Hot-Blooded (27 page)

“At least give me some water. Dying of thirst over here.” Or dying in general. “How about a cigar?”

“Let me make a few things clear,
boy
.” Manō’s lids widened, accenting the last word, and giving Blake a complimentary glimpse into the mind and soul of what was probably a madman. The opaque intensity of his black stare and his closeness filled Blake with desperate understanding. “The only reason you’re alive right now is because Keahilani
allows
you to live. You so much as blink wrong, and I’ll introduce you to your maker.” He eased back a couple inches. “What happened to my family’s deal with Lui?”

Well, that was an abrupt change of topic. Blake shifted his gaze to the ceiling. “I don’t know anyone with that name.”

Manō grasped his thigh, just below the wound, and squeezed. Blake could’ve sworn the guy’s teeth sharpened to triangle-shaped points. “I don’t believe you,” he said.

Blake clenched his jaw, jacked his head toward the ceiling, and endured the new pain shooting up, down, and all around his leg. They were both nuts, but he had a feeling Lui would exact more frightening vengeance on Blake for spilling than Manō would. “Don’t know any Lui.”

Standing, Manō regarded him coolly. Blake couldn’t read the guy. No tells. No shifty eyes. No sweating. The guy was a fucking Sharknado.

“Reconsider your answer. I’ll be back later.” He paused. “With tools.”

Fuckin’ great. He was so dead. “I still need water. And I gotta piss. Not necessarily in that order,” Blake said.

When he turned away, silver reflected deep within Manō’s black eyes. The glow was that of a cat scanning the dark, but not so much freaky as depths-of-the-ocean
cold
. No other word for it. He shivered as the slammed door flipped him off with a giant “fuck you.”

Blake ground his head into the thick mattress. He was losing his shit. Total nutjob right here. People didn’t have eyeshine—or whatever the hell that shit was called. They didn’t have sharp teeth or shadows that sucked light from the air.

Nope, Blake was just plain crazy.

He tested his bonds with a tug that was more the struggle of a paralyzed man trapped inside a stubborn, unyielding body than the manly yank he’d hoped for. Okay, so breaking out of the duct tape handcuffs wasn’t happening.

He scoured the room for weapons, clues that might help him win his captors’ trust—
anything
that could bust him out of here. It was empty except for the furniture. Manō had relieved Blake of his phone, cigars, lighter, knife, and wallet. Tied to a bed with a throbbing, well-on-its-way-to-being-infected leg, and no rescue in sight, he settled into a shaky, unnerving state of half awareness. His spirit seemed to disconnect from his body, and it hovered between the “real” world and some other place.

The pseudodream assumed a life of its own and took over his senses one at a time. He focused on his breathing to keep the pain at bay, but the pulsing soreness in his leg was a given. Always felt, never dulled. Damning him with each heartbeat. Inevitable.

Rich, metallic iron assaulted his taste buds. Was it his blood, or someone else’s? Real or imagined?

Plumeria teased his nose with a single puff of scent. He inhaled quickly, over and over, eager for another whiff of Kea, but he never got it. Just enough to arouse the parts of him better left unattended in his current, two-pints-low state.

Where was he?

Mists blurred the silhouette of a great mountain before him. Ah, back to the foot of Haleakalā, where he’d seen the tiki-masked figures earlier.

Cracks. Low-pitched, deep ones. High-pitched ones at the tops of distant peaks. Splintering boulders shattered the calm in his ears. The mighty snaps of continents splitting into great shards, separating, welcoming the hiss of superheated lava exposed to cool air. Steam-powered shrills emanating deep within the earth, louder, louder, LOUDER. Until …

She
rose again from the volcano, horrifying in size and penetrating heat. Red tendrils of hair waved at him like Medusa’s snakes. Her eyes dripped tears of lava. Her breath shot out in tongues of flame.

The tiki men shimmered into existence. Chanting, they roamed up the mountain with raised torches, either intent on avenging their own deaths or looking for a doorway into the next world. Whichever the case, Blake planned to stay out of their path.

