“My apologies for the inconvenience,” Sebastian said, awkwardly formal. Too much time around Kristen had rubbed off on him. Sebastian kept his eyes on her, his jaw set, his body tense. He’s terrified of me, she realized. “I’m sorry to come unannounced. I didn’t have a number for you. I need to talk to you.”
He took in the scene around him—Jarrod bleeding all over himself, Sullivan doing her best to stop the flow.
Eden gestured to the couch. “Okay, talk.”
“In confidence,” Sebastian added.
“We are in confidence.”
Sebastian shifted, clearly uncomfortable with the crowd. Eden didn’t care. Everybody present she could trust except Sebastian himself.
She could see him weighing his need for her help and his desire not to have whatever he’d come to say heard by others. “I’m not sure. I’m not even sure I should have come. She’d be angry if she knew I was here.”
He finally brought himself to sit on the threadbare couch. “She’s … she’s not been well for a while. You know there’s something wrong with her. She tries to hide it, but it’s always been there. There was a guy. I only saw him officially twice. Once, the day before you left.” He paused, as if it were a memory he knew neither of them wanted to recall. “And once with you.” He looked up, met her eye. Gabriel, she realized.
“Go on.”
His eyes darted around the apartment again, lingering on Az as if sizing him up.
“There are patterns to her … behavior. She seems like herself for a few weeks and then starts to spend more time in her room. She becomes frustrated, distant, and confused. And soon after, he shows up. And then things go back to normal. For a while, anyway.”
“And he stopped showing up, didn’t he?” When she looked up, Sebastian stared back at her with suspicion. Eden licked her lips. She didn’t want to tell him what was wrong with Kristen. It was information Sebastian should have had, and Eden knew it wouldn’t sit well. Kristen’s formality had worn off on Sebastian; he’d clearly picked up her paranoia, too. “How is she?”
“She was getting worse.” He paused.
Her head snapped up. “Was getting worse?”
He nodded once. “Was. Kristen didn’t come home last night. The night before last, I heard voices coming from her room. I hadn’t even known she was home until she texted me demanding privacy.” He dropped his eyes. “I broke her wishes. I saw someone.”
“Who did you see, Sebastian? The same guy from before?”
Sebastian’s hands gripped his knees. “Dark,” he whispered, shuddering. “Strange and dark. I heard his boots on the back stairs when he left, and I looked out the back window.”
Eden stilled. “What did he look like?” she asked slowly, already knowing what the answer would be.
“He had curly hair, black leather jacket, and carried a case. A guitar case.”
“Fuck.” Az turned away. He’d clearly come to the same conclusion as she had. Madeline’s hunch had been right.
Jarrod brushed Sullivan’s wet rag away from his cheek. “Wait, Luke? Luke has Kristen?” The blood that he hadn’t managed to lose from his nose and cheek drained out of his face.
Sebastian’s eyes skirted toward him, back to Eden. “She was there yesterday morning, but left early. I haven’t seen nor heard from her since. It’s unusual.”
“How unusual,” Eden asked, taking the wrapped ice from Az and switching it for the rag with Sullivan.
Sebastian hesitated. “Unheard of. Even on her worst days, we’re in contact at least by text if she doesn’t want to be disturbed.”
Eden kept her face stoic. Madeline might not want to do anything, but if Kristen was sick, she needed help. “Looks like we’re gonna have to go after her.” She sat down on the couch, opened the laptop on the table, let it load. She typed in an address and clicked a link.
“Who is he?” Sebastian asked.
“He’s a nightmare,” Eden whispered. The room fell still. She glanced up at Az. “Luke’s playing tonight. At Aerie. It’ll catch him off guard to just show up.”
Jarrod gulped. “Eden, I…”
“You’re not going,” Eden said reassuringly. “You’re going to stay here and watch over Sullivan.”
“No.”
“Jarrod,” Eden snapped. She pointed at Sullivan. “I’m going with my gut, and my gut says you stay here with Sullivan.”
