by Kim Faulks
Please…come on…
“A bathroom and an hour. That’s all I’m giving you and then I don’t want to see your fucking face again…ever.”
My leg shuddered and shook as I nodded. The shifter inhaled, took one look behind me to the street, and then gave a nod. “At the back of the bar and to the right. You shoot anyone in my goddamn place and you’re out…”
“I won’t,” I murmured.
Promises were so easy now, and they were all just words—just lies. Move my lips and they all spilled out. Maybe I was more like my father than I realized.
I heaved forward, gripped the doorway, and dragged my foot forward. A wave of agony hit. I pinned my lip with my teeth and forced myself to move.
The smell was vile, worse than the alley, the odor of rotting meat smothered me like a shroud as I stepped inside and stared into the darkness. Soft white lights were aimed against the walls, illuminating the way.
The door closed behind me, and was then locked with a snap. Fear gripped me, twisting and turning like a serpent trapped inside.
Movement at my right, something big and powerful.
“She’s okay,” the shifter behind me muttered. “Don’t get yourself worked up. Get back to your drinks…”
There was a growl and then a snarl. Silver eyes flashed in the dark on one side, and soft gold on the other. Not just wolves…I inhaled the heady scent of dirt and pine.
One of them stepped closer to the light. Tall, and built. Long obsidian hair cascaded over his shoulders as he turned to me. “Hello there, beautiful.”
“She’s a hunter, Fang. Those are out of bounds, remember?”
Distrust and then fear filled the shifter’s eyes. Panther. I’d seen two or three before, not many came to Harbor…
“He’s new. Keep walking, Hunter. Clock’s ticking.”
I nodded and kept on moving, past the hardened stares of those who knew what I was, to the ones who looked at me with awe.
I wrenched away from the sight. I wasn’t to be admired, I wasn’t even to be trusted.
I had a job, same as them, only our version of ‘live in peace’ was different.
Had been different, remember?
You’re one of them now.
I scanned rows of glistening glasses and amber-filled bottles along the bar and jerked my gaze to the bartender. “Can I have one of those?”
A guttural growl vibrated from the old shifter’s chest behind me before he barked, “Give her the damn bottle.”
A woman slipped off a stool at the edge of the bar. She was short and stocky, With chocolate-brown hair set in bangs around her face, hiding deep-set eyes. She wore black leather pants and a torn sleeveless shirt that read, fangs for the memories underneath splotches of bright red blood.
I stared far too long, trying to figure out if the gruesome detail was real. The grate of glass on steel drew my gaze. Everything moved in slow motion as the bartender slid a bottle of Jack along the stainless-steel counter toward her.
“Here…you…go…sweetheart.” She took a step and lifted the alcohol toward me.
Her gaze skimmed my breasts, my belly, and lingered on my pack. Nostrils flared, drawing the thick, warm scent of fresh blood deep.
Be polite…be fucking polite, the words played over and over in my head. “Thank…you…I’m…going…to…need…the…bathhhhrooooom.”
“Take all the time you need, precious,” she smiled.
I missed the words, caught on the curl of her lips. But my fingers grasped the bottle as I lifted my gaze to the far wall.
Bitches…was etched with gold into the door.
I lifted the bottle to my lips and forced my feet to move. Heat slid down the back of my throat to well in my belly as I crossed the floor and then shoved the bathroom door.
Pitch black. I couldn’t see a damn thing. Fingers danced over cold concrete beside me before I found the switch. I clawed, flicking the button, before the overhead lights blinked and buzzed, filling the bathroom with the harsh glare.
The bitter stench of bleach and old blood carved through my nostrils like a line of cocaine. I stumbled inside, and then shoved the door closed behind me.
Not a good place…not a good place at all.
But it was what I needed. A place where the mortals would tread carefully…a place where they knew they were prey.
Just like I was right now.
The lock was small and flimsy. My fingers trembled as I twisted the catch and then glanced around the room. Three stalls and two basins. The walls were black and stainless, easier to hide the blood. I staggered to the counter, set the bottle and the pack beside the basin, and then lifted my gaze.
