Forsaken (14 page)

“I’m not,” he confessed, kissing me back for a second before moving away. “This urge that has consumed you, this need, it’s the thing that squats inside your soul,” he whispered against my skin, pulling my body into his, allowing me to feel his own need. “I want you more than you’ll know, but if I let you continue, I worry it will use the moment to its advantage and consume you completely.”

“So?” I pressed myself against him.

“Fuck,” he rumbled and gripped my arms harder than could be sexy. “Dylan, you have to stop.” He practically lifted me from his lap and sat me down next to him. Squatting in front of me, he forced me to look into his eyes. “You cannot feed into this. It will be your undoing.”

I rubbed my hand between my legs. “Undo me,” I laughed.

A stinging slap across my cheek rung my bell, bringing me back to life. “I’m sorry.” He pulled me in and hugged me tight. “I didn’t know what to do. You were…something else.”

Stunned, I didn’t say a word. Still reeling in the after-effects of grinding against both he and Dominika, for whatever that was worth, it was hard to come back to reality. The need to consume and be consumed festered deep inside me. “Do you have any bacon?” I asked.

“Ha! I’m sure we can get you something.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and punched in some numbers and such.

“What…I’m sorry.” I shook my head back and forth, trying to comprehend what had just gone down.

He pulled my forehead to touch his. “What will I do with you, Dylan Hart?”

“I don’t even know what the fuck to do with myself most of the time.” I’d never spoken truer words.

“Please, just stay you. Be that stubborn bitch I know you are and fight whatever it is that is trying to consume you.” His voice held fear and a knowing which made me worry I was worse off than he was letting on. “You’re better than panic sex.” His smile broke the tension. “The Dylan Hart I know would never think of sex in a time like this. No matter how much I’d rather have you back in my lap…”

His words sent a shockwave to my naughty bits. “If you’re not careful, I have a feeling you’ll get your wish.” I sat up and dropped my head into my hands. “What the fuck is this?” It’d been a while since my last roll in the hay, but I wasn’t that horny, and I sure as hell wasn’t that drunk. Perhaps, just maybe, I was that scared.

“Of course, this is more Lupe’s area of expertise. Non-expert opinion, your fear is leaving open a space for the evil that stalks you to seep in and have fun. The longer it stays, the more comfortable it gets, until eventually it won’t leave.”

“I have some family members like that.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” A new voice came from over my head. I looked up to see Luke, the new security guy, standing over me. “One triple bacon burger,” he said and set a greasy bag in my lap.

The smell was intoxicating. Meat, meat, and more meat.
Can’t have sex? Have meat.
“That was fast.”

“This time of night, you can take your pick of Roach Coaches out front. Boss man asked for meat and I delivered.”

“Quite the devoted employee.” I practically drooled over the steaming bag.

“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, baby,” Luke said and winked at me. It wasn’t a flirtatious gesture, just a goofy thing I was sure he did when he was nervous.

I didn’t want to talk anymore; I wanted food. Ripping into the bag, I pulled out a heaping mass of meat and bun. Dripping with yellow cheese and bacon grease, not a shred of lettuce could be seen. My eyes wide, I opened my mouth and shoveled the burger in throat-deep. Surely I looked like a pig, but I didn’t care. I needed to fuck or feed, and according to
el jefe
, I was only allowed one. My fat ass was nearly just as happy with the fast food. The burger would hold over my ravenous demons, but the hunger would never leave if I never forced it out. With dirt in my pocket and grease on my shirt, I was ready to fight for my life. And my right to get laid.

Bacon.

Chapter 12

There was a lump of meat and cheese in my throat when a familiar voice echoed behind me. The music stopped abruptly and everyone turned to stare over the top of my head. Behind me stood Detective Colorado and a gaggle of local uniformed officers.

“Ms. Hart. A pleasure,” the rotund man flashed a fake smile.

“Detective,” I answered with a full mouth as I tried to swallow back the burger and nervous bile which refused to move on.

“Sir, I don’t believe we’ve met. Cyrus–"

“Sher Mahin. Nice to meet you.”

“Sir.” Cyrus nodded at his long-lost name and shook his hand. “What can I help you with?” The room was silent except for the slight shuffle of taffeta and lace.

“I had a few questions for you regarding the Price girl.” He meant Tatum, but referred to her in a way which made her sound more like the suspect than the victim.

“Surely. However, I’m not certain this is the correct venue for such a conversation. If you wouldn't mind–"

“In fact, I do. Now is best for me.” He looked at his watch. “In fact, it seems as though you’ve missed last call.”

“You see, sir, Embrace is an exclusive, private club. We close at dawn.”

