by Lin Lustig
“Move,” she commanded. A silent or else was in her expression. Emerson didn't argue, he just got John upright and sent him ahead. He waited until Licia stumbled past before he followed them both as their guard. He couldn't let the past back in, those people were dead, and he couldn't bring them back any more than he could save the corpse behind them.
John slowed until he kept pace with Licia. “You still have blood on your face.”
She lifted her sleeve to scrub it away. Even from here, Emerson could see that she missed. John paused to hold her wrist and guide her palm to the spots. She glanced up at him, her eyes alarmingly vulnerable, but then she seemed to remember Emerson watching and pulled away.
He almost pitied her in the way she shook and paled, but then he replayed the man's blade opening his throat. Replayed his own hesitation, frozen in horror, unable to stop Licia.
To take a life was damning, and she'd potentially taken dozens. The accident with his squadron where he’d taken life condemned him, but there was no way he'd spend his time in hell shackled next to her. He'd never let his ability steal from anyone like that ever again. The memory of his family on the day of The Shift was a reminder that he was one step away from being a monster just like her. He'd almost killed his brothers, but he'd learned how to stop it. A part of him wondered if she needed to learn, too.
CHAPTER 18
John
The elevator ride to the condo was full of all the things John couldn't say. The man at his side, no longer his. The woman on the other side about to collapse. Him in the middle, nothing but a jumble of exhausted panic. On the way back, he called in sick to skip the performance tonight. His understudy was probably thrilled.
Once the doors opened onto the foyer, Licia wove her way towards the guest room.
“Hey, easy.” John held her shoulders as the door frame nearly took her down. She rubbed the joint where she'd hit, her fingers brushing over his. He retracted his touch immediately, just in case. It wasn’t always safe to touch her, especially when she was like this.
“I'm fine. I just need a shower.”
“There are extra towels in the closet of your room.”
She didn't answer, or look at him, or even acknowledge that Emerson was two steps behind them watching John's every move. He let her go, at least for now.
Emerson sat on the entry bench and untied his boots. There was a coat of silence around him as thick as fur.
“You okay?”
Emerson's jaw flexed and he left his shoe half undone. “What do you think?”
John winced. “I know this is a lot to take in, but if you let me explain—”
“Don't give me that bullshit. You've known about her since long before we met. You chose not to tell me.”
“If you were in my place, would you have told me?”
Emerson stood so they faced each other. “No. You know why? Because I never would have let someone like her into my life. I would have turned her in the minute she revealed what she really was, instead of developing feelings for her.”
John raked his blond hair, the strands falling free from their careful sweep and into his eyes. “Stop it. I care for her. She was there for me when no one else was, but I'm not... I can't be in love with her. Okay?” He let his voice fall because thinking that way was too much. He'd dreamed about being with Licia after she’d helped him take down Aubrey and free the other patient, but she’d wanted to leave instead. She'd run and was gone for a long time. Her stance on the topic was clear. Each time he saw her and was pushed aside, he closed himself off a little more.
“I can't be around you right now.” Emerson snagged his keys again, ignoring John's set that clattered to the ground.
“Wait.” John held Emerson's forearm, but he yanked away. “Sorry. You won't turn her in, will you?”
Emerson rolled his neck and gritted his teeth. “No.” He punched the elevator button and kept his back to John as the doors slid closed.
Their problems would have to wait until John at least made sure Licia didn't pass out in the shower. He couldn't hear any water running yet. If only distracting his heart was as easy as distracting his mind.
He marched down the hall, then stopped when his phone buzzed, but he couldn't reach into his pocket. Or take another step. The floor seemed to reach up towards John's hand, flattening into two dimensions. A cold weight pressed behind his eyes until his vision began to blur.
Shit. Not again.
