by Nancy Gideon
“I didn’t when Nica first brought her here. But I knew there was something different about her. She sure stirred me up something fierce, and not just because she was one of them. Or so damned nice on the eyes.”
“No, memories of her at all? From before, I mean.” Before the Chosen had erased his mind and dumped him in New Orleans.
“None.”
“Even now?”
“Even now. Well,” he continued, reddening slightly, “she did show me a few things I was happy to be reminded of. There’s nothing when I look back, Max. No family. No history. Nothing.”
“And you’re okay with that?” Max held his breath in anticipation of his friend’s answer.
“I like what I’ve built here, what I have here. What came before?” Jacques shrugged. “I’m not sure there’s anything I want to remember. Do I need to know what they did to me, what they used me for? Nothing I’d be proud of, I’m guessing. Here I’ve got my own business, a job where I’m respected. I’ve got my freedom, a mate and child I adore, good friends, a great place to live. What else do I need? I spend my time looking ahead at what could be, not back to what I can’t change. It’s enough for me. It’s more than enough. I’m a lucky, happy SOB.”
“Is that what you think I should do?” Max asked carefully.
Jacques regarded him with a blink of surprise then with a very sober truthfulness. “You’re not me, Max.”
That’s not what he wanted to hear. He threw up his hands in defeat. “What am I then? From what I’ve heard, I don’t have one damn thing worth remembering. A horror story of a childhood, a crime drama growing up. Why do I need to remember those things? To relive them? Will it change who I am, what I want, what I believe? What if when I pick open that scab of secrets, what comes pouring out are the most horrible things you can imagine? Should I just leave it alone, Jacques? Should I just let it heal on its own?”
LaRoche had no answer. It wasn’t his to give. All he would say was a quiet, “It depends on what’s enough for you.”
Max cleared the table top with an abrupt sweep of his arm. The sudden crash intensified the pain throbbing through his temples. The noise drew the attention from those around him which he immediately regretted. With a heavy sigh, he offered an apologetic grimace. “Sorry. I think I’ve had enough of a good time for one night.”
LaRoche nudged his shoulder with one big hand. “You were always a light weight when it came to drinking. C’mon, Savoie. I’ll take you home.”
Home.
As they traveled the nighttime streets in Jacques’s massive Cadillac, Max considered the meaning of that word. He lived in the elegant apartment, but nothing about it felt like home. Was home determined by memories, or by those who shared it? At the moment, he shared nothing but space with Charlotte Caissie. But there had been more. Much more. He could see that in her poignant stares. In the touches she quickly withdrew. He could feel it thrum inside him at the most unexpected times. Something was there. Something deep and anchoring. Something he could build upon. But without what came before it, would a new start be enough? For either of them? Should he just let go and start again? Accept what he’d been told without the support of memories and just move on?
He rubbed his forehead, making a silent note. No more alcohol.
You’re special. You’re blessed.
He shook off his mother’s insistent claims. No, he wasn’t! He’d been cursed. He’d been haunted. He’d been damned.
But he didn’t have to be anymore.
Let go, Max. I’ve got you, baby. Just let go.
He knew that voice. A voice he trusted.
Maybe he needed to place himself in Charlotte Caissie’s hands and let her make him over into the kind of man she deserved. And maybe, if lucky, that would be enough.
Or so he thought as he rode up in the private elevator with his silent friend. They stopped on Eleven. Jacques insisted he drop in to say hello to his little family. Max went along obligingly. He had to start expanding his social circle. Just a quick hello wouldn’t hurt him. And truthfully, he wanted to get a glimpse of LaRoche’s perfect life.
They had a nice apartment, roomy, tastefully decorated with inviting touches that set it apart from his own a floor above. It looked lived in. A home. Recognizing the difference, left a hollow in Max’s heart.
“Where are my gorgeous girls?” Jacques shouted. “Come say hello to Max.”
