by K. L. Savage
His lips tilt in an awkward smirk.
“I still don’t know you.” My vibrato is weak as he takes a step closer.
His lips curls in rage. “Yes, you do. You are mine, Daphne. I am yours. You know that.”
“I know you are in my house. In the corners, hiding in the dark. Normal people don’t do that. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” Before I spontaneously combust with arousal.
He buries his fingers in my hair, then yanks my head back as he fists the stands. “We are far from normal, Comet.” He brushes his lips against my chest. “One thing you should know about us—” he skims his mouth to my ear and nibbles the lobe before he whispers, “—We fell in love in the dark. And make no mistake, you will fall in love with me again in the dark.”
My eyes shut on their own accord, my body pressing against his.
He lets me go and his warmth leaves me as I open my eyes again to stare at a ghost. He’s no longer there, but my door is open. I know my mind isn’t playing tricks on me, not with how my body is yearning for his touch again.
I understand why my eyes have been drifting to the corners, examining the shadows, and why my heart has been waiting for a reason why.
I trust the dark.
The shadows are my home.
The corners are my comfort.
And the darkness is a place for me to be loved.
“And where have you been?”
I pause as I’m entering through the window of the bedroom I’m staying in at the NOLA clubhouse. It’s an old plantation-style home that’s a little run down from how old it is. It has charm, though. Pocus said when he became Prez, the first thing he did was rip down the slave quarters. Then he brought in a witch to cast the ghosts to their resting place so they can finally be at peace.
He didn’t want to be the reason why they continued to suffer, when they had suffered long enough.
I feel like I’m a teenager getting caught sneaking inside after my curfew. Reaper flips on the light and reveals himself. He is sitting in the corner, left ankle over his right knee, and his fingers are pressed together in a steeple position.
“I was with Daphne.” Part of me hates that she can’t remember, but it’s kind of fucking hot too. My cock is still hard from how she reacted to me. Getting her to want me again won’t be a problem. She feels we are meant to be. I have no doubt we will be together again.
“Did you kill him?”
I jump down from the window and close it, locking it in place. “No. I didn’t.”
He blows out a breath and snags the bottle of beer off the coffee table to take a swig. “Good. We need more information about him.”
“I wanted to.”
“I know.”
“No, Reaper. I don’t think you do know.” I sit on the bed and I lift my hands in the air to show him how bad they are shaking. “I’m so fucking mad. The restraint. I held myself back, but it was the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do. He was there, drunk, wearing only underwear, and how he talked to her… it’s no wonder she’s so damn confused. His abuse is powerful, Reaper.”
He squeezes my shoulder. “I know, Tongue. I’m sorry. Come on, let’s go get you a beer and talk to their doctor and tech guy. We are going to see what we can find, okay?”
“What’s there to find out? Her dad is a terrible man, and he needs to die.”
“Terrible people always have a reason to do terrible things. What’s his?”
“People don’t need a reason to do bad things, Reaper. It’s as simple as them liking the pain they inflict.” I put myself in that category. I don’t consider myself a good person, not with what I do and why I do it. Simple fact of the matter is, I love the pain I inflict. I love the suffering I bring to others. I know my soul is damned to the wicked. I’m going to go down in smoke and flames, and the ride to hell will be one I will enjoy.
We walk down the hallway, the brownish-red hardwood floors creaking under us. I take the time to look around and inspect the house. The ceiling is high, and there are chandeliers hanging low. They seem like they were installed with the place. They aren’t illuminated, but there are lamps attached to the wall every few feet that are turned on to show us the way.
A cold chill rips through me, and I have to stop walking to catch my breath. I shiver. A cold cloud leaves from between my lips as if the temperature just dropped to thirty degrees.
Reaper is a few steps ahead me and he pauses, looks over his shoulder, and bobs his head as he waves his hand. “Well, come on what are you waiting for?”
“Sorry, cold chill.”
“It’s hot in there. What are you talking about?” Reaper takes out a black handkerchief and pats the back of his neck.