I looked bad…real bad. Fluorescent lights glinted against shards of glass embedded in my cheek. I winced at the sight and leaned closer to the mirror.
My fingers trembled as I pinched and then yanked, tearing sliver after sliver free. Tiny beads of blood took their place, welling before they fell. But it was the bullet wound that scared me…and the squish of blood.
I lifted my shirt and stared at my jeans. The mess was heading south, sticking denim to my skin. I gripped the edge of the basin and lifted my foot, kicking one boot free before the other.
My gut clenched with the wave of agony. My knees locked and then buckled. I lunged, grabbing hold of the chrome faucets, and held on. A whimper slipped free, long and pathetic. I trembled, sucked in a breath, and the reached for the bottle.
Agony ebbed a bit, leaving me washed out and weak. Cold seeped through my filthy socks to gnaw my toes. I slipped one hand free from my grip on the faucet and worked my way to the button of my jeans and then the zipper.
The sopping sound of blood-soaked denim was sickening. I shoved one side of my jeans down and then the other, pushing until the denim slipped down my thighs to fall in a heap at my feet.
The wound was small, barely noticeable. Fresh blood spilled free when I moved. I closed my eyes for a second before I reached for my pack.
“Hey, you okay in there?” The woman from the bar called through the door.
I nodded, and held on. “I’m fine.”
Silence followed as I pulled the flap and then the opening. The kit was already open, packets of gauze had spilled free.
I grasped one, held it between my teeth, and yanked. Plastic tore, and the contents dropped, hitting the ceramic rim of the sink. I gripped the cotton and then reached for the bottle of Jack. One swig, and then a splash against the dressing, and I focussed on the wound.
The damn thing wouldn’t stop bleeding. I closed my eyes, steeled my will, and then pushed the gauze to the wound.
Pain roared, like a beast that screamed my name. White flashes detonated in my eyes. A scream ripped free to bounce against the walls.
Thunder followed.
Boom…boom…boom…
Voices pushed in…but I was too far gone, leaving my washed-out world far behind. My knees buckled, cold air buffeted my face.
An hour…I’ll be out of here in an hour…
The words slipped through my mind as darkness rushed in and I knew no more.
Chapter Thirteen
Redemption
“Redemption, come in.”
There was that cold kick of revulsion every time the piece of shit spoke to me. I smiled, nodded at Director Alistair Horton, and stepped through the open door to his office. Glass and chrome gleamed shiny and new.
Yet there was nothing perfect and shiny about the spineless piece of shit. Hatred welled in my stomach, a pit of acid, as I closed the door behind me.
I glanced across his clean desk and searched for a folder. Not a job. The words filled me…wasting my time. Director Horton liked me to heel like a good dog…he liked us all to heel.
Except for Lorn.
No, that one he preferred to ignore. Only the woman wasn’t one to ignore…I should damn well know.
“Please, sit. I want to discuss something with you,” the chubby piece of shit stumbled around the end
of his desk and flopped into the chair.
I had to wonder for the millionth time what Alma ever saw in him.
Why give The Circle to a fumbling baboon like Horton…why not give it to me instead?
There’d be no fight for equality…there’d be no syphoning of funds. No back-alley dealings and hunters gone rogue. There’d be work…and work…and Lorn…
I smothered the wince and stayed standing. Dark, beady eyes met mine as the director lifted his gaze, gave a scowl at my defiance, and then carried on. “Very well. We have a problem.”
You mean you have a problem. They always started out like this. Some fucking rich Warlord Prince comes to Harbor and they need an escort. One who’ll be discreet when the young shifter girls file into their room one by one, and leave bleeding, broken, and ashamed.
No more. No fucking more. I told him last time. I’ll gut the next bastard that hurts a woman in my company…royalty or not. And that dark well of misery waited…I could still hear her screams, and still smell her blood…still see her lying there as I came into that Unseelie cell. Her arms were bound above her head, body stretched out as far as it could go, her shirt torn open, exposing all to be seen.
Her flesh had been so cold when I touched her…so cold.
My gut clenched with the memory.
Horton leaned over and yanked open a drawer…before pulling a pale-yellow folder free. I swallowed hard, hating the way I let him use me.
“You’re the only person for this job, Redemption. I’m not giving it to you as a matter of respect, but because you’re someone who will get the job done fast and be discreet.”
Another mongrel with an itch.
Another fucking Queen who wanted a lapdog.
Go fuck yourself…the words lingered on the tip of my tongue as he lifted his gaze, fingers delving in to pull the details free. I couldn’t take it…not one more job, not one more second. “Give it to someone else.”
Horton’s eyes widened. There was a shake of his head. But I was already turning, already desperate to get out of there.
“Wait…I don’t think you understand…”
Like a nicked vein, hate spilled free…and once that blade cut, it could never be uncut. I spun on my heel and stepped closer, towering over the fumbling, stupid mortal. “No, you don’t understand. Give it to someone else. Actually, give all my jobs to someone else. I fucking quit.”
The bastard paled…actually fucking paled. He gave a slow nod. “If that’s what you want.”
I’d turned, taken a step, and reached for the door before he finished. “Probably too late anyway. They’ll bring in the best hunters to take her down. Such a shame. Someone will need to speak with her father. I doubt there’ll be many wanting an audience with the Lord of Hell.”
My heart lunged, punching into my throat as I turned. “What did you say?”
He lifted his gaze. I seized those dark beady eyes like a predator as I moved closer.
“The Lord of Hell, Lucifer…he’ll need to be told…after the fact, I’m guessing.”
I punched out my hand as my gaze riveted to the folder. “Give it to me.”
His hand actually went over the damn thing, like for a second he entertained the fact he had a fucking choice. “Give it to me, you fucking piece of shit.”
Eyes widened as the gutless bastard trembled. “I…I don’t think name calling is the answer.”
I strode forward and snatched the folder from his hand. Pages spilled free, clippings from the Greenwich Daily News…
Man set alight by Lucifer’s Daughter.
I winced and scanned the details.
Henry Mughausser, investment advisor to the stars, was set alight in his downtown office yesterday in what people have described as a vicious and bloodthirsty act.
A woman matching the description of Lorn Payne, daughter of paranormal celebrity, Lucifer Morning Star, entered the offices of Mughausser, Inc. and opened fire before setting Mr. Mughausser alight and then fleeing the scene of the crime.
Ms. Payne’s whereabouts at this time are unknown. Sources say she is possibly mentally unstable, armed, and very dangerous. If you see Ms. Payne, you’re advised to call the Greenwich Police Hotline on 555-585-9232.
“She has to be stopped right now, Redemption, and you’re the only man who can do it.”
My heart was hammering…has to be stopped…bring in the best hunters to take her down. Such a shame… I jerked my gaze to his. “They’ll kill her over this…”
“They’ll certainly try. The law of The Circle—”
“I know the fucking law of The Circle,” I severed his words.
I could see the ties that bound us twisting tighter and tighter in his mind. “You were saying before…I think the words were, I fucking quit.”
I curled my lips, and hate spilled out. I’d never wanted to slice a mortal’s throat as badly as I wanted to right now. “The job is mine. Do not send anyone else. You get me? I sense anyone coming and I’ll tear them a-fucking-part, hunter or no hunter.”
“You want this job? Fine, it’s yours.” He pushed up from the chair, flabby arms wobbling as he attempted to stare me down. “The next time I hand you a client, you will remember who is in charge here. What you say and do reflects on me and this company.”
Absolon. That’s who he meant. He wanted me to bow and scrape to the one fucking immortal I dreamt of killing…the infernal son of a whore, the Unseelie Prince.
We had history...the kind that changes the course of history.
The kind that makes a Queen beg.
