Interlude (The Stone Legacy Series Book 2)

by Theresa Dalayne

  “Don’t you think I know that already?” Tara stood and backed away from the bed. “I’ve always wished I could take it all back. Be braver or stronger. Wished that I’d told someone.” She anchored her hand over her mouth and trapped in a sob. “I’ll never be able to take it back.” Shaking fingers twisted around her limp curls. “Never.”

  “Tara. I was just—”

  “Trying to help?” She backed toward the door. Her heart shattered, opening a deep wound in a place she didn’t know existed. A place that was tender and fragile. A tiny place left untainted with regret, now in ruins.

  Watching him reach out to her, all she couldn’t think of was how perfect he was. Flawless, gentle, and kind—a healer, an ability only given to someone with a pure, sincere heart. She was just a used up, worn out girl with nothing to offer him.

  She squared her jaw, gathering the courage to do what she knew was right. The words scraped through her mind, up her throat, and finally out of her mouth in a shaky whisper. “No.” She glanced at the box still in his hand. “No to getting married.” She snatched her robe off the floor and slipped it on, then opened the door and lingered on the threshold. Unable to look him in the eyes, she stared into the empty hall as she forced the rest out of her lips. “No to us.”

  Chapter Five

  Tara passed through crowds of people on the street, sobbing until her chest ached. A few people stared, but she didn’t care. She just wiped her cheeks dry and waited for more to stream down her face.

  A shiver wracked her body. Tara slipped her hands in her jacket pockets to draw the garment tighter around her. Tucked inside, her fingers brushed the plastic bag and small card.

  Damn it. She’d forgotten to throw the pills away when that Malachi guy turned up. Thankfully Peter didn’t find them or he would have thought she wasn’t just going crazy, but on drugs too.

  A black, low riding convertible sped past her and parked at a neighboring building drenched in neon lights under the bold letters on the vertical sign.

  Club Grunge

  She paused and pulled out the business card from her pocket. Two girls in designer dresses stepped out of the sports car. Long legs in short skirts, they could have had booming carriers as supermodels. One of them handed a valet the key. They strutted down the carpet in six-inch stilettos that matched their ruby lips. The two sauntered past security, straight into the club.

  When the door swung open, Tara glimpsed colorful laser lights from inside. The heavy bass of a beat pounded into the street. Maybe a distraction would lift the layer of depression weighing on her—at least for now. Until she was reminded of the fact her relationship with Peter would never work out. Then it would start all over again.

  As much as she wanted to believe they could be together, he was immortal and she was ordinary. It was doomed to fail.

  Tara tore off her coat, exposing her bare shoulders and lacy tank top. It was what she chose on a whim before running out of the hotel. It was also one of the only outfits that fit her anymore since she’d dropped so much weight.

  The fresh wound in her heart throbbed when she imagined Peter in his room, staring at the open box on his bedside table. If she had only seen it sooner, she could have spared them both.

  She pushed away the thought and pressed forward.

  Pacing toward the club, one obstacle stood between her and a night of mindless dancing. Security. The guard’s broad shoulders looked as if they might split open his suit jacket if he inhaled too deeply. He clenched a clipboard between his thick fingers, scanning the line of patrons waiting to get in.

  When she finally reached the front door, his less than impressed expression couldn’t be a good sign. She’d have to talk her way in. She was, after all, the princess of persuasion in most other situations. She’d figure something out.

  She gathered her hair over her shoulder and smiled. “Hi there.”

  His lips tightened. “Name.”

  Tara gestured to the line. “Let’s be honest. Most of these people aren’t on your list.”

  He dragged his gaze over her body, and as if giving his approval, extended his hand. “ID.”

  “Yeeahh.” She smacked her lips. “About that.”

  He lowered his hand. “You’re not on the list, and you don’t have any ID, but you still want me to let you in?” He shooed her away. “Get lost.”

  “I have money.” She extended some Russian currency. “It’s enough, right?”

  He examined the bills. “If you had an ID, I might make an exception about the list. Sorry.” He waved a few of the people in line through the red velvet rope.

