Charmed (Death Escorts)

by Cambria Hebert

  I watched, waiting to see what would happen. Just a few seconds ticked by and then the man’s spirit began to rise up out of his body. It was green. I thought G.R. was going to talk to him—maybe recruit another Escort.

  He wasn’t looking for another Escort.

  When the green spirit hovered over the Reaper’s head, he raised up his arms, looked up toward the sky, and then he proceeded to eat the spirit.

  He literally opened his mouth as wide as it would go and began to suck the spirit into his mouth. But the spirit didn’t just go into his mouth; it seeped into his ears and up his nose. The spirit didn’t struggle; it didn’t try to get away. I wasn’t even sure if it knew what was going on.

  I wasn’t sure if I knew what was going on.

  Was this what he did to all the people he killed—that the Escorts killed?

  This was some disturbing shit.

  When he was done chowing down on spirit, he waded out of the pool, leaving the body right where it floated. Then with a single wave of his hand, the portal opened and he stepped through, leaving the scene of the crime—of his meal—behind.

  I didn’t loiter on the property. I zipped around the house and forced myself to jog to my bike like a guy who just delivered a pizza and who didn’t witness the Grim Reaper eating the green spirit of a man he’d just killed.

  I put the bike back in the parking garage where I found it (but kept the helmet—since my hair and therefore DNA was now in it) and climbed on the closest bus. I rode that and got off after three stops. I got on another bus, rode that for two stops. Then I got off and walked three blocks, passing a city garbage truck on the sidewalk. I tossed the helmet into the back and it was immediately crushed into the already huge pile of trash. Another block passed and I ducked into a parking garage. I went up three flights of stairs and climbed onto another motorcycle—this one mine. It was completely different than the one I borrowed earlier. This one was a bike built for speed—something flashy that rich people drove. If you wanted to blend in around Beverly Hills, then you drove something expensive.

  I pointed the bike toward my beach house. Toward Frankie. I pictured her sitting on the beach, her toes buried in the sand. I wondered if she would talk to me when I got home. I probably didn’t deserve it. I still hoped she would. Right then, I would have loved to hear her yell at me, to see her roll her eyes. Hell, I would’ve even listened to her insult me.

  Anything to drown out my own thoughts.

  Because right now I was thinking I didn’t like myself.

  Right now I was feeling guilty. Guilty about what I just did. And I was also feeling slightly freaked out that I kind of fed my boss.

  Why would he eat a spirit? There was perfectly good pizza right there if he was hungry.

  Something told me pizza wouldn’t have conquered his kind of hunger.

  It didn’t matter anyway. This whole thing started out as being about getting the best of him and doing the job. And now… now I wasn’t sure what anything was about.

  The only thing I really knew for sure was that I wanted to see Frankie.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Sand - small, loose grains of worn or disintegrated rock.”

  Frankie

  I came to the conclusion that I would never get tired of staring at the ocean. It didn’t matter how long I sat here or how long I stared because the sights were forever changing. There was always a new wave to look at, a boat, a bird, or a person.

  The ocean had a way of making a person feel small, but not in a bad way. In a way that made you feel like you were part of something bigger. It was humbling, but it was also inspiring.

  Even though Charming left me here while he was off committing a crime, I couldn’t feel sorry about experiencing this. I still felt thankful that I hadn’t gone another day without seeing something outside the walls of Alaska.

  The sun was beginning to sink behind the water when I felt his presence behind me. I didn’t have to look to know it was him. My body had a way of knowing when he was near. He approached slowly and I stiffened. He didn’t tell me where he was going today or what he was doing, but I knew.

  I hated it.

  “There enough sand here for the both of us?” he asked, standing just slightly behind me.

  The insecurity in his voice had me patting the empty space beside me.

  “You’ve been down here all day, haven’t you?”

  I glanced over. He was still wearing those jeans, but that was all. No shirt and no shoes. He stretched his legs out in front of him and propped himself up with the heel of each hand just slightly behind his back. I wondered if he was doing it on purpose, displaying his perfectly cut abs just to throw me off. It didn’t matter because it wasn’t going to work.

  “I sat on the deck for a while,” I answered. “But yeah, mostly I was down here all day.”

  “I knew you’d like it.”

  “I do.”

  We watched the sun slip lower and lower until it completely disappeared behind the endless sea. The breeze off the ocean turned cooler and the shoreline grew quiet except for the crashing of the waves against the sand.

  “Rough day?” I asked him.

  “I’ve had better.”