I inhaled and felt my hate turn bitter cold. “Be careful what you wish for, Director,” pathetic, manipulating piece of shit. “You might get more than you bargained for.”
I gripped the documents and strode from the room, slamming the door behind me. Hate was a mask, one I wore very well. I nodded to the receptionist and went to the elevators.
“Redemption,” Betty rushed toward me, eyes wide, panic-stricken. “Tell me it’s not true.”
Her gaze lowered to the papers in my hand as her hand fluttered to her chest. “This is all my fault…all my fault…”
I reached out and gripped her arm, leading her gently toward the bank of elevators. “I don’t know all the details, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I don’t even know it’s her.”
“It is…it’s her,” she murmured and met my gaze, her eyes shimmering with tears. “She’s hunting…and it’s the Nine she’s after.”
I flinched, and then looked at the black and white image of a man on the front page. “This? This is the fucking Nine?”
“One of them, yes,” she murmured, her voice a little lower now.
I jerked my gaze to the picture and then back to this quiet, middle-aged receptionist that seemed to know everyfuckingthing.
The elevator let out a ping and the doors opened. I motioned inside. “I think it’s time we had a little chat.”
The woman swallowed a shiver, and then nodded and stepped in. I gave her one thing, she had balls. She stepped inside and I followed. One of the hunters stepped up to the open elevator doors and, with the shake of my head, stepped back.
“I’ll take the stairs,” he muttered and strode away.
I waited for the doors to close before hitting the emergency stop. Lights dulled, a dull siren buzzed overhead. But it was the receptionist who had my complete attention. “Spill, and leave nothing out. If this is true and Lorn’s now hunting mortals, then she’s in serious trouble.”
“They’ll send other hunters.” There was real fear in her eyes.
“They’ll damn well try, which is why I need everything you know and I need it now.”
She took a step forward, long, tapered nails scratching my skin as she gripped my arm. “But you’ll protect her. You’ll make sure she’s safe.”
I stared into the woman’s eyes and gave her my word. “Yes.”
“Eight of the Nine are mortal. Henry Mughausser was in charge of the money, a low-level con man
as far as I’m concerned. He poured millions of dollars into the fund that fought against that demonized church…Heavenly something. I know of two others, Jerry Leander and a Dominic Graham. Jerry moves in darker circles, and is deeply embedded in the military…Claws for Hire, and that kind of thing. There’s another Alma mentioned in the notebooks she left with me for safekeeping…a high-ranking official, but she never said who it was.”
“And you think she’s going after them on her own?”
She nodded, “I do.”
“Jesus…they’ll crucify her. They’ll parade her through the streets and fucking crucify her.”
“Unless Lucifer steps in. There’s something else, something Alma mentioned. Make Lucifer heel. I don’t know what it means, and I’m quite terrified of the things my small mind imagines. You need to find her before someone else does. I love her like my own child. Alma was like a sister to me.”
I punched the button and stared at the elevators doors. “I’ll do my best.”
And all of a sudden, these steel doors were too close, caging me in…I wanted out…I wanted to be running—I wanted Lorn.
Purpose filled me as the doors slid open, and I was gone, striding past familiar faces. I’d burn it down…I’d raze the entire city before I let them hurt her.
Before I let anyone hurt her…ever again.
They’ll send their best...Horton’s words resounded in my head.
I knew who they’d send; Capture was a mean-assed sonofabitch. He hated her…hated her bloodline…hated her power. The vampire was the best tracker The Circle had, and I’d be betting everything I had he’d waste no time going after her.
I lengthened my stride as I punched through the front doors and headed for my car. My heart picked up pace…urging…before I broke into a run. Lights flashed once before the doors unlocked. I was yanking the handle and sliding in before I pressed the button and the engine came to life.
Find her…find her…find her…
Panicked thoughts raced as I shoved the car into gear and pulled out onto the street. The roar of the motor filled the space. Tires squealed as I tore around the corner and then punched the accelerator. Cars whipped past, and any other day I might’ve felt the rush. But not today…that growing sense of dread pushed me harder.
