Black bird a nevermore d.., p.18
Black Bird: A Nevermore Duet, page 18
“A little early for scotch, isn’t it?” Brent’s voice chirped over his shoulder, coming to sit at the patio table across from him.
“I’d say not, especially if I were the one dealing with shit like this.” Conrad spat, tossing the newspaper across the table. “You’re losing your grip on that leash, son.”
Brent didn’t touch the paper, instead staring at it and feathering his jaw. “Nah, Dad … there was never a leash to begin with.” He met his eyes and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small box and sliding it toward him. “It’s over. I’m not gonna be part of … whatever this is.”
“What the hell did you do, Brent.”
“I didn’t do anything. She doesn’t want this anymore. I can’t force her to feel something that isn’t there.”
Conrad swirled his scotch and drummed his fingertips on the table. “It doesn’t have a damn thing to do with feelings. You had one job.”
Brent leaned across the table, flushing with rage. Conrad couldn’t remember the last time his son had seemed so bold. “I never agreed to any job. You tricked me into talking up a girl I ended up having feelings for. You never told me why. You never offered me anything to get whatever it is you want from her. All I’ve heard is threats. Whatever it is you’re up to, I want no part of it. Sarah is a good person. You try to hurt her, I can promise you, I’ll make you regret it.”
Conrad huffed a laugh. “So, you’re threatening me now? That’s the first time I’ve seen a set of balls on you.”
“Stand down on whatever it is, before someone gets hurt. I don’t care to know all the shit you do behind closed doors, Dad. You used to care about more than money. You used to care about Mom. When’s the last time you’ve gone to see her? Do you even know how bad off she is?”
It took every ounce of his self-control not to explode. Conrad clenched his teeth and gripped his glass tighter. “Everything I fucking do is for your mother, you little prick. Don’t ask me to stand down when you know nothing.” Brent settled back into his chair. “If that girl truly left you, then I warned you what was going to happen should I have to deal with this shit myself.”
Brent tossed his phone across the table and Conrad looked down at it, picking it up and staring at a picture of himself. “You wanna explain this to me?”
“Why should I explain myself to you?”
“Well, if there’s something you’re so desperate to get, and you’re hell bent on keeping secrets, I’d say you’re doing a real fine job of concealing yourself. I’m a lawyer. In this business, we would consider that reasonable doubt. In case you were wondering.”
Conrad smirked, narrowing his eyes, and staring his son down in challenge. “No legal system can save me, Brent. Can’t save you, or your witchy little harlot either.”
“What have you gotten us into? More importantly … why?” Brent threw his hands up and slammed them onto the table. “What the hell are you doing? Why is she so damn important to you?”
Conrad only stared at him. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed between them before he finally retorted. “Unless you’re going to help the situation, leave the rock and get the fuck out. I don’t wanna see you around here for a while. You want out, then stay away from the bitch. Stay away from here. Stay away from this city. There’s a storm coming, son. And you just let our only shelter from it come crashing down on us.”
Brent stood, buttoning his jacket. “Have it your way. I meant what I said. If you hurt her in any way … father or not, I’ll kill you. And believe you, me … I can cover it up myself and nobody will miss you, Dad. Nobody.” He lingered for a second before turning on his heel and straightening his spine as he stormed off.
He knew his son was right. Knew that he did very little for this city, or this state for that matter. All of it seemed second to his true motives, but the less anyone knew about it, the better. The more Brent hated him, the better. Maybe it would hurt him less if he didn’t make it out of this with his heart still beating, and he finally understood the truth. Time wasn’t on anyone’s side. There wasn’t a price he wouldn’t pay to get what he needed … even if that price was someone else’s life. He stared at the small black box covered in crushed velvet, turning his glass up and finishing off his scotch. The rustling of drying leaves shifting in the autumn wind did little to comfort him as he slammed the glass to the table.
“What about a sexy cat?” Wren grinned as she held up a black, fuzzy headband with ears on the top and wagged her brows at Sarah, who seemed completely disinterested.
“Yeah … that’s good. Go to the party dressed as a sexy version of Denver.”
She slapped the headband back on the rack as she continued searching for other ideas. “It doesn’t have to be black. I could do a sexy tiger … fluff my hair like a mane—” Wren’s eyes bulged, and she dropped her mouth open in a gaping smile. “Holy shit! A sexy lion! And I could tease the crap out of my hair! That’s brilliant!”
Sarah snorted and rolled her eyes, peeling through any other possible options as they browsed down the aisle. “Jesus, Wren.”
She seemed a little better the past few days. Still on edge, and still battling through her trauma, but Wren had found herself tremendously proud of how hard her best friend was fighting through her obstacles to get to some state of normalcy. The detective had proven to be a big part of that, although every time Wren fished for any dirty details about whatever was going on between them, Sarah had shut it down pretty quickly. While they usually shared everything with each other, Wren was understanding of all the reasons this was different. Even with all the suspicion trickling into their lives with big names like Conrad Stratford—the father of the guy that Sarah had been about to marry and had spent the past two years of her life with—they’d been no closer to figuring out who had done this to Sarah, or why. No closer to figuring out what happened to her mother, or why some unnamed group was still trying to pry into her friend’s medical history.
She wished she could take her mind off of it all. Just have one night of raw, undiluted fun. She just wanted to see Sarah happy. It would be even better if some of that happiness was in thanks to her. “Are you sure you’re up to it? The party, I mean?” Wren asked, pausing her search to look over at her. Sarah didn’t stop plundering through costumes, or accessories when she spoke.
“Yeah … I think I need it. Especially if this job turns out to be a disaster. I just—I need an out.”
“Well, I can’t think of a better way to party than an open bar and a club full of tattooed misfits.” Wren smiled, turning back toward the jumbled mixture of outfits.
“You think Dom will invite a bunch of famous artists to this little shindig?” Sarah asked, smirking. There it was, a little spark of excitement.
“Man, I hope so. Give me a reason to tote my damn portfolio to this thing.”
Sarah pulled up her sleeves. “But … you are.” She grinned, waving a hand over the countless tattoos that Wren had painstakingly covered her skin with.
“Touché, bitch.” Wren laughed, nodding. “But if you’re gonna go as my walking art gallery, then you’re gonna have to dress the part.” She winked. Sarah’s face slackened.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning I get to dress you as slutty as humanly possible, and you show as much of my work as you can.” Wren clapped excitedly.
“Oh, fuck.” Sarah’s head fell back, and she turned her body back toward the costume rack. “Mistakes were made. I changed my mind.”
“Nope.” Wren cackled, tearing through revealing adult costumes. “Slutty …”
“On second thought, I really feel like we’d have just as much fun watching horror movies and overeating.”
“What if I can convince your hot detective to come?” Wren took a chance, hoping to see some sign of life. It was Sarah’s turn to bulge her eyes. She threw her palms up, waving them frantically and shaking her head.
“No. Absolutely not.”
“Why?”
“Because, Wren … I told you. That’s just—it’s complicated, okay?”
Wