Karma

by Nadine Nightingale

  “Your room, hm?” Cocky as hell grin is back. “Manda, Manda…you trying to seduce me?”

  The vein in my left temple pounds like crazy. I bend down. The scent of whiskey lingers between us like an invisible line. “Two options, Alex: Either you get up, move your ass to my room, and we sober you up—”

  “Lame,” he croaks.

  I silence him with a look. “Or you keep up this attitude, I drag your goddamn ass to my room, and beat the crap out of you until you come to your senses.” I smile. “So, what’s it gonna be, jerk-face?”

  Hands still on my hips, he pulls himself up. “Option three.” He’s so close his lips brush my cheek. I have a hard time controlling the reaction his proximity has on me, and I ain’t talking fireworks or butterflies. Hell, I’m talking hard nipples and a painful throbbing between my legs.

  “Alex!” My voice has a deadly ring to it. “I’m not gonna say this again. Move.”

  “Don’t you wanna know what option three is?”

  “No.”

  I try to put his arm around my neck, but he pushes me away, knocking the chair over in the process. His sadistic laughter echoes off the walls and most heads in the bar turn to us.

  “You’re the biggest mistake of my life.” His eyes grow darker, colder. “Fuck!” He scrubs his face. “We wouldn’t even be here if I’d just walked away that night.” He takes a deep breath and looks in my eyes. “This is your fault, not mine. Yours.”

  I don’t see how any of this is my fault, but I do know I’m done with his reckless behavior. Oh. My. God. Did I really just say I’m done with his reckless behavior?

  Jeez, worry about the sudden outburst of responsibility later.

  Grabbing his arm, I turn it violently behind his back. “I don’t break that easily, dude, but I can promise you,” I push his arm a little higher, “your arm will if you don’t walk out of this shithole. Now.”

  The whole bar is enjoying the show when the grumpy bartender shouts, “Hey!” He points to a “Start A Brawl And I Shoot Your Ass” sign hanging above the shelves and says, “That isn’t just decoration, sweetheart.”

  I am officially in the town of crazies. I push Alex toward the door, fairly certain he could still take me down, even as drunk as he is, but luckily he doesn’t try. “We’re leaving,” I snap at the bartender, shoving the door open and directing Alex out.

  “Will you walk if I let go?” I ask as we step into the chilly night. When he nods, I steady him and try to bring his sorry ass to my room. Good times.

  He barely makes it to my bed before collapsing on the mattress. “All this time,” I say, pouring him a glass of water, “I thought you were the most responsible person I had ever met, and now that we could use a little responsible, you turn into the reckless version of Tony Stark, minus the good looks, charm, and millions in your account, of course.”

  Spread out on my bed, he laughs. “Damn, girl, you sound like my mother.”

  Careful not to put too much pressure on my wounded foot, I walk toward jerk-face and hand him the glass. “Why, does your mom have the hots for Iron Man?”

  He makes a face and pushes himself up on his elbows. “That’s gross.”

  “Yeah, well, hate to break it to you, but moms have a sex life too, ya know.” I point to the glass. “Drink up,”

  “Water?” He laughs. “C’mon, Manda. You just put some real disgusting pictures in my head, so how about you get me a bottle of tequila?”

  “Not going to happen.”

  He doesn’t look happy, but downs the water anyway. “Now can I get tequila?” he asks, holding up the empty glass.

  I get him a refill. “Nope, but you will get more water, buddy.”

  “You’re such a bitch,” he grumbles.

  I hand him the glass. “We’re back to spitting insults, hm? What is this, Alex’s nine circles of booze hell?”

  He pulls me toward him, and suddenly I find myself in his lap, straddling him. “No, but since going to hell is inevitable,” he says, his lips brushing the spot between my two ladies. “I might as well enjoy the ride.”

  I keep telling myself he’s drunk. Doesn’t change the fact that I want to unzip his freaking jeans, though. “You’re out of your mind if you think I’m screwin’ you, Alex.”

  “Am I?” He runs his thumbs over my bra, turning my nipples into rocks. “Then why does your heart beat like the overheated engine of my Mustang?”

  “It does not,” I insist.

  He pushes up, and his hard-on presses against my sweet spot. “Yeah. Yeah, it does.”

  I dig my nails into his shoulders. “Alex,” I moan, trying to get off him. “Stop it, please.” It’s supposed to sound like a goddamn order, but comes out as desperate begging.

  His hands glued to my ass, he tugs me against his chest. “I know you want me.” He kisses down my neck. “You always want me. Just admit it,” he says, pulling my shirt up.

  I close my eyes. Hips rocking back and forth, I enjoy the feeling of the fabric rubbing against my heat. I do want him. Fuck, I need him, but he’s like a drug, makes you high and leaves you dry and boneless. “Alex, please…stop.”

  “Just one night.” His husky voice makes my toes curl. “For the sake of old times. What do you say?”

  What do I say? Hell, with his lips on my neck, I’m not sure if I’m still able to speak. My heart races and every cell in my body craves his touch. What about tomorrow, though? As soon as he’s in his right mind, he’ll regret this.

  I know, but if I’ve learned anything from my trip to Limbo, it’s that tomorrow might never come. I might as well enjoy today.

  “Let me get lost inside you.” His hand fists around a strand of my hair, hauling my head toward his lips. “Ruin you, like you’ve ruined me.”

  Like you’ve ruined me? The words reset my brain. “Stop, Alex!” I get off him, knees weak. “Just stop.”

  “Oh, c’mon,” he says, pushing his fingers through my belt loops and pulling me toward him. “Since when does Amanda Bishop pass up a chance to get lucky?”

  “Fuck you, Alex.”

  “I’d rather screw you,” he says, shoving my already low jeans farther down and exposing the massive horizontal scar at my pubic hairline. “What the—” His eyes go wide. “H-how did this happen?” he stammers, concerned.

  Shit. Could this day get any worse? I yank out of his grip and adjust my clothes. “As if you care.” I draw a deep breath. “Just call your FBI pal and find out if Walter has a lake house. I want to get this over with. ASAP.”

  ****

  I can’t believe I almost screwed Alex. What the hell is wrong with me? Sex depravation? Schizophrenic episode? Limbo aftershocks? Probably all of it. I should have banged that hot bartender in Texas. What was his name again? It started with a B. Bart? Ben? Bay! Right. Hot, mesmerizing Bay. Nice smile. Awesome abs. He could have gotten the need out of my system. It’s not like Alex is the only guy who can turn me on.

  I tighten my grip on the steering wheel and my knuckles pale. Focusing on the street signs, I try to think of something other than the throbbing sensation between my legs.

  “Slow down, Manda,” Alex says. Leaning against the cool window, he looks like he wants to bash his head against a wall.

  “There’s a bottle of water and a pack of aspirin in my bag. Be my guest.”

  He massages his temples. “What’s with the water thing? Most people cure a hangover with coffee.”

  Turning left, I shrug. “I’m not most people.”

  Swallowing a dozen aspirin, he nods. “Clearly.”

  Choosing to ignore the undertone in his voice, I pull into the parking lot of the pharmacy. “I hope you still know how to pick a lock, Alex.”

  “I can’t believe we’re breaking into a freaking pharmacy,” he mutters. “I mean, are you even sure this ominous cure works?”

  Killing the engine, I draw a deep breath. “No risk, no fun.”

  “Great,” Alex grumbles. “We’re committing a felony based o
n ‘no risk, no fun.’ Could it get any worse?” He’s definitely sober.

  I smile. “It can always get worse, Alex.”

  Having a hard time lifting his head, he shifts in his seat. “On a scale from one to ten, ten being most likely, how sure are you Jesse and the kids are being held at this lake house you saw?”

  Sometime between being real mad at him for treating me like a slut and feeling sorry for him because he felt sick, I had managed to tell him about my vision. I expected him to be happy we finally had a lead on his brother, but all I received was a suspicious glare.

  Pulling the key from the ignition, I frown. “Nine and a half. This Walter guy was obsessed with his granddaughter, and since all the other girls seem to be substitutes for her, it kinda makes sense he’d bring them to the place where it all started, right?”

  “I guess,” he mutters.

  “Besides, I have never had a random vision.”

