Inked Destiny imw-2

by Jory Strong

  Derrick shuddered dramatically. “A horrid accidental encounter at the de Young Museum and not one I’d like to repeat in this lifetime. You’d think Etaín and I were unwashed winos off the street from the looks we got and the whispered conversation that followed. Bitches, and I don’t mean that in a friendly way. Not that Etaín will talk about any of them, her father and Parker included, but I think Bitchzilla and her demonic daughter spawn probably made Etaín’s life a living hell while she lived with them. Oh, to be a fly on the wall when they find out she’s snagged the owner of Aesirs.”

  Sean laughed again. “And Saoirse.”

  “True.” There was immense satisfaction in imagining them seething with envy and fuming at her good fortune—until Derrick considered how they would no doubt do their best to make Etaín out to be a whore.

  Not that it would matter to Etaín. She didn’t travel in their social circles.

  Right now.

  That would change because of Cathal and Eamon.

  Fear edged in, a milder form of the one he’d felt earlier, that he could lose her. He shook it off, going quiet as Sean typed another name into the law-enforcement database.

  The results came a few moments later, Tony Shank Medeiros, suspected of having fled to Mexico after being implicated in a drug-related murder. The same was true of the seventh person Sean entered, Roberto Spooky Jimenez.

  “Always possible they’re back in town,” Quinn said.

  “Can’t discount it.” Sean typed in another name.

  The results came back noting a sealed juvenile record for Torrey Baker. It was the same for Luis Galvez, while Jose Estrada, LaQuann Terry, and Marc Ruiz had done time in jail as well as in juvie.

  Derrick felt himself getting defensive on Etaín’s behalf again. “They’re not all friends or people she ran with. Some of these she met at the shelter and tattooed because Justine asked her to. They’ve gotten right and want to stay out of trouble.”

  Sean took a pair of scissors from the desk and separated the images so instead of six sketch pad pages there were twelve. “Etaín give you anything on the guy who was the target of the drive-by?”

  “Anton Charles. No. But he’s gotten a lot of work done at the shop.” Derrick pursed his lips, deciding against sharing the delicious secret of how Anton had helped identify the Harlequin Rapist. That was need to know, and unless Etaín said otherwise, not something to blab.

  “Is Anton affiliated with a prison gang?” Sean asked.

  “Probably.” Derrick hesitated. “I don’t know for sure. He doesn’t have gang tattoos, at least not that I’ve seen and noticed. Jamaal would know. Etaín too. Can’t you just do a search?”

  “The Curs are too hot right now.” Sean gathered the pictures of the men currently in prison and set them on his desk along with the scissors. He reordered those remaining, leaving a wide space between the two groups, three pictures against four.

  “Guys whose home turf is San Francisco on the left, those from Oakland on the right. I’d expect retribution by now if the Curs thought they knew who was behind the bar invasion.”

  “Unless this is Curs against Curs, like Vontae’s grandmother thought it could be,” Derrick said. “And those responsible are in hiding.”

  Sean nodded. “True. It doesn’t track that way for me. But this hit makes zero sense. It’s like something that would happen across the border, in the cities where the cartels are battling for territory.”

  He checked the time. “It’s late. I’m good with wrapping things up for the night. Tomorrow I’ll do some face-to-face time with cops on the Oakland side. See what I can learn, and if I’m lucky, find out if Baker, Estrada, and Terry are still in the area or if there’s word that Jimenez has slipped back into the US. If you’re not needed at home, Quinn, why don’t you concentrate on the three from San Francisco?”

  Derrick straightened, his shoulders going back. “I can help.”

  “No,” Quinn said, a growly answer that sent a little thrill through Derrick.

  He imagined his lips zipped because this wasn’t the end of it, though there was nothing to be gained by arguing in front of Sean. And besides, he wanted to bask in Quinn’s protectiveness.

  Quinn made copies of the relevant drawings, adding notes before the two of them left the boat. Derrick’s heart fluttered in his chest at having Quinn’s muscled arm go around his waist as soon as they were on the dock.

