Rune Thief: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Isabella Hush Series Book 1)

by Thea Atkinson

  "You ain't got a hot bath waiting, you stupid woman," he said. "You got a tracking chip. Gonna put it in your ear like any good bitch."

  A tracking chip. I'd never known Scottie to use one. He was more of an old fashioned kind of thug. But times changed. I hadn't truly known Scottie for three years. Maybe he'd gone techie.

  "Apparently, it's all the rage," I said, thinking of Finn and heard my bald humorless chuckle. I looked down at my arm to be sure the mark was gone.

  It wasn't. My heart ached to see it. It should be gone. I'd seen him arrive, felt the mark's burn as it pulled from my flesh. Was I destined now to be monitored like some stupid iPhone?

  I groaned inwardly. It was always coming to this anyway. Never mind the Fae. Never mind Finn or Kelly. Maddox or Kassie.

  It was all coming down to this moment I would face Scottie. All of my years since I left him were just borrowed time. Much like the clock ticking down faster than it should as Finn made me reclaim that Odin rune. Except this time there'd be no magic to save me. It would be just me and Scottie.

  I thought back to the night I'd run from him in the first place. While most people tried to escape him because they had betrayed him, I wanted out because he wanted to hold me closer.

  He'd slipped an engagement ring on my finger over a spaghetti dinner at the fanciest restaurant who owed him. Lots of employees over hundreds of shops and restaurants owed him. Lots of people. He made sure to work them at first by coy and dulcet means: paying for childcare so a young mother could work, leaving packages of food on doorsteps, even sending a kid or two off to college. The larger organizations owned the owners. Scottie owned the workers. He was smart. The front line was where the info was. The key to knowledge and opportunity.

  I'd fallen prey to his charm too at first. I couldn't blame any of them. But the exterior and the interior of a man are often dichotomous. None more so than Scott Lebans. By the time I stared down at that H color diamond ring, I'd already been walking the razor edge of his personality for five long years.

  I started to hyperventilate. My spaghetti sauce tasted sour, as though the meat had gone off. I couldn't swallow down enough Cabernet to wet the palette that went dry the moment the ring went on.

  I blustered to my feet, begging a few minutes to compose my weeping, blissfully happy self.

  Scottie was no fool. He let me go and when I returned he smiled that heart stopping grin of his and bustled me into the back of the very limousine I sat in now.

  Even as I was running over the knowledge that I'd be tied to him forever, he'd pressed the button that motorized the partition separating the back from the driver.

  He kissed me. Long. Hard. Possessive. I tried to respond but couldn't, even knowing it would infuriate him.

  While I was doing my best to make my lips act as though everything was an ecstatic, celebratory occasion, he snapped a set of cuffs on my wrist.

  "You're mine," he said. "Always."

  He repeated the words over and over as he lifted my dress and invaded me so callously I couldn't see any familiarity in his touch. I fought him. He enjoyed it. Later at home, he did the same. I'd lain like a doll while he invaded me, telling myself the moment he was through, I'd pull out the bat he kept beneath the bed.

  When he finished, he peeled himself off me and went to the kitchen sink to pour a glass of water. Rape was thirsty work, it seemed. He was still muttering that I was his dammit and needed to understand that and admit it when I snuck up on him from the back. I still remember the horrible sound of aluminum cracking bone as the bat struck him in his right shin.

  I winced at the memory now.

  It had been so long ago. I'd given him most of my youth and most of my skills. He got richer because of me. Every heist in my early days I had done because I'd been dying to please him. Having pleased him, there was no way out. He wanted to keep me. Like a doll that sat on a shelf, or like a key to a safety deposit box that he pulled out when he needed to dip in.

  I looked at the henchman who sat across from me in the same limousine where my new life had struck its new course. I'd sat exactly where he was in that moment of genesis. He couldn't know it, but his life would change too. He was new. He wouldn't last long. He had no idea what Scottie was capable of. I did. And although I knew what he wanted of me would mean my survival, it would come at a cost. My freedom.

  It was why I had run in the first place.

