Personal Demon
Page 51
“Petite.”
He turned me to face him, and perched me on the edge of the low section next to the stove. Then he slid the shirt up over my thighs, pulling my legs around him, and pushed into me.
I gasped. “Having sex with a woman while she’s cooking your breakfast? Your fantasies are showing your age, Karl.”
“Is that a complaint?”
“An observation.”
“Ah.”
“But if I overcook the bacon…”
“My fault. Risk noted.” He thrust into me. “And accepted.”
OVER BREAKFAST, KARL wanted to talk about Jaz and Sonny’s disappearance. I’d rather have not.
The mention of Jaz’s name made my stomach churn. I was worried about him and desperately wanted to find him, to make sure he was safe. And then what? How would I explain this?
Thank God you’re back, Jaz. Er, but about that special night you had planned…
Yes, I’d initially wanted a fling with Jaz because of Karl, to wipe him from my mind, but it hadn’t been a casual hookup. I liked Jaz, cared about him, and that only made it all worse.
But if I did care, then I had to put my own feelings of guilt aside and concentrate on figuring out what had happened to him. Karl raised the possibility that Jaz and Sonny’s disappearance was an inside job. I think he was shocked when I agreed it was a possibility. Did he expect me to jump to the defense of people I’d met only days ago? We weren’t dealing with a Boy Scout troop.
When he told me whom he suspected, though, I did disagree. Could I see Guy killing a crew member to further his agenda? Possibly. But it wouldn’t be Jaz.
We decided the next step was to get into the club and take a look around while everyone else was sleeping off a late night hunting for Jaz and Sonny. It was unlikely we’d find a “why I kidnapped my crew mates” note hidden in the back closet. But if Guy kept any records of those Cabal dustups they’d be at the club.
YESTERDAY, KARL HAD huffed about poor security at the club. Seems that had been his ill humor talking. The security was well above anything I could breach, and even Karl had to work to get us in.
Once inside, we split up to check the building and ensure we were indeed alone. Karl would take the office; I’d look through the club and back storerooms.
Walking through the club reminded me of the first time I’d cut through with Bianca. Now, alone, that unnatural hush and shadowy darkness was even worse.
I felt my way around the pool tables as I circumvented the dance floor. Ahead I saw those floor-side tables where we’d partied after the sweet sixteen heist. I stared at the chair where I’d sat on Jaz’s lap.
If Jaz hadn’t disappeared, would last night have been different? No. If Karl and I had managed to find another route past the anger, I’d be here now worrying about what to tell Jaz.
Had I used him?
In a way, yes. I’d seized a genuine attraction to try and get over Karl.
But that attraction…Part of me wanted to say it was purely physical. He was young and hot and interested—the perfect recipe for chemistry. To admit there’d been more felt like a disloyalty to Karl, that buried romantic in me wanting to say that Karl was everything I’d ever wanted.
But with Jaz there had been a connection. Had there been no Karl, then I think we could have had something.
“How did you get in here?”
I jumped at Bianca’s voice. But when I spun around, I couldn’t see her.
“I asked you a question,” Bianca said.
Her voice was sharp. I felt her anger ripple through me as I peered around the club.
“You have five seconds to tell me who the hell you are, or I’m escorting you to the front door. After I call security.”
A man’s laugh, then a voice, unfamiliar. “There’s no one here but us, Bianca.”
“Do I know you?”
“Don’t you?”
The voice grew closer, and a dash of fear seeped into her anger. I closed my eyes and circled, stopping when I felt a mental twinge that said “this way to the chaos buffet.” When I opened my eyes, I was staring at the door to the stockrooms.
“What do you want?” Bianca said.
“Uh-uh. Keep your distance, babe. Third-degree burns aren’t on my agenda.”
I slid my gun from my purse and hurried to the hall door.
HOPE: TASTE OF DEATH
I slowly turned the knob, then opened the door a crack. Light flooded out. I listened. All was silent. A peek through. Four doors, all closed. If I remembered right, the first two were for janitorial supplies and technical equipment, and the last pair for bar stock.
“One last time,” Bianca said. “What do you want?”
Her voice echoed, simultaneously heard in my head and, muffled, from down the hall. I raised my gun and took a slow step forward, testing the floor against my shoes, seeing how easily they’d squeak on the painted concrete.
“I want you to take a message to your boss,” the man said. “From Benicio Cortez.”
I broke into a jog, moving as quickly and silently as I could.
“What is it?” Bianca asked.
“Here, catch.”
I stumbled back, hit by a lash of chaos so strong it left me blinking, blinded.
I squeezed my eyes shut, brain screaming, knowing what was coming and fighting to stop—
Bianca’s face. Her horror. Reduced to pants-wetting terror as she saw the gun lift, the gunman’s finger on the trigger, and knew she couldn’t escape, couldn’t scream, wouldn’t have time. The bullet spit from the gun, near silent, hitting her square in the forehead. I heard her last thought, a mental scream of defiance. No! Not me! Not now!
Then…silence.
I could see Bianca’s horror, recognize her horror, be horrified by it and yet, I felt none of it, consumed as the chaos flooded me, leaving me trembling and panting and…Oh, God. Wanting more.
The first time I’d felt someone die, that night I’d met Karl, it had been too strong, like my first shot of hard liquor, leaving me reeling, no pleasure to be taken. And I’d been relieved. So relieved. However screwed up my lust for chaos, at least I was never going to enjoy that. I’d soon realized I’d been wrong. Like liquor, it was only the first hit that stung.
As the vision dimmed, I saw a man bend over Bianca’s body. Average height, dark-haired, late thirties, Latino, with a heavy jacket and loose pants.