  “Hey, Raco.” A tall man with dark hair displayed a wide, charming smile.

  The bouncer responded with a nod. “What up, Mr. Green? How you doin’?”

  “Can’t complain. It’s busy tonight.”

  “Sure is.”

  The crowd pushed against the man, and he bumped shoulders with Tara. She stumbled and caught herself on a metal pole used to organize the line.

  The man straightened his coat and turned to the mob. “Hey, watch it!” He turned to Tara. “Sorry, Red. You all right?”

  She nodded.

  The bouncer looked at her. “I told you, lady. No ID, no entrance.” He pointed to the street. “Now, please move away so I can let some of the other guests inside.”

  “What do you have in your hand?” The man took the business card from her and inspected it. He held it up, pinched between two fingers. “Where did you get this?”

  She shrugged, not really in the mood to get into the whole story with a total stranger. He examined her for a moment, and then turned back to the bouncer. “She’s not on the list?”

  The bouncer shook his head.

  Mr. Green thwacked the clipboard. “Sure she is.” His finger lay over the paper. “She’s listed as my guest.”

  The bouncer stared at the man. “Sir, she doesn’t have an ID. She could be sixteen for all I know.”

  “What are you talking about?” The man straightened the bouncer’s tie. “She just showed you her ID. I saw her.”

  The bouncer hesitated before lowering his clipboard. “Of course, Mr. Green. I must have missed it.” He lifted the shiny hook from the pole, and pulled the velvet rope aside.

  For whatever reason, the boss man wanted to let her in, and she wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. She followed him into the club while avoiding eye contact with the bouncer, who was clearly annoyed.

  As she stepped through the door, strobe lights and the scent of sweat and cologne engulfed her.

  Time to blow off some steam.

  The rumble of the bass vibrated against her skin, followed by the flash of bright lights from an impressive laser show. A sea of dancers pulsed on the main floor, below a DJ who stood on an elevated stage overlooking several bars scattered around the lower level.

  The guy who had let her in the club vanished into the crowd. She did the same—in the opposite direction. After shoving her way to a seat at a bar, she set some money on the counter. The pretty barista grabbed the cash and shoved it into a jar, already overflowing with bills. “What do you want?” she shouted over the music.

  Tara raised her eyebrows. What did she want? She’d never ordered a drink before. “Just give me the cheapest drink you have.”

  The woman grabbed a bottle out of the fridge, popped the top off, and set it in front of her.

  Tara slipped the bag out of her pocket and emptied the round pills into her palm. They looked so innocent. Pink and tiny, how much damage could they really do? With a disregard for rationality, she slipped them between her lips and swallowed them down with a swig of the bubbly drink.

  She analyzed the taste, and then frowned. “Not such a big deal,” she mumbled before setting the bottle back onto the bar top.

  “So, what do you think?” The man in the expensive suit who’d let her in had returned, and now leaned against the stone bar.

  She scratched a nervous itch on her arm. “About
what?”

  “My club.”

  She sat back in her chair. “Your club, huh?”

  “That’s right.” He trailed his fingers down her hair. She cringed away. It didn’t seem right to let someone besides Peter tug on her curls. Besides, if he thought she owed him anything because he got her in—

  “So, listen. If you need anything, just tell the bartender you’re with Mr. Green. That’s my work name around these parts. What’s your name?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t have one.” More like she wasn’t going to tell him.

  “Really?” He stretched out the word and grinned. “A nameless beauty. Then I’ll call you Red. We’ll be a perfect pair.” He took a step back. “Okay, Red. Have a good time. I’m sure I’ll see you again.” He set the business card on the bar top, and with a few steps, vanished back into the crowd.

  She huffed. Red. What a stupid nickname. Still, it was better than him knowing her real name.

  A strange, tingly sensation crawled up the back of her arms. Her vision blurred around the edges, and, all at once, her muscles sighed with relief.

