by Dannika Dark
But Relics did, and that made me concerned. A guy like Shepherd could do a lot of damage to a Relic.
“Come on, Trudy. Let’s go somewhere private,” the man said.
Shepherd rose to his feet. “Aren’t you going to buy her dinner? Did you just want to get her liquored up so you could stick your plug in her socket?”
I grabbed the back of Shepherd’s shirt. “Let it go, Shepherd. You don’t even know these people. Where he sticks his plug is none of your business.”
Trudy was a petite girl with a round figure and wearing a blue dress. She was as pretty as a doll but looked terrified of the situation.
When the man took Trudy’s hand, Shepherd grabbed him by the collar and yanked him back. I wrapped my arms around Shepherd’s waist and hauled him away until he collapsed on top of me. My back hit the floor with a thud, knocking the wind out of my lungs. Over two hundred pounds of muscle on top of me wasn’t helping my breathing situation either.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I spat.
Shepherd rolled off me and knocked into the table, tipping over a glass. With his lips pressed tight, he sat up and appeared more placid. In fact, something completely switched off behind those dark-brown eyes. The fire extinguished, replaced by a tide of hopelessness.
I scooted next to him. “What happened tonight? You didn’t say anything mean about Patrick’s kid stealing your phone, did you? Did Patrick threaten you?”
Even if Shepherd had said something vulgar or offensive, Patrick had no right. Especially after what Shepherd had done for him.
“Why the fuck am I here?” he murmured.
I patted his leg, searching for the right words, but I had none. “You know what? Let’s just sit here for a while. I’ll get the bottle and glasses, and we’ll have a drink under the table. No more talking. Sound good?”
He nodded.
While I didn’t have words of wisdom that someone like Niko could have offered, I had years of experience. My father was a recovering alcoholic, and I’d learned early on how to talk to a drunk by reading their body language and listening. What to say, what not to say, what they needed. My father wasn’t an angry drunk, but he had his moments where his emotional outbursts became intolerable. He used to take me to the bar and spend hours there, so this wasn’t my first time at the rodeo. But it was the first time I’d shared a drink and understood what it meant to have demons of my own.
An hour later, Shepherd had finally given up the booze and was working on his first cup of coffee. He hadn’t said much, but I’d gotten him off the floor and into a booth, so that was progress.
Limbo had a different vibe. Most people were low-key and not as boisterous as in other rooms. They were lost souls who wanted to either connect with others or be left alone. Maybe Shepherd and I fit right in.
Near the door, the crowd parted, granting passage to a man strolling in. Wyatt had swagger, and when he walked, people noticed—black cowboy boots, army-green jacket, and all. He wasn’t overly handsome or especially tall, but his charisma and charming smile made up for any shortcomings.
He flattened his palms on the table so I could see all the letters tattooed on his fingers. “I’m here to save the day.”
Shepherd sipped his coffee and stared listlessly at the cup.
“Where are your keys, Shep?”
“Someone stole them.”
Wyatt slid in beside him, directly across from me. “Your Jeep is still outside. Why would someone steal your keys and not your car? You misplaced them, you drunken bastard.”
“I already searched the club,” I said. “No one’s turned them in, but the waitresses are keeping an eye out.”
“Buttercup, the only thing those ladies are looking for are tips.” Wyatt propped his elbows on the table and tapped his fists together. “How did dinner with Mr. Fancy Pants go?”
I pointed my finger at him. “Next time we do anything like that, you’re going.”
Wyatt regarded Shepherd for a moment with a concerned look.
“I’m going to close the tab,” I announced. “Meet me by the bar.”
“Hold up.” Wyatt shot out of his seat and fell into step beside me, his voice low. “What’s up with him?”
“I don’t know. Has he ever been this way before?”
“Cantankerous?”
“No, drunk for no reason.”
We both stopped and looked back at Shepherd, who was pouring sugar into his coffee.
“He’s pretty tanked,” Wyatt said. “Nothing unusual happened tonight that set him off?”
