Karma

by Nadine Nightingale

  “Actually, it’s ingenious,” I admit.

  “What?” If looks could kill, I’d be in witch heaven by now.

  Scared he might suffer a stroke, I wave Miss Piggy over and point to Alex’s empty glass. “Refill.”

  Playing with a strand of her hair, she fills the glass. “Anything else?” she asks, flashing Alex a sexy smile.

  Jerk-face ignores her, and I almost feel sorry for Miss California. “We’re good,” I assure her, and once she stomps away like a pouting child, I face Alex. “Jesse is looking for a way to save his friend from hell right?”

  Hands around the short glass, he frowns. “Tell me something I don’t know. Like why the fuck you think he’s a genius for getting himself turned into a zombie?”

  Aren’t badass hunters supposed to have some brains? “It’s real simple. Samedi is a reaper, and what do reapers do?”

  “Kill?” he says.

  I play with a strand of my hair. “Yeah, smartass. But they also deliver the souls to their rightful places. Heaven, hell, purgatory.”

  Frustration rolls over Alex’s face. “So?”

  “If Jesse could cut a deal with the bocor, he would have ordered Samedi to spare Jesse’s friend’s life, and hell couldn’t get the guy’s soul.”

  Alex’s aura is a mixture of guilt and fear. Staring at his scarred knuckles, he downs the second shot. “Dammit, Manda. Do you listen to yourself?” He slams the glass on the counter. “You sound like this is a game of Monopoly. Strike a deal with the bitch of a narcissistic reaper. Get a hell-free card. And pay with what? Your soul?”

  “Relax,” I say, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Jesse is a zombie.”

  Alex’s bitter laughter roars through the bar. “You sound like that’s a good thing.”

  I shrug tense shoulders. “It sorta is. Zombies can’t make deals. They are under the influence of the bocor and have no freewill. Everyone knows deals like that are void.”

  Alex squints. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

  Hell, yeah! Zombies I might be able to handle. Deals with Satan, psychotic bocors, or sociopathic reapers, not so much.

  I nod. “At least he still owns his soul.”

  Alex lets out a sharp breath and traces the bags under his eyes. “Manda?”

  “Hm?”

  “Do me a favor,” he says with a half-smile. “Don’t ever try to cheer people up. ’Cause damn, you have a gift for making things worse.”

  That should be an easy promise to keep. “Done.”

  Since it’s all about sharing, I should probably let him in on what I saw earlier. “Alex, there’s something else.” I try to sound casual, but my voice is shaky as hell.

  “Spill it.”

  Trying to keep it together, I tell him everything, from what I saw connected to Isobelle to the info I gathered from Bonnie. He listens patiently, but every time I mention the dog kennels or child abuse, he curls his hands into fists and clenches his jaw. After I’ve told him every disgusting detail, he stays quiet. I can’t blame him. It’s hard to wrap your head around this shit without losing it.

  “Alex, are you okay?” I ask, as his eyes grow more and more distant.

  “Sure.” Flashing me a half-hearted smile, he gets up. “I’ll be right back,” he says, and heads to the restroom.

  Staring at my empty soda can, I suppress my inner hurricane once again and focus all my energy on Alex. He’s far from okay. His brother is a brainless slave, serving a child-abusing bocor who happens to be under a reaper’s protection. Could it be worse?

  As a matter of fact, it could. What if the bocor forces Jesse to take part in the abuse?

  “Hey.” Miss Piggy snaps her fingers in my face.

  Where did she come from?

  “What?” I’m not in the mood to talk Kardashians or other pointless bullshit.

  She throws her extensions over her shoulder and leans in. “Is he your boyfriend?” she asks, heat flooding her cheeks.

  With narrowed eyes, I glare at her. “Who?”

  Miss Piggy presses a hand against her heart, ogling me suspiciously. “Are you serious?” She points to the restrooms. “The woman-eater you’re with.”

  I need a moment to adjust my brain from child-abusing bocors to I-want-to-screw-your-friend.

  She straightens, her dull aura radiating bright red. “I mean, oh my gosh,” she moans, fanning herself with a menu. “He’s so…so…”

  Out of your league?

