The Kindred

by L. L. Foster

  If his eerie watchfulness wasn’t enough, his age made him stand out in the young crowd.

  He seemed displeased with, and somewhat wary of, Luther’s presence. Desiree moved forward, put her head to the table, a straw to her nose, and inhaled the coke. Giddy, she stepped back, wiped a dainty hand over her nostrils, and laughed.

  In a too-polite, too-moderated voice that barely carried over the music filtering into the isolated room, the man asked, “Who is this?”

  Now more vague than ever, Desiree stroked a small hand over Luther’s crotch. “This is all mine,” she taunted with a squeeze.

  Revolted, Luther again removed her hand. “Not accurate at all.”

  Undaunted, she clung to his arm. “We just wanted to get a good buzz going before we get . . . friendlier.”

  The man’s gaze slid over Luther with the comfort of sticky oil. “He’s not your normal fare, now is he, Desiree?”

  “He’s bigger,” she crooned, now sliding her hands everywhere. “And strong.”

  Luther stood there, impassive and accepting, when he really wanted to strike out.

  Blue eyes took his measure. “You look like a cop to me.”

  “Maybe the shirt is misleading.”

  He read the slogan and laughed. “What other license is there for killing, if not under police jurisdiction?”

  “I have a hunting license.” Luther looked at young Desiree, now pressed to his leg. He levered her away with enough force to show his displeasure at her boldness. “And sometimes I like to hunt pretty women—but only when they know their place.”

  The man smiled in understanding—but the edge of distrust remained both in his gaze and posture. “Far be it from me to interfere. I’m not a drug user myself, and I have no idea where these came from, but I’m not the moral police, so carry on as you please.”

  “I’ll pass,” Luther said. No way in hell was he ingesting anything from this place.

  Desiree eagerly took the instruction to heart and again groped Luther’s crotch.

  Just as the older man started to walk away, something crashed behind Luther. He froze. The man froze. The woman continued to fondle him—until a slender hand reached around Luther, caught her long hair in a fist, and yanked her off her high-heeled sandals.

  Desiree screamed as she hit the ground. The man stiffened in affront.

  And Luther, throbbing with dread, slowly pivoted to confront the interference.

  Eyes bright with fury, Gaby smiled, and it was a chilling sight. “There you are.”

  Her gaze went past Luther to the man. With that maniacal smile still in place, she drifted closer, put her nose out, and sniffed. “Ah. I knew I’d find you eventually.”

  Awareness rocked Luther’s very foundation, making it difficult for him to tamp down his heightened sense of alarm.

  Gaby had smelled the man, the same way she’d sniffed those mutilated, corpse-filled garbage bags.

  And now she claimed to know him?

  Was Gaby telling him that they’d just found their cannibal? If so, that left him in one hell of a predicament. Though he trusted her, he needed more than Gaby’s word on something so monumental.

  He needed actual proof.

  Fury burned through Gaby’s veins, so hot that it even blurred her vision—but thankfully not her aggrandized sense of smell. The commingling of jealousy toward a vapid tramp, and hatred at malignant turpitude, had her muscles clamping and flexing with the compulsion to strike out.

  It wasn’t easy to stay contained, to keep from rampaging. But she wasn’t a fool. She understood that this was Luther’s work.

  She would never ruin that.

  Later she might maim him for leaving her behind, but she had other things to do first.

  Leveling her discontent on the downed girl, Gaby curled her lip. “Get up.”

  Heart hammering with fear, eyes wide and dazed with drugs, Desiree stared at her.

  Impatience detonated. Reaching down, Gaby grabbed her upper arm and hauled her to her unsteady feet. “How old are you?”

  “T- . . . t- . . . twenty-three.”

  Stupid fool. “You act like you’re fifteen.” Gaby kept her grip tight enough to leave bruises on Desiree’s pale flesh. “Find a shirt, cover yourself, and then leave. Don’t let me see you at a rave ever again.”

  The girl looked to Luther, then to the other man. “She can’t—”

  Gaby shook her hard.

  When the girl started a high-pitched protest, Gaby smacked her.