  He bends toward me. “How does that vision crap work? I mean, do all witches have ’em? And why don’t you use ’em to win the lottery or something like that?”

  I glare at the green neon sign above the pharmacy. “No,” I say. “Not all witches have visions. Most of us have pretty good intuition, but visions are one of the unique gifts. And about the lottery, well, I can’t see my own future. Can’t even read my own cards. Never could. Sucks, but it’s just the way it is.”

  “Unique gifts?”

  “Yeah, some of us can manipulate people, others can read auras. The list is endless, and—” I cut myself off, wondering why the hell I’m telling a hunter what witches are capable of.

  “And?” he says.

  “And I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t tell you all that stuff. You are, after all, a hunter.” I open the door. “C’mon,” I say as my feet connect with the asphalt. “Witch lesson is over.”

  “Manda?”

  I peek over my shoulder. “Hm?”

  “About what I said.” He runs a hand over his face. “I didn’t really mean it. Fucking whiskey screwed with my head.”

  I laugh. “Oh please, Alex. Blaming the booze? That’s so not like you.”

  “It’s not just that. I was angry. Wanted to hurt someone.” He averts his gaze. “I wanted to hurt you.”

  “As I said, I don’t break that easily.” I get out and head to the backdoor of the pharmacy.

  The crescent moon slices through the buildings, casting a silver light on the dark alley while Alex picks the lock in no time. I smile. “Nice.”

  He yanks the door open. “Just hurry.”

  Pushing past him, I walk straight to the backroom door, which is locked too. “Your talent is needed.”

  Alex goes straight to work. “You do know pharmacies have silent alarms, right?”

  Once the door opens, I push past him. “Yeah, not unheard of. Guess we better be quick then, hm?”

  “Hey,” he says, following me. “How come I’ve never heard of devil’s breath?”

  “Flashlight?” I mumble as we reach the large cabinets. He switches it on and points it at the drawers. “Devil’s breath is better known as scopolamine or the zombie drug,” I explain. Looking for the letter P, I scan the cabinets for physostigmine. There it is. Rushing toward the drawer, I open it.

  “And you know this because?”

  “I’m a fuckin’ genius,” I say, grabbing the flashlight out of his hand. Shit, there are a dozen drugs that start with P. Panex. Panheparin. Pardryl. Pavacot. God, who names this stuff? I go through the rest and finally find it. Hello, cure. Shoving the packet into my jacket, I shut the drawer. “Got it.”

  “Awesome. Let’s get the hell outta here.”

  Won’t argue with that. Alex pulls me toward the back door when I realize I forgot a crucial part. “Wait,” I say, going back.

  “What are you doing?” he hisses.

  Grabbing a syringe from another drawer, I rush to Alex and hold it under his nose. “Need this too.”

  Annoyed, he’s dragging me out of the pharmacy when a car pulls in the parking lot. Alex shuts the door behind us and peeks around the corner. “Cops.”

  Shit, we are officially screwed.

  “We’ll be fine,” Alex whispers, feeling my trembling hands. When I hear footsteps approaching us, I doubt that.

  “Now what?” I ask, unable to move.

  He squeezes my hands to keep them from shaking “I’m sorry” is the last thing I hear before he pushes me against the wall and kisses me. Hard. Passionate. Desperate. I want to slap him, really I do. I also want to push him away and yell at him. Resist him, but I don’t. Instead, I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him back. His lips are like sandpaper, grinding away every rational thought, leaving nothing but a burned out shell. With Alex, everything is in sync. Our jaws, our tongues, our breath, even our fucking heartbeats. God, I have been starving, and I didn’t even know it until now.

  “Guys,” someone shouts. “Break it up.”

  What?

  “Manda.” Alex’s forehead rests against mine. “Just play along.”

  Play along?

  “Kids, this is a public space. Why don’t you get a room?”

  My hand in his, Alex smiles. “Sorry, officer.”

  Officer? I force my gaze away from his lips. Shit. Officer with flashlight. Flashlight with officer. God, I can’t think straight.

  He points the beam of light at the door, checking the lock. “Just get out of here,” Officer Friendly says with a grin on his face.