Jarrod looked pained. Everything in him must have wanted to fight her on it, but with his terror at the mention of Luke she knew she couldn’t put him through that again. Sullivan figured out enough to keep her mouth shut. Jarrod huffed but didn’t fight, holding the ice on the goose egg rising off his cheek.
“Thank you,” Sullivan said quietly. Eden met her eye. She wasn’t sure what she was being thanked for. Leaving Jarrod out of a fight that was clearly going to be dangerous, maybe even making sure Sullivan wasn’t doing any more Touch. Either way, Eden gave her a nod. Let Jarrod keep his pride. Keep him safe. God knew Eden wasn’t exactly ecstatic to be facing Luke again.
Even less about telling Az he wouldn’t be going, either.
CHAPTER 28
Jarrod squinted, his black eye puffy enough to be distracting. His cheekbone stung like hell, but he kept still while Sullivan started to clean him up. Eden, Az, and Sebastian had gone to check the alley for Vaughn.
Neither of them spoke about it. Sullivan dipped the washcloth under the running faucet and squeezed it out. She’d gotten half of his face done, was getting ready to start the side with the split across his cheek. His jaw throbbed.
She stood back, frowning as she gave his face a once-over. Gently, she touched a finger to his chin, turned his head. “God, you’re a mess,” she whispered. “Take off your shirt.”
He pulled the ruined work uniform over his head, wondered if he’d ever need it again anyway. The undershirt was just as wrecked. He tossed them both into the tub. “You should see the other guy,” he tried, but she didn’t seem to find the humor in it.
“Vaughn’s a big guy. I’m guessing he started it?”
Jarrod shrugged.
She ran the washcloth down his hairline, working her way to his neck. Blood stained his skin in smears. “What’d he say?”
That you need serious help, he wanted to say, that I’m not gonna be able to save you. But he shook his head instead. “Doesn’t matter. He was wrong.”
“That bad, huh?” She dropped the bloody cloth into the sink and cranked on the water, leaning against the porcelain basin.
“How did you meet Vaughn?” he asked suddenly.
She stared at him for a second before she managed to recover. “I was out with my friends looking for Touch. He sold to us. I ended up hanging out with him a few times, and we hit it off.” She squeezed the hot water out of the cloth and dabbed softly at his upper lip. “I thought I already told you that?”
“You did,” he said quietly, knowing his voice wasn’t as casual as he wanted it to be, plowing ahead anyway. “When?”
“When did I meet him or when did I tell you?”
“Meet him.” Jarrod swiped at the water dripping down his neck.
Sullivan’s brow furrowed, her eyes on the ceiling as she thought. “Six months ago, I guess?”
You knew she wouldn’t remember anyway, he thought. She’s not lying even if he was telling the truth. Jarrod leaned forward, head down, his elbows balanced on his knees. “Did he seem, like, familiar when you met him?”
He felt the pressure of the cloth against the back of his neck as she cleaned the last of the blood.
“Familiar how?”
He rose up and caught the confusion in her look. “Forget it,” he said, glancing away as he got to his feet. “You know that I’m… I mean, about how I’m not…”
Sullivan raised an eyebrow. “Alive?” she filled in.
He tried to smile and felt the split in his lip separate again. She wiped at it with her thumb.
“So you have a thing for dead boys or what?�
�
“Are you kidding me? Half the movies out there these days are about girls getting with vampire guys or werewolf guys or some other supernatural hotness. I’m living the dream.” She sighed, a fake dreamy sound. “Lucky me. The envy of thirteen-year-olds coast-to-coast.”
His shoulders shook. He fought to keep the laugh from his broken lip.
He meant to thank her for cleaning him up, but when he opened his mouth what came out was different. “You’d tell me, right? If you were feeling like you did.” He paused. “On the roof.”
He moved his hands to her shoulders, forced her to look at him. “How often do you get like that, Sullivan?”
Her eyes told him everything he needed to know.
“What did Vaughn say to you?” she whispered.
He pulled her into a hug, sighed against her hair. Now that he was closer to her, he could feel the heat coming off her. “Jesus!” he said, holding her at arm’s length. “Did you take anything for that yet?”