  Big tears sprung to her eyes and a red palm print rose up on her cheek. Around gurgling sobs and sloppy tears, she wailed, “That’s . . . that’s assault!”

  Closing in, Gaby exposed her true intent and fundamental nature. When she slid her knife from the sheath, she felt Luther stir beside her—and didn’t give a damn.

  A lot depended on her scaring the girl enough to make an impression. Gaby sensed that if she didn’t change her ways, quickly, she’d end up dead.

  She couldn’t just let that happen. Not if she could alter events.

  And if Luther actually believed that she’d hurt an innocent girl . . . well then, he didn’t know her that well after all.

  Holding the edge of the blade just beneath the girl’s heaving left breast, Gaby whispered, “You stupid, fucking little slut, I will carve out your heart. Do you understand me? I will dice you up in little pieces and not lose a second of sleep over it.”

  When Desiree looked around for help, Luther made a point of offering none.

  Knowing he wouldn’t have done that if he’d believed, even for a single second, that she’d hurt the girl, Gaby felt emotion course through her. Later, when the time was right, she’d tell Luther how much she appreciated his faith.

  For now, she had a point to make, so she let the knife slice through Desiree’s net cover. It just pierced her skin, sending a bead of blood to well up.

  “No one can stop me, little girl, so don’t bother trying to find a way out of this. You put yourself in this situation, didn’t you? You knew what could happen. You knew you could get raped, killed, or in my case”—Gaby tightened her mouth into the semblance of a grim smile—“worse.”

  Face going pale, the girl almost fainted.

  Gaby jerked her back to attention. “Go home to your mommy and daddy. Find a safe job in a safe neighborhood. Dress with some pride and don’t ever again shove shit up your nose. Got me?”

  “Y- . . . yes.”

  Disgusted that a young lady would sink so low, Gaby removed temptation by returning her knife to the sheath at her back. She watched as the fool raced to the corner, found a jacket and small purse, and, sniffling and weeping, tried to dress herself.

  To Luther, Gaby asked, “Is she straight enough to get herself home?”

  “How the fuck should I know?”

  So he was still undercover—and indulging his own bad mood. Tough tittie. She didn’t have time to indulge his mood swings. “Call her a cab.”

  Jaw clenching in feigned affront, Luther withdrew his cell phone and put in the call, yelling to be heard.

  Gaby snagged the girl before she could slink away into the crowd. “You’re going to park your skinny ass out front on the curb and wait for a cab. If I find out you didn’t, you won’t like the consequences. Got it?”

  Fat tears tracked down her pale, still-red cheek, mixing with inky makeup. She nodded.

  Gaby released her with a small shove. “Maybe now you’ll live to see your next birthday.”

  Dismissing her now that she’d seen to her safety, Gaby turned to the tall man. An electric sizzle sparked in her veins.

  Recognition. Wariness.

  Her stomach churned with a nameless dread. Never had she felt anything like it.

  She knew this man.

  In some indefinable way, she was already acquainted with him.

  Smothering the aberrant sensation, Gaby stuck out a hand. “Bogg told me to talk to you. But that was before someone trampled him. I understand the
dumb fuck may never walk again.” She shrugged, showing how little she cared about that probability. “His brother told me you could still be trusted.”

  Appearing entranced, the tall man took her hand and held it.

  Gaby saw it in his eerily memorable blue eyes: a sense of intimate knowledge.

  So he felt it, too?

  He shook his head as if to clear it. “Tell me. Is there a reason you attacked Desiree?”

  “I schooled her, actually. There’s a difference.” Gaby withdrew her hand, made a show of wiping it on her jeans. “If I had attacked her, she’d be dead.” Her voice lowered. “Believe it.”

  The man watched her hand as she cleaned it, then propped it on her hip. Slowly, he brought his puzzling gaze to hers. “I am Fabian Ludlow.”

  “Gaby.” She met his stare with frigid resolve. She wanted him to know upfront that he didn’t matter—whoever he was. “The big gorgeous dude behind me is—”

  “Link.” Luther held out a hand to confirm the alias.

  Gaby slanted him a look. “I was going to say off-limits.”