The wrap party. His location had been leaked a month into the shoot schedule and fans had flocked for a glimpse of him and his co-star, Alice Layned. She was short, curvy, and funny as hell, so of course they'd slept together from week one. Which meant she bore the brunt of John's fans’ occasional vitriol while also dealing with her own stalkers. Emerson had had his hands full watching over them.
The party was hosted by Markus Pereira, the director and Emerson's boyfriend at the time. He could throw one hell of a poolside party in his L.A. mansion. The beat of the base rattled John's ribs as he sipped a whiskey and scanned the living room.
A crowd of women in short dresses and men in casual slacks parted enough for him to spot Emerson. John's heart sped as they made eye contact and Emerson bobbed his head in that burly I-see-you-man way. Even off duty and off the clock, he and Emerson gravitated toward each other.
“Who's your conquest tonight?” Emerson sidled up to him with an extra drink, handing it over like John had requested it. He took the full whiskey, ditching the empty one on a nearby table, and sipped.
“Haven't decided. Not a lot of new faces.” He'd already been through the women of the cast and crew.
“You're going to have to move soon. You've slept with most of Los Angeles.”
John laughed. “Yeah, but only once. The second time is always better.” He met his best friend's eyes and remembered the last time they'd met up for drinks. The place had been crowded, so when their shoulders bumped together, he didn't think on it, but when their thighs met... John took another drink and looked away.
“You want to come over tonight?” Emerson asked.
“No, I think I'll get a decent night of sleep for once.” John rolled his shoulders, his neck particularly tight. It had been a while since he'd been able to release the pressure of his vibe. Emerson didn't seem to react to his ability like the others did. No matter how much vibe escaped John's control, Emerson never showed any signs of arousal. It might be the natural state of his body, maybe even an abnormality, but John had only known a couple of people like that, so the chances were knife-edge thin.
“I can help you with that.” Emerson offered, popping a cherry in his mouth from the Manhattan in his hand.
John raised his eyebrow. If Emerson was going to hook him up with a new woman, he wasn't about to say no. He needed the release and leaned in closer to hear. They were somehow in their own private conversation even as his coworkers milled around for drinks and dancing.
“Come to my place.” Emerson didn't even blink as he said it, but he slipped a shy smile.
John felt his vibe slip and panicked. He'd promised himself not to dabble on that side of the spectrum again. Not since boarding school and the mess he’d gotten in from fooling around with his roommates...and teachers. “Oh man, no. I've got nothing against you being gay. Gay it up, whatever, but I'm not into that.” John's voice came out too loud, too hard. He knew he was turning bright red but couldn't control it.
As John's voice grew louder, Emerson's got softer. “You don't think I've noticed how you flirt with me?”
“You've misunderstood. I flirt with everyone.” John shot his drink and slid the glass on the counter. A handful of actresses homed in on the drama like sharks on the smell of blood.
“There's something between us.” Emerson likewise abandoned his drink; his voice so quiet John almost didn't catch it.
People were definitely watching them now and his heart rate was freaking out. “Go fuck the director if you want that.”
“We
broke up.”
Something flipped and then promptly dropped in his stomach. “Sorry.”
“You knew we were having problems. You listened to me complain about them enough.”
“Yeah, but not because I wanted anything.”
Emerson rolled his eyes. “You are the king of sex... with women. Is it so hard to imagine branching out?”
John coughed. No, he had lines he wouldn't cross again. It wasn't worth the backlash. It wasn't worth risking his friend and his career. “Haven't you heard of the whole no thing? I'm pretty sure it means no.”
“Trying to understand your attraction—and obvious interest—isn't the same as forcing you into bed.”
“What makes you so sure I'm attracted to you.” It was a challenge, not a question and John matched Emerson's minimal volume.
Emerson leaned in close, licking his lips, leaving a slight sheen behind. “Because right now you can't stop looking at my mouth.”
Emerson left and a wave of whispering rumors spread with his departure. John had to do damage control. Now. He strolled to the largest group of women he could find, turned his shaken vibe loose and waited for the offers to pour in, all the while replaying Emerson's words. You can't stop looking... He glanced up, his eyes immediately catching Emerson's.
