He nodded slowly. “Done.”
She pointed at the door. One of the chakra massage flyers was taped to a corner of the glass. “That’s her, isn’t it?”
His responding shrug read as an admission.
“What if she’s here?”
“She’s not.”
His confidence didn’t do shit for Callie. She opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off.
“I’ve been working all afternoon. Remember? She owns this place. Her people—her customers—are here, next door, but she won’t be here tonight. She’s out of town.”
“How do you know?” Callie managed not to stutter.
“I’m not trying to screw with you. I told you I’d keep you safe. Don’t doubt me. I got you on this, Callie.”
Using her name shouldn’t have changed things, but it helped. Breath filled her lungs again, and her shoulders relaxed. “Okay,” she said with all the confidence she wished she had.
He held out a hand and she accepted it.
“Now, how about I take you dancing?” Derek smiled then, and it was the most rakish grin she’d ever seen. It warmed her body again. Her emotional yo-yo evening wasn’t over. Derek might actually be worse for her core temperature than the soul magic detector hands.
He wasn’t kidding about the dancing. Derek had brought her to a belly-dancing event. The southwest was rather lacking in Indian culture, but this spot brought it in spades. By day it was a restaurant, but a couple nights a week they hosted belly dancing and live music. The long bench against the wall—where Callie sat—was covered with plush pillows in vibrant shades of gold, emerald, sapphire, and other precious gems. As she settled on a ruby pillow, her earlier reservations wilted further. A thick swath of orange fabric was draped on the wall. Muffling sound wasn’t the priority in this place; they propped the front door open. No, this venue was all for opulence. It was miles away from her apartment, but worlds away from anything she’d known. That was more comforting to her than almost anything Derek had said to her. With one exception. He’d asked for her trust. He’d been sincere. She swallowed hard. She’d have to deal with that later.
Derek dropped onto a green pillow at her left. He handed her an open bottle of beer. Any other man, any other night, and she wouldn’t have accepted an open container. But if Derek had wanted to screw her over, all he had to do was point her at the nearest soul magic user. Or ask his boss to renege on the deal. She’d trust a beer from him, even take it graciously.
She thanked him, and he tapped the neck of his bottle against hers in lowbrow salud. They both took long pulls, but when he lowered his, half the drink was gone. She hadn’t made nearly that kind of dent. He was double her size and double the drinker.
Had he licked the brew from his lips in slow motion, or was her brain fucking with her? There had to be some other magic woo-woo at play here. She sucked in a quick breath through her nose and let it out her mouth. A little de-stress breathing would calm her overexcited nerves.
“You been to something like this before?”
What? Were they skipping work tonight or was this the plan all along? Callie’s mind was spinning too fast to parse his shift in tone. Had he known she needed a distraction? A healthy distraction?
“First timer here. Though, I thought you said you were taking me dancing. Looks like it’s all pros here.”
Years disappeared when he smiled at her. She could almost pretend he wasn’t old enough to buy her that beer. “Right now they’re dancing. Later they’ll teach people, and usually everyone’s drunk enough not to care if they look like an idiot.”
“Are you speaking from personal experience?” She leaned her shoulder into his side.
He tightened his arm around her, keeping her in close. The Indian spices in the air mingled with the cologne she’d smelled earlier, combining in a heady mix that made her melt into him. “Of course.”
She craned her neck to meet his gaze fully. “For real? You’ve belly danced?”
“These hips don’t lie.” He rocked his hips from side to side for effect. Laughter bubbled from her belly. He continued to jostle her and chuckle. His seated dance moves didn’t up his sexy factor, but the laughing might.
Callie eased back into the plush cushions, and crossed her legs. Her knee grazed his. “So you can dance. What other skills are you keeping secret?”
Bemusement brought a single dimple to his right cheek. “When I was fifteen I could throw an eighty-mile-per-hour fastball.”
“Damn. Do you still play?” Baseball was the only stick-and-ball sport Callie could get into.