The scene unfolding before him featured the same lava-iced slopes he’d envisioned at Haleakalā earlier tonight, the same steamy vengeance tainting the air, and the same fury.

Pele turned her gaze to Blake and pointed a long, red-tipped finger at him.
You have deeply offended me, my ‘ohana, and Bane. You lied to me. Betrayed my family. Shot my brother. What do you have to say for yourself?

No use lying to a damn vision. “Guilty on the first two counts. But I didn’t shoot anyone.”

She stalked toward him, a burning fire pit of hard femininity, black domination, and revenge.
You are mine, Blake Murphy.

He swallowed. Of that, he had no doubt.

Chapter Twenty-Five

At 4 a.m., Keahilani arrived at the safe house outside Kula. Her body was exhausted, but her brain was wired. As expected, Manō was still awake, sitting in the near dark at the kitchen table with a small pile of notebooks before him.

She tossed her keys next to the stack, and picked up the top one. “What’s this?” Her mother’s handwriting covered the front:
Mahina Alana, 1993
. A tingle zipped up her spine. Must’ve been half a dozen journals here. “Where did you find these?”

“The hall closet.”

She sat across from Manō and thumbed through the diary. It smelled like Mahina despite the many years since she’d written in it. Keahilani smiled. There was a certain comfort in holding more of her mother’s words, and she was glad the memoir hadn’t ended as she thought with the other journal. She’d probably be spending a good chunk of time at the hospital in the coming days. At least she had some good reading material.

Manō looked at her expectantly.

Right. Bane. “The surgery went well. He’s critical but stable, and they’re keeping him in ICU until he stabilizes. Doctor says he’s got a fifty-fifty chance. The bullet nicked the bottom of his left lung and the top of the liver. It missed his heart and spine by less than an inch. A couple ribs on the left side were hit and splintered. They had to clean up a lot of fragments and repair the organ damage. Good news is the bullet went straight through, so it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been. If he lives through the recovery, he might surf again one day.” She didn’t need to mention he’d probably never function at the same level.

“What did the police say?”

“Ret is assisting the lead detective. I spoke with her privately, and she promised to keep us informed and to cover for us if needed.” Keahilani hadn’t yet decided whether she should tell Ret about Blake’s possible involvement. For the time being, it seemed better to leave things vague.

“Kai’s staying at the hospital tonight. I figured we’d take turns since Bane will probably be there a while.” She hit him with a direct stare. “I don’t want him to be alone, Manō.” Mahina wouldn’t have left his side, and neither would his ‘ohana.

If Blake told the truth, and he really didn’t shoot Bane, then someone else did. If that person got word Bane was still alive, they might try again. “Did you get anything out of Blake?”

“He swears he didn’t do it.” Manō’s lips moved but the rest of him didn’t. The shadows tightened their grip on him.

Keahilani swallowed hard. “You … pressured him?”

“He’s out of it. Delusional. No point pressing anything when he doesn’t even know where he is.”

“But he maintains he’s innocent.”

“Between rants about volcanoes and tiki monsters and you, yeah.”

A thrill shot through her belly at Blake’s mention of her, but she stifled it. He lost a lot of blood. He was probably hallucinating.

Keahilani crossed her arms, stuffed both fists into her armpits, and sighed as she sat back. She gazed at the journals on the table. “Something about this feels … wrong. I’m talking from my gut, so hear me out.”

Manō dipped his head for her to continue.

“I
might
believe Blake. I don’t have any reason to, except he confided in me about accidentally shooting a little kid several years ago. Said he swore off guns from that point on. Doesn’t even like to look at them.

“Blake’s a thieving, swindling assassin who works for a drug-dealing bully. It’s his business to remove human beings from this earth and dump their asses onto the ferry destined for whatever afterlife they deserve. He confessed to me he did plan to kill Bane, but I’m certain he wouldn’t have used a gun. He’d have used a knife.”