No, he couldn't.
The clunk of the guest bath’s door carried John back to the present, followed by the shower’s splattering spray. The pressure in his mind eased and the full depth of his sight returned. Another vivid memory—vision—whatever. How long had he been stuck there? The memory made him itch. He'd been cruel to Emerson, afraid of what being attracted to him would mean for his future, but Emerson had stayed steady. He was John's foundation, but now he'd cracked him.
The past was prying into the present, and John couldn't keep it hidden forever, but he'd do whatever he could to keep from seeing that look of horror on Emerson’s face ever again.
Blood painted his mind’s eye. Licia. She'd killed again, and would probably play it calm and cool, but it would leave another mental scar. She could feel everything, including whatever the man felt in his final moment. She needed to know she wasn't alone.
He opened the guest bedroom door. Her black clothes trailed from the door to the bathroom, a chronology of her undressing left for him to wonder if her victim's blood was still wet enough to stain the pale carpet. The bathroom door was shut, but he could hear her feet padding across the tile.
He knocked. “Licia?”
“You can't even leave me for five minutes.” Her voice was thick, but it settled his stomach. The memory-visions felt like reliving hours, but they only took moments. She shut the water off.
“Is there anything else you can tell me about the patient from your vision?” She didn't respond for long enough that John was about to repeat himself.
“No,” she said. “There wasn't enough that bled through. Just lots of despair and feeling caged.”
“We'll get her out.”
The door swung open and John quick-stepped out of the way.
“The kid’s a girl? Fuck. Not again.” Licia dripped on the floor, a towel loosely wrapped around her torso. The lighting from the bathroom made her skin glow, while the darkness of the bedroom left her face in shadow.
He couldn't help tracing her body with his eyes. “She's not exactly a kid. She's nineteen, apparently.”
She seemed to chew on that idea. “Still just a young woman, and still not someone I'm willing to let UHP experiment on.” She strolled past him and said, “Where's your boyfriend?” She must have sensed a lack of emotional outrage in the condo.
“Out.”
“Will he go to the police?” Licia dug around in one of her bags, pulling out a new set of clothes.
“He wouldn't do anything to expose Abnormals.”
Licia cringed. “I hate that term. We're not freaks or experiments. We're people with traits like anyone else.” Her expression caught the light and John saw compassion there.
“What would you call us then?”
She shrugged. “We're like leveled-up players, not crimes against nature.”
“Agree to disagree.”
“Like hell.” She pointed at him with her black shirt in hand. “We were born, we specialized in a particular skill, and someday we'll die. How is that any different from the rest of humanity?”
“The rest of humanity can't make someone kill themselves.” John's ire spilled into his voice.
“Have you ever been bullied? Ever been raised to believe you are nothing? They might not do it my way, but they still do it.”
John had nothing to say to that and leaned against the door frame in defeat. Licia turned away.
“He didn't take it very well,” Licia said. John fell silent, his focus flying back to Emerson's raw hatred. Licia sighed. “He'll come around.”
He couldn't believe she'd offered reassurance and was about to comment when she dropped the towel. The times he'd dreamed of seeing her naked were nothing like this, but he wasn't disappointed. He felt a swell of pride that she would bare herself in front of him.
“You have tattoos.” Not a poignant statement, but the swirl of vivid colors created a great watercolor falcon up her side from her left flank to her shoulder. It was beautiful. She was beautiful.
“You need to cap that.” Licia shifted, her thighs rubbing together as she slid into a pair of panties.
He startled. The effervescence of his vibe had, indeed, slipped free. It was amazing he had any left to leak. He corked it and adjusted the bulge in his pants.
“Sorry.” He pursed his lips, feeling like a reprimanded child, and figured he couldn't get in much more trouble, so he asked, “Why is it so colorful? I figured they'd be black.”