I shrugged. “After cake, I left them alone to talk privately. His whole mood changed when we got here. Maybe it was Gem and Claude accusing him of murder.”
Wyatt shook me by the shoulders and laughed. “You guys really know how to make a guy feel loved. Run along while I do some damage control. We need to get back so I can monitor the, uh… listings.” His gaze darted around.
“No one is watching? What if someone puts him up?”
“Hold your horses, Calamity Jane. Blue’s my backup, but I don’t want to leave her alone too long. Christian better get his butt home. He’s supposed to take over the night shift while I sleep.” Wyatt glanced back at the table and rubbed his chin. “I just hope Shepherd doesn’t put up a fight. Sometimes he gets too comfortable hanging out in these places.”
I poked his shoulder. “Drag him if you have to. Let’s go.”
I strode down the wide hall, passing each circle of hell. Red light illuminated one wall, blue on another. The music grew louder as I entered the main room, people dancing all around. I’d brought sufficient cash tucked in my front pocket—a habit from my old life—and closed out the tab. Afterward, I pulled my fingerless gloves out of my back pockets and realized I wasn’t wearing my coat.
“Dammit,” I whispered.
Hopefully one of the guys had noticed and grabbed it on the way out. Just in case, I decided to send Wyatt a quick message. But before I could reach for my phone, a guy across the room caught my attention.
I stood frozen, observing a man and woman standing beneath a red light. The woman had her back to a pillar and appeared uncertain as the man kept talking. He had a tattoo on the back of his neck, and I remembered him from earlier. Sure, lots of guys had tattoos, but now that we had a vague description of someone in this club who had been talking to our victim, it was enough for me to pay attention.
He touched her shoulder, still talking a mile a minute while she listened, her eyes downcast. The whole conversation felt off, as if he were trying to talk her into something. Maybe he was just hitting on her and she didn’t know how to let him down, but it didn’t appear as innocuous as that.
I squinted, trying to make out what his tattoo was. Nothing identifiable like a panther or someone’s name—just a strange design.
Someone bumped into me, and I stumbled forward. A bevy of women moved between us, and when the tatted guy headed toward the door, I cut through the crowd and followed behind him.
“Excuse me!” I yelled out, hoping to ask him if he knew Jennifer.
He glanced over his shoulder and kept walking. He didn’t react the way most men would if they saw a woman chasing after them.
I quickened my pace, and when he looked back and finally noticed me, he picked up speed. I shoved my way through a sea of people who made little or no attempt to move aside when they saw me coming.
“Raven!” Wyatt yelled from behind.
I looked back and spied him through a gap. He held up his arms as if asking “What gives?” and I pointed frantically toward the door, hoping he could read the expression on my face.
When I turned around, the main door down the hall was closing. I bolted toward it, weaving around a woman who shrieked when I bumped her glass and splashed red wine all over her dress.
The moment I emerged outside, a burst of frosty air burned against my skin. My silk blouse was as good as wearing nothing at all for all the warmth it provided. I scanned the pockets
of people who were gathered together for a smoke or a chat.
“Sneaky little bastard,” I whispered, racing around to the parking lot on the right side of the building.
Footprints were everywhere, and I couldn’t sense his energy among so many other Breed. He was probably long gone.
Before I could turn around, I heard an engine throttling and tires skidding on slush. A car gunned toward me—headlights off—and the man in the driver’s seat was the guy from inside. He almost flew past me until a group of people crossed in front of his path and forced him to slam on his brakes.
I rushed up to the door and pulled the handle.
As if it would be that easy.
When our eyes met, my adrenaline skyrocketed. I was a predator chasing prey, and that old familiar rush felt exhilarating.
Just like old times.
As the slow-moving crowd dispersed, I had seconds to decide if I was going to let him go or stay on his tail.
One thing was for certain: innocent men don’t run.
