Bound by Legend: A Bound Novel (22 page)

The sun moved toward the mountains and cast long shadows across the ground as Morgan made her way back to the tracks. Where the hell was Jake? The overpass loomed in the distance. Maybe he would be there now. She squinted her eyes in the falling night at the darkness under the bridge. If not, she would walk to the tower and see if he was there. Failing that, she could always wait and see if he showed up in the park as night came on.

A couple of guys, lounging against the fence that enclosed the backsides of a couple of buildings on the north, whistled appreciatively and bumped fists as they eyed her. Lucy growled quietly but settled under a soft command. Morgan didn’t even glance at the guys, though she watched them take swigs from the beer bottles in their hands out the corner of her eye. In her old clothes, they might not have looked twice at her. In her clean t-shirt and well-fitting jeans with her hair clean and brushed, she probably looked pretty out of place on the tracks. An easy target.

As she drew even with them, they shoved away from the fence and moved to intercept. Morgan ignored them.

“Hey, gorgeous, what are you doin’ out here?” one of them slurred.

Rolling her eyes, Morgan didn’t answer.

“Hey baby, I’m talking to you.”

A hand closed around her wrist. Morgan dropped the leash and spun. Before the guy could react, her fist smashed into his face. Cartilage crunched under her blow and blood sprayed down his face.

He yowled, releasing her arm to grab at his broken nose. “You fucking bitch!”

Her head snapped to the side from the second guy’s hit. Morgan didn’t feel the pain. She blocked the next punch and swept his feet from under him, followed by a hard kick to the side of his head. The first recovered and grabbed her hair, yanking her toward him. While Lucy snarled in the background, Morgan used the momentum he’d created by pulling her to slam into him, taking them both to the ground.

They rolled across the dirt and rocks beside the tracks, each struggling for purchase. Morgan came out on top, quickly planting a punch to his throat and springing back. He wheezed and gagged. She rammed her boot into his side then grabbed a fistful of his hair. Wrenching his head off the ground she put her face in his. “Don’t ever try to jump me, asshole.”

She slammed his head into the ground a couple of times then turned toward the dog. The second man had roused enough to sit up but got no further than that. Lucy stood braced in front of his frozen form, lips peeled back over her teeth, a deep snarl issuing from her throat.

Morgan walked past him grabbing, Lucy’s leash on the way by. The dog immediately broke off and followed. Adrenaline still pumped through Morgan’s blood. Keyed up and still ready to fight, she worked to calm herself down. As it faded, the pain she’d barely registered during the fight finally broke through.

The whole left side of her face throbbed and the warm copper taste of blood filled her mouth. She spit the blood on the ground, feeling the swollen tissue and cut inside of her cheek with her tongue. Miraculously, all of her teeth were firmly in place. Idiot thought he was tough shit. Bet he’d never got into a physical fight with a demon. She almost laughed at the memory of him trying to get a hold on her while they rolled. If a demon couldn’t get a good grip on her, that idiot never stood a chance.

Morgan didn’t bother to look back. If they tried to follow, Lucy would let her know. The left sleeve of her t-shirt was half-torn away from its stitching at the top. Morgan mumbled a string of curses. This was one of her favorite shirts. The sting of the air on her skin drew her attention to the small scratches on her arms. She rolled her shoulders, feeling the bruises on her back and sides. Falling and rolling around in the sharp rocks next to the track had left their marks, too. Oh well, it was all very minor and would heal fast. Considering what the men had probably hoped to get when they came at her, it could be worse.

She passed under the bridge. Though getting darker by the minute, she didn’t see Jake there. A short climb back over the weed infested hill and she was back in the park. Up ahead, under one of the few street lamps, she finally saw him.

Letting out a relieved sigh, Morgan started toward him and called out, “Heya, Jake.”

He turned and waved, a smile spreading on his face. It faded as she drew closer. His eyes hardened and he reached out. Gripping her chin, he turned her face to expose what Morgan figured must be a pretty vibrant bruise. The side of her face felt swollen and the cold evening air stung.