She tugged on a thin, long-sleeved shirt—black of course. “I don't wear black because it's my favorite color. I wear it as armor.”
“From what?” John never considered Licia needing protection. She was collected and in control even as a nineteen-year-old gang boss on the run from her cronies and the law, now at thirty-one she exuded deadly confidence. Emphasis on deadly.
She didn't answer and instead stepped past him and headed towards the kitchen, forgoing pants. “Do you have anything to drink?”
Oh sure, exhaustion, adrenaline, more exhaustion, a bit of booze and a half-dressed woman. That didn't spell disaster. He followed her. “Yeah. Of course. Whiskey or gin?”
She perched on the stool like a patron at a bar. “Gin.”
“I didn't mean to... in the bedroom...” John found two lowball glasses and some ice, focusing on his task instead of the heat creeping up his ears.
“I know. I'm used to dealing with horny kids.”
John snapped upright. “Hey, I'm far from a kid.”
She held out her dainty hand for the glass. He slid her the bottle along with it. They drank until John could feel a buzz work his thoughts into a soft cocoon. It wasn't that he was a horny hormone-riddled teen, he was built this way—specialized as Licia had said. His arousal wasn't just effective for sex, but that was the best outcome.
“Do you think it's wrong. What I do?” He shot back the last swallow and added another splash from the bottle.
“You think my opinion matters?”
“I've always thought so.” He leaned on the counter so he could see her better. His knee brushed hers.
“I think it matters more what you think.” She countered, but didn't pull her knee away.
“I think everyone wants me to believe that it is. That sex, wanting sex, being interested in sex, is somehow bad. Don't get me wrong, I fucked up and fucked wrong, but I learned pretty quick where the lines were.”
“Then tell me what's the worst thing you've ever done with your ability? And remember who you're talking to. The bar is pretty high.” Licia popped off her seat and started opening cupboards. “Do you have anything sweet?”
“Maple candy behind the canned beans.” John massaged his neck and sighed. “When I wa
s sixteen, I seduced my mom's best friend while home on a school break.”
Licia snorted, then rejoined him at the breakfast bar. “If that's all you've got—”
John nudged her shoulder. “No. The problem was her husband found out. He threatened to turn her in for statutory rape. They divorced. My parents found out I'd intentionally seduced her—plus half of my teachers regardless of gender—then disowned me. That was when I realized my ability was more than average teen lust.”
“I think you were one of the first to develop an ability. You're what, forty now?”
“Forty-one. Don't remind me.”
Licia made a hmm sound and popped a maple candy into her mouth. She closed her eyes with bliss and then continued. “I first felt mine at six when my mother punished me for being too sensitive. I started reading her moods and self-correcting. I had no idea what I was doing, but that was the first time I remember getting a taste.”
John took another sip. “We make quite the pair.”
Licia lifted her glass and clinked it against his. Her face relaxed until her lips turned up just enough to draw his attention. The moment stretched between them.
Then Licia's eyes hardened and she turned away to finish her drink. “It's late and today sucked. I'm going to bed.” She slid off the stool and pulled down her shirt so it covered her panties. He didn't try to stop her. There was no reaching her when there was that much ice in her eyes.
Besides she was right, today had sucked in so many ways. It was late, or rather early, and Emerson hadn't returned yet. What if he didn't return at all? No. Emerson was still his guard. If for no other reason, he'd return to resign.
John shot the rest of his drink and turned off the lights. Then he flipped on the foyer light for Emerson. Just in case.
CHAPTER 19
John
Emerson's side of the bed was empty. John rolled to his back and stared at the off-white ceiling, his heart begging him to be open to the reality of the situation, but he couldn't. If he admitted he and Emerson were beyond over, then there would be no reason to keep trying—for him, for the specialized individuals, or for the overpowered patient trapped in UHP—none of it seemed as necessary as Emerson at his side.