Without her sterile lab coat and intellectual intensity, Susanna Duchamps could have made any male’s house a home. She greeted him warmly, her hair pinned up, her classic suit replaced by jeans and a paint-splotched sweatshirt. Then she stepped into Jacques’s bear hug embrace without hesitation, grabbing what she’d thought a discreet welcoming squeeze of her mate’s ass. Max held to his grin and started to relax. It didn’t look as though anything was missing from his friend’s life.
Pearl appeared to eye him carefully.
“We were just creating some new artwork for the hallway,” Susanna explained, wiping a smudge of bright blue off her daughter’s nose. Max was pretty damned sure he didn’t have any such tender, cozy moments waiting to be discovered in his childhood. He gave the girl an encouraging smile, a sudden wad of emotion filling his chest at the possibility of having one of these little creatures in his future.
“Hello, Pearl. I’m Max. I live upstairs.”
“I know who you are,” she said somberly, tone implying a wealth of knowledge. She came to put out her small hand with an endearing seriousness. Clasping it gently, Max felt a snap of energy tingle along his nerves like the probing needle from an EMG. He fought not to jerk away as the girl’s bright blue eyes fixed upon his own stare. She frowned slightly and backed away, returning to her mother’s side.
When Susanna glanced down in response to a slight tug at her shirt, Pearl whispered softly, just for the two of them alone. Hand still stinging, Max strained to hear her tiny voice over the hammering in his head. The words perplexed then alarmed.
“He’s not what he seems.”
CHAPTER SIX
The address MacCreedy unlocked with his scan led beneath a highway overpass, to some sort of service tunnel tucked back in the shadows. Tires crunched across broken glass. Discarded trash scattered as they rolled up to the gated entrance. A figure emerged from the darkness to tap on the driver’s window.
“Let’s see your pass and cash.”
Silas handed over both and got waved forward. The heavy iron barrier pulled back, opening the way toward lights and an increasing roar of sound.
Every city had its unsavory underbelly of sin, where wagers were placed on any outcome from races to a pretty girl’s preference, but Darwinian survival of the fittest drew the big money. Cee Cee thought she’d seen every sort of pairing imaginable in fights to the death. Dogs, cocks, rats, even snakes, but this one gave her a terrifying chill. Because the two struggling to survive weren’t animals. Not entirely.
Cars were parked in a circle so their headlights glared upon two blood-drenched creatures locked together with fangs and massive claws. Extremely well-dressed spectators pushed in as close as they dared, to cheer and shout and jeer which ever combatant they’d bet on.
The battling pair stood like men in gore-soaked jeans, but there the similarity ended. Bare feet, torsos, hands and faces were distorted, hair-covered and distinctly lupine. They wore tight, silver studded collars to keep them from transforming completely as they grappled and tore at one another to the delight of an enthusiastic crowd.
“Holy shit,” Silas whispered, shocked that his kind would be exposed so openly for the amusement of many and the greed of some. Because the majority of the onlookers were human.
As the trio edged forward to find a discreet vantage point within the crowd, a furtive little fellow with a notebook and an eager smile approached them. Barely even with MacCreedy’s belt buckle, he climbed up on the trunk lid of a sleek sedan so they were eye-to-eye, man-to-man.
“First timers?”
Silas blinked at him, then looked back at the spectacle unfolding and shook his head. “I never— What the hell?”
“Something, ain’t they?” A smile dazzled, wide and white in the ageless dark face. “You were promised bang for your buck and we aim to please.”
“We?”
“The management.” He distracted from that smoothly evasive answer by asking, “You and the ladies here to bet or just watch?”
Nica hugged to MacCreedy’s arm, her eyes bright and glittery. “This is so exciting. Can we bet on them?”
The bookie shook his head regretfully as one of the two Shifters went down with an agonizing howl. “Looks like it’s too late for this round. Lucky for you we got us a triple bill tonight. Let me know what kinda taste you want when you get a look at the next fighters. I’ll come back. Name’s O’Leary.”
After the odds-maker wove his way through the throng eager to collect winnings, Silas met Cee Cee’s stunned gaze.
“Triple bill,” he repeated in disbelief. “We’ve got to find out who’s running this show and shut it down right damn now.”