“Your alcohol service?” Colorado interrogated, probably trying to bust Cyrus for anything he could.

“Is included in their membership fees and thus no different than a party in a private home.” Cyrus had an answer for everything, it seemed.

“And your city officials haven’t given you any more grief about it?” The detective’s sluggish cadence pulled every word out longer than necessary.

“They’re tax-paying citizens, Detective,” Mike’s baritone broke the tension. “No law has been broken. Honestly, city officials have more on their plate than a group of consenting adults hanging around playing dress-up.”

I smiled at the sight of the man I’d come to realize I loved without fault. He flashed a tight-lipped grin back at me. It was fleeting and not his usual starry-eyed gaze. I’d pissed him off good. If I knew him like I thought I did, he’d get over it eventually. I hoped.

“Detective Petersen, would you and your officers mind giving me a hand?”

Mike sighed and nodded his head. “Cyrus, can we get lights please?” His cordial tone was odd for the circumstance.

Cyrus grimaced and waved his finger around in the air and someone, somewhere flipped on the overheads. Florescent light filled the space and stung my tired eyes. People shielded their faces from the glare. “I do apologize, folks. Please return tomorrow at dusk. I will ensure your evening is fully catered and an experience you’ll never forget,” Cyrus called out to the masses with the flourish of a ringmaster.

Plastic-fanged patrons filed out the front door where uniformed officers were rudely checking I.D.s. It was a waste of time and resources when all the detective wanted was to speak with the owner about a dead girl. An interrogation tactic I’d never seen, but appreciated for its tenacity and ingenuity.

“Is this really necessary?” I asked Mike.

“Don’t start,” Mike said, pointing his finger at me.

I raised my hands in surrender. I was in no position to pitch a fit. I knew Cyrus well enough to know he was a better liar than me, so he’d have no problem skating around Colorado’s questions. The three of us had set out a basic outline for the series of events on our two-day train ride from New Orleans back home so our stories would match. I shot a glance toward Cyrus and he caught it. With one nod, he told me it was all under control. Mike stood near me, hands on his hips, surveying the crowd but not really seeing anything in particular. With the two of them watching my back, I was reminded of the feeling I had on that train back to L.A. The feeling that I had people who gave a shit about me, gave a shit enough to put their own asses on the line for the likes of snarky, pig-headed, fucked-in-the-head Dylan Hart.

“Mr–"

“Atossa, please.”

“Yes, yes.” Colorado’s head bounced in agreement and his double chin wiggled. “Would you please?” He held a thick hand toward a far corner occupied only by a single red couch.

Cyrus nodded and made his way in the suggested direction. Without a thought, I followed suit, but a heavy hand on the bend of my arm stopped me in my tracks.

“Seriously?” Mike asked, his expression reading more sorrow than anger. “You think he wants you over there?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I really think you have the wrong idea about Cyrus.”

He closed his eyes and shook his head. “I meant Colorado, dumbass. What’ve you been drinking?”

“Not nearly enough of anything.” I planted my hands on my hips and let out air through pursed lips.

“You doing all right?” He changed the subject in the direction I’d hoped we could avoid.

I shrugged and tilted my head back and forth. “Better. I think. I’m not really sure where I stand right now. Learning a lot about this horseshit,” I whirled my hand around referring to anything and everything occult-related, “about myself.” I swallowed hard.

Mike’s eyes focused on his own feet. “I wasn’t lying.” He paused and seemed to consider his words before saying them. “When I said I was scared for you. I’m serious. This whole…” he mimicked my hand motion, “world is scary.”

“You have no idea.”

“I want to.” I looked at him under my raised brow. “Really. I do. Good or bad, crazy or not. I want to know everything you know. If it means understanding what you’re dealing with and keeping you safe, then I’m in.”

“You have no idea what you’re asking. Trust me,” I chuckled.

“I do. Not now, but soon, I want you to tell me everything.”

I thought on it. I’d damned myself with my curiosity, but he didn’t have to follow me down that same road to Hell just the same. Considering my own descent into the occult, I surmised there was a good shot my being marked had less to do with the knowledge I’d attained and more to do with the assholes I’d pissed off along the way. “Let me get through the next twenty-four hours and you’ve got a deal.”

He smiled and it crinkled the corners of his eyes, reminding me of better days. “For now, how about I give you some information which might lighten your load? I’m not even sure Cyrus can explain this one.”

“Hm, maybe try Dominika,” I mumbled and glanced around to find her, coming up empty.

“Police reports are coming in about Tatum,” he whispered and stepped nearer to me.

“How the hell did you get your hands on those? They’re handing that shit out now?” I glanced around with just my eyes, pretending as though we were discussing something personal and completely unrelated to dead girls.