“What the hell, Morgs?” Jake scowled, his eyes narrowing.

She shrugged and stepped back. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly dressed for wandering around this part of Denver after dark. Just a couple of assholes, nothing more.”

Jake swept his gaze over her. It came to a rest on her torn shirt and the cuts on her arms. “Are you all right otherwise?”

He glanced in the direction she’d come from. “Where are they?”

“One of them is lucky if he’s still conscious and the other is probably cleaning his pants right now.” Morgan tugged on his sleeve and walked farther into the park. When he didn’t follow, she looked back. “I’m fine other than the damage you see. And even if I wasn’t, I don’t need you to fight my battles.”

Jake finally trailed after her. “Where’s Lucian?”

“At his house, working on some things. He got me a truck. It’s nice to have the freedom to leave whenever I want without taking his car.”

“He got you a truck?” Jake whistled low. “That’s quite a gift. Things between you two are going well then?”

Morgan snorted. “Things between us are going nowhere. I know you said it was worth it and all... Besides, despite the kiss, I think he would rather it not get that way between us, too.”

Jake looked like he wanted to impart some more advice but thankfully kept his mouth shut. Morgan pulled a cigarette from her pack as they sat on one of the picnic tables. When Jake pulled one out too, she lit hers and then held out the flame for him. They smoked in companionable silence for a few minutes. He pulled out a half-empty bottle of whiskey and took a drink then offered it to her. Morgan accepted it and took a deep pull, feeling the burning all the way down her throat. It hit her stomach in a fiery rush and turned into pleasant warmth that spread through her body. She wasn’t planning on drinking enough to get drunk, with hellhounds and demons after her, it wouldn’t be smart. But enough to relax a bit and dull the pain in her face wouldn’t hurt anything.

“What are you doing out here when you have someplace to go, Morgs?” Jake asked as he took the bottle back.

She took a drag off her cigarette and let the smoke out slowly. “I’m out here because I’m a mental case.”

He laughed. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Ha, ha, funny. Seriously, I think I’m broken.”

Jake frowned. “What do you mean?”

She reached over, took the bottle from him and took another drink of the cheap liquid. It wouldn’t hurt to have another. “You know how hard losing Arabrim was for me. At the same time that it hurt so bad I barely held myself together, it was also a relief. I answered to only myself again. I didn’t have to worry about anyone other than me and Lucy. I had the pain of having the rug jerked out from under me just when I thought I was safe and yet I also felt some demented sense of comfort at being out here again. Free to roam wherever the day took me.

“There must be something wrong with me, right?” Morgan handed him the bottle. “I’m supposed to want a home, a comfortable bed, safety. Aren’t I?”

“That’s hard one to answer.” Jake took a drink. “I mean you’re asking me? I don’t even get a motel room when my disability money comes in. I’ve tried. I can’t sleep, can’t sit still, start to feel trapped by the walls. I’m not sure I’m the right one to ask. I’m all screwed up in the head and will probably wander the streets until I freeze to death or get killed by someone.”

He took another drink and handed it back to her. It didn’t burn as much as it slid down her throat this time. After she handed it back, Morgan leaned her head against his shoulder. “Well, we’re a pair aren’t we?”

“A couple of dysfunctionals.” Jake took a long drag of his cigarette. “You’re young still. You have more of a chance of changing if you seek it. In fact,” he appraised her, “I’m willing to bet the last of my whiskey that most of your trapped feeling comes from being in close proximity to a certain tall blond guy.”

Morgan rolled her eyes. “That has nothing to do with it.”

“Do yourself a favor and don’t lie to yourself, Morgs.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

He took another drag and sighed, blowing a cloud of smoke into the night. “Okay, I’ll play psychologist. God knows I went to enough of them at first, before Emily died.” Jake eyed her again. “You feel free out here and crave it because it’s easy.”