Then Nica tugged on his arm and nodded toward a figure on the other side of the makeshift ring. There was no mistaking the large muscleman Todd from the Sweat Shop, the strip club where both Silas and Cee Cee had been employed while working with Vice. Did that make Carmen Blutafino the man behind the event?
Cee Cee had come prepared, incognito with the drape of a scarf over her blazing red wig and large tinted glasses that concealed her hard stare. MacCreedy had gone nerdy with hair slicked down and a pair of thick-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. The big bouncer glanced their way, recognizing their undercover personas. Giving a wave, he worked his way over through the crowd.
“Creed! Thought that were you.” Todd put out his huge hand and crushed Silas’s within it. MacCreedy remembered to wince before pulling away. “Almost didn’t know you without your monkey suit, but I’d never forget your little lady.” He grinned at Nica who supplied a thin smile.
“And I’ll never forget the severance package you so enthusiastically delivered,” she purred dangerously.
Todd shrugged. “That were business, nothing personal.”
In his role as card dealer for Blutafino, MacCreedy had thrown a high stakes game in Max Savoie’s favor, and his firing hadn’t involved a pink slip. A savage beating had left his fingers broken.
Philosophically, Todd added, “Always liked you, Mac. How you doing? Awright I’d guess if you can afford to be here. Still flipping cards?”
Silas flexed his hand as if it pained him. “I’ve been forced into retirement.”
Because his tone held no resentment, Todd gave his shoulder a pat. “Too bad. You had real talent. Manny surely regrets having to let you go.”
“I’m just glad he didn’t retire me permanently.”
Todd laughed at his twist of humor, growing more bold in his appreciation of Nica’s legs. “Still chasing the action?”
“Once a player, always a player.” MacCreedy’s arm slipped about Nica’s waist, either to protect her or restrain her. “This is a sweet setup. What’s the deal? Is Manny running it?”
Todd turned his attention back to the ring to watch the loser being dragged out by the feet. He shook his head, marveling at the sight. “He’s thinking of buying in. What a scam. Get a bunch a folk liquored up, and they’ll see monsters. Part of the draw and a damned clever one, too.”
“So, who’s running the show?”
Again the noncommittal hoist of broad shoulders. “Don’t know. Big secret. Somebody from outta town’s what I hear. Nobody gets close to the fighters.”
MacCreedy nodded at that wisdom. “Don’t want to spoil the mystique.”
Todd frowned then smiled in good natured ignorance. “Yeah.”
“How can I get hooked up?”
“Doing what?”
“Making money, what else? I love theater.”
“You’re a good guy, Mac. I’ll see if I can turn you on to any action.”
“I’d appreciate that.” Silas scribbled out his cell number then they were distracted by the arrival of the next contestants.
How could those crowding in around them not realize what they were seeing was unnatural? Had desensitizing graphic horror films and appealing local lore made them ripe to suspend belief for the thrill of the moment? Would they have been so accepting if they saw the actual transformation of supposed man into raging beast? The staged scenario lent reasonable doubt to the reality of what they observed. The glaring lights and deep, dark shadows. The aura of deliciously dangerous expectation when modern-day gladiators were unleashed to circle one another. Did the blood thirsty audience care if what they witnessed was staged or aberration as long as the violence and chance to win big was real? Probably not. Like those swarming a freak show midway, the lure of something wildly original made them willing to be fooled for the sake of entertainment.
As promised, the diminutive O’Leary returned, affable and grinning and eager to take their money. He gestured to the snarling pair drenched in the sear of headlights.
“Got a favorite?”
Nica pointed excitedly. “The one with the tattoo.”
“Anything for the lady.” MacCreedy listened to the odds and passed over a healthy stack of Benjamins, accepting O’Leary’s offer of good luck. Then the three of them stood silently to watch.
It was sensational. Everything one wished for in an unscripted combat event. The brutality of the attacks, the flying strings of blood that splashed the thrill-seeking crowd. The snarls of untamed aggression and roars of pain, so visceral and raw. And over far too quickly to satisfy those hoping for a glimpse of death.
