Yes, she felt sick when sensing lust, but wasn’t sending them away her choice to make?
She rotated the karambit around her hand, repositioned it for deadly striking, and said, “You made a mistake, brother. A grave one.”
All the hurt, denial, pain, self-loathing—it all bubbled to the surface, along with the poison waiting beneath her skin. It grew hot. It burned like a pressure valve needing release. And there was only one way to let it out. In two deadly strikes, she lashed out. First, the knife to the jaw. He dodged, but failed to see the follow up poison. A torpedo-like projectile launched from her other hand, hitting Parker’s face. He flinched, let go of his weapon, and covered his jaw as he went to the ground.
Sizzling.
Oh shit.
“Parker?” Liza’s voice trembled with hesitancy.
“Did you have to go for the face?” His voice muffled through his hands.
“Are you okay?”
“It’s sizzling. Burning. Christ.”
“Quick. Go wash it off.”
“No. Get a sample kit.”
“Are you freaking kidding me?”
“I’ll be fine, Liza.”
“You’re not invincible, dickhead.”
“Close enough.” He dragged himself off the floor, squinted, and found the swab kit he’d already brought into the gym. “Help me get a swab out.”
Heart pounding in her chest, she did as was told and swabbed his face, still sizzling like he’d been hit with acid, not tetrodotoxin. She put the sample in a test tube. Once she was done, she used a saline solution to cleanse his jaw. After the poison drained, he was left with red, blistering skin beneath the coarse hair of his short beard. Guilt pierced her.
“Parker, you know I love you too, and that’s why I can say this. That pride of yours is going to kill you one day.”
His gaze flicked to her with a sad sort of recognition that hit between her ribs. She knew how he felt. All of the Lazarus siblings knew death by their sin was a very real possibility. Except with Parker, perhaps he’d resigned himself to the inevitability of it. Perhaps it wasn’t pride making him like this, but the fact he’d given in.
“Did you have to provoke me?” she said softly.
“You weren’t getting worked up without it,” he murmured with another wince.
“You could be scarred. On your face.” She joked, but there was a serious note to it. No one wanted to be scarred, especially not as a result of a whim, or a tease.
“I won’t.”
She made an incredulous sound through her teeth. Her compassion evaporated. “You’re so conceited you think poison is afraid to hurt you.”
His jaw clenched, but he said nothing, only packed up the sample kit, and headed for the door.
“Was it true?” she called after him.
He paused, turned back, and then nodded grimly before leaving.
“Asshole.” She threw the karambit at the doorframe.
“You made the mess,” he shouted back. “You clean up.”
13
Joe spent hours organizing the mess outside Heaven. As the only law enforcement officer on the scene at the time of the crime, he had many boxes to check and many points of contact to brief. But after the emergency response team was fully briefed, he was tired, grumpy and a little bit furious. Liza had left. Never before had she fled the scene of a crime. She would stick around and pester, and pull apart the scene until she had something to work with.
No matter what was going on between them, she should know better. She was different from her family. They dressed up in costume, wreaked havoc at night, and then fled the scene like it was every other day. It was common for them, but not Liza.
He didn’t like the feeling in his chest when he thought about her falling into the same patterns as them.
It was time for him to get answers.
The public level of Lazarus House was a restaurant and a nightclub, but in between Heaven and Hell was a corridor that took him to the lobby leading up to the apartments. During the short period working together at the CCPD before he’d joined the Feds, Joe had picked Liza up once or twice but had never gone in.
The most memorable time was the day she’d moved into the building. Both of them were rookie cops and the building had just been purchased by Liza’s brother Parker. Renovations at ground level were well underway, but the apartments above were safe to move in. It was all Liza had spoken about for weeks, so Joe had offered to help shift her belongings from her old apartment to this one. When they’d arrived with his truck full of boxes, the Lazarus brothers had met them on the street. They made him double park, relieved his truck of Liza’s items, and then in no uncertain words, told him to piss off.
This time he wasn’t waiting for an invitation. He strode into the lobby to find the elderly doorman reading a book behind the front desk. His aviator hat tipped to the side as though he’d been scratching his head. His name badge said, Gus. The book was titled The Investigator.
Joe cleared his throat. “Good book?”
Gus looked up, blinked as if just realizing he’d completely missed Joe’s entrance, and then dog-eared the book and put it down. “Sorry, sir. I was in another world. Yes, good book. This new Norcross series has me hooked.”
Joe reached into his pocket and pulled out his ID. He flipped the leather case open. “I need to see Liza Lazarus.”
“FBI?” Gus rubbed his chin. “Ain’t you the fella who used to hang about with Miss L a while back?”
“You have a good memory.”
“I’m sorry to say that whether you’re an old friend or FBI, you’ll need a warrant to enter this building without permission, and…” He pulled out a clipboard with a list of names, or lack thereof. “You ain’t on the list.”
Joe pressed the bridge between his nose. “Can you call her?”
Before Gus placed his hand on the desk phone, it rang. He picked it up with a confused frown. “Yes? Oh, hello AIMI. His name is Joe. Luciano, yes. Alrighty then. I’ll let him know.” He hung up the receiver. “Miss Lazarus is indisposed. She won’t be able to see you.”