  Alex nods and hauls me to the car. “You okay?” he asks sheepishly.

  “Sure.” I just need to attend an Anonymous Alex-aholic meeting. But, hey, could be worse, right?

  Chapter 22

  “This Kiss” by Faith Hill blares through the radio, getting on my last nerve. I change the fucking station, hoping to hear something less kissy and more angry, but all I get is “Poison” by Alice Cooper. That’s just great. Wondering if the whole freaking universe is plotting against me, I switch the goddamn radio off and tighten my grip on the steering wheel.

  “Hey,” Alex bitches. “What’s wrong with Alice Cooper?”

  “Nothing.” The dude is freaking amazing. Saw him live once, but how the hell am I supposed to concentrate on our mission if the radio tortures me with the memory of Alex’s goddamn kiss?

  God, I’m such a screw-up. I mean, why the hell does a simple kiss fuck with my head like this? Simple kiss? Nothing about that kiss was simple. Alex is an extraordinarily good kisser, but so are a million other guys on Planet Earth.

  “Manda?”

  “What?” I snap.

  “You’re not mad at me for kissing you, are you?”

  When the fuck did he turn into mind-reading Edward freaking Cullen? A nervous laugh escapes from the depths of my soul. “Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I be mad?”

  From the corner of my eye, I see his suspicious glare and the stupid grin. “Dunno. But you’ve been awfully quiet ever since—”

  “You pushed me against a wall and treated me like some whore?” I know I’m being unfair, but it’s either flipping the bitch-switch or telling him the truth, and I can’t have this conversation with him. Not now, not ever.

  “Manda,” he starts, but is cut off by his ringing phone. “Damn,” he mutters under his breath as he glares at his screen. “It’s Carter.”

  Maybe the universe is taking pity on me after all. “You wanna just sit there and stare at the screen, or are you planning to take that call?” Apart from the need to end this kissing nonsense, we also need the info Carter promised to get us. Right after the pharmacy incident, he had called Alex back and given him the address of Walter’s house at Lake Isabella. Alex needed more than that, though. He needed Carter to find out as much about Walter Griffin as possible and it seems like he’d struck gold.

  A frown on his face, he touches the accept button.

  “Put him on speaker,” I order. To my surprise, he does.

  “Whatcha got, man?”

  “You ow
e me big time,” Carter says. “Turns out the life of an agent before the Golden Age of the internet was pure torture. Had to dig through a ton of handwritten files to get this shit.”

  Alex shakes his head. “Cut to the chase, man.”

  Carter makes a tsking sound. “Your man Walter was never convicted of child abuse.”

  “Awesome,” Alex mutters, running a hand over his three-day beard. “You could have texted me that.”

  “Whoa, hold on,” Carter says. “I said he had no priors not that he doesn’t have a file.”

  Carter sounds one helluva lot like Bonnie, and I have a hard time hiding the smile tugging at my lips.

  “Dude, are you trying to piss me off? Just tell me what the fuck you know.”

  “You know no one likes Grouchy Smurf, right?” he counters.

  “Carter,” Alex shouts.

  “All right, all right. Turns out your dead witch filed a complaint against her ex-husband shortly after that Scarlet kid drowned.”

  Curiosity gets the best of me. “What kind of complaint?” I never took Hedwig for evil, and this might be proof she hadn’t been playing us after all.

  “Oh boy, is that Amanda Bishop?”

  I grin. “In the flesh.”

  “Can’t believe it. Damn, I’ve heard so—”

  A hint of annoyance flickers across Alex’s face. “Dude, we don’t have all night. So, how about you just focus?”

  “Right. Your girl Hedwig accused her husband of child molestation, and drum roll…” Carter taps his fingers against a table and imitates the sound of drums.

  “You sure he’s FBI?” I ask.

  Alex shrugs.

  “Murder,” Carter bursts out. “She told the cops Walter killed John and was responsible for Scarlet’s suicide.”

  Suicide? Hedwig thought Scarlet took her own life?

  “Apparently, the kid drowned herself after she witnessed the murder of her father,” Carter explains.

  Just like in my vision.

  “Why was Walter never arrested?” Alex asks.