  “Unbelievably hot,” she squeaks like a stupid cheerleader. “I bet he’s good.”

  The red aura. The blushing. Jeez, I know exactly to what she’s referring, but I’m not going there. “Only one way to find out,” I say, trying to play cool. But anyone with a brain would hear the annoyance in my voice.

  Proving she doesn’t have one, she flashes me an excited smile. “So you two aren’t…”

  “Nope.”

  “Is he single?”

  Do I look like his personal hookup assistant? “I guess.”

  “You don’t mind if I…”

  “Honey,” I say, “you can do him all night long. I don’t give a shit.”

  “You’re awesome,” she says cheerily before turning to a dude with an empty beer glass.

  Strange, I don’t feel so awesome right now.

  “What was that about?” Alex asks, eyes glued to Miss Piggy’s peach ass.

  I shrug off the incident. “Just girl stuff.” When he doesn’t take his eyes off her booty, I realize he really wants to try her Sex on the Beach. I pull a few bucks out of my bag and force a smile. “I think I’ll call it a night.”

  Alex knits his brows. “It’s quarter past nine.”

  Putting the money on the counter, I nod. “Guess I’m gettin’ old.”

  “Wait,” he says, grabbing my wrist. “I’ll go with you to your room.”

  Missy Piggy watches us. She secretly pleads with me to fulfill her dirty dream. He’d forget all about her if I allowed him to come along. I also know he wants her, and why should I screw this up for him? After all the drama, he deserves a little fun.

  “You should stay,” I suggest, pointing to Miss Piggy.

  Alex instantly gets the message. His gaze darts from her to me and back again.

  Damn, who thought he would actually consider screwing her?

  Before he comes up with a lame excuse why he can’t bed Miss Piggy, or worse, why he should, I pull my wrist free and leave.

  Chapter 14

  I’m tired, but every time I close my eyes, I’m plagued by images of Alex and Miss Piggy. Staring at the light of the crescent moon that slices through the chiffon curtains, I come to the conclusion there’s something seriously wrong with me. Jesse is a zombie. Little girls are being abducted and raped. Yet all I seem to be able to think of is which Kama Sutra position Alex and Miss Piggy are working on.

  Closing my eyes, I toss.

  He screws her.

  And turn.

  He screws her not.

  I glare at the ceiling.

  He screws her.

  I pull the goddamn blanket over my head.

  He screws her not.

  Man, who am I kidding? Being near Alex is killing me. It’s a lesson I’ve already learned. Back then, when he didn’t know what I was, he found a way to tear down all the walls I’d carefully built around my heart. Falling for him was like breathing. A natural necessity. I just couldn’t help it. Not that I didn’t try. Believe me I did. But there was something about him that got under my skin. Pretty stupid, considering our mutual hate is practically predestined. He’s a hunter. I’m a witch. Skinheads don’t fall in love with Latinas. Nazis don’t date Jews. And witches don’t screw hunters—it’s simple like that. In theory. But the heart is stubborn and reckless. Always wants what it can’t have, and never considers consequences.

  God, I sound like one of these pathetic Twilight chicks. Hello, brain to libido! The guy tried to kill you twice.

  Hell, I need a smoke. I’ve managed
to steer clear of the toxic shit for the last eighteen months, but there’s only so much a girl can take without throwing all her new life resolutions out the window.

  Shoving the blanket away, I sit up. It’s quarter to ten. If I’m lucky, I’ll find a gas station somewhere close by. Pulling my up hair in a messy bun, I slip into my jeans. A loud knock on my door makes me jump.

  “Manda?” Alex’s deep voice roars from the hall. “It’s me. Open up.”

  What did I ever do to you, Universe? I know we will all pay for our sins sooner or later, but I’m afraid I’m running out of currency here.

  Stalking to the door, I wrap my fingers around the doorknob. “Go away. I’m sleeping.” I’m not in the mood for bedtime stories or after-glow auras.

  His rich laughter rings in my ears. “No, you’re not.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “I know you’re leaning against the door, Manda. Just let me in.”

  “How do you—”

  “I can see your shadow,” he says matter-of-factly. I almost forgot why the freaking FBI enlisted him in the first place.

  “I’m tired. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Sounds stupid, but it’s the best I can come up with.

  “Fuck, Manda. Stop fooling around.”

  Alex is way too stubborn to just go away, so I put on my poker face and open the door a tiny crack. “What do you want?”

  “Can I come in?”

  I lean against the door and arch a brow. “Why?”

  Sticking to his jerk act, he ignores my question and pushes past me. Stumbling backward, I shoot daggers at him. “What the fuck, Alex?”

  His gaze travels all over me. “I was going to ask you the same thing,” he says with a crooked smile. “What the fuck, Manda? Why the hell did you disappear? And don’t even try that ‘I’m getting old’ shit on me.”

  Is he for real? Giving him the evil eye, I’m a little surprised when his aura beams an insecure dark green rather than the expected lusty red.

  “Manda?”

  “What?” I hiss, one hand on my hip, the other still clenched around the doorknob.

  His malachite eyes pierce right through my soul, and I feel naked and exposed. “Jesus, Manda. For once in your life, be honest with me and tell the truth.” His voice is soft, but demanding.

  The truth. I don’t even know what that is anymore. I guess that’s the price you pay when you tell lies for a living. At some point, the truth fades into oblivion.

  I clutch the doorknob tighter, ready to tell him to get the fuck out. He reaches behind me, slamming the door shut. My heart leaps in my chest, and I swallow hard. “Are you fuckin’ crazy?”

  He stalks toward me. “Why did you go?”

  Fed up with seeing his god-like face, I frown. “I was tired. Still am.”

  “Bullshit,” he says, forcing me against the wall. “Why don’t you just admit it?” Alex is so close I smell the bourbon on his breath.

  My heart races like a Shelby Mustang, but I won’t avert my gaze. Can’t show weakness. “Admit what, Alex?”

  “That you’re jealous,” he whispers, his lips brushing my ear.

  I laugh, not because any of this is funny, but because I’m the witch, yet he’s the one with the sixth sense. Holding onto the little self-control I still have, I force my spine into a straight position. The muscles in his chest rub against my shirt, and my heart throws a tantrum. “You wish,” I say hoarsely.

  Hands land on the wall on either side of my head. Our faces only inches apart, the hair on my skin crawls.

  Run!

  My gaze goes from Alex to the door, but he knows what I’m up to and shakes his head. “No way. You won’t run again.”

  “Again?” I snap. “When did I ever run from you, Alex?”

  He pushes his fingers through my belt loop and pulls me closer. “You were running the second I laid eyes on you.”

  Whoa, what is this? The freaking Twilight Zone? Half an hour ago, he was drooling all over Miss Piggy, and now he has me pushed against a wall, hellbent on getting a jealousy confession out of me? Not happening.

  His rough fingertips draw circles on the skin above my waistband, and breathing becomes a privilege I no longer attain. I try to step back, bring some space and air between our heating bodies. I feel like a rat in a trap. “What do you want from me?” My voice sounds like sandpaper.

  An awkward silence fills the room, and his fierce eyes find mine. He doesn’t have to answer my question, because his cherry aura speaks for itself. We’ve been here before, and it didn’t end well.

  ****

  The bar was packed, but Alex didn’t give a shit. He stood there, hand around my wrist, eyes searching my soul. “What is wrong with you, Amanda? Is this all just one big game for you?”

  I arched a brow and grinned. “Dunno what you’re talkin’ about.” That was a lie, but hey, no one could blame me for not going down the Buffy and Angel road.

  He pushed me against the wall. “I said you could ride with us, but I won’t put up with your shit any longer.” He fisted his hand around his hair. “Why don’t you do us both a favor and say what you really want?”

  “And what would that be?” I asked.

  His features hardened, but his eyes were soft. “Me.”

  Who the hell did he think he was? There was nothing about him I wanted, not his worn out, ripped clothes, not his ridiculously awesome abs, and certainly not his freaking amazing eyes.

  “Get lost, Alex.”

  “In you?” he asked, arching a brow.

  When had he become so cocky?

  I had to pull myself together. Alex wasn’t just your ordinary bad boy. He was fatal. I averted my gaze and took the longest breath ever. “I don’t want your heroism, your smartass attitude, or your I’ll-risk-my-life-for-every-human-being-on-earth crap.”

  “Good.” His rugged fingertips dug into my ankh tattoo. “’Cause I don’t want your selfishness, your stab-worthiness, or your attitude.” He brushed hair out of my face. “No strings attached,” he said, his hot breath tingling on my alert skin. “That’s what we can both agree on.”

  I needed some air. Some space. A brain. I had never lost control, but there was something about Alex that made me want to fall.

  Pressing my hand against his chest, I felt his heart racing. “This is a bad idea,” I heard myself mutter as his lips connected with mine and the world around us came to a stop.

  ****

  Tracing a finger over his hard chest, I try to shake the memory off, but I still feel his mouth on mine. Alex might look like a god, but he kisses like Satan himself. No guy had been able to live up to him, and no matter how much I hate to admit it, he ruined me. In every possible way.

  His ridiculously full lips are dangerously close. “The question is: what do you want, Manda?”

  What do I want? I want to run my hands through his hair, rip his shirt off, feel his sweat. I want him to get lost inside of me. Push faster, harder. I want one more night.

  That’s fucking insane.

  Biting my lower lip, I let my gaze drift from his striking face to his rock-hard abs. Sanity is overrated! I’m about to wrap my hands around his neck when the scent of incense crawls into my nose.

  I stiffen. “Do you smell that?”

  “What?” he asks, his lips brushing mine.

  I shove him away. “Incense,” I say as the Kylie Minogue song “Where the Wild Roses Grow” starts playing in my head. “Something isn’t right.” I feel it in my bones.

  Alex wears a worried expression and steps back. “What is it, Manda?”

  “I don’t know, but—”

  The ringing of his phone cuts me off.

  Startled, Alex pulls the cell out of his jacket and pushes the accept button. “Yeah?” he croaks, followed by a long silence. “When?” he asks, face pale. “We’re on our way.” Disconnecting, he stares at me, transfixed.

  “What happened?”

  His gaze drops. “It’s Isobelle.”

  No, do
n’t say it. Please, don’t.

  “She’s dead.”

  Chapter 15

  “I don’t give a shit about PAU policy, Carter,” Alex barks into his phone. “I have a dead kid on my hands, at least a dozen are being held as sex slaves, and my brother is a freaking zombie… Yes, zombie… No, we don’t need to alarm the government.” Pacing the creepy hallway of the morgue, he curls his hands into fists. “Dude, I don’t have time for this shit. Get me the fucking names of every pedophile and anyone ever accused of child abuse in Bakersfield. ASAP.”

  Dead kid. The words send chills down my spine. An hour ago, my biggest problem had been my insatiable desire to screw Alex. Now I’m standing in a freaking morgue, waiting to see the body of a ten-year-old girl

  “Do I have to remind you of Bridgewater?” Alex sounds tired and looks miserable. “Good. And Carter, hurry up.”

  I lean against the wall and glare at the fluorescent light. Isobelle is gone. Just like that. I try to wrap my head around it, but every cell in my body bristles at the thought. I ain’t stupid. When I signed up for the Rescue Jesse Mission, I expected drama, even a little danger. But never in my wildest dreams had I anticipated ending up in a morgue to examine the body of a girl who had been through more shit than any grown-up could relate to.

  Shoving the phone in his pocket, Alex walks toward me. “You okay?” he says, leaning against the wall next to me.

  “I’m fuckin’ awesome,” I mutter as weighty footsteps echo down the hallway.

  A guy in green hospital scrubs approaches us. He’s about fifty and has bags under his eyes the size of moon craters. “Agents Remington and Bishop?”

  Alex nods. “Yes.”

  “I’m Dr. DaSilva,” he says. “You’re here for Isobelle Watson, I assume?”

  I flinch at the sound of her name, but Alex keeps his cool. “That’s right. Have you determined the cause of death yet?”

  The doctor pulls one side of his mouth up. “My best guess right now is an internal hemorrhage, but we will be certain after the autopsy.”

  After the autopsy?