“Who’s Amy?” Joe asked.
“Security.” Gus picked up his book and then nodded toward the bench seat on the other side of the lobby. “You can wait there. But it might be a long wait. I suggest you come back another time.”
This was ridiculous.
Joe paced a few feet, then realized he’d parked his car in the Lazarus House garage. With a tip of his chin to Gus, Joe quickly made his way back out into the street, dodged a few more of the emergency cleanup crew, and took the side alley street to where he and Liza had emerged earlier that day. The garage door was down and locked. Damn.
While he scanned for another mode of entry, a camera above the door watched his every move. If they wanted him to stop, they would come out. It was either pry the garage door open, or shoot the lock on the reinforced steel door beside the garage, and there was no guarantee that the bullet wouldn’t ricochet and hurt him.
He pounded on the door with his fist.
“Liza!” he shouted. “You have two minutes to open this door.”
He continued pounding. Nothing. But someone was watching. The camera moved as he did. He could almost feel eyes on him. His frustration surged. He ran his hands through his hair, disheveling the style that managed to stay neat until now. When he lowered his hand, he felt the bulge in his pocket. The baseball.
This had to work.
He held it before the camera.
“Last chance, Liza,” he warned. “Do this the right way or the hard way.”
A beat.
Another.
The door clicked opened.
Liza came out freshly showered, in sweats, and a white crop top that showed off her God-given gifts. High and firm breasts. Abs made of steel. Defined arms that were powerful, yet didn’t detract from her femininity. She must have washed her hair because she smelled like citrus and berry. Joe’s mouth watered.
He
tossed the ball to her.
She winced as she caught it.
“Let me in,” he said.
“I can’t.”
Pain flashed in her eyes. No, it was more than that. Helplessness. Like she was being washed out to sea and could see him on the shore as she drifted away on a raft. Her eyes watered. She bit her lip.
The fight left him. His voice softened. “I’m right here, Liza. Right here. I’m on your team.”
She reached for him, yet still held back. Her fist clenched at her side.
Why?
That old, sick voice in his head said the same old thing on repeat. You’re not good enough. You’ll bruise the ones closest to you.
He would never fit in with her family… but did he want to? Nothing good would come of his investigation. He knew that. Yet, he still ran barreling toward the finish line with no care for his heart. It was this insane drive to be better than his father competing against his need for her. She was the flame, and he was the moth beating its wings in the opposite direction against the urges of his heart. Every cell in his body wanted to gather her into his arms, but he fought against instinct, just as he had all these years.
The more he studied her, he realized something. Her reaction wasn’t about him. It had never been about him. She was… he searched her face as he struggled to come up with the right conclusion. There was so much pain and uncertainty there. Perhaps he’d been too caught up in his perceptions, and his position imposed on him by his director, that he’d not seen Liza’s struggle.
She gulped air and then said, “I can’t. I’m afraid. I’m...”
He touched her cheek, but she flinched.
“You shouldn’t touch me. You shouldn’t be near me.”
“Liza, that’s not true. Talk to me.”
Her stare bore right through his chest. She shook her head, denying it all. Always with the tough act. But he knew her better than most. The tremble on her bottom lip, the dimple in her chin, the scream for help in her eyes. He’d seen the same things when she would tumble into his yard as a child. When she’d throw the ball into his second-story window, and climb the trellis. Back then, she only ever whined about menial things like chores, or her brothers, despite him sensing there were things she failed to tell him. They would share their silence, eat raspberry licorice, and it had been enough.
But he couldn’t be patient now. Something had to give. Maybe it should be him.
“I know, Liza.”
“Know what?”
“More than you think. You’re fast, strong, and you come from a family of gifted people. Each of you disappeared for years, only to come back hard, and even more frightening than before. Out there on the street, I saw the stains on your mouth and the mist from your hands. That night on the balcony across from my apartment? I saw the dead rats. Now it makes sense why you’d left so fast. The evidence is irrefutable. You’re one of the Deadly Seven, Liza. Please don’t pretend you’re not.”
His words shifted something in her. The hard, invulnerable, warrior queen emerged. She clenched her fists, as though she needed to defend herself.
“What did I just say, Liza?” he chided.
She pursed her lips and glanced down at the baseball in her hand. “You’re on my side.”
He nodded. “You always know who wants to date who at the office. You’re the best closer in sex-related crimes. You’re always harping on about sensing my lust, or lack thereof. You are Lust. Tell me I’m right.”
Her head drooped. “I…”
“You’re not like them—the rest of your family. You don’t hide behind a mask and run from responsibility, from what’s right. Why are you now?”
Her gaze snapped up. Wildfire flared in her eyes. “But you see? I’ve been pretending I’m normal for so long, I forgot what was coming for me. What’s been inside me the whole time. There is no escape. I’m the furthest thing from normal.”
“You’re not making sense.”
“Lust. Just think about it for a moment.”
He narrowed his eyes.