  Now he wanted to put a tracking chip somewhere in my skin? Just like Finn had? I'd never be the same. I'd never be my own woman again.

  I went meekly to my doom like a lamb to the slaughter, but inside I was seething with anger and determination. My doom turned out to be a posh hotel room in the upscale neighborhood close to my apartment. I could've walked it, but Scottie was never one to waste an opportunity to impress. Although I'd been in the limousine plenty of times, he would see this journey as an opportunity to remind me that no matter how far I went, he could always simply pluck me up and transport me to wherever he wanted.

  I smiled to myself as his minion tugged me from the limousine and into the lobby of the hotel. There were plenty of times when I could have ducked out and ran. He was sloppy. But I was done running. Whatever faced me with Scottie, this was the moment when I stared it down.

  I'd been to the Shadow Bazaar, for heaven sake. I'd faced the most notorious assassin the Fae owned. Survived Finn.

  I'd almost been sold as vamp feed for shit's sake.

  I could take on a man. A regular man for all his bluster.

  So why did I feel so anxious?

  The henchman bypassed the doorman altogether and sailed right past the front desk. So Scottie had been here long enough to check in and register. No doubt had been holed up in this hotel for weeks. I knew him. He wouldn't have taken me rashly. He'd have planned it out. Wanted to make sure I would be where he thought I was.

  Except I'd not done as he'd expected and he couldn't possibly have accounted for the supernatural community that had thrown half a dozen flies into the ointment.

  I smiled to myself. At least that was one thing that whole mess was good for.

  The concierge nodded politely at the henchman as we walked past. I thought he muttered a name along with good morning. Alvin? Was that the name he used? It certainly fit. I started humming an Alvin and the Chipmunks song to let him know what I thought of him. He gave me a sidelong glance but kept his mouth pursed into a tight line.

  "Hoola Hoop," I said brightly as we headed to the elevator. "Me; I want a hoola hoop."

  He responded by jerking me along when we got to the elevator, probably expecting me to fight him off. No dice. I wasn't that chick anymore.

  I looked at him with all the ennui of a beleaguered hooker.

  "Which floor?" I said even though I didn't plan to wait for his answer.

  Because it would be the penthouse. Of course it would be.

  I stabbed the button with my finger and smiled at him, knowing that every single tooth was showing.

  He looked bemused.

  "What's wrong. Alvin?" I asked him. "Too fat for a hoola hoop?"

  "Stupid bitch," he muttered and then turned to face the door. We waited in long silence as the lights blinked on and off one by one.

  It took forever to reach the top. When the doors opened, it was into a lush corridor that led down a few feet to a set of broad golden doors.

  Mottled glass on either side made them look even wider. The shadows flickering within told me Scottie wasn't alone.

  I squared my shoulders and puffed out my chest. Thinking at the same time that it wouldn't make me any larger, broader, or scarier, but if it worked for the animal world, it couldn't hurt.

  Alvin pushed me toward the door.

  "Move it," he said.

  I twisted the knob and yanked.

  CHAPTER 32

  SCOTTIE WAS NOWHERE in sight and I let go a relieved breath. Instead, a trio of well-dressed, well-groomed men I'd never met before reclined in chairs, holding onto c
hampagne flutes with one hand, and onto lithe, impeccably dressed women in the other. I looked down at my now ratty jeans and stained T-shirt. The same clothes I'd been wearing since meeting with Errol. My God, had I even showered? I crossed my arms over my stomach and hung back.

  Alvin gave me a hard shove, making me stumble into the room. Some entrance.

  The gazes that landed on me were assessing and judgmental. I straightened myself up and pulled my T-shirt down. Smoothed the jeans over my backside. My fingers met a tattered hole mid thigh.

  "Lovely to meet you all," I said.

  Someone tittered and I swung my glance their way. A young woman, maybe nineteen or so. She was dressed like a movie star. Scottie's date, no doubt.

  "Careful, love," I said. "You might get used to this."

  Alvin bumped into me with his stomach and pushed me further into the room. He jerked his head toward the left.

  "Your room is over there," he said. "I'll tell the boss you're here."