  Annoyance growing, he gave a brisk nod. “Obviously that, too.”

  Fabian accepted his hand, but kept it quick to turn his attention back to Gaby. “You said you’d found me.” He all but sizzled with curiosity. “I sense that I know you, but I can’t place where we might have met.”

  “We haven’t.” Or he’d already be dead.

  Fabian didn’t believe her. “No, I’m sure we have.” He looked her over, walked a circle around her. “Could it have been years ago?”

  “No.”

  “I’m sure we’re acquainted.”

  “Not before now.” But somehow they were, and Gaby knew it.

  His expression cleared. He wasn’t giving up on his theory, but for now, he’d let it rest.

  Gaby read him as easily as she did everyone else, and yet . . . there was some mystery to him. Something anomalous and sketchy and very unclear.

  He smiled. “So why were you looking for me?”

  Pulling up her sleeve, Gaby showed him the healing scar left from the bullet wound. “I want a tattoo to conceal this. Most tattoo artists have told me I have to wait a year, maybe even two.”

  “And?”

  “I want the tattoo now.”

  He shifted, and as Gaby breathed in his unique scent, she knew she had the right person. That faint aroma of ink and the reek of insanity had wafted from the human refuse he’d dumped—just as it clung to Fabian now.

  If he denied being a tattoo artist, that would only add measure to his guilt as far as Gaby was concerned. “I’m told you’re the most talented artist around.”

  Fabian contemplated her for a long time before finally reaching for her arm. “Let me see what we have to work with.”

  Behind her, Gaby felt Luther loosen a tight breath. Had he expected her to start slicing and dicing? She’d told him she’d try to cooperate with him, would try things his way.

  If it didn’t work out, she could always go back and kill Fabian later.

  Tracing a delicate line around her scar, Fabian explored her skin with his fingertips. It gave Gaby the creeps and sent a frisson of unease down her spine, but no way in hell would she flinch or show her revulsion.

  “What did you have in mind?”

  Gaby shrugged. “I don’t really give a fuck. I just want the scar hidden.”

  He smiled. “With the jagged edges to the wound, I would suggest a barbwire design. It’d give us more opportunity to tie in each small cut in your skin.” Holding her wrist, he looked up at her. “Gunshot?”

  She stared at him. “More like ‘none of your fucking business.’”

  His chuckle showed that the set-down didn’t faze him. “I’m not cheap.”

  She nodded her head toward Luther. “Link is paying, so I don’t give a shit what it costs.”

  Luther made a choking sound. Being treated as a lackey was new for him, but he deserved it for keeping her in the dark about the rave. Before the night was over, she’d make him regret that decision in a dozen different ways.

  “By the way,” Gaby added, “the big dude wearing the plum smugglers out front? The one who tried to guard the door? He might need some medical attention.”

  Fabian’s brows pinched down. “You injured him?” he inquired with as much aplomb as he could muster.

  “Guilty. But, hey, he tried to stop me.” She pulled the sleeve back down over her arm. “Big mistake, that.”

  “I see.” Fabian’s eyes went cold in consideration. “If he failed, then he deserved whatever you dealt.”

  “Yeah, cuz, like, I never deal undeserved shit.” Smirking, she turned to mock Luther with her sarcasm. “Ain’t that right, Link?”

  Luther gave a low snarl, flexed his jaw, and ignored her. “When can you do the tattoo?”

  To Gaby, Fabian asked, “How about—?”

  “You’ll do it tomorrow, late.”

  Her bossiness started to wear on him. The small muscles in his face twitched and tightened. “We close at seven P.M.”

  “Close whenever you want. It’s no skin off my nose. But you’ll let me in at ten. I want this done on the down-low.”

  They did a visual standoff, each of them unblinking, unrelenting. Gaby yawned, but other than that, she didn’t give an inch, and, visibly perturbed, Fabian acquiesced.

  “Fine, we’ll do this your way.”

  “Course we will.” Had there ever been any doubt? “My way is the only way I do things.”

  Fabian wasn’t nearly as schooled at hiding his emotions. He was pissed, and it showed in his tense shoulders, the slant of his mouth, the tightness of his features.