  “I’m leaving later than I intended,” Quinn said. “I can’t—”

  “I understand.” Derrick’s heart sank momentarily then buoyed at remembering what they’d done earlier. “I’m partly to blame for your being late anyway.”

  Tall, Dark, and Predatory wasn’t on his boat. There were no lights. No doubt Mr. TDP was on the prowl, and not in a gay bar. His loss. He didn’t know what he was missing.

  They reached the bike far too soon as far as Derrick was concerned, but despite Quinn’s need to get home, the first goodbye kiss wasn’t rushed. Nor was the second, or the third.

  He was breathless by the fourth, aching for so much more than a good fuck by the fifth, though he’d welcome that too.

  “I really can help you and Sean investigate,” he said, nibbling along Quinn’s jaw. “And it’s not just an excuse to hang out with you. I know people, I can—”

  “No.”

  Derrick pouted. “You don’t think I have the cojones.”

  Quinn’s laugh was husky. “Oh, I know you’ve got balls.”

  “That’s not what I meant. I’m not just a pretty face.”

  “Definitely not.”

  Quinn’s mouth covering his prevented further argument. The rub of tongues and press of cock to cock elicited a moan from Derrick, taking the fight out of him but not draining his determination.

  “I’ll call you,” Quinn said, finally stepping back so their bodies no longer touched. “If you want to do something, keep tabs on Etaín. Okay? That seizure was really bad.”

  “I’ll check on her tomorrow.” He’d do more than that.

  Quinn turned and walked away. And with Quinn’s back to him, Derrick touched the pocket containing his copies of the drawings. It was time for him to step up. And thinking about the picture of Marc Ruiz, he knew just where to start. There was something in the eyes that reminded him of Emilio Delarosa, not that he’d ever imagined visiting that asshole or asking for a favor but…

  Derrick tugged on his helmet. He’d do what he needed to do. Emilio no longer had the power to hurt him.

  *

  Cage approached Saoirse with caution, though that caution had little to do with the young human loitering up ahead. He kept expecting to feel the sting of Elven wards or perhaps even the cool edge of an assassin’s blade against his skin, not that such a thing could easily penetrate his natural shields.

  Few blades could, and many of them had already been found and made part of his hoard, including the one he wore at his back. Kestrel.

  He smiled at what the elders of his race would call his foolishness. Or perhaps his arrogance, though even he had been tempted to find a way to destroy the blade when he’d finally located it.

  Kestrel woke hungry half a block away from the boy. And as if sensing it, the teen turned, his gaze clashing with Cage’s, the blade’s judgment validated by what Cage saw in the boy’s face. There was no innocence remaining. This child had already been consumed by a culture of violence and drugs and the power both offered him.

  In centuries past, Cage had killed humans as young as this one. He would prefer not to do so tonight, though he played out the deadly game of chicken, his path taking him close to the boy.

  The teen did not reach for the gun Cage smelled in passing. And the blade’s hunger for blood was not met. Nor would it sleep again until it was sated.

  He’d known the likelihood of it awakening. But he enjoyed not just collecting the arcane, but using the things in his possession rather than merely hoarding them.

  His puzzlement returned as he crossed the stree
t to Saoirse. The mystery of Etaín and whatever game was being played here had deepened after watching the news reports of a drive-by shooting at a homeless shelter.

  Now that mystery was made even more tantalizing as he entered the club. There were no wards here either.

  He moved through Saoirse, aware of the desire-filled glances given him by more than one beautiful woman, and they were exquisite creatures, though despite the long hair several of them wore, none of them were Elves. When it became clear that Cathal Dunne wasn’t present, he found a spot affording him a good view and stopped.

  A lovely brunette rose from her chair and approached. He smiled, prepared to amuse himself with a different type of hunt as he waited for his main quarry, Cathal, and through Cathal, Etaín.

  *

  Lucky took another drag on the joint then passed it to Tracy. He could hear Sleepy fucking Rosena in the bedroom next to the one he was in, grunting while she moaned and screamed.

  “You want to do it again?” Tracy asked, her hand zeroing in on his dick.