  I faced him. "I'm not going anywhere," I said. "You can tell him I'm here. Right here." I stabbed the air in a downward motion.

  "He told me to put you in the room."

  I shook my head. "Whatever he has to say to me, he can say in front of all of our friends."

  I extended my arms spread them wide to encompass everyone in the room. He muttered something again about me being stupid and then gave me the same line again, like a robot stuck on one line of code.

  "The boss told me to put you in the room until he's done with his business."

  His business. I knew what that meant. He was schmoozing somebody. Conning them. He was multitasking. Some bosses might think that a bedraggled stranger being dropped into the midst of an upscale cocktail party might ruin the ambiance. Not Scottie. It was his way of showing exactly how far his reach extended. It was meant to both impress the victim and to impress the people at the party. They would feel as though they were in good hands with someone who understood how to deal with the riffraff.

  Or maybe he just hadn't timed it at all. It was entirely possible I was giving him far too much credit.

  I crossed my arms over my chest. "I'm not going."

  Alvin grunted and made a rather unceremonious grab for me. He hefted me over his shoulder and lumbered toward the bedroom suite's door. When he threw me down on the bed I bounced twice before he made it back to the door. He pulled it closed with a loud click.

  I jumped off the bed and tried the door knob. Locked. Of course. What would I have expected?

  I pressed my ear against the door. One thing hotels were notorious for was cheesy and cheap building construction. This one was not.

  I sighed, thwarted, and scanned the room.

  It was obvious by the way the room looked that Scottie had been here longer than I thought. Not a couple of weeks at all. More like months. His dresser was filled with clothes. A second tallboy was also filled with clothing. Mine.

  I recognized the pajamas, lingerie, the yoga pants, and the slinky black dress he'd made me wear the night he'd asked me to marry him. No, correct that. Told me I was going to marry him.

  What revealed his true length of stay, however, was the pure Scottie touches on the room. He'd obviously hired workers to alter the stately, everyman decor into a home away from home for a thug.

  There was a gun locker hidden beneath the bed. I could see the latches on the half sized locker peeking out beneath the skirt. The chest in the corner would have ammo. The sedate looking sofa would be stuffed with money.

  I wondered how long he had been watching me and biding his time.

  On the wall next to the window, he'd installed some sort of safe. The painting that was meant to disguise the fact that it was even there was pushed to the side, revealing not just the handle, but the pin pad.

  I crept closer, laying my hand on the wall next to it. At first blush, it might seem that he'd simply forgotten that it was there. Maybe he wasn't expecting me to arrive so quickly and didn't have a chance to disguise it again. Maybe he'd even been interrupted while looking through it and only had time to close the safe door and not cover it again with the painting.

  I knew better. He wanted me to see it. He knew my skills. He knew I could crack it, be into it, and out of there given enough time. He probably even had a camera built into the mirror to video tape me breaking in and stealing enough money to hop out the window and down the fire escape.

  It was too convenient. All of it.

  That made me wonder exactly why he'd set up the entire party. Why he was purposefully busy when I arrived.

  This was no mistake or accident. He'd planned this. All of this.

  I looked again at the pin pad. Fractions. Several of them.

  A cold shiver ran down my back.

  The house at the McMansion had a fractions pin pad. I scanned my memory, trying to decide whether or not this one had the same ones.

  I ran my eye over the figures. Yes. They all reduced to prime numbers. My fingers pressed the buttons instinctively, calling to mind the pattern that I'd used at the McMansion.

  The door slid up to reveal two drawers.

  I felt as though someone had thrown a bucket of ice cold water on me. I stepped back involuntarily. I wasn't going to open those drawers because I knew exactly what was in them. Or at least one of them. The top would be empty.

  I'd underestimated him. Here I thought all these years I had been out of his sight. Out of his reach. Not so. It was he who had set me up to go to that McMansion. The evidence was right here in front of me.He'd thought it all through. Knowing how I worked. Knowing I wouldn't be able to resist the opportunity to make enough money to flee the city. He put in my way at the coffee shop on purpose. Setting all of these things up like a domino toppling event.