He turned me to face him, and perched me on the edge of the low section next to the stove. Then he slid the shirt up over my thighs, pulling my legs around him, and pushed into me.
I gasped. “Having sex with a woman while she’s cooking your breakfast? Your fantasies are showing your age, Karl.”
“Is that a complaint?”
“An observation.”
“Ah.”
“But if I overcook the bacon…”
“My fault. Risk noted.” He thrust into me. “And accepted.”
OVER BREAKFAST, KARL wanted to talk about Jaz and Sonny’s disappearance. I’d rather have not.
The mention of Jaz’s name made my stomach churn. I was worried about him and desperately wanted to find him, to make sure he was safe. And then what? How would I explain this?
Thank God you’re back, Jaz. Er, but about that special night you had planned…
Yes, I’d initially wanted a fling with Jaz because of Karl, to wipe him from my mind, but it hadn’t been a casual hookup. I liked Jaz, cared about him, and that only made it all worse.
But if I did care, then I had to put my own feelings of guilt aside and concentrate on figuring out what had happened to him. Karl raised the possibility that Jaz and Sonny’s disappearance was an inside job. I think he was shocked when I agreed it was a possibility. Did he expect me to jump to the defense of people I’d met only days ago? We weren’t dealing with a Boy Scout troop.
When he told me whom he suspected, though, I did disagree. Could I see Guy killing a crew member to further his agenda? Possibly. But it wouldn’t be Jaz.
We decided the next step was to get into the club and take a look around while everyone else was sleeping off a late night hunting for Jaz and Sonny. It was unlikely we’d find a “why I kidnapped my crew mates” note hidden in the back closet. But if Guy kept any records of those Cabal dustups they’d be at the club.
YESTERDAY, KARL HAD huffed about poor security at the club. Seems that had been his ill humor talking. The security was well above anything I could breach, and even Karl had to work to get us in.
Once inside, we split up to check the building and ensure we were indeed alone. Karl would take the office; I’d look through the club and back storerooms.
Walking through the club reminded me of the first time I’d cut through with Bianca. Now, alone, that unnatural hush and shadowy darkness was even worse.
I felt my way around the pool tables as I circumvented the dance floor. Ahead I saw those floor-side tables where we’d partied after the sweet sixteen heist. I stared at the chair where I’d sat on Jaz’s lap.
If Jaz hadn’t disappeared, would last night have been different? No. If Karl and I had managed to find another route past the anger, I’d be here now worrying about what to tell Jaz.
Had I used him?
In a way, yes. I’d seized a genuine attraction to try and get over Karl.
But that attraction…Part of me wanted to say it was purely physical. He was young and hot and interested—the perfect recipe for chemistry. To admit there’d been more felt like a disloyalty to Karl, that buried romantic in me wanting to say that Karl was everything I’d ever wanted.
But with Jaz there had been a connection. Had there been no Karl, then I think we could have had something.
“How did you get in here?”
I jumped at Bianca’s voice. But when I spun around, I couldn’t see her.
“I asked you a question,” Bianca said.
Her voice was sharp. I felt her anger ripple through me as I peered around the club.
“You have five seconds to tell me who the hell you are, or I’m escorting you to the front door. After I call security.”
A man’s laugh, then a voice, unfamiliar. “There’s no one here but us, Bianca.”
“Do I know you?”
“Don’t you?”
The voice grew closer, and a dash of fear seeped into her anger. I closed my eyes and circled, stopping when I felt a mental twinge that said “this way to the chaos buffet.” When I opened my eyes, I was staring at the door to the stockrooms.
“What do you want?” Bianca said.
“Uh-uh. Keep your distance, babe. Third-degree burns aren’t on my agenda.”
I slid my gun from my purse and hurried to the hall door.
HOPE: TASTE OF DEATH
I slowly turned the knob, then opened the door a crack. Light flooded out. I listened. All was silent. A peek through. Four doors, all closed. If I remembered right, the first two were for janitorial supplies and technical equipment, and the last pair for bar stock.
“One last time,” Bianca said. “What do you want?”
Her voice echoed, simultaneously heard in my head and, muffled, from down the hall. I raised my gun and took a slow step forward, testing the floor against my shoes, seeing how easily they’d squeak on the painted concrete.
“I want you to take a message to your boss,” the man said. “From Benicio Cortez.”
I broke into a jog, moving as quickly and silently as I could.
“What is it?” Bianca asked.
“Here, catch.”
I stumbled back, hit by a lash of chaos so strong it left me blinking, blinded.
I squeezed my eyes shut, brain screaming, knowing what was coming and fighting to stop—
Bianca’s face. Her horror. Reduced to pants-wetting terror as she saw the gun lift, the gunman’s finger on the trigger, and knew she couldn’t escape, couldn’t scream, wouldn’t have time. The bullet spit from the gun, near silent, hitting her square in the forehead. I heard her last thought, a mental scream of defiance. No! Not me! Not now!
Then…silence.
I could see Bianca’s horror, recognize her horror, be horrified by it and yet, I felt none of it, consumed as the chaos flooded me, leaving me trembling and panting and…Oh, God. Wanting more.
The first time I’d felt someone die, that night I’d met Karl, it had been too strong, like my first shot of hard liquor, leaving me reeling, no pleasure to be taken. And I’d been relieved. So relieved. However screwed up my lust for chaos, at least I was never going to enjoy that. I’d soon realized I’d been wrong. Like liquor, it was only the first hit that stung.
As the vision dimmed, I saw a man bend over Bianca’s body. Average height, dark-haired, late thirties, Latino, with a heavy jacket and loose pants.