  Whatever that drug was, she hadn’t been so relaxed in weeks. The glittery, marble bar top danced and twinkled through the liquid in her bottle. Flecks of light winked up through the air, and for her own personal entertainment, rose above her head like a tropical dance of fireflies. The twinkling lights, mixed with the lasers from the club’s light show, were mesmerizing. Every cell inside her body prickled with energy rattling to escape. Her mind buzzed and suddenly, all she wanted to do was dance.

  With her fingers wrapped around the neck of the glass bottle, she hopped off the barstool and maneuvered through the crowd. The floor shook with the fast tempo of the bass thumping through the speakers. Neon green lights flashed with the beat. Beams tickled the outstretched hands of the dancers.

  Tara swigged more of her drink. The bubbles danced on her taste buds. Bobbing her head with the music, her body throbbed with elation. It was the first time since the horrifying memories flooded back that she could truly breathe.

  She just wanted to be.

  Be happy.

  Be dancing.

  Be away from everything that made her sad.

  This was clearly the place to be.

  Either her eyes were playing tricks on her, or the drugs had taken full effect. Ghostly figures of clubbers blurred over each other, creating a rippling sea of waves. The beat seemed to whisper words of endearment while she enjoyed the fluid movement of swaying her hips.

  An explosion of laser lights burst around her, cued by another song. Excited screams from the crowd rushed adrenaline through Tara’s body. She followed the crowd’s lead, jumping up and down to a rhythm with her hands pumping in the air.

  It must have been hours later when Tara’s mind wandered back to reality. Breathless, she still clung onto her empty bottle. For how long, she wasn’t sure. Drenched in sweat, she wove through the crowd to the exit. When she stepped outside, the night air smacked her face.

  Even without her jacket, it was strange she wasn’t in the least bit cold.

  White clouds puffed from her lips without a goose bump in sight. In fact, she still felt pretty damn good.

  The twinkling stars in the sky carried a feeling of nostalgia. She missed Renato’s house in Belize. The evenings there were just as clear, but with the sound of crashing ocean waves and salt in the air. Back there, life was easier.

  She checked the time on her cell phone. Four o’clock in the morning. Two missed calls from Peter. He must have been worried. He had every right to be. She’d slapped him down and then took off. Damn it. She had to talk to him and make him understand. He deserved better.

  She could see it all laid out in front of her. Her mind had become so clear. Everything she had done to him…to herself. She was a giant smudge on his otherwise perfect existence, and he was the only guy who had ever really loved her.

  She typed a text to Peter.

  Tara: I’m okay. Coming back. We need to talk.

  She flipped her phone shut and drew in a deep breath. Energy pulsed through her veins. She could jog all the way back to the hotel if she wanted. Maybe across the city. What were those pills made of, anyway?

  The same women who’d arrived in the sports car earlier that night were being escorted out of the club by Mr. Green. A lady on each arm, he signaled the valet to retrieve their car and dutifully waited until the girls pulled out of the parking lot.

  When Mr. Green spotted her, he straightened his jacket. “Well, hello, Red. Calling it a night already?”

  Two men exited the club and loitered behind him.

  She smiled. In a much better mood than when they first met, it was only appropriate to be nice. “Yeah, I’m going to head back to my hotel.”

  He walked toward her, the cufflinks of his suit gleaming in the neon lights. “Be careful. Moscow’s a dangerous place at night.”

  She couldn’t help but notice his thin but handsome face and charming swag appeal. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

  “Is it that obvious?” He chuckled. “I’m American. Moved here about five years ago when a business opportunity arose.”

  “Oh, right.” She gestured to the building. “Your club.”

  “My club is what I do for fun. What I do for work…well.” He slid his hands in his pants pockets. “I think you’ve already had the pleasure of sampling some of my merchandise.”

  Tara muffled a gasp. How the hell did he know about that? One thing was for sure. She’d play dumb. Very dumb.

  “Andrei doesn’t give out free samples often,” he continued. “So when I saw that particular business card, I knew you were a special guest. I called him and he told me about the sad redhead at the restaurant.” He rocked back and forth from his heels to the balls of his feet. His gaze moved over her shoulder, and his pleasant smile vanished.