  He took the reefer back, thinking he wanted a blowjob more. Tracy was good at giving head. And besides, she wasn’t nearly as nice to look at as Rosena.

  His cellphone rang before she’d even gotten him half hard with her hand. “Yo,” he answered.

  Puppy said, “That guy showed up. He just walked out of the parking garage but Drooler and me didn’t see him drive in. He must have come in from the side we weren’t watching. You close?”

  “No.”

  “He’s gonna walk right past me on the way to his club. You want me to do him?”

  “No, man. You did good. Time for you to get out of there. Sleepy will pick you up after he lets me out. Talk to you later.”

  He called Drooler.

  “Come on, man, let me kill this pendejo,” Drooler pleaded, dying to do something that’d earn him a new nickname. He hated the one he’d gotten when he’d first started hanging around and they saw him drooling after he got drunk and passed out on the couch.

  “No. This one I have to do personally.” He didn’t mention Jacko’s name. Only Sleepy knew that’s where this job came from. “Get eyes on the club entrance. Text me at that number I gave you when this guy leaves then haul ass. I’ll be waiting for him between the club and his car.”

  “Puppy tell you we don’t know what he’s driving? We didn’t see him going into the parking garage.”

  “Yeah. Puppy told me. No problem. It’s not going to matter what car he’s got in a little while. The garage has cameras in it anyway. Stealing his ride is out. Later, homie.”

  He hung up and left the bed. “Hurry the fuck up!” he yelled to Sleepy. “We need to roll!”

  “You gonna be back here later?” Tracy asked, the sheet falling away when she rose to her knees.

  He got a boner looking at her tits and pussy, her acne-covered face out of the picture. “Sure.” Why not? Maybe after he snagged the blow from Jacko, they’d invite some others and have themselves a party.

  He dressed, pulling the burner phone from his pocket and muting it so he wouldn’t have to remember later. Rosena let out an “I’m coming” scream as the bedsprings really cranked up their squeaking. He went to the car, stashing his personal cell under the seat.

  A few minutes later Sleepy came out of the house, strutting after having done it with Rosena. She didn’t give it up to just anybody. “I want me some more of that,” he said.

  “I hear you, man.” Though now he was jonsing for a different kind of action.

  He aimed the gun at Cathal Dunne’s picture, pulling the trigger in his mind. “I hope I don’t have to wait all night for this rich pendejo to come out of the club.”

  “As long as you get it done.”

  “No problem.”

  A couple blocks over, Sleepy did a double park long enough for Lucky to stuff the gun into the waistband of his jeans and get out. “Later ese. Soon as I off this guy and get to a good place, I’ll call for a pick up.”

  “Later.”

  Lucky headed to his hiding place as Sleepy drove off. A day of waiting for this guy to show up had given him plenty of time to scope the area and notice where the cameras were.

  If he missed some of them, he missed some of them. Ending up in prison didn’t scare him. He knew he could handle himself there. He had before. He would again. And fuck, if things got hot here, maybe he’d end up heading south with Jacko or Cyco if they split.

  Ducking into an alleyway on the route between Saoirse and the parking garage, he had a view of a Jag hugging the curb in front of a Tesla and behind a BMW. Fucking rich bastard with his fucking rich club crowd.

  Come on. Come on.

  Waiting was the hard part.

  Lucky let his mind drift while staying aware of his surroundings, a lesson he’d learned doing time.

  Jacko had chosen the right camarada for this job. It didn’t matter why this guy needed killing. All that mattered was getting it done.

  The Jag and the Tesla and the BMW had him dreaming about getting a crew together and going in, taking out a shit load of people the same as Cyco had down in Mexico. Fuck man, he did that, he’d be a legend too, and after becoming a made member, he’d get a territory to tax. He’d be rolling in the money, maybe even buy himself a bad-ass car, something better than the ones he was looking at.

  He pulled the gun from his waistband.

  Come on. Come on.

  Sixteen

  Eamon watched her sleep, his chest expanding with feelings of tenderness, and though he lay next to her, their bodies touched intimately together, it was not enough contact. He had begun to believe that state wouldn’t be remedied until he wore the same tattoos Cathal did.