Chapter 10
I punched the passenger-side window. Nothing broke except maybe a small bone in my middle finger. The car lurched forward, and I flashed after him, spotting Wyatt and Shepherd out of the corner of my eye as they raced to the Mini Cooper parked by the main street.
“Follow him!” I yelled.
I caught up with the car and touched the trunk just as he sped onto the main street. My Mage energy would only carry me so far. Seeing that he was nearing the on-ramp to the freeway, I surged forward, stepped onto the bumper, ran up the back window, and threw myself on top of the roof. He jerked the steering wheel left and right, trying to throw me off.
I grabbed the rack rails on either side, which were like raised handles, praying they wouldn’t break off.
When my phone rang, I looked down incredulously, my cheek pressed against the blistering-cold roof. The fishtailing had stopped, so I reached in my pants pocket.
“Hello?”
Christian sounded amused. “A little bird told me you’re hitchhiking.”
I raised my knee and anchored my foot against the other rail since the phone was in my hand. “I’m a little busy!”
“So I heard. If he slows down, I want you to jump. It’s not worth your life.”
My life wasn’t about to end on the turnpike.
The wind blasted me in the face, making it impossible to hear, so I stuffed the phone back in my pocket without ending the call and held on. My shirt inflated with air and ballooned out, and I suddenly felt like a sail on a boat. As we approached the highway, the car slowed down to turn onto the ramp.
A cartoonish horn sounded from behind—Wyatt was closing in on us. I peered back, wondering if I could jump onto his hood, but I was reluctant to let go. We might never find this guy again. It was possible he didn’t have anything to do with Jennifer’s murder, but now he was just pissing me off with his erratic driving.
He made a sharp turn, and I slid to the left as we merged onto the expressway.
I growled between clenched teeth, my body going into a state of shock from the icy wind. Since the rest of me was plastered against the roof, I kept my head down to shield my face.
Great thinking, Raven. Leave your coat behind in winter and go car surfing.
Thankfully my gloves helped me keep a firm grip on the rails since they protected the palms of my hands from the cold.
Wyatt’s incessant beeping stopped, and I looked over my left shoulder behind me to see what was going on. His little red car looked like an angry hornet coming after us. Wyatt’s steering wheel was on the opposite side, so it took me a second to realize that Shepherd wasn’t the one driving. He sat to the right with one hand over his face, probably regretting his drinking binge by now.
Because of the weather and late hour, the roads weren’t active—just a few semis and sanding trucks. When my guy suddenly jerked the car into the left lane to pass an eighteen-wheeler, I almost rolled off. We were nearing the Five Level Interchange, and my stomach dropped when he took the northbound ramp. The car slowed down a little, but not enough for me to make any bold moves. We climbed the overpass, veering left, and my eyes widened when I noticed a man standing on the ledge of the road above us, his arms wide.
It was Christian. His black coat flapped behind him like a cape as he leapt off and crashed onto the hood. The car jolted.
“Hold on!” he shouted.
Christian reached back and then punched through the windshield. The car sideswiped the wall and offered me a glimpse of the underpass far below. Christian climbed in until all I saw were his legs. A struggle ensued—probably a fight for the wheel. Panic set in when the vehicle hit a patch of ice and lost control.
Oh my God, we’re going to roll over!
I scrambled to my feet as best as I could and jumped off the moving vehicle just as it skidded onto its side. A loud explosion of metal sounded behind me, but I was too busy doing a rollover of my own. I cradled my head and came to a jarring stop when I slammed against the concrete wall.
Headlights popped into view about fifty feet away. Wyatt hit the brakes, then he and Shepherd got out and broke into a run.
My arm screamed with pain, as well as my leg and shoulder. Dizzy, I managed to stand up. The car was upside down, smoke rising from the engine. I limped toward it, ignoring the pain.
The man emerged from the broken window and staggered away from the car, blood streaming down his face from a gash on his head. A flare of Mage energy rippled through the air, and he looked at me long and hard. I returned the same menacing glare as I continued my zombielike advance. I couldn’t flash in my condition, but I was ready to fight. With my good arm, I reached for my belt and pulled out a push dagger.