When she stepped back, he saw the glassy sheen to her eyes, not sure if it was the fever or tears, if he’d missed it before. “It’s nothing,” she said.
He opened the medicine cabinet and handed her a bottle of pain relievers. “Take, like, three of them. Your brain’s gonna fry if you don’t get that down.”
She turned the bottle in her hand, the pills rattling slowly. “Sure you can trust me after what Vaughn told you?”
Jarrod grabbed the bottle of Tylenol, twisted off the cap, and shook out enough for both of them. He dropped a few to Sullivan, careful of his bare fingertips, tossed back a trio himself, and slugged them down with a palm full of water. It tasted like blood. He held his hand to his mouth, stifled a gag, sure he felt a thick slosh in his stomach.
“What’s going on with Eden’s friend? She didn’t want you going with her.”
“Eden didn’t want me there because of Luke,” he answered, his face still twisted with the taste of iron.
“I take it he’s your big, bad arch-nemesis?” she said.
Jarrod opened the medicine cabinet and put the bottle away, his face hidden from her behind the mirror. “Might say that.” He swung it closed. “Come with me,” he said, leading the way to the couch.
Sullivan plopped down beside him. On the coffee table the laptop was still open to Aerie’s website, their schedule of bands for the next weeks. He clicked the link for Dawn’s Supernova, waited while it redirected him to a video.
“This is Luke,” he said while it buffered, frozen on a shot of Luke mid-stage and glowering straight at the camera. Unease ripped through Jarrod, ached in his bones, his organs. Even the blood in his veins seemed to curdle.
Sullivan’s voice was uncertain. “A singer?”
The video kicked in and Luke’s snarl filled the room. Jarrod jumped, snapped the laptop closed, embarrassed.
“I can’t....” He turned to Sullivan, not caring about his reaction, the shake in his hands, the crack in his voice. “You ever see him, you run. If I’m with you. If he has me. I don’t care. Sullivan, you leave me and you run.”
“Jarrod, what—”
“No. Promise me.”
“I promise,” she said, her eyes wide. “What happened? I mean, you walked in here half an hour ago covered in blood and didn’t even seem fazed, but you’re, like”—she took his trembling hand at the wrist—“you’re shaking after watching two seconds of video with the guy?”
“He killed some…” How to explain what Adam had been to him? His friend? Even after what he’d done? “Some people who used to live here with us. He hurt Az really bad, Eden … me.” He tipped his chin toward the closed laptop. “That’s Hell. And the reason I don’t do roofs.” He didn’t elaborate and, much to his relief, she didn’t ask. He let the silence build between them.
CHAPTER 29
Glass crunched under Luke’s boots as he paced, playing his guitar softly. He’d been practicing for an hour in the hidden room, backstage at Aerie, the notes falling from him as he walked.
The couch Kristen stretched on was cigarette burned, springs digging into her back. She was grateful she’d decided to wear black slacks, even if the tight bustier paired with them pinched a bit. Against her chest lay a volume of poetry. The pages smelled of the bookstore Luke had taken her to that afternoon. He’d bought her every book she’d laid a finger on until she’d forgotten about the doomsayer, the Bound. Everything but him.
She snuck glances at Luke, small sips. The light in the dank room was weak, meant for showing off the tattered posters decorating the walls. And still, it caught his body. The perfect curve of his shoulders as he adjusted the strap of his guitar. The swagger of his hips as he moved.
Halfway through the song he sung, he shifted to practicing scales, his fingers slipping down the frets. “You’re watching me,” he said suddenly.
She paused, her smile unsure. In truth, the book she held was a prop. She hadn’t been able to read a word with Luke’s lyrics rolling over her.
“At the risk of feeding your ego, I rather like your singing. You’re putting Yeats to shame.” She closed the book. Luke chuckled as he lifted the guitar over his head. “Oh, hush,” she said. “It was a tiny little thing of a compliment.”
He propped the guitar against a broken speaker. “Better than Yeats? Coming from you, that’s almost an attempt at seduction, Kristen.”