  And I'd fallen for it. I should have seen it but I didn't.

  I swung around in the room. Started pacing. I didn't need to open those drawers. I wouldn't.

  I had my hand on the handle of the bottom one when the door opened behind me. I swung around, expecting to see Alvin again, and my heart jumped into my throat.

  Scottie. Finally.

  He hadn't aged much in the years since I'd seen him last. A dashing 35 had turned into an even more dashing 38. He wasn't a tall man, more mid sized, but his shoulders were broad and muscled. To some he might remind them of a bulldog, all torso and muscle, but on a man that knew how to use it.

  All of that was a holdover from the years when he'd done all of his own hard work. He still enjoyed what he called discipline now and then, but usually left the worst of the jobs to his minions. Now that build looked like it was going a bit soft. Maybe without regular beatings of his woman, he couldn't keep up the muscle. He was still handsome. Sandy blond with gray eyes. A mouth you could kiss forever.

  How had I ever found him attractive?

  He looked me over as though I weren't standing there in filthy jeans and a dirty T-shirt. I knew I smelled of sweat and fear. He seemed not to notice. Instead, he circled me as I stood in the middle of the room. He smelled of my favorite aftershave. That too, was a concerted move.

  He waited until he had circled me at least three times before he stopped in front of me. His gaze went to my throat, watching my pulse hammer.

  I clenched my fists at my side.

  It seemed an eternity before his hand reached out for mine. He tangled his fingers in them and raised them to his lips. Kissed the fingernail of each. Once that had made me melt. Now he did it without moving his gaze from my pulse. I hoped it was steady.

  "What do you want?" I said to him finally.

  "Just to give you your bridal gift," he said.

  I refused to look over in the direction of the safe. I didn't need to see it again to know what was in there.

  "You still want to marry me?" I said.

  He ran his hand down along my arm. "Of course," he said. "That's never changed."

  The way his hand roamed my skin, I believed him. His touch was greedy for me. I had to hold my bre
ath to keep from screaming. He hesitated over my left wrist, lifting the hand and inspecting my skin.

  I don't like the tattoo," he said. His thumb ran over my wrist and twisted my arm up so that I could see what he was talking about.

  "Why would you get it done?" He peered a little closer, almost as though he was trying to make out the mark. "And what kind of ink is that?"

  I rubbed my hand along his, brushing it away. "Henna. It's only temporary."

  I looked him in the eye and lied, hoping that it really was temporary, and that he wouldn't see the processing going on behind my gaze. There was no reason it should still be there. Surely Finn should be dead at Kelly's hand. Surely if he was gone, the mark should be as well. If he wasn't dead, he would've come for me by now.

  I twisted my wrist to see it better. It was faded, but not gone. I tried to think back to the time when I'd first met Finn, when he told me that he needed to recover after Kelly's first attack. He'd been too weak to accost me physically. He had to bide his time until he had enough energy to rejuvenate so that he could finally corner me in the street. I wondered if it was the same now. If he'd somehow survived Kelly's attack in the shadow bazaar.

  Maybe things weren't as I'd thought. Maybe the bazaar was running along smoothly. But how much time had that been? A day? Two? Twelve hours?

  "Why?" I said to Scottie and yanked my hand away. "Marry me, I mean. Why?"

  "Because you're mine," he said. All emotion left his voice then. No coyness. No charm. Just flat possession.

  "No," I said.

  I was not a possession. I was not a minion to be commanded or a handy tool to be pulled out of a chest at whim. I stuck my chin out, defiant, even if I was afraid of the reaction.

  "I'm not yours," I said. "I'm not anybody's. I'm just here to say goodbye."

  His response was fast and brutal. I didn't have time to back away or escape before his hand closed down around my wrist and his free one crawled up to my neck.

  "You most assuredly are mine," he ground out through clenched lips. The webbing of his thumb butted up into my jawline as he clutched my throat. He kneed my legs out from beneath me so that I fell against him, pinned to him and trapped on the other side by the wall. "Don't ever forget that. You are here because I wanted you here."