  I could have made a biting remark about why his day had been so shitty. Several scathing comments rose up in my mind, but even just thinking them made me tired. And there was something about him tonight, something about the air that surrounded him, that told me it didn’t matter how many mean things I said because he was already saying worse things to himself. Part of me was glad. Part of me thought he deserved all those mean things and more. But there was this other part of me that felt sorry for him. In the end, it was the softer side of me that won out.

  “Well, the sun will be up tomorrow and with it comes a new day. A fresh one.”

  “What if the day that comes before the fresh one is so full of clouds and they cast shadows that follow you all the way into the new day?”

  “Usually even on the cloudiest day, the sun will find a way to peek through at least once.”

  His hand wrapped around mine. His fingers found their way in between mine and curled closed, pressing his palm against mine. My heart began to beat a little harder; nerves began to tingle throughout my body.

  “I know I’ll never be able to make up for the things I’ve done,” he said. I had to lean a little closer so I would catch his words before the wind carried them away. “And I doubt I ever try. Feeling better isn’t really something I deserve, and it seems that living with those things is part of the punishment.”

  I wondered if he realized he said the word living. Up until this point, he’d been adamant about the fact that he was dead.

  “But when I’m around you, I feel like there might be some hope.”

  My heart lodged itself in my throat. I could barely swallow past it. “Hope for what?” I asked, my voice almost drowned out by the sound of the waves.

  His fingers tightened around mine. “For a little more sunshine instead of just clouds.”

  Oh my God, what he did to me. I felt like a dishrag that had been used to mop up far too many spills and then rung out again and again. I felt twisted and damp, like I wasn’t as clean as I was in the beginning.

  He was right. There was no excuse for his actions. There was no excuse for him. But I still wanted to sit here with him. I still wanted to feel his hand hold mine. Nothing about Charming would ever be simple. And it also became quite clear that nothing was going to change the way I felt about him.

  I guess the real question I had to ask myself was if I was going to feel all these things beside him or if I was going to feel them at home, alone. Because even if I walked away from him right now and didn’t see him again for a year or ten, I would still get the lightheaded, slightly shaky, fluttery feeling that washed over me when he walked into a room.

  It was a choice that wouldn’t come easy. When you were so drawn to someone the way I was drawn to him, it was almost impossible to
think about walking away. But that didn’t mean I wouldn’t do it because if he wasn’t good for me, then I couldn’t stay.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asked.

  “You.”

  He pushed me down in the sand, his body coming over mine and blocking out the stars that glistened like jewels in the night sky above us. “I’m going to kiss you now,” he murmured, already brushing his lips across mine. “Don’t bother to try to fight it. It’s a fight you won’t win.”

  “What if I want to lose?”

  He groaned and crushed his mouth over mine. His lips were hot against my wind-chilled skin. My body began to shake all over, and I reached up, curving my hand around his waist and pulling him down so our bodies were tangled together. His skin tasted salty like the ocean air and his toes were chilly as they ran up my calf. He moved his body against mine, the roughness of his jeans brushing against the bare skin on my legs. Without thought, I opened my legs for him, so he could settle even closer. The moment he did, pressure began to build in my center and he kissed me more fiercely than before.

  I was going to burn up, burn up from the inside out. Every time he touched me, ran his hand up my inner thigh, or teased the skin on my stomach, it was like he lit yet another match and added it to the fire.

  He murmured my name against my lips and I ran my hand along the rough stubble lining his jaw. If we didn’t slow down, he was going to take me right here.

  Sleeping with him would only make things harder.

  But it was hard to listen to your head when your body wanted something so badly that it shut off all thought.

  He pulled away abruptly, coming up onto his knees and staring down at me lying in the sand. Grabbing a fistful of my shirt, he pulled me up and ripped the cotton fabric up over my head and threw it onto the sand. The sand was cool and rough against my back, but I barely noticed because my eyes couldn’t get enough of his chiseled body leaning closer.

  I was wearing a bra, but it must have been in his way because he yanked the cups down so they were bunched beneath my breasts and pushing upward so the sensitive and aching flesh was closer to his hands.

  But he didn’t touch them.

  He latched onto them with his mouth. His lips were warm and moist as they trailed across each peak. My fingernails found his biceps and dug in as little shivers raced up and down my spine. When his tongue flicked over a very erect nipple, I arched up off the sand toward him and cried out. He looked up at me and smiled, then repeated the movement again.

  My hands moved to his head and kneaded his scalp, silently begging for more. The wind off the waves carried away his throaty chuckle as his mouth covered my nipple completely, sucking it fully into his mouth.

  Moisture pooled between my legs and I titled my hips closer to him, closer to the hardness pressing against the front of his jeans.