As the unconscious loser rode out on a stretcher, O’Leary appeared to hand over an impressive return along with his congratulations.
“Smart call. Wanna try and double it?”
MacCreedy laughed and tucked the windfall away. “I understand the meaning of quit while you’re ahead.”
“And a smart man. Look forward to seeing you next time.” A white card with its square code was pressed into his hand as they shook on it.
Cee Cee, who’d remained in the background, took a step forward. “We’d like to thank the winner personally. Is there a way we could do that? To express our gratitude?” She wet her lips as if in anticipation.
O’Leary looked them over cautiously, then, a true gentleman of commerce, he extended his palm for the return of some of those bills. “If he’s not sponsored, you might catch him over by that exit. The fighters aren’t supposed to mingle.”
In their regular form. Wise and careful. Someone knew what they were doing to build up this forbidden venue. And that someone would have a name worth knowing.
They waited in the anonymity of shadows until rewarded. He was just a kid, full of fearless swagger to match the bruises and cuts that would be gone by morning. And full of something else, as well, that amped up his energies and engulfed his eyes like the spill of an ink bottle. He drew up, startled then grinning wide in appreciation of Cee Cee’s hip-swinging approach. While she gushed over his prowess, clinging to his arm, he let his stare plunder her assets and quickly agreed to join her and her friends in the spending of their winnings.
“What’s your name?” Cee Cee cooed, snuggling against his sweaty bulk in the back seat of Silas’s rental.
“Boze Reading, ma’am.”
“It’s Chili, not ma’am,” she teased. Her hand stroked up his thigh, making her feel rather like a child molester.
“Well, it don’t seem to be very chilly in here.”
She laughed as if that was the most amusing thing she’d ever heard. “Because watching you in that ring got me so hot and bothered I couldn’t keep my panties dry.”
The predatory gleam in his eyes alleviated Cee Cee’s guilt. She wasn’t dealing with a child. His arm circled her waist, tugging her into his lap where his intentions proved quite obvious.
“Well, I might have to do someth
ing about that,” came his aggressive growl.
Cee Cee smiled like there was a chance in hell of that happening and traced the bold tattoo on his forearm. “I like this. It looks new.”
“Yeah. Got it the other day.”
“Looks familiar.”
“It’s a group I just joined. Like a Neighborhood Watch.”
“I feel safer already. Is that how you got into the fight game?”
“Friend of a friend of a friend.”
“It’s good to have friends. If you do as well next time I bet you’ll have yourself one of those rich sponsors and you’ll have all the damp panties you could ever desire.”
His teeth flashed white. “Here’s hoping.”
“Is there someone’s ear we could whisper into to help you find a good home?”
“I’m meeting somebody tomorrow night, but I ain’t supposed to talk about it. There’s pretty strict rules against that.”
“Not even one friend to another.”
“Not even.” To distract her, his hands began to get very friendly.
“We’re here,” Silas announced from the front seat, giving Cee Cee the chance to wriggle out of the enthusiastic embrace and straighten her clothing.
The kid looked about in perplexity when entering Cheveux du Chien. He knew the place, and now he knew what his companions were. Silas met his confusion with a cool smile and a glittery stare. When Boze would have staggered to a stop, Nica gripped his arm with unmistakable force.
“Who are you people?”
“If your senses weren’t swirling with whatever you’re taking, you’d recognize your own kind. Read between the lines, Mr. Reading.” Cee Cee’s suggestion contained nothing warm or inviting.
“Let’s take this someplace private,” Nica added, directing them through the tables toward the back stairs and the club’s office. Shoved down onto one of the leather sofas, the now-anxious fighter struggled to get through the glaze of drugs and his own stupidity to what was happening to him. He stared blankly up at Cee Cee to express his confusion.
“We’re not going to have sex?”
“Sorry. Not in a million years.” She took off the scarf and glasses, and Boze’s frightened gaze widened in an uncomfortable recognition that added up to a whole lot of trouble.