“Easy.” She sat up and frowned at him. “Living on the streets is easy? Since when?”

“Since you compared it with the terrifying possibility of handing your heart to someone. Of baring your soul and letting him see all of the broken and flawed pieces that make you who you are. And a hell of a lot easier than facing the world if they disappear from your life.” Jake cleared his throat then downed another swig.

“So you’re saying I’d rather be out here because I’m an emotional chickenshit?” Morgan glared at him and took a hard pull at her cigarette, unnerved by his assessment.

“Feathers and all, Morgs,” he chuckled and gave her a playful shove.

She stared at the chain-link fence across the road as the sound of sirens and bass echoed across the city. Somewhere in the distance, the distinct sound of gun shots punctured the night. Beside her, Jake tensed and stared in the direction of the shots. Morgan ignored the noise; it was far enough away it wouldn’t affect them. Several minutes later, more sirens wailed.

They were sounds she was used to. Noises she could doze through, tucked away somewhere. It was what she was used to. What she had spent the majority of the past four years living in.

Did she really want to spend the rest of her life living in it? Or was she, as Jake said, afraid to reach for anything else? More afraid of love, of heartbreak, than she was of being an old lady pushing a cart around the streets. Or worse, ending up a Jane Doe in the morgue long before she had the chance to grow old.

There were only so many people she could fight off and she’d had more than her fair share of close calls since hitting the streets at the age of fifteen. At least after she’d turned eighteen she’d no longer needed to worry about getting picked up as a runaway. She’d aged out of the system and the system didn’t give a rat’s ass what happened to her once she was an adult. The day before her eighteenth birthday they would have hauled her in had they caught her. The day after? Destitute young woman living homeless with the real possibility of death or worse, who cares?

“Damn it, Jake, why’d you have to go and make it complicated?”

He laughed. “I didn’t. You did that all by yourself, I just pointed it out to you.”

“Yeah, but I was pretty comfortable in my delusional bubble and now you’ve gone and screwed that all up.” She flicked the butt out into the street and pulled another cigarette out.

“It always sucks to have those bubbles burst.” He took another drink and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The glow of his cigarette butt soared through the air and landed in a shower of embers on the road. “Now you just have to be honest with yourself whether you want to go back to the bubble or face life as it comes at you.”

“How can I decide that when I’m not sure I can survive emotionally if I lose another person in my life? Especially someone like Lucian, what he might be to me if I open up? And what if I do open up, fall head over heels in love and then he doesn’t return the feelings?”

Jake’s chuckle was dark this time. “How the hell do you expect me to know that? Did you forget who you were talking to?” He handed the bottle to her and said, “I do have a question.”

“Shoot.” Morgan tipped the bottle back without thinking. A pleasant, relaxed feeling buzzed through her system.

“If you do lose it all after you get it and you go crazy, what does it matter?”

“You don’t think it will?”

He shook his head. “No. Either you will go so nuts you kill yourself, in which case it’ll all be over, or you will only go a little nuts and end up wandering around like Patsy muttering batshit crazy stuff. In that case, you’ll be out of it enough you won’t care what happened that made you that way.”

Morgan took another big drink and handed it back to him. “I don’t want to ever get to the point I want to kill myself. And I really don’t want to end up like Patsy.”

“You might not.” Jake shrugged and stared out at the night. “You might end up still lucid, just horribly broken and miserable. Like me.”

“That paints a rosy picture.”

“Doesn’t it?” He tipped the bottle back and drained it. “Still worth it.”

“So you say.”

Jake eyed the bottle. “Guess that’s it for that.”

He chucked it at a nearby trash can and the glass shattered as it fell into the metal container.

“Not quite.” Morgan handed Jake the leash and slid off the table. Though her whole body felt ultra-relaxed and tingly, she still managed a steady walk to the truck. After unlocking the door, she pulled out a bag then shut and locked it again.