“Let’s just say I owe my captain big.” I flashed on Mike making like a circus seal and shuddered. “The remnants of bones we left behind…are unidentifiable.”

“Hell yeah!” I hooted with a fist pump.

“Shh.” He looked around. “I don’t mean they don’t know who they belong to; I mean they don’t know what
species
they belong to. The skull, which I can only assume was Malcolm’s head, has the New Orleans medical examiner’s office scratching their heads. They’re wondering if it’s a fake of some kind.”

“Makes sense with what I learned today.”

“Well, the others they are calling artifacts. As in ancient. The report dismisses them as calcified and not identifiable to any modern human being.”

“Now that’s new. I can’t make light on that, but I know someone who might be able to,” I said, adding yet another to-do on my Lupe checklist.

“Looks like they’re on the track to believing Tatum was part of a ritual killing. Makes for a great headline to honor our girl properly and nearly clears you of any suspicion.”

“Me, but not Cyrus.” I glanced at the man in question. He sat casually next to the large detective.

“He seems capable of taking care of himself. With Malcolm MIA, he will quickly become a prime suspect. Dylan, it’s not over yet, but you can breathe. This is good news.” He laid a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

“There’s so much more taking my breath these days than homicide. I can’t explain it all right now, for lots of reasons, but mostly because I don’t have enough answers myself. Soon.” I nodded, thinking about how many hours I had until I could visit Lupe again.

“What can I do?” It was odd to hear those words, in that tone, in the wake of an occult-type conversation.

“Right now, nothing.” I scoffed. “Pray. Unless you’re an expert in the occult, that’s about all you’re qualified to do.”

“I think I can handle that.” He looked at Cyrus and the detective as they chatted. I thought I even saw Colorado crack a smile. Cyrus had that effect on people. “Hey, wanna come by and have a beer after…this crap?”

I smiled and it felt good. “You know, give me a day. I’ve got something I have to do, something I can’t screw off on, but when it’s done I think…I hope, I’ll be free.” I replayed what Cyrus had told me. Mike, through all his bullshit, would always be my person. I was too fucking tired to fight that fact anymore.

“What are you doing? It’s gotta be something I won’t like or you’d just tell me. What are you hiding?”

“Right now? A pocket full of stolen graveyard dirt and a horny, hungry, festering demon burrowing its way into my immortal soul.”

“Oh.” He thought for a moment. “Is that the smell?”

“You can smell it, too? What the fuck?” I flapped my arms.

“Detective,” Colorado’s drawl interrupted us.

“I’ll give you a call later,” Mike said.

“Yeah. I’ll see you.” His hand met mine and squeezed before he moved on.

I looked to Cyrus who smiled and shook each of their hands. “Detectives. Thank you for your service.”

“I hope you’re freed up to track down the bastards who
took
my friend,” I said to Colorado in a tone a tad snippier than I’d intended.

“Ma’am, I’ll be in contact with you regarding the transport of Ms. Price’s remains.” He was curt and left it at that. I hoped that was the last time I’d see Jabba the Detective in my town.

Mike stole one last wink at me over his shoulder before they shoved their way out the double doors and into the chilly November night. Whatever contention he’d held for me and my lack of empathy had faded away the moment I let my guard down and let him peek over my fences again. A tiny weight lifted from my shoulders. I wasn’t out of the haunted woods yet, but as far as the law was concerned, the future was looking bright. Other aspects were still a cesspool of fuckery, but there really wasn’t much I could do about that; I’d have to leave it for another day. Maybe.

“Well?” I asked Cyrus.

“I do believe you’ll be fine, my dear. I schmoozed my little heart out.”

“Thank you.” We stood side by side and looked out onto the disheveled, empty space. “Oh, Cyrus, can you please explain to me why the bones of a twenty-something voodoo bitch would appear to be that of ancient artifacts?”

He chuckled softly and looked at the floor. “Humph, boy, medical advancements will someday ruin the veil between the old world and the new.”

My arm began to itch where my mystery ink had been laid. I rubbed it against my jeans. “You know, this time, I really don’t want to know. In fact, the only things I give a shit about at this moment are where am I sleeping and good God, can I take these pants off?”

“There is so much about those words that I want to make mine. Instead, I’m going to offer you my loft bed and guess that you’re supposed to wear that dirt near your body until you see Lupe again. That being said, I will not be sharing the bed with you.”

“What am I, a fucking leper?”

“No, of course not.” He kissed my forehead when he passed me. “You fucking reek, love.”

Covered in the stench of Hell, marked by a demon, and tits-deep into the occult, I wondered how quickly I could pen and publish a memoir.

Fuck me if I ain’t a living, breathing, cursed New York Times bestseller.