  “You enthrall me,” he whispered, a dangerous admission as he leaned down to whisper kisses along her neck. “In centuries I have not experienced a day like this one.”

  From harrowing fear to wild crests of ecstasy.

  From distrust and alienation to the promising spread of harmony and unity.

  Progress had been made with respect to their future as a cohesive family unit. But with respect to her gift, her magic…

  Uncertainty remained. Grave uncertainty. And the chill of it made him give her more of his weight, the feel of breasts with their sweet-wine nipples against his chest fanning the flames of hunger, though the burn of it did not completely diminish the ice of his fear for her.

  Her artistic ability had given her an advantage in learning the complex sigils, but it had still been grueling work. He’d taught her the bare minimum a changeling raised among them would know about channeling and containing magic, and about shielding herself to lessen its voice. But he wasn’t sure it would be enough, not given the old, old feel of her magic and the violence of the seizure that had taken her. It had seemed to him that magic forced its way into every cell with pounding fury, while at the same time, created an impenetrable shield around her so that his spells burned away at contact.

  He’d come to worry that he didn’t grasp the full truth of her connection to the elements, and wouldn’t begin to without wearing her ink. A dangerous prospect for the both of them, one that might well hasten the moment when duty would require him to render his judgment.

  A fist closed around his heart, his mind locking out images of her death by his decree. There were answers to be had about the seidic, costly answers with no guarantee any of them would lead to her survival.

  He looked away from her, gaze settling on the picture she’d drawn, the way magic presented itself to her, seeking control rather than to be controlled. The Dragon suggested a tie to water and fire, his elements, and yet on the boat, close to so much water, the power he drew from it hadn’t made a difference, and though he’d recognized the pour of fire into her, he’d found nothing of what burned in her to redirect or cool.

  The Dragon stood for other things as well. Chaos. Upheaval. Drastic change. That her magic presented itself in those terms…

  His arms tightened on her. Nee
d slammed into him, a desire transcending the physical. He took her ear lobe between his lips, pulled with tender sucks. Fierce satisfaction burned through him at having her hips cant immediately, her leg climbing over his so she could press her heated mound to his hardened cock, craving the joining of their bodies despite being submerged in sleep by utter exhaustion.

  His smile dissipated as the barest disturbance in the wards surrounding the city reached him. It was a small, nearly imperceptible ripple. One he might not have noted at all if he hadn’t strengthened the magical alarm system after she and Cathal left the estate, and one, even now, that gave nothing away as to what had passed through the barrier. The disturbance was so minute it might have taken hours to ripple its way through the wards until it reached him.

  The chill returned. There were assassins, the queen’s among them, who were said to be able to move through wards without triggering a warning.

  Fierce protectiveness gripped him, and the spell to trap Etaín in sleep rather than risk her refusing his order hovered on his lips and tingled in the fingers touched to her skin. It was madness to continue allowing her any place other than the estate or Aesirs.

  Cathal could be persuaded to his side and to his view. And yet…

  Eamon hesitated. His will not sufficient enough to hold the spell or direct it. The trust brought by the events of the day was too precious a thing to risk. Not only Etaín’s trust, but Cathal’s, who’d left expecting to find her here when he returned, and who might well view with suspicion the claim she had to be moved.

  The argument could be made that in allowing Etaín to remain, he demonstrated his care for her wishes as well as Cathal’s. He had no real evidence she was in greater danger now that the rippled note of passage had reached him.

  Eamon stroked the soft nape of her neck rather than trace a sigil onto it. His mouth returned to hers, swallowing sleep-murmured sounds of pleasured welcome.

  His hand went to her breast, cupping its weight, her back arching with the brush of his thumb over a nipple drawn tight with the need to be suckled.

  Forcing his lips from hers was a prelude to levering his body up and away from the paradise his cock sought. He caressed her lobe with his tongue, daring a shallow thrust into her ear canal then brushing his mouth against the still-rounded tip before finally managing to separate from her.