“No. Life got complicated in high school. It’s been more than a decade since I’ve been on a diamond.”
“You’re probably terrifying at a batting cage,” she said, picturing him dropping his leather jacket on the concrete and overwhelming the batter’s box with muscles and straining cotton.
“You mean because I can hit a baseball like a beast?” A wry smile played at his lips.
The next half hour passed quickly. Derek was better at small talk than Callie would have guessed. His grunts were few and his jokes plentiful. His attention was divided, though. He was constantly scanning the room, watching everyone around them. The lack of his full focus was disappointing, but having experienced both focused attention and neglect, Callie had to say she preferred the latter. Too much attention and you were bound to disappoint, but if you’re frequently forgotten, it was far easier to impress when you were noticed. Derek’s smile almost made her think she’d be able to make him grin on command.
Or perhaps not.
Derek’s eyes narrowed. “One of my sources is here.”
“That’s good?” His tone suggested otherwise, but wasn’t that the point of the night? Callie could pretend it was a date all she wanted—the atmosphere and the beer almost enough to make her forget her job, Derek’s job, and the flask in her pocket—but the truth was they were here for information. This was work.
He grumbled and stared so hard at a slender man across the room in a larger group of people, the guy’s black cowboy boots should have set fire.
The intensity left Callie’s mouth dry and her throat tight. She indulged in a few nerve-soothing swigs of beer. “Should I hold him down while you beat him with noodles?”
Derek scowled. So much for her make-him-laugh-whenever idea. “You stay here.”
“So that’s a no on the noodles?” she tried again.
He finally looked her way, as though remembering she was there. “I don’t want him to know you.”
It should have sounded protective, but instead it reminded her how small and useless she was here. Even her newly magical fingertips did jack tucked away at the edge of this restaurant. Had Derek kept her away to keep her fingers from going aglow? The Soul Charmer had stuck him with her, and now he had to be worried she’d fuck up something important. “Sure,” she muttered.
His brows furrowed, which only made Callie’s stomach sink lower. “He’s not a friend.” The emphasis was on not, as though he thought she might run up to Cowboy Boots, wrap her legs around him, and tell him everything she knew about the Soul Charmer.
“Got it.” She took another hard pull from the bottle to give herself something to do.
Derek’s source excused himself from a group of people. He was alone, and Derek was ready to pounce. “Don’t leave,” he said as he stood.
Because she had so many other engagements. “Right.”
Cowboy Boots wasn’t dressed for a night of Bollywood fun, but then she wasn’t either. Still, he would have fit in more deep in the desert than in the middle of Gem City. His black jeans were worn at the knees and tucked into his boots. He’d looked strong, until Derek stood next to him. It was hard to look tough next to a huge man in leather, though. She should know.
The source had knocked his shoulders back and puffed out his chest at Derek’s approach. What kind of man wouldn’t be scared of Derek? What kind of man was Cowboy Boots? Ford might not run away, but
he had a league of hangers on and weapons she’d never heard of in his arsenal. Callie had been introduced to more mobsters and criminals in the last few weeks than she’d ever known existed. Despite her growing circle of associates, Cowboy Boots didn’t look familiar in the least. That was a good thing. Right?
She couldn’t hear their conversation over the live music and the hum of intermingling people, but with each passing second Cowboy Boots deflated a smidgen. Ford wouldn’t have folded that quickly. Callie’s scale for who was dangerous had certainly shifted, and under the new ranking Cowboy Boots wasn’t much of a threat. As long as he feared Derek enough to talk, she was in the clear.
Everyone else in the restaurant-turned-nightclub was in clusters, groups of friends, couples on dates, while she sat alone at her table with an empty beer bottle. Derek and Cowboy Boots had edged closer to one another, but the latter’s wide-eyed expression suggested he was giving up the goods. Derek didn’t need her right now. She did, however, need another drink. She left the comfort of the pillows and walked to the bar tucked in the back of the room. The hallway to the restrooms was to the right. Good to know.