  His mouth left my breast as he trailed kisses down my stomach, toward the top of my shorts. My hands fell on either side of me and pushed down into the sand as I stretched myself like a cat, trying to become longer so there was more of me for his lips to touch.

  Just as he slipped several fingers beneath my waistband, a swell of water rushed up around us, making me squeal. Charming came back over me, laughing, and buried his face in my neck as the water began to recede. “Hold on,” he said, kissing me below my ear and pinning me a little closer to the beach.

  As the water receded, it pulled at us, making me dizzier than I already was. Before the wave could completely pull away, another one surrounded us and I squealed again. The water was cold without the sun to warm it, and I snuggled in a little closer to his heat. Once again, the water pulled away, going back into the sea where it belonged, and once again, it pulled at us, trying to claim us for its own.

  But I was already taken.

  By the man anchoring me to the sand.

  Even if I forever remained single, my heart would never be free.

  Once the water was gone, he pressed his forehead against mine and stared down into my eyes for a few silent moments before sighing and pulling away. Part of me was sorely disappointed. My body still tingled for his touch as he adjusted my bra and stood. Then he reached for me and my forgotten shirt and wrapped his arm around my shoulder. My body fit perfectly into his side and we walked together up to his half-glass beach house where he rinsed off my feet with the hose before pulling me close and kissing me senseless once more. Just when I was sure we would end up tangled in bed, he growled and pulled away, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

  His whispered goodnight was lifted away by the wind as he disappeared into the house.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “Text - to communicate by text message.”

  Charming

  I woke as the sun was rising, lying there in my king-sized bed, watching the sky turn a peachy-pink as day broke over the water. I bought this house for the view, for the location. I didn’t really expect to like it here as much as I did, but the house was comfortable and there was something calming and steady about the ocean.

  Out of all my houses throughout the world, this one probably felt most like home, aside from the first one I ever purchased. That home was the biggest, the most private, and was the only place I’ve ever been where I could fully be myself. It’s where the old me and the current me could blend together to create a total person. When I went there, I didn’t have to be all about the job. I didn’t have to think about the way I looked, the way I acted, or the impression I was giving someone else. I hadn’t been there in a long time and thinking about it now made me realize how much I missed it.

  I made a sound and rolled away from the view. Missing a place was stupid. I didn’t have time to miss anything because I had a job to do and thanks to G.R., I was losing a couple days because I was here and not there.

  It didn’t matter though. We could leave tonight and I would be back to work tomorrow. It was time I stepped it up a bit. The Target was familiar with me now; she seemed to feel safe in my presence and no longer suspicious. It was time to come up with a plan to get to her money. When a Target was a lonely person, when they didn’t have a large family or a network of people around them, it usually wasn’t very hard, but this time was different.

  I needed an angle. Maybe I could somehow get into her bank account through the fundraiser I was supposed to be helping her with. A dull ache began behind my eyes and I knew it was going to be a long day.

  I would rather eat a bucket of nails and wash them down with a glass of bleach than go back to Alaska tomorrow and spend time with the Target.

  Flinging the down-filled covers off me, I got out of bed and snatched my cell off the nightstand. I should send her a text, something just to keep myself in her thoughts, to endear her to me a little more. Maybe a picture of the empty morning beach.

  Everything in my body rebelled at the idea of sharing any part of this place with her. If I could smack some sense into myself I probably would have because my body and my mind needed to get with the program. I’d never had a problem faking my feelings for any Target before. Hell, this Target should be even easier because I didn’t have to pretend to have romantic feelings for her because she thought I was gay.

  Maybe the pressure G.R. was putting on was getting to me. The impossible assignment, the extra job, my sister…

  I was starting to crack under the pressure. I mean, I was feeling things for the love of God.

  I walked to the wall of windows to snap the picture. Like it or not, I was going to do this job. When this was done and the Reaper understood that I wasn’t someone he could yank around, then I would go home, take a break, and get back to normal.

  Before I could lift the phone, something caught my eye. A person walking at the edge of the water. It was Frankie. She was already down there, slowly walking along the shore as the waves rushed in soaking her feet.

  The ocean wind was pulling at the hem of the cotton dress she wore, pulling it back and molding the fabric to the curves of her bo
dy. A body that my hands had been all over last night.

  My muscles tightened at the memory of how she felt beneath me. Sinful. It was the only word that could capture how it felt to have her in my arms. That woman was a ball of passion, a pot of bubbling water about to boil over. Her kind of passion wasn’t something a person found every day.

  I knew she felt something for me. I saw it in her eyes. I felt it crackle between us. But I also saw her disgust for me, the hatred of who I was and what I did. As I watched her bend down to pick up a few seashells in the sand, I wondered which side was bigger, the hate or the desire.