by Dee Carney
* * *
Alice looked toward the commotion coming not far from where she crouched. She’d been peering into a crumpled white sack, hoping the grease stains on the outside meant still-edible fried food on the inside. She’d stopped near the parking lot between the two buildings in case she had to try again, if the bag’s contents were rancid. In three days, she could afford to shop in a grocery store, buying manager’s specials on things past their expiration date or anything a dollar or less, but until then she had to eat. No matter where it came from.
With a mystery illness running its course, she didn’t make the assumption she’d live to see sunrise. Each day was a gift. Seeing a new one was all she could ask for.
She almost squealed in delight when she saw the doughnut inside a wax paper holder only had a single bite taken from it. Two gifts for the day!
A woman screamed, and there was more noise. The sounds of someone retching. Once upon a time she might have thrown up herself just from the gagging sounds, but after spending so many months tending to Richard it took a lot to faze her now. One of the many things she’d learned while living with a junkie brother was how to clean up shit and vomit. Instead, Alice clutched the bag tighter, intent on keeping her newfound delight.
But the scream caught her attention. The curiosity of a woman’s terror urged her feet forward.
Alice followed the source, intent on just seeing from a distance why someone needed help. The staccato clicks of heels on pavement echoed into the lot, past cars she couldn’t have afforded even in her employed days. It was the sound of uncertain running, and she recognized a woman’s tiptoe dance in shoes meant for little more than looking pretty.
The woman had stopped screaming and decided to get the heck out of Dodge, it seemed. She’d left behind someone still moaning and coughing though.
Alice edged closer.
A man elevated himself on hands and knees, swaying like a drunkard. Apropos, seeing how they were just outside the doors of a nightclub. Alice almost turned back to more important matters, but a glint of light reflecting off something on the ground beneath him made her gasp.
“Mister?” she called softly. “You okay?”
There was no way he was okay. Even at her distance she recognized the blood pooled around him. The man tried to rise, stumbled, almost slipped in the blood. He lifted his head, looked at Alice then began to shake.
God, she didn’t want to go to him. She didn’t want to know if he’d been knifed or shot. It was none of her business. But then she thought of Richard, of the times he’d been brought home simply because of the kindness of strangers. This could have easily been him. Richard might have forced her out onto the streets with his backsliding ways, but he was still her brother. Whether she wanted to get involved or not, if this had been him, she would have wanted a stranger to help.
With a sigh, Alice ventured closer. “Hey, where are you hurt?”
He made a noise then dry-heaved. His mouth opened, and she grimaced, ready to watch him vomit. She tightened her stomach, mentally preparing herself for not getting sick with him. Nothing came out of either of them though, and she exhaled, relieved.
“Hey...do you have a phone? So I can call nine-one-one?”
His head lifted again, his attention coming to focus on her. Alice caught sight of his dark eyes and immediately thought it a trick of the light. They were eyes capable of seeing into tomorrow, she was sure of it.
“What’s wrong with your eyes?” he asked, his voice croaking.
“My eyes?” Under other circumstances she might have laughed. Maybe even thought he was flirting with her.
Beads of perspiration raced down the sides of his face, the crown of his dark hair almost black in color. If she hadn’t seen the clear sweat, she might have considered his head the source of all that blood.
“They’re...wrong,” he replied.
Ignoring their ridiculous conversation, she crouched right next to him. The scent of copper rushed at her, almost triggering her gag reflex. “My eyes aren’t at issue here. I need to get an ambulance or the police for you. Can you wait here alone for a minute? Do you know how to press on the wound?”
“Wound?”
“Where you’re bleeding from.”
“I’m not bleeding.” He attempted to rise again, but he’d managed to put his hand at the edge of the blood, where it slipped. “I don’t think.”
How much had he been drinking? He was too stoned to know he’d been shot or worse? “Why don’t you tell me your name?”
“Sebastian—Bast.”
Who took a perfectly good name like that and shortened it into something so ugly? Bast, indeed. “Look, Sebastian, I’m going for help.” If he was talking, he seemed okay enough to leave for a minute. “Stay here.” As if that might be a problem. He looked weaker than a wet kitten.
Sebastian’s hand, the same one that had just been slicked down with blood, shot out and caught her arm. Alice cried out at the grip, which would surely leave behind a bruise. “No!” he said.
“No?” She tried to wrench her arm away to no avail. “You need some help. I don’t think—”
Sebastian glanced up into the night sky. He scanned the stars, as if searching for something. “My car. Just to my car. I can’t stay out here like this.”
His paranoia catching, Alice couldn’t help but look around them. “Dude, I’m not trying to get in the middle—”
“My car. That’s all.”
For the first time, she noticed the way her skin heated beneath his hold. “I’m going to get you there,” she said slowly. “But then you need to do something about that fever and wherever you’re bleeding from.” No doubt his injuries explained his behavior. The blood was a mystery he was content to leave alone, and so was she. Good Samaritan duties only went so far.