Her voice trembled. “I feel sick in my stomach every time I sense lust. Whether it’s sexual, or not. Every time I get close to someone, I feel sick. The last time I tried to have sex, I vomited on the guy.” She held up her hands, her voice getting tight. “Poison. I make it. With my body. With my mouth! Like some sort of fish in the ocean or bug in the sand, I’m a freak. You saw those Faithful out there. They died the moment they inhaled my mist. I’m a monster, and I can’t risk you, Joe. You’re the only one I don’t feel sick around. You’re my—” She cut herself off.
She got physically sick from sensing sin? This explained so much. Her recent avoidance to date, her reluctance in having a long term relationship, her snarky comments about his love life. The mean and jaded front she put up. She was messed up inside, but all she’d ever wanted was love, just as much as anyone else.
“Does your family know? About the sickness?”
She sniffed. “Why do you think they warn away every guy I meet.”
“They know about the vomiting?” he pressed.
She dipped her chin and hugged herself. It broke Joe’s heart to see his strong woman so downcast.
“You’re the first person I’ve told,” she admitted. “It’s a recent development.”
He studied her smooth skin. There were no traces of the yellow residue he’d seen before. The only time he’d seen the yellow mist was when she fought, or was perhaps stressed, like on the fire escape outside his apartment. He didn’t think he was in danger. They’d spent plenty of time together, and he’d never felt ill or incapacitated around her.
And he was the only person she’d never felt lust from. She’d never felt sick from him.
His heart lifted.
He was special to her. He couldn’t explain it, or quantify it, but he knew it in his heart.
“You’re not a monster, Liza.”
“What would you know?”
“I know that every time you walk into a room, it’s like one of those lame 80s movie montages with the music and the drooling men.”
She snorted. But he caught her smiling. So he continued. “It’s true. You know the ones. The girl walks in, a breeze comes from somewhere and lifts her hair. Men everywhere fall apart. They drop cigarettes from their mouths, spill drinks, walk into poles. And all she does is walk in the room, trailing her sweet perfume.”
“Deadly things come in pretty packages.” A sardonic eyebrow raised. “I know how people feel about me. It makes me sick. Literally. Maybe I’m built this way to lure in prey and then kill them.”
“I think that feeling is twisting your reality. You’re the furthest thing from a monster I know.”
She sighed. “That’s the problem, Joe. You don’t really know me. Not the real me, and it doesn’t change the fact that I’m a health risk to anyone around me.”
He squeezed her shoulders. “I’m willing to take that risk. Invite me up. Invite me in. We’ll talk.” He held his breath and waited. He dipped to meet her roving eyes. “Come on. There’s a game on soon. Let’s sit back like old times, have a few dogs and a beer or two, then just chill and talk. Invite me up.”
A tentative smile tilted her lips, and it stole his breath.
“Okay, but not this way. There’s an elevator in the garage.”
“Don’t trust me?” He eyed the door she’d come out of.
She flinched. “It’s not just up to me, and... I don’t know if I’m ready to show you all of me yet. There’s more I need to tell you first.”
“Okay. Lead the way.”
She started walking, but his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out to find a message from the director: I expect results tomorrow.
Joe glanced up at Liza, waiting for him.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Just need to answer this for work.”
He thumbed a reply: On it.
14
Despair must have passed out. She remember
ed being carried and then wheeled into the secret headquarters of the Deadly Seven, but not having the energy to feel triumphant. The pain in her shoulder hurt more than she’d anticipated when stepping in front of the gun aimed at Max.
But she had to do it. It was the only way to gain their trust. And it worked. For now.
From within a cozy bed, she looked around the room. Small, blue, with brown furnishings and golden decor. A nice rug. Nothing fancy.
Voices filtered through a cracked door.
She moved her blanket and winced at the pain in her shoulder. A glance down revealed she’d been stitched and patched. A small stain of blood gathered on the bandage, but it was old. Another day and she’d have good mobility back. How long had she been out?
Flashes of her injury came to her. They’d all gathered to help. Mary and Flint had watched with concerned eyes. They tried to get her something to drink. They were... caring for her. She couldn’t remember the last time someone did.
When she’d grown up with Julius, every knee scrape, or head wound, had been treated as a means to toughen her up, to thicken her skin.
This was different.
The bed was soft. Part of her didn’t want to get out. But she must. Her everlasting soul depended on it. Julius may not care the same way as Mary or Flint, but he’d cared enough to include a strand of her hair in his locket with his beloved first family. That was special. When the replicate expiration issue got solved, Despair would be reincarnated as a clone after she died. And they would do so in a new world where sin didn’t rule.
The voices raised in timbre, as though in argument.
She forced herself out of bed and tiptoed to the door.
Four distinct voices. Mary, Flint, Wrath, and the youngest, Envy.
“She’s a hazard. A danger. She has to go,” Wrath declared.
“Mijo, you know she came here asking for our help. This is what we’ve been waiting for.”
“I don’t care. I’ll walk right in there and drag her out.”
“Wyatt,” Flint admonished. “You were once in her shoes. Don’t forget. You left the family, then came back asking for help. We gave it.”
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