  Ah, too bad.

  Trying to act cavalier, he asked, “Do you know where I work—”

  “Sin Addictions.” Gaby bestowed on him a menacing stare. She lowered her voice to a provoking whisper. “Come on, Fabian. Did you really think I’d approach you without knowing everything?”

  Annoyance heightened his breaths. His shoulders went back, his mouth pinched. “Everything is a rather massive concept. Perhaps you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

  Oh yeah, Gaby thought. Brag to me, you sick bastard. “And maybe you’re not as slick as you look if you believe that.”

  Her knife appeared in her hand as if by magic. She touched the tip of the blade to his chin. “Be at the shop at ten P.M. tomorrow. Don’t make me come looking for you. You’ll find I’m not the most patient person when I want something.” Gaby leaned into his space. “And I want that tattoo—from you.”

  He didn’t recoil from her knife blade. If anything, his sarcasm sharpened. “To hide your wound from the cops?”

  She tapped the blade against his cheek, then returned it to the sheath. “We sick fucks all think alike, don’t we?”

  Before anyone could say more, Gaby turned to leave.

  Luther stalled her by going to the small table holding the drugs. He began folding the tablecloth up and over everything.

  Fabian scowled. “What are you doing?”

  “Since you said this isn’t yours, no reason to have it go to waste.” He saluted Fabian, put a hand to Gaby’s back, and started out.

  A brief struggle ensued as he and Gaby each tried to take a position in the back to protect the other.

  Of course Gaby won, but mostly because Luther didn’t want to cause a scene and she didn’t give a shit either way.

  They had to step over the behemoth in the G-string. He was still collapsed across the entrance.

  Luther growled back at her, “Did you kill him?”

  “Nah.” Gaby gave the big guy a curious glance. “At least, I don’t think I did. My guess is he’s hopped up on something and that, combined with my fist to his temple, is keeping him asleep.”

  “We have to find Ann.” Stopping in the middle of the floor, the cloth bundle of drugs hanging from his hand, he surveyed the crowd.

  “I know where she is.” Gaby gave him another push t
o keep him walking. “I took care of her before coming after you.”

  Luther turned on her. “Took care of her? What the hell does that mean?”

  Her temper pricked. “It means,” she shouted over the god-awful techno music, “that this isn’t a safe place for either of you boneheads.” She took a breath, but it didn’t help. Now that they were out of Fabian’s range, she all but exploded. “What the fuck were you thinking to come here without me?”

  Aware of their cover, Luther glanced around, and that infuriated Gaby, too. “Give it a fucking rest, will you? No one normal can hear or see in this fucking atmosphere.” She forged forward. “Let’s go. By now, Ann is probably so pissed off she’s ready to kill.”

  They passed a guy holding a hypodermic, ready to inject a willing woman. Luther paused long enough to lean down and growl something dire in the guy’s ear. When the young man handed over the hypodermic, Luther expressed the liquid into the air, broke off the needle, and pitched it all against the wall.

  With a shove, he sent both the guy and the girl toward the entrance.

  Gaby shook her head at the futility of it. “This place is fucking crawling with imbeciles. How the hell do these people survive, being so stupid and so incredibly reckless with their own lives?”

  Looking like a thundercloud, Luther replied, “Damned if I know.”

  Everywhere Gaby looked, perverse activity took place. She couldn’t take it. She wanted to start busting heads—and yeah, that was likely why Luther hadn’t invited her along.

  Knowing that and liking it were two very different things.

  With Gaby leading, they turned a corner and went down a quieter corridor. She opened a lock on an isolated and unused office.

  Before she could turn the doorknob, Ann burst out, red-faced and vibrating with fury. “Damn you, Gaby. How dare you lock me away?”

  Stunned mute, Luther stared at Ann, and no wonder. Her hair rioted, her face flushed, and the veins in her temples throbbed.

  Resisting the urge to point out her state of disarray, Gaby rested back against the wall. “I dared because that skinny vampire-worshiping boy you wooed had a sedative-filled needle hidden in his pocket. He planned to stick you with it the first time you blinked—with or without your permission.”