, understand?”
Chapter Thirty
The church lot was empty, but we parked on the side of the highway and walked back. I was careful to stay a few paces ahead of Wilder, which was easier said than done considering his longer legs and my terrible secondhand shoes.
But if I was next to him, I’d be worried about accidentally touching him. And if he was in the lead, I’d probably be staring at his butt instead of thinking about what we had to do next. Now I was just thinking about not thinking about his butt.
So
much better.
As we crossed into the parking lot, the smell of gardenia and magnolias hung over us like a sweet umbrella. I was never going to be able to enjoy those flowers again as long as I lived.
We skirted around the outside perimeter, and I made sure to step on every wolfsbane plant I could find. Purple blossoms were mashed into the cedar shavings around the bushes. When I was satisfied by my small act of rebellion, I grabbed the biggest rock I could carry—which was pretty big considering I could hoist my own body weight—and made a beeline for the church.
Wilder, who had held back to this point, whispered, “Isn’t it a regulation that churches need to be open to the public twenty-four-seven or something? Maybe we should try the door?”
“I’ve never heard that rule.” I kept going and got to the entrance, eyeing the floor-to-ceiling glass. My reflection glinted back at me, and the girl in the window looked a little insane.
I threw the rock at the front door, which shattered in such a triumphant, glorious way I wanted to repeat the process on every window in the whole place. It crumbled apart like a stunt window in a movie, glimmering cubes of glass falling in a heap, like diamonds.
After wading through them, I grabbed the handle for the second door and tugged. It opened without resistance.
“You were right. Unlocked.” I held it open for him, and after he took a moment to make sure I knew he thought I was nuts, he went inside. No alarm sounded, which was a surprising disappointment to me.
Bits of glass trailed us like guilty bread crumbs as we moved through the lobby and into the main congregation room.
Jesus stared down at us from the cross, the gaudy gold sun glimmering behind him, haloing his limp body in a grotesque way. The sun might be the church’s symbol, but I was disgusted by the implication of the idol. It seemed to suggest God was rejoicing in the death of his son, and I couldn’t look at it for long without wanting to climb up and tear it down with my bare hands.
I really didn’t like these people.
Wilder and I walked up to the front pulpit area where a lectern stood, waiting for Timothy to take his place for Sunday worship. On the left was a door marked Exit and another matching door on the right with a printed sign that read Employees Only.