If he heard her, or if he cared, she couldn’t tell. Sebastian wrapped his arms around her neck and used her as leverage. Alice almost toppled over as he rose, the solid weight of him enough to drag her back down to the ground. By the time he stood, he towered over her.
Wanting to weep for her meager clothes, Alice pressed herself against him, into the wall of muscle and heft and simultaneously into his own bloodstained clothing. Beneath the overpowering scent of blood, she smelled some cross between clean linen and coconut coming directly from him. Had they been at the beach, slathered beneath sunscreen, she could understand the memories of summers by the waves he conjured, but this man was sinfully sexy and erotically dark. Nothing summery or beachy about him.
She recognized him now. The man from not even twenty minutes ago who’d stopped to look at her while on the way into the club. Now that she knew he was in serious shit or at least seriously sick, she pushed aside stirrings of attraction and focused on getting one foot in front of the other without allowing him to bring them both down.
Sebastian reached into his back pocket and retrieved a key fob. He pressed it in the general direction of a row of cars, and they made their way forward to the one that chirruped back at them. Richard’s old toy collection, and the unforgettable prancing horse medallion, were the reasons she recognized the Ferrari Sebastian leaned against when they stopped.
“Help me. Inside.” His voice sounded shaky again.
She realized she’d been gawking at the silver vehicle worth more than she used to make in five years combined. Maybe more than five.
Between the blood, the shakes and the car, he had to be a drug dealer or someth
ing close. Had to be. “I’ll get you inside and then I’m gone.” Her damned conscience pinged. “And you need to get on a phone. Get to a hospital.”
Sebastian unfolded into the passenger’s side he opened. “No hospital. Just...inside...”
“Hey Sebastian?” She shook his shoulder and unresponsive, he slumped forward. “Bast?”
Shit.
Alice looked around. Despite being outside a crowded nightclub, no one else loitered in the parking lot. An unconscious man slouched inside an insanely expensive car next to her. They were alone at night in what wouldn’t be classified as the best part of town. She could leave him and hope to heaven someone with a kind heart found him before he died. Maybe he wouldn’t even die; his car might be stolen with him left on the cold ground in nothing more than his shirt, but that was okay, right? He’d be alive at least.
The night had begun to chill noticeably, and she still hadn’t picked a place to sleep until morning. She couldn’t stay here and wait for him. Her own survival took precedence.
Alice scanned the lot again, let out a breath and studied Sebastian’s profile.
Double shit.
Chapter Two
Alice slid into the driver’s side then stared at the keys in a jumbled heap next to Bast’s feet. Every time she reached down to retrieve them, her insides began to quiver so badly, she gave up the thought. If she had to, she could do this. She knew how to drive. The lack of a driver’s license didn’t stop that from being true.
No—it was the thought of what could happen should she venture onto the road that made her tremble. The license had been taken with good cause, a fact she could grudgingly admit two years later. Still, she hadn’t had a seizure in a long while, she didn’t think. Hard to tell because of their subtlety. They probably weren’t permanently gone, but no news was good news, right? No real hope for getting better, but she’d take “not getting worse” any day of the week.
She ran her hands over him again. A quick pat-down for anything that might be dangerous—or perhaps worth hocking. Her fingers hooked inside shirt and pants pockets, but nothing surfaced. Damn it to hell, not even a dollar bill.
Alice chewed on her lip while staring out the windshield. She considered whether it would be worth trying to get into his back pocket. Bonus points for getting to cop a feel on a delectable ass, but mostly she wanted access to any wallet that might be tucked away there. Guys like him held on to thick leather wallets, the bills inside crisp and hardly used. If she could get him leaning forward. Maybe...
She eyed his bulk. No, not by herself. She’d have to get him out of the car. There simply wasn’t enough room inside it to maneuver. Maybe if she dropped him off at the hospital, she could help herself to a lost-and-found fee. Surely he wouldn’t mind.
“Lincoln and Fourth.”
Caught up in scheming, she’d failed to pay close enough attention to him. His words wrangled half a scream from her. “I thought you’d passed out.”
Bast raised a limp hand. “Drive.” It sounded as if saying that one-syllable word cost him energy he couldn’t afford to relinquish. “To Lincoln and Fourth.”
Trying not to think about the sticker value of the Ferrari, she shook her head. “I don’t have a license, and I’m not supp—”
“Please...”
Whatever else he might have said withered on his lips as Bast slumped forward again.
“Sebastian?” When he didn’t respond, Alice reached between his legs and forced her fingers to curl around the keys. “Shit,” she muttered. Her latest best friend of a word.
She took a moment to fasten the seatbelt over his torso, whispering a few quick prayers under her breath as she did. His skin was like fire, almost hot enough to make her snatch her hand away. This dude was sick and needed some medical attention, like, yesterday. She didn’t know what was at Lincoln and Fourth—a residential area, if she recalled correctly—but that couldn’t be their destination.