  Tara glanced behind her.

  Malachi stood on the sidewalk, his gaze locked on her. “What did I tell you about these people?” He walked toward her with no hint of emotion in his tone.

  “Malachi.” Mr. Green’s lip curled. “How ya feeling, friend? I heard—”

  “You heard wrong.” Malachi stopped beside Tara.

  Her gaze darted between them. “I’m guessing you know each other?”

  Malachi gave Mr. Green an up and down glance. “You could say that.” Malachi’s cold fingers wrapped around her arm. “I suggest you stop associating with the town garbage,” he mumbled, too low for Mr. Green to hear.

  A rock formed in Tara’s stomach, and for the first time since she left the club, the cold wound around her spine. “Uh…” She stared down at his fingers, white as snow with black polished nails. “Maybe I should just go.”

  Mr. Green straightened his suit and stood in silence while Malachi dragged her down the street, his grip on her arm like iron. The effects of the drugs were beginning to wear off, and she struggled to keep up with his pace.

  “You just can’t seem to keep yourself out of trouble, can you?”

  “Uh…” She had to work for every breath. “Slow down.” The rubber soles of her shoes skidded across the sidewalk until she came to a stop and slumped against a brick building. She rubbed her chest. “Damn it. My chest hurts.”

  “Well what did you expect? I told you not to—” Malachi’s eyes widened. He grabbed her arm again. “Come here.” He pulled her into a dark, narrow alley and shoved her back against a wall.

  The echo of shoes slapping against concrete pounded in her ears. “Where’d they go?” A man’s voice said from the street.

  “They came this way.”

  The distant shape of two men lingered on the sidewalk. “What do they want?” Her voice echoed off the narrow-set walls, carrying farther than she expected, and catching the men’s attention.

  The men stalked toward them. “Well, well. It’s true. Malachi’s back.” The tall guy’s lanky arms swayed at his sides while he strutted like a rooster. “You’re one
tough son of a bitch.”

  Malachi stepped into the middle of the alley.

  Still leaning against the wall, Tara recognized the men who had flanked Mr. Green outside the club.

  Searing pain shot through her head, and the images of the men blurred. “What do they want?” Tara said again.

  “They want you,” Malachi responded quietly.

  She sure as hell didn’t have any intention of going with them. One step at a time, she inched down the wall. Her hands dragged over the seams of the bricks while she strained to peer deeper into the dark alley.

  Malachi glanced back at her. “I suggest you stay close unless you want to be taken.”

  She stopped and stared at him in horror. “Taken?”

  “Mr. Green doesn’t much like it when a client runs out on him.” The tall, skinny man with a rat face pointed at her. Brass knuckles gleamed on his clenched fist.

  Malachi squared his stance. “She’s not an offering.”

  The second man—a muscular Russian with a jagged scar across his cheek—stepped forward. “What belongs to our boss, belongs to us.”

  Tara held her breath in an effort not to pant like a fat dog in mid-summer, but she couldn’t help it. She’d gone from shivering from the night’s cold, to heat exploding throughout every cell of her body. Even without a jacket, the urge to strip to cool down overwhelmed her. A bead of sweat rolled down the curve of her neck and between her breasts. She rubbed her face. “What’s happening to me?”

  “Mr. Green says she’s an offering,” said the tall one. “Now move aside so we can collect.” Malachi stepped into the light of an old street lamp. The yellow tinted glow revealed his face from the shroud of darkness. The thug stepped back. “Damn, man. What’s wrong with your eyes?”

  The Russian gave a low laugh. “Halloween is over.” He waved a thick blade in front of Malachi’s face while displaying his grill of gold teeth. “Or maybe you need a broken nose to go with your black eyes.” He dragged the pointed metal tip down Malachi’s chest.

  Malachi stood perfectly still as the blade tapped along the buttons of his jacket. Malachi grabbed the thug’s wrist and aimed the knife at his heart. “Go ahead,” he growled. “Do it.”