Instead, Raze had to hold on for dear life whenever he was in her presence or get knocked on his ass.
Raze looked at her intently. She was literally breathtaking and her vivid green eyes lit up with a golden ring of fire, were clear and bright with intelligence. Yet she reeked of fear. Her vulnerability triggered something in Raze and an unfamiliar feeling wriggled around inside, making him uncomfortable.
She has no idea what she carries, Raze realized. If she did, she’d be invincible.
“Can I buy you two a drink?” Troy asked.
“Oh, absolutely,” Genesis said. “I would love a Lemon Drop.”
“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” Aislen said half-heartedly.
Troy was amused. “Really? Scotch on the rocks?”
“Why the hell not?” Her feathers ruffled again.
“No reason. Just expected something more girly, I guess...like a Lemon Drop.” He winked at Genesis who laughed at the joke. “I’ll be right back.”
Raze stayed with the girls as Mr. T left to get their drinks, Genesis totally checking out his ass as he walked away.
When he was out of earshot Genesis turned to Aislen, breathless. “Holy shit, girl...he is freakin’ delicious! Why haven’t you told me about him! No wonder you’ve been so stressed! He’s enough to put any girl’s panties in a twist...and then probably untwist them again just fine, too.”
“Well, it’s not like that. We work together.” Aislen must have realized she was completely unconvincing and sighed with exasperation. “And it doesn’t matter now anyway. I totally ruined any chance of anything else because I made a complete fool of myself today.”
“Oh, Aiz, it couldn’t have been that bad. He came over here specifically to say hello to you, and now he’s over there buying you a drink! Geez, get a clue! But really...Scotch? You should have asked for a Lemon Drop.”
“I don’t like lemons.”
“Well, you won’t like Scotch! I guarantee it. Your liquor palate hasn’t graduated to that kind of lightning yet, love.”
Aislen looked crestfallen. “See? I am totally socially inept. He has got to think I am a freaking idiot.” Aislen looked over to the bar. Troy was leaning against it, waiting for their order to arrive, looking back at her. He smiled.
A storm of energy began whipping around her again and Raze had to grip the space so he wouldn’t get thrown from the viewing. “I’m going to the restroom,” Aislen said as she jumped up out of her chair and walked off.
The energy battered Raze until she moved a good distance away from him. Jesus Christ, woman! he thought. He would have followed her, but with the turmoil she was in again, he wouldn’t be able to get close enough. He needed to wait and see if she would settle down, because if she did, he wasn’t going to hesitate. When the moment was right he needed to get while the getting was good.
Troy returned with the drinks and set them down on the table. He glanced at Aislen’s empty seat, disappointment readily apparent on his face.
So...he likes her, too, thought Raze. Possessiveness welled up inside him afresh, a rapacious desire to have Aislen all to himself growing like a hunger.
“Mine,” he growled involuntarily, almost shocking himself back into his body with the foreign emotion. Why did he give a shit if T had a thing for her? He must be misreading his desire. He didn’t want to wear down her defenses to woo her. He wanted to take her, ravish her, make her completely his—only to destroy her, to eliminate her from this world, and any other that she can exist in that fucks with his.
Genesis saw Troy’s reaction and smiled. “Don’t worry. She’ll be right back. She just ran to the bathroom real quick. Have a seat.” Troy sat down in Aislen’s vacant chair.
“You know, Aislen is the sweetest, smartest person I know,” Genesis continued. “Don’t let whatever happened with her today fool you.”
“I know,” Troy said. “All I see is sweet and smart—except for tonight that is.”
Genesis giggled. “I know, right? I am taking complete credit for that dress. She has no idea how beautiful she is and no idea how to accentuate it.”
“And contrary to what she may think, I have nothing but the utmost respect for her,” Troy responded. “Today was an exceptional situation. I realize that. She responded accordingly. It doesn’t change how I feel about her at all.”
Raze felt the familiar buzz of Aislen agitating the space and looked up to see her making her way back toward the table. She stopped short when she saw that Troy was sitting with Genesis.
“I probably shouldn’t speak to you about this,” Troy said gazing down at his glass. “You being her friend and all...it’s probably not appropriate. But I have been trying to get close to her—trying to figure her out. But I can never get around all the walls she puts up. I think she is pretty amazing and I’d like to ask her out to dinner or something—”
“Yes!” Genesis interrupted, clenching her fist victoriously. “I mean, that’s cool...I think that’s great you want to ask her out and everything.”
She leaned across the table toward him like she was going to tell him a secret. Unintentionally, her perky breasts pushed up over the top of her low cut dress. “I know what you mean...Aislen has had a one track mind most of her life. It’s all seriousness and school, not much play. Play makes her nervous and when she gets nervous, she shuts down and pushes people out.”
She flashed him another mischievous smile, reached across the table, and grabbed his hand enthusiastically. “Maybe I could help you out? Drop a couple of hints? Well, they may need to be on the bigger side to get the point through her thick skull.”
Troy laughed, making no moves to remove his hand from hers. An enormous punch of energy shuddered Raze’s space. Raze looked back at Aislen. She was full fury now, watching the interchange between Troy and her friend. Obviously she assumed the wrong thing about the visual chemistry.