The jury was still out on whether Blake would’ve really put Bane in the ground, but right now she wanted—no,
needed
—to believe he wouldn’t have done that to her. He knew how much she cared about her ‘ohana. The thought of him intentionally breaking up her support network didn’t anger her anymore. It hurt.

“If Blake didn’t do it, then who are the suspects?” Manō asked.

Keahilani dragged in a deep breath. “Jezzy was the one who tipped me off. If she’s also working for Scott and Blake, I’m not sure we can rely on her anymore.” The possibility of losing such a valuable resource added another layer of crap frosting to the shit pie.

“I trust her.”

Keahilani shook her head. “I don’t know. Jezzy strikes me as a lone ranger who’ll side with whoever flashes the most green.”

“To a point,” Manō conceded. “But her heads-up about Bane proves she has at least some loyalty. We didn’t pay her for that.”

“True. Scott obviously wants Bane dead, and I gotta admit, the evidence is … compelling. Do you think Bane could have murdered Scott’s wife?”

“Absolutely.”

Keahilani did a double take. “What?” She blinked several times. No way. “No, he didn’t kill anyone,” she scoffed. “How would he … What makes you think so?”

“A year ago, he took a message for me at the shop from a potential client. He called them back, posing as me. The guy offered a hit on a woman on Oahu. He accepted it, no questions asked.”

The hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention. “Why would Bane pose as you?” She’d been a fool to believe her sweet brother was oblivious to what the rest of them did when he wasn’t around. She’d tried to hide their vices from him and clearly failed.

Manō shrugged. “Attention? The thrill of doing something taboo?” He nailed her with an accusing glare. “To passive-aggressively prove to his overprotective sister he could?”

Ouch.

“It was the weekend of the Sunset Beach competition. He flew to Oahu, did the job, and then surfed the next day.”

She remembered. He’d been disappointed he didn’t place in the top five. Maybe his mind had been elsewhere. Keahilani was flabbergasted. Stunned. Saddened. “How did you find out about this?”

“He told me when he got home.”

She swallowed. Bane had confided in Manō instead of her?
Double ouch.
“Was he scared?”

He shook his head.

“Sorry he did it?” She wasn’t sure whether she was eager to defend Bane from Manō’s allegations or regain her faith in him. Probably a little of both.

Another head shake, this one slower.

Her heart sunk like an anchor. Disappointment trailed behind in the long length of rusty chain. “Well, I guess our little brother isn’t as little as I thought.”

“He never was, Keahilani. Your idea of him is not the same as the reality. You dote on him too much. He’s only human.”

That knocked the breath out of her. Bane might be human, but he was supposed to be the good one. Out of all of the Alanas, he was the one who had a shot at being somebody better than a drug king polluting people’s lives with a few hours of vaporous happiness in a plastic baggie. He was supposed to save them from themselves. He’d always been the light that allowed her to see in Mahina’s absence.

Bane was Keahilani’s
hope
for the ‘ohana. Now that hope was shattered.

She fought the rising tide of sadness welling in her chest. “Do you think the same is true about Mahina? That I idolized her when I should’ve seen through the glamour to the sad truth underneath?” She dared him to say yes.

He pushed the 1993 journal between her hands. “You tell me.”

Sore and bruised from the repeated kicks to the heart, she pressed her lips together to keep from exploding and burst away from the table, diary clutched to her chest. Screw Manō and his
I told you so
’s. She stomped down the hall to the guest bedroom and peeked inside.

Blake lay on the bed. Duct tape around his hands and feet bound him to the four posts at each corner of the mattress. His head rolled back and forth, and he mumbled. Keahilani inched closer, trying to make out what he said. Gibberish about masks and tiki shadows chasing him down Haleakalā.

She laid a palm on his hot cheek. Fever? She touched the other side, which was equally as hot. He didn’t kick so much as struggle under the suppression of silver tape. He’d rubbed his skin raw at the wrists and ankles.

A pang of regret dinged in her stomach as she leaned over him. How could she be so angry with him and yet feel bad for him?