Callie had brought her empty with her to the bar. An old boyfriend had once taken her to a place so fancy they got pissed if you bussed any of your table. She’d discovered the hard way when their shitty waiter wouldn’t bring him drinks, and she went in search on her own. Her boyfriend had been mortified, but it was more disgusting that they called out her lack of class. Callie avoided that kind of snobbery now. The bartender here didn’t mind. He gave her an impersonal smile as he collected the empty.
“Another?” he asked.
She nodded, and he diligently pulled one from the fridge and popped the cap for her.
He’d already moved on to helping another patron as she took her first pull. The alcohol didn’t work fast, but the habit helped her muscles ease anyway. Enjoying a night on the town could still be possible. The Charmer, by way of Derek, wasn’t making her collect souls tonight, and no one had turned her fingers into icicles in almost twenty-four hours. Hell, she even had a decent buzz going.
But a full day of non-suckage was never in the cards for Callie.
Nate’s breath hit the side of her face before she heard him. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Callie cringed and hoped he didn’t notice. Why would one of Ford’s goons be at a belly-dancing bar? Oh right, fate hated her. “Hey,” she mumbled. It was better to acknowledge him than risk him reporting anything back to his boss. At least this time it wasn’t a secret she was being watched.
“Didn’t know you were into shaking that ass. If I had, I’m sure we could have worked out some other deal.” Nate spoke as if he, and not his boss, was the one holding her brother hostage.
Sure, he’d been in the room when she’d met with Ford, but not at his side. She struggled to remember if she’d ever heard Nate speak when Ford was in the room. She didn’t think so, and she certainly hadn’t pegged him as someone who was allowed to make decisions. Then again, she did not know mob dynamics at all. Chances were, angering one angered them all, like bats or some shit.
“I don’t dance,” she said with all the manners she could muster, trying to shut down the skeeze. She shuffled-stepped to the side and angled herself to better face him.
He grabbed her upper arm and tugged her close again. “Aw, don’t disappoint me.”
Her stomach twisted. She needed to shift the conversation, and fast. Deflect. Humor. Whatever. “They haven’t even made it to the audience participation part of the night. Until then I know nothing.”
“I know some girls who could teach you a thing or two.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I’m good.” Her voice held steady, despite the sensation of liquid lead bubbling behind her kneecaps. Walking away now would be smart, but the desire to be smart didn’t outweigh stark reality: If she ran, she wouldn’t be the only one hurt.
“You could be better.” His eyes darted to her chest. He was picturing her naked on a pole, and she couldn’t stop him.
“I should get back.” If only her legs would work.
“You on a date?” His accusation was sharp, but it cut deeper because she wished the answer was yes.
“No—”
He cut her off. “You ain’t got time for dates. If you got time for dates, then you got time to be getting our shit. Unless maybe you don’t care so much about big brother.”
She held up her free hand to protest, but he ignored her and continued. “Maybe I should tell Ford you lied about needing time to get the essentials for the job.”
“I didn’t lie,” she snapped. The fear churning in her stomach had coalesced into straight-up fire. “I keep my promises, and when I’m done helping your boss you are never going to see me again.”
“Heard that before.”
“And once I clear his debt, Josh is done with you.”
“Does he know that?”
This was Josh’s rock bottom. He wouldn’t have involved her in this mess if it wasn’t. She almost pleaded with herself that her brother had to know it, had to know worse than this meant death, but Nate didn’t need to see her desperation. Love was just one more weapon that could be used against her.
As Callie began to sink into a growing cesspool of self-pity, Derek joined the conversation. Because things can always get worse.
“I know you?” Nate asked with a scoff.
Derek moved behind Callie, his warm body cocooning her. He peeled Nate’s hand off her arm. His scarred knuckles, hovering above Nate’s tanned ones, were an inherent threat. “No.” That one word held more menace than could be found in the darkest, nastiest biker bar.
“She your date, then?” Nate’s smarminess couldn’t touch her, not with Derek’s torso pressed to her back.