Alice made a decision. If she was going to put their lives in danger by driving them around, they would at least be heading in the right direction. Hope Haven Medical Center couldn’t have been more than five or ten minutes away from here.
She looked at Sebastian one final time, taking in the long dark eyelashes, his straight nose, thin lips. The long sideburns were an interesting fashion statement, but the short, thick hair kind of went with the whole James Dean look he had going. The white silk shirt hidden beneath a black leather jacket similarly matched the tight leather pants he wore. Silver-tipped black boots rounded out the ensemble, and Alice was certain of his playboy status. Nothing about him said “cheap” either, especially not his ride.
“You’d better be worth it, pretty boy,” she muttered.
The engine hummed to life, and Alice exhaled. She closed her eyes, luxuriating against the gentle vibration beneath her body and the soft cushion of the leather seat as it engulfed her. Classical music eased from the speakers, relaxing her even further. Drug dealer or not, Bast had nice taste.
Hand on the gearstick, she shifted then pulled away from the parking space. Just like riding a bike. Man, the car drove like a cloud. If she touched a pothole, damn if she could feel it. Hell, she could probably run over some roadkill, push a button a second later and car wash attendants would rain down from a helicopter to clean the tires. Rides like this didn’t happen every day for sure. Nice.
She chanced a few glances at him during the drive, in between straining her vision for any cops who might be out and about. No matter how she tried to convince herself they wouldn’t know she didn’t have a license, it didn’t stop her heart from thumping into her throat.
If she wanted to keep her sanity, nothing like finding something else to do to help. Even the gorgeous car couldn’t ease her anxiety completely. “So, Seba—Bast,” she said to his unconscious form, “how’d a guy like you end up in a place like this?” When he didn’t respond, she kept talking. “Me? Just looking for some dinner. It’s amazing what people throw away, especially near some of the trendier places.” She kept wishing he would say something. “People like you don’t worry about money or making your dollar stretch. People like me? Well, we have to count every penny.”
“Why?”
Alice bit back another shriek. “Don’t do that!” She chanced another look at him. No improvement in his pallor. Sweat-slickened hair clung to his forehead. “Either be conscious or unconscious, not slipping in and out. And especially give a girl some warning before you start talking out of nowhere.”
Bast leaned forward, his soft groan increasing her worry about his condition. “Sorry.” His eyelids looked like they might close at any moment and not lift again. “Where are we?”
Alice returned her focus to the road. “Hanover and Forty.”
A pause. “Wrong direction.”
“I know, but...listen, whatever you’re going through, you need some medical help. I know someone who tried to handle DTs on his own once—”
“DTs?” Bast laughed, a dry hacking sound. “Lady, I’m not in DTs.”
“Then what’s wrong with you?”
“Hungry.”
She frowned, certain she hadn’t heard him correctly. “I suppose that explains the blood and the fever?”
He shifted in his seat. “Might.” Bast twisted, peering into the back window. “Turn around. Go to Lincoln and Fourth.”
“But—”
“Please. I’m asking you nicely. Please go to Lincoln
and Fourth.”
She would regret this, seriously hate herself for giving in later, but Alice slowed at the next intersection and did a quick U-turn, almost swiping a parked Toyota in the process. If Bast noticed the near miss, he didn’t mention it. Her nerves however, went into overdrive.
Watching the street signs, she bit her lip, willing their destination to get here sooner rather than later. The more she thought about what she was doing, the more her stomach began to hurt. “Maybe you should keep talking. Might help keep you from passing out.”
Silence stretched between them for so long, Alice thought she might have made the suggestion too late.
“Why are you watching every penny?” Bast finally asked.
“No.” She smiled but fought back her embarrassment. Of all the things for him to have overheard, figured it would have been that. “I meant you should talk about you. You do the talking. Not me.”
He didn’t seem to like that idea. “Turn here.”
Great. So neither of them would be doing any talking. Suited her just fine.
The neighborhood he’d guided her to was straight out of a magazine. One minute they were cruising a road full of businesses and retail shops, and the next they’d entered a virtual millionaire’s row. Streetlamps lit the road, precisely placed in between tall oak trees and other trees she couldn’t name. Even in the dark she noticed that not one of the houses had a blade of grass out of place. The sculpted topiaries must have been the envy of gardeners everywhere. Spotlights illuminated hand-tended gardens and expensive statues. Unlike in her old neighborhood, where cars were parked on cinderblocks in driveways, here the few vehicles she did see were parked in large circular drives behind scalloped fences. No chained Rottweilers or bulldogs barking their fool heads off. No burglar bars.
Alice lifted her foot from the gas, bringing the luxury sports vehicle to a more respectable crawl. “Where are we going?”