“That’s really nice of you,” Troy continued. “But I’m a big boy, I can get my own dates. I guess I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t me.”
“It isn’t, but suit yourself! This should be fun to watch.”
The force grew more intense as Hurricane Aislen made landfall at the table. Raze distanced himself, not wanting the gale to blow him over and out.
“Hey, guys!” Aislen said, a little breathless. She looked down at the table just as Gen pulled her hand from Troy’s. “You know, you two seem to be enjoying yourselves here. I’m going to leave you alone for a while.”
She reached down, picked up the Scotch, threw it back like a sailor and slammed the glass down on the table without a hint of after-shiver. “Thanks for the drink,” she said to Troy. She spun on her high heels and stormed away, before either of them could make a move to stop her.
Troy gave Gen a “See what I mean?” look.
Raze chuckled. This was all very entertaining. He watched Aislen move toward the stairs, admiring the way her body radiated in the form-fitting dress and the bolts of lightening in her field.
He decided to follow her this time. She was still way too hot to get close to, but that Scotch would work its way through her pretty fast. That, plus the hypnotic groove of the music mixed with a little bump and grind on floor, was an equation that was sure to work in his favor.
He slithered behind her on ethereal feet down the stairs to the dance floor to wait for the perfect moment. He just needed a little taste of her. Then he could call on her whenever he wanted.
∞
Aislen was annoyed—No, she was really pissed. Mostly with herself. She couldn’t blame Gen. It wasn’t Gen’s fault that Troy was irresistible. He may have been cute at work, but tonight he was, like, she didn’t even have words. It was criminal to be that good looking and act like you have no idea.
And then seeing him talking to her with that intensity...a look of such longing and desire, it lit Aislen up with so much envy, she wanted to throw up. She had never seen him speak to anyone with a look like the one he had on his face just now.
What frustrated her even more was her own behavior. She had no idea what to do with herself, what to say or how to act. She just didn’t have the effortless interpersonal skills that Gen did. If she did, she would be the one up there hopelessly, and probably very successfully, flirting with him.
This whole place, with all its beautiful people standing around reveling in their glory, smiling and laughing, batting their eyes and grinding against each other on the dance floor made Aislen feel like a fish out of water.
How had Gen talked her into pouring herself into this tiny veil of fabric and coming here? She had no idea. It was the drinks. Aislen had been feeling a little too reckless and giddy when she shimmied into the dress and strappy heels. All Gen’s oooing and ahhing had drowned out Aislen’s inner voice of reason.
She pressed herself deeper into the mass of writhing bodies, letting their heat embrace her and swallow her into the thick of it. She had found the music cloying when she had first walked in, but now the deep bass throbbed in her chest, down her arms and thighs, and vibrated across her skin. It practically moved her body for her. Aislen relaxed into its rhythm, riding the beat in time with the crowd. The heat of the Scotch, which had tasted terrible, had made a straight shot to her brain, softening it to Jello. Orbs of color spun around her. Hot, wet flesh brushed against her. She felt warm and fluid and entranced.
She closed her eyes, leaned her head back, letting go of all resistance, allowing her body to become one with the motion of the dancers. A nebulous presence breezed around her. Crisp air circled and enveloped her, finding its way through the small spaces around the curves of her body, brushing away the oppressive heat with a cool hand.
The closer it pressed against her the cooler her skin became, but the warmer she felt on the inside. It licked at her, sending a voltaic frisson throughout her entire body. Aislen surrendered herself to it. Lost in a maelstrom of music, movement, the mob, and her own intoxication, she spun faster and faster. The delirium pulled her down into a siphon of white.
A warm arm reach around her waist from behind. A hard body pushed up against her back, and a soft breath whispered on her neck.
“Aislen, I think it’s time to go,” is what she heard just before she passed out.
∞
He only intended to dip his fingertips into her—to dabble in her field just enough to take what he needed. But as soon as he touched the outer edge of her space the sharp static of her downshifted to a more pleasant vibe, a much more delectable essence. And just a touch hadn’t been enough after all.
Surprised by the sudden accommodation of his presence, Raze caressed through her outer layers, watching as her face softened, as she seemed to revel in his energetic touch. He moved in closer. Their energy played off each other, pulling and pushing in an effortless dance.
Before he realized it, he had stepped right into the middle of her etheric center, spinning liquid silver within her ultraviolet and gold vortex. He lingered in the rapture, tuning in to the sweetest spot of her, absorbing and knowing every facet of her in a dazzling array of light.
An explosive blast suddenly threw him out of her field and completely across the room. The percussion disoriented him and diminished his integrity, but it didn’t throw him out of the view. He grounded himself and turned back toward Aislen. She was lifted in Troy’s arms and he was carrying her off the dance floor toward the front door.
Raze could see Genesis through the haze, waiting for them on the sidelines, a worried look souring her otherwise angelic face.
Raze took a deep breath. He could still feel Aislen’s essentia in his midst. He wanted to bask longer in the glow of it, or better yet, follow her out and taste more of her, but he needed to come up for air. Plus, he had one more project to consummate in order for his night to be complete. He glanced toward Aislen one more time as Troy carried out her out of the club.
