Hot-Blooded (35 page)
Authors: Kendall Grey
Tags: #surfing, #volcanoes, #drugs, #Hawaii, #crime, #tiki, #suspense, #drug lords, #Pele, #guns, #thriller
Keahilani breathed deeply and stared down at the box. She opened it and shook the contents over the sacred ground. “You’re free, Bane. Find Mahina and ride
ka po‘ina nalu
together.”
Kai kissed his fingers and lowered them in a respectful gesture. Manō loosened the hold on his scowl and nodded curtly.
Once the ashes were dispersed, the Night Marchers took up their torches and paraded away on feet that made no sound to drumbeats without drums.
Keahilani bounced her gaze between Kai and Manō. Their business concluded, she said, “Let’s go home.”
Epilogue
Monday, October 6
One arm occupied with a briefcase and the other with a precarious stack of papers, Scott shouldered open the door to his office. The pungent odor of cigarillos seized his nose in a hostile takeover to rival one of his own aggressive business ventures. A huge smile overcame his usual frown as he located the source of the smoke rising from behind the desk.
“Jesus Christ, Blake. Where the hell have you been?” he demanded, kicking the wood shut behind him. He rushed to the desk and dumped his load.
The big brown leather chair swiveled away from the window. His heart stabbed his throat.
Keahilani occupied the seat, posed in a catlike lean to the right with an elbow propped on the chair’s arm. One of Blake’s cigars, the cheap smell unmistakable, nestled between her black-gloved index and middle fingers. She wore a short red dress—Dolce & Gabbana, if he wasn’t mistaken. It was a high-necked, lacy number that set off her brown skin. Toned and moisturized long legs crossed at the thighs. A pair of designer shoes with heels sharp enough to be classified as murder weapons topped off her pedicured feet. The hair was obviously a wig, but the black and red combination suited her face. A demure hat with a veil shaded the emeralds of her eyes.
“Blake’s not here right now. But if you leave your name, number, and a brief message, he’ll get back to you.” She sucked a long drag off the cigarillo and exhaled its foul stench through her nose. “Actually, unless you’ve got a direct line to the other side, he probably won’t be getting back to you.” She straightened some papers on the desk and flipped her lashes up to meet his gaze. Black circles surrounded her irises. Chilling. Familiar.
“What did you do to him?” Scott asked casually, fearing for his friend’s life. He’d spent a small fortune on three private investigators who’d tailed the Alana family since he left Maui two days ago. They’d turned up nothing.
Arching a smug brow, she dropped her gaze to the heart trying to beat its way out of his chest. “What does your blood tell you?”
A shiver stalked Scott. She killed him. The bitch fucking killed Blake. Seething, he lunged forward and said through gritted teeth, “I
will
find that farm—”
“You’re welcome to try.” Her low, sure voice taunted him.
“—and when I do, I’ll make it mine. Blood ties be damned.”
“Oh, they’re damned, all right.” Laughing, she stood up, put out the cigar on his $10,000 desk, and smoothed her dress. The veil covering her face was far too thin to produce the shadows darkening it. No, those shadows came from within.
Keahilani swaggered to the door. She twisted the knob, then paused for a final glance back, a sinister smile welded on to her lips. The chilling conviction in her face assured Scott this wasn’t the last he’d see of her.
Just before she strutted out, effortlessly balanced on five-inch clacking heels, Keahilani threw over her shoulder, “Welcome to the family.”
About the Author
Kendall Grey is the self-appointed past, present, and future president of the Authors Behaving Badly Club. A whale warrior and indie freedom fighter, she spends summers in the corner (usually with a dunce cap on her head) and winters hunched at the peak of Mt. Trouble, fiery pens of fury (complete with invisible ink) flying across the pages. She has a big set of cajones, and she’s not afraid to use them. In her spare time, Kendall speaks your mind so you don’t have to.
Kendall lives off a dirt road near Atlanta, Georgia, but don’t hold that against her.