“Sorry, mon amie,” Pocus apologizes as we come into the impressive main room. They have a large bar that takes up one entire wall with shelves of booze. We don’t have that in our clubhouse anymore because of Patrick. I’m fine with it. It isn’t a big deal.
But right now, selfishly, I’m glad to kick back and pop a top without feeling bad about it.
What can I say? I guess I’m an asshole.
“The air conditioning broke yesterday. We’re waiting on the guy to come and fix it. Every now and then, you’ll feel a cold chill. It happens in a house with old bones like this.” When we get the bar, the guy behind it has a ‘prospect’ cut and Pocus slaps his hand on the black cement bar top. “Two beers, Buffy.”
“You got it, Prez.” The kid can’t be a day over twenty-one, but he double fists the bottles and pops the tops off them at the same time. He places them in front of us and I can see the sweat dripping down the outside of the bottle. A beautiful fat droplet that I can’t help but bring to mouth and sigh from how refreshing it is.
“Cold chill? That shouldn’t happen when the air conditioning is out,” I mention, following Pocus to the couch where a few of the guys are talking amongst themselves.
“Mon amie, haven’t you ever heard of ghosts?” Seer reveals himself in the front entryway, leaning against the wall with his arms and legs crossed. He has a big smile on his face.
“Don’t believe in ghosts,” I say, lifting the bottle to my lips.
Seer’s laugh booms, which somehow even has a slight Cajun twist to it. “Oh, I know that ain’t right. You do, you just don’t want to admit it. There are a few in this house. They’re harmless.”
“Yeah, they ain’t no problem,” Hex chimes in from the middle of the couch. His arms are spread wide across the back. “I’ve talked to them a few times to make sure. They like it here. They feel safe.”
Reaper spews his beers out, then coughs, which makes me wonder how Tool would act. Damn it, I wish he were here.
“I’m fine,” Reaper chokes again, his eyes turning red from the force of the cough. “Went down the wrong way.”
Hex smirks knowingly, “Sure, mon amie. That’s it.”
New Orleans is a whole other animal. There is shit here I do not and will not understand, but that’s the beauty about cultural differences. I can appreciate them even if I don’t completely understand them.
“Go on, sit down. Don’t let these fools scare you off.” Pocus sits down and Seer takes the seat beside him. The couch is big enough for ten people to fuck and sleep on.
The leather gives and molds to my body. I groan and drop my head against the cushion. This is a comfortable couch. I turn my head right to left. “Where is Bullseye?” I notice he isn’t around. I only see a huge flat screen TV hanging on the wall and a few portraits.
I swear, they are looking right at me.
“He’s in bed. He isn’t feeling too hot, but doesn’t want to admit it because of his pride,” Seer says.
“Dumbass,” Reaper hisses and goes to push himself up when Seer lifts his palm to stop him.
“Leave him be. He will learn the hard way. Don’t we have work to do for Daphne?” he asks, bringing us to the task at hand.
“Yeah.” Fast typing from my right has me staring at a slim gu
y. “I’m Snake, we have met before. Briefly,” he clarifies.
“Snake? What earned you that name?”
“I slither through all necessary evils to gain information.” The reflection of the computer shines in the guy’s eyes.
“I need to go check on Bullseye,” Reaper says. “I don’t feel comfortable not checking in.”
“Graveyard is with him. He’s fine. Getting the insulin he needs,” Pocus states, placing his elbows on his knees. “He’s our doctor.”
“And his name is Graveyard? That’s not too reassuring.”
“Should be, considering his graveyard doesn’t have anyone in it—”
The front door opening has everyone turning to see who it is. Lightning strikes across the sky and thunder rolls right after. The man shakes his jacket and pulls down his hood.
Oh, fuck no.
“What the fuck is he doing here?”
“He deserved to come, Tongue. Sit down and don’t cause any problems.”
“She’s my daughter and you won’t stop me from protecting her.”