When he pivoted around, I threw the dagger in frustration, and it bounced off the concrete as the Mage vanished into the night.
“You asshole!” I fell to my knees.
The front end of the car lifted up a few feet before Christian crawled out from beneath. He stood up and spat out a mouthful of blood. His left wrist and fingers looked like a grotesque nightmare the way they were dangling in the wrong directions, the bones shattered. He held his hand upright and stared at it for a few seconds before the fingers began wiggling normally again. Because he hadn’t lost any blood, his healing abilities worked much faster than when he got shot.
I, on the other hand, wasn’t healing as quickly.
Christian’s fangs were out, and he balled up his hands into fists. “I had the bastard. Had him right in my hands!”
Wyatt jogged up, wheezing and out of breath. “Son of a ghost. That was the craziest thing I’ve ever seen!”
I glanced back. Shepherd ambled toward us like the walking dead, and he looked green.
Christian ripped the license plate off the vehicle and flung it at Wyatt. “Look that up in your database. See if the shitebag is registered.”
Snowflakes eddied around us from the changing wind direction, and a few caught in Christian’s dark hair and beard. He turned away to retrieve my dagger.
“Are you okay?” Wyatt asked, his eyes scanning my body in disbelief. “For a minute there, I thought you were going to be my new haunt.”
Still in shock and denial that I might have internal bleeding, I summoned a smile. “Just a scratch.”
What I couldn’t figure out was why the Mage hadn’t tried to kill us. If he was hiding something, wouldn’t he have taken the opportunity to do us in? That was what I would have done in his shoes.
Wyatt twirled the license plate and pointed it at me. “Stay here, Evel Knievel, while I get the car.”
He spun on his heel and hurried toward Shepherd.
Christian swaggered up, my dagger in hand.
“Why didn’t you kill him?” I asked.
“On what grounds? Assholery? If that’s the case, then more men must die.” Christian handed me my dagger and touched my cheek. “Jaysus. You’re like ice.” He shucked off his coat and then stripped off his sweater, put
ting it over my head.
I tried to lift my right arm, but pain shot down every nerve ending. His body heat was still in the threads, and I sighed a little when he put his coat around my shoulders. I knew he was right about killing the guy. Viktor had hired me for my instincts and bravery, but part of the deal meant controlling my impulse to kill. It was like teaching a hunter how to capture and release.
Christian held my gaze for a moment and tapped my chin. “You’ll live.”
“I can’t feel my face.”
He suddenly snapped his gaze up at the overpass. Before I could utter a word, Christian hauled me off the ground with one arm and spun around. The world moved in slow motion as a thunderclap of metal and concrete drew my eyes skyward. My jaw slackened when a large truck plummeted off the overpass above us.
With me in one arm, Christian bolted toward the wall and dove to the ground. The truck crashed on top of the car, smashing it to pieces just feet away from us. The back end broke apart, releasing an explosion of small boxes. They hit the road, some cascading over the ledge. Individual packages had burst free, showering the pavement with plastic-wrapped chocolate.
Wyatt jogged onto the scene and fell to his knees, a mountain of MoonPies surrounding him. “Jackpot!”
Christian pushed away from me and stood up.
I stared at the open driver’s side door and empty cab. “That bastard came all the way back to kill us with sugar.”
A tire rolled off the truck and zipped past Shepherd. He stopped short and surveyed the carnage. Wyatt had jammed a MoonPie into his mouth while stacking the undamaged boxes.
Christian offered me his hand and helped me up. We stood amid twisted metal, chocolate, and an open gas line spilling fuel onto the road.
Shepherd kicked one of the packages with the tip of his boot and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “This looks like something we’ll have to deny later.”
I stared bleary-eyed across the room, keeping my focus on Blue to distract myself from the pain. She was sitting at Wyatt’s desk, focusing her attention on dual monitors. I’d been lying on the sofa for a half hour in the exact same position.