He had her now. Wherever she was. Whenever he wanted.
“Alpha 9,” he said reluctantly.
CHAPTER 15
Mathis woke with a jolt, slamming into the chair with such force he felt as though he were dropped from the ceiling. His head was swimming. His heart pounded in his chest. One thought was on repeat in his head.
I have to get the game.
He sat upright in the chair and tried to rub the grog out of his skull.
Get the game.
Images of women removing facial hair off of each other were playing out in comic exaggeration on the television, telling him it was infomercial:30 in the morning. He grabbed the remote and pressed the info button. 1:11 appeared on the screen. He had been asleep for at least six hours. So why did it feel like he hadn’t slept a wink?
I have to get that game.
“What the hell for?” he argued out loud.
Because we say so, his brain and gut gnawed back.
He thought about calling Jackson and suggesting that he send a crime scene tech over there to confiscate the console, so he could go back to sleep, but his stomach twisted up like a pretzel at the idea.
That’s not good enough.
It was right. The game needed to be examined, not just booked into evidence. Well then, maybe he could meet Jackson over there; they could get the console and investigate it a little further.
You need a search warrant to re-enter the house, dumb ass, chastised his brain.
“Fuck it then,” he sat back in the chair and closed his eyes. This was not his problem. He wasn’t a dick anymore. He was just a ground pounder. Let people above his pay grade figure out their own shit.
But the groaning in his belly wouldn’t let it go. There was something more to this and it had to do with that game. The certainty of it sang in his bones.
“So what you’re suggesting is...I actually break into the house...and violate the law, to get that game?” There. That was a dose of reality that would shut ‘em up.
He wobbled out of the chair, still feeling a little dizzy, wandered into the bathroom to take a wizz, then stumbled down the hall and fell into his bed for another six hour snooze.
But the cogs of obsession turned: wondering, whying, and worrying, all clamoring the same thing.
Get the game.
He could not shake the intuitive absolute that had latched on to him, that the answer to the Parrish murder was in that game. He just couldn’t provide evidence to bring it to reason. And it wasn’t going to let him go. The compulsion was too great. It had to be done—and he was going to do it. He was going to get into that house and get that game, even if it was breaking the law.
“Fuck me in the ass,” he grumbled as he rolled out of bed. It would be an ass pounding, too, if he got caught. Pound Me In The Ass State Pen.
You are too close to retirement to be risking this, his rational mind tried to explain to him.
“Yep,” he muttered as he changed into a clean uniform.
And in uniform! When you are off-duty! You are out of your goddamn mind!
“Yep.”
Mathis put his badge on. He strapped his duty belt around his thick waist. He dug in the closet for his 1980’s issue nightstick and slid it into its holster, just in case he needed to wood someone.
Yeah, let’s not let that happen. Felony 459 and 187?
“Yep.”
He checked himself out in the mirror and decided to brush his teeth.
You’re stalling.
“Yep.”
Then he got in his pickup truck and headed across town.
CHAPTER 16
“Felt the need to tie one on, eh?” A muffled voice spoke from nearby. Aislen’s eardrums were still abuzz from the decibels on the dance floor, so the intonation was indistinct and garbled and she couldn’t tell who was speaking to her.
She tried to move her body, but she was twisted and tight, as well as hot and sticky with sweat.
“You should listen when your friends tell you that you aren’t big enough for Scotch, yet.”
Genesis? Thinking made her head throb. Tho
ugh it was resting on a soft pillow, her head felt like it was split open and her brain matter was spilling out.
“And luckily, you have good, strong friends or else you’d probably still be lying on that dance floor.”
Troy? Her mouth tasted sour with the residual flavors of alcohol and bile, but she didn’t remember throwing up. Oh, wait a minute. Yeah, she did. A flashback of a gutter and a nice pair of loafers replayed in her mind and her stomach rumbled loudly at the reminder. Acidic juices lurched into her throat and she thought she was going to throw up again.
A cool hand from out of nowhere rested itself on her forehead, instantly quelling the spinning, the burgeoning sickness, and silencing the hissing that harassed the cochlea of her inner ear.
“Egh, Aislen, what did you think you were doing?” The voice was right next to her ear, speaking her name with its foreign inflection.
Her first reaction was to jump up and run away, but she found herself frozen—pinned in place by a force stronger than the gentle hand pressing on her forehead. A scream rose up in her throat, but she could not find her vocal chords. She could only lay frozen and mute, staring up at her father sitting beside her.
“Shhhhhhhhhh. Settle,” Preston said gently. “It’s only a dream.” Then he laughed softly.
He removed his hand. “I don’t like imposing my will upon you, Aislen, but this is for your own good. So here is the deal...I am going to hold you here, with me, until you hear me out. Then, you are going to make a decision, and we will go from there, okay?”
She struggled against her own numb flesh. “Noooo!” She screamed at him in her brain.
“Like I said, you don’t have a choice right now, but you will, I promise.” He got up off the bed and sat down in a nearby chair. It was a metal chair with a green, leather cushion, something found in an airport or at the DMV or a state-run mental health hospital.
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