Mercy has the audacity to imply I can’t protect her.
“Sit. Down,” Reaper’s tone leaves no room for argument as he grips my hand. “Now.”
I crack my neck and do as I’m told. I never take my eyes off Mercy as he drags a plastic chair from the corner, spins it backwards, and sits down. Water drips everywhere around him, and he slicks his silver hair back over his head to keep the wet strands out of his face.
I hate him.
“You could have told me.”
“And deal with your grouchy ass from Vegas to here? No, thanks,” Reaper answers me and then chugs down his beer.
Snake claps his hands together. “Okay, before this bickering gives me a headache. Her father—uh—sorry, Mercy. Her other father? I don’t know how to phrase it.”
“It’s okay. I haven’t exactly earned the title,” he says.
“Damn right,” I grumble and it earns me a hard slap in the chest.
“He has a record a mile long,” Snake ignores us and continues typing. “He has a crap ton of arrests from twenty years ago. All assault and battery charges, but they were always dropped.”
Mercy inhales a sharp breath and rubs his eyes. I feel bad for him. I’m being a bastard to him, but he just found out the woman he loved was abused and he had a daughter. I need to learn to be nice.
“A few drunk and disorderlies from a few different bars. DUI. His license is revoked. He shouldn’t be driving,” Snake clacks away at the keyboard. I’ve never seen fingers move so fast.
I’m jealous. I want to type like that, but I need to learn how to read and write better first.
“It isn’t too far-fetched he’d go too far. I’d say what happened to Michelle most definitely had something to do with him.”
“Oh, it did,” A guy coming from the hallway carrying a small black pack in one hand states. In the other, he has a file. “Here. This is for Bullseye. I know he already has one, but this is for you to keep if you feel necessary to check his sugar like he is a damn teenager.”
“All of my members are fucking teenagers,” Reaper snaps, side-eying me as if I’m a culprit.
Only right now… the rest of the time I’m not even noticeable.
“We haven’t met. I’m Graveyard. You don’t see me around because I work a few nights over at the local hospital. It’s the only reason I was able to get this file. It was sealed.”
Now that gets my attention. “Sneaky,” I say, impressed.
“You have your ways, I have mine.” He opens the file, and one flap hits the table with a small slap. “The autopsy report says she was shot in the head, but she was also shot in the shoulder.”
“That isn’t too common with suicides, is it?” Reaper asks.
“No. And statistically, it’s more likely for woman to pick a less violent method, like overdosing on drugs or the car fumes in the garage. A gun to the head is a man’s top choice.” He pulls out a few pictures and lays them on the table. “These are pictures of the crime scene—”
“Oh, Michelle,” Mercy’s voice breaks as he reaches for a picture. He rubs his fingers in his eyes to stop the tears, but it’s no use. The longer he stares at the image of his dead lover, the more emotional he gets.
“You know her?” Graveyard asks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
“We should have told you. He is the biological father of Daphne, and this is her mother,” Pocus advises with a regretful tone.
“Fuck, man. I’m sorry.” Graveyard tries to pick up the pictures, but Mercy stops him by grabbing his wrist.
“Don’t. I need to see what I could have prevented.” He analyzes the photographs and closes his eyes. “She died wearing the locket I gave her.”
I take a peek at a picture and see a silver locket covered in blood around her neck, hanging down to where it nearly touches the carpet in the picture. Mercy traces it with his finger, staring at her as if she had just died yesterday.
I guess she did. To him, at least.
No one knows what to say. There’s nothing to say. Nothing can make him feel better.
The thick expanse of Graveyard’s throat moves as he swallows. “So, it’s impossible for these wounds to have been made by her. Her father’s statement says he was trying to wrestle the gun away from her, but it backfired.”
“That isn’t possible?”
“No, the size of the wound, the gunpowder residue, the angle, she was most definitely shot at. And when he had her weak, he shot her between the eyes.”
“Why wouldn’t they catch that?”