Derek’s chest vibrated against her, like he was supercharged and about to explode. His voice rumbled when he spoke. “Not your business.”
“Oh, but she is my business.” Nate rubbed his hands together. Callie clenched her teeth. He was making her sound like a prostitute.
Derek ignored the implication. “Not anymore.”
The words didn’t sound any scarier to Callie, but Nate took in a big breath. “Ford’s going to want to know why she’s here,” he reminded her again, words full of venom.
Derek stiffened behind her, and then wrapped a possessive hand around her front to cup her hip. “Too bad. You have fifteen seconds to leave.”
Nate shifted from foot to foot. “Or what, man?”
“I make you a ghost.” A monotone threat could make even the biggest, baddest guy piss his pants, if wielded correctly. No surprise, Derek knew this.
Nate understood, too.
He attempted the quintessential tough-guy nod, but it turned shaky as he met Derek’s gaze. He flitted a look to Callie. “Ford’s—”
Derek cut him off. “Seven seconds.”
Nate had too much pride to run, but he sure got himself to the front door in a flash. He glanced back one final time, to shoot Callie a glare promising repercussions, but in the safety of Derek’s hold the fear couldn’t sink her.
“Asshole forgot his drink,” Derek muttered as he moved around Callie to take Nate’s place at the bar.
There’s a fine line between fear and lust. Bad decisions were borne of both. Callie fisted the fabric of Derek’s shirt and yanked him down to her. She must have caught him off-guard, because he didn’t fight her. She pressed her lips against his as raw need flared in her belly. Heat coursed through her body at this little contact. She’d explode if he gave her more.
The pleasure of having his lips against hers was almost too much. The threat of losing it was worse. Any second she knew he’d pull away, to chide her for the choice of time or place. He surprised her when he pushed against her more firmly, opening his mouth to tease her with his tongue. His lips were smoother than she’d predicted, nothing like the rough hand cupping the nape of her neck. She slid her tongue against his in a feverish dance. Th
ey weren’t in time with the bombastic music surrounding them, but instead synced with their own racing heartbeats.
Derek yanked her against him, and more than her knees went liquid at his hardness pressing against her stomach. Callie forgot where they were, who they were, and slipped a hand underneath the hem of Derek’s tee shirt. His skin was fevered over his taut muscles. She grazed a light trail of hair. What would she discover on his chest when he was out of that shirt?
More importantly, what would he do when she removed hers? Her breasts already ached, and that was merely from the ferocity of his kiss. The urge to wrap her legs around him and see if he could possess her lit a fire in her core. It also, unfortunately, reminded her she was at a very public place with a very memorable guy.
The fire in their kiss had burned all the oxygen. She pulled away, gasping. As she sucked in air, her brain slowly resumed its normal functions. What had she just done? Nothing screams pathetic like kissing your put-upon partner immediately after he discovers you’re in league with mobsters.
“I’m starting to think you like me protecting you,” he said, fighting and failing to hide a smile.
She wasn’t that girl. She didn’t use relationships or sex to garner good will. She couldn’t deny she appreciated the protection, but she could pretend she didn’t need his help with Nate. “I had it under control.” The lie was foul, but anything would be bitter after the sweetness she’d just sampled.
He cocked a brow.
She tucked her hair behind her ear with a shaking hand. “You did move things along, though, so thanks.”
His bemused grunt made her stomach twist in a delicious way, but her brain, now deciding it would start making rational decisions again, overrode any additional sexy ideas. She wasn’t using him. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
“For one of Ford’s men to be here? Or for giving me a raging hard-on?”
She shoved her hands in her pockets. Better to keep them there, where they couldn’t pull Derek back to her. She opened her mouth to reply, not sure how to start, but he cut her off with a chuckle. “Just fucking with you, doll.”
Heat coiled low in her belly. Did he have to say “fucking”? Her audible inhale made him smile wider.
Borrowed Souls: A Soul Charmer Novel Page 11