With each stride toward her, the frenzy in his eyes intensified. Lust and need and danger. Her heart skipped quick beats in her chest. She flipped the book back open, trying to ignore him. “We both know my powers of seduction far outweigh yours. Only I don’t play them as fast and loose.”
He crawled over the armrest and onto the couch. The smell of spices filled her head. “Prove it,” he challenged.
He snatched the book from her and laid it on the floor beside them. When she moved to pick it up, his fingers ran the length of her arm. Kristen shivered.
“See, I barely need to touch you. Where’s your control?” he chastised. “You used to be such a minx, Kristen.”
“My control?” Kristen stared him down, knowing he only did it to bait her. But the chance to catch him off guard, put him in his place, was too tempting. She raised an eyebrow, giving his shoulder a gentle push. Luke followed the momentum, let himself fall back against the armrest.
“You’d give in so easily?” he asked. She sat up and tipped forward, sliding a leg across his leather pants until she straddled him. He hadn’t expected her to respond. That much was clear. She added a twist to her hips as she settled.
“I’m not giving.” She arched her back, one palm pressed against his abs, the other rising to catch the ribbon she’d used to tie up her hair. In one smooth movement she yanked it free and shook the strands loose. “I’m taking what I want.”
She slipped the tips of her fingers under the waistband of his pants, teasing. “You did say that’s proper etiquette Downstairs?”
She grazed his neck with her teeth, each tiny bite ending with the soft press of her mouth against his skin.
“Holy Hell, Kristen.” His voice was breathless.
She thought about ripping the shirt off him. How far could she go before stopping would become impossible? Already, she knew she treaded the line, the gasp that escaped him sending a tremble through her body. His hips rose, pressing against her. She clutched the back of his neck, kneading the tight muscles there as she drew herself closer. Her lips found his earlobe. Beneath her, his whole body lifted in anticipation, wanting her.
Exactly where she wanted him.
“I win,” she whispered. With a breathy laugh, she pulled back.
Luke caught her wrist.
She looked down, surprised by the roughness of his grip, the intensity in his eyes burning through her. In a flash he sat up, his hands at her waist, rolling her until she was under him. Shock stole her air. Each breath darkened his eyes until they blazed black as pitch. His hands pushed down on her shoulders, his body atop hers.
“Should
I take what I want?” He slid his finger down to the button of her pants. It popped loose.
“Stop.” She couldn’t break away from his eyes, the darkness eating her up. Part of her wanted to let it. “Luke, I said stop!” she yelled, yanking an arm free. Her palm cracked hard against his cheek. The force of the slap turned his face from her.
He froze. And then his hands lifted away.
“It’s dangerous to lure me into games, Kristen,” he said quietly.
“No harm done.” She touched his reddened cheek. A muscle twitched in his jaw.
Luke untangled himself from her and sat up. The play was gone from his eyes.
“I want you,” he said, “to choose me this time. I’ll give you happiness. Books. Pleasure. Anything you wish,” he promised.
His mouth moved slowly toward hers and she thought for a moment that he’d forgotten the danger of her lips, but he moved to her jaw and the side of her neck, leaving a trail of goose bumps that did nothing to slow her speeding pulse.
“Why? Why me?”
He trailed his fingers down her face and then further. They lingered against the swell of her breast, the lace of her bustier. “Because you tempt me. You demand I fight for your affections instead of taking what I please.” He dropped his hand. “You tell me no. You say stop. And I listen.” He said the last words like a curse, anger bleeding through, each word rougher than the last.
Luke tilted his head, his neck tense, cracking with a snap. He rolled his shoulders.
“You’re a silly little dead girl.” He glared at her, his tone harsh. “You should mean exactly nothing to me.” He grabbed her chin, forced her to meet his eyes. “And yet I covet you more than anything else on this Earth.”
He was off the couch and across the room before Kristen could react. She rose to her knees in time to catch the opening of the door.
It closed and cut off the sound of even his receding footsteps. Left her somehow hating the silence she’d always welcomed.
A Touch Morbid Page 17