“Twenty years ago. They probably saw a mess they didn’t want to clean up, and suicide was the easiest way,” Graveyard explains. “No real proof it was him either.”
“That’s not true,” I realize. “Daphne witnessed it.”
“She’s an unreliable witness, because of the psychosis.”
I slam my fist on the table and sneer my teeth at Graveyard. “Because she saw him kill her mother.”
“Doesn’t matter. Besides, there’s no way for us to prove it in court. It’s been too long.”
“So I can kill him?” I say happily.
“Like we were going to do any different.” Reaper rolls his eyes.
“Y’all, I just found a pretty good reason why her father attacked her aunt,” Snake pipes up.
Mercy stands and drops the picture in his hand. “Tina was attacked? What the fuck? Is there anything else you’re leaving out?”
Reaper rubs his temples. “No, that’s it. I’m sorry for not telling you.”
“Is she okay?” he asks, black brows so tight together they look like one.
“She’s hanging in there,” Seer says with a positive nod and gives Mercy a warm grin.
“Okay,” Mercy nods. “Daphne can’t lose her too.”
“Snake, what were you saying?”
“There was a will that Michelle left. She left all of her money to Daphne, but she could only get it when she turned twenty-six. Until then she had a guardian. Her aunt.”
“Her birthday is in June. He wanted her aunt to sign everything over, and she said no. That’s the only thing that makes sense. And he called Daphne because he knew he could get into her mind and fucking manipulate her to sign over the money. It can’t be much, right? The trailer is falling apart. She struggled growing up.”
“Because her mom was paying into an account for Daphne. She only kept what she needed to get by. It’s grown—” Snake whistles. “Two million dollars. No wonder her dad wants the will. He didn’t get life insurance since it was suicide and not an accident. Fuck, that’s why he wants Tina dead. If she dies, he is going to get that money.”
“No fucking way am I going to let my little girl suffer more than she already has. I’m going to kill that sonofabitch!”
“We can kill him together.” Lightning cracks outside, matching the fury in my heart. Mercy and I have a long stare off before he concedes.
Seer’s eyes are bright as he looks off into the distance. “He’s going to the hospital tomorrow.” He blinks and then sags against the couch, then examines my arm. “He’s going to rip a few of those stitches open.”
“I don’t care,” I say, finishing off my beer. “It won’t be the only scar I have.”
“I can staple it tonight to give it a better chance at not opening up,” Graveyard offers, picking up the pictures and putting them in the file.
“Can y’all bring the guy here? I want to see the Vegas boys in action, and see what the fuss is about,” Graveyard says.
Well, the NOLA chapter is about to get one hell of a show, because I’m not going to stop until this man is disemboweled.
And if Hex can see ghosts, I hope he witnesses Daphne’s father’s soul being dragged to hell or I’ll become the hellhound that rips him to pieces.
A slap of a hand across my cheek has my head jerking to the right and the handle of the coffee cup slipping out of my hand. It shatters on the floor with the coffee, which earns me another hit on my other cheek. My eyes water and my jaw drops open from the sting. Something flashes in my mind, a vision of him hitting my mom in the same fashion.
“Since you can’t make a decent drink, I’m going to the fuckin’ bar,” Daddy slurs, already drunk.
“How am I going to get to the hospital to see Aunt Tina?” I ask, holding in the tears as my cheek throbs.
“I don’t give a shit. Figure it out, Michelle,” he calls me by my mother’s name and as he stares at me, I don’t see love but pure hate.
He snatches the keys from the fruit bowl and leaves me holding my cheek. He kicks the coffee table as he passes by it, then kicks the screen door open with his foot. The door comes off its hinges, which doesn’t seem too difficult since it’s so cheap.
Crying, I kneel on the floor and pick up the pieces of the mug, careful to place them in my palm so I don’t cut myself. I wipe my cheek on my shirt and think about Tongue, wishing he was here so I felt safe. Something about this house makes my nerves shake. My instincts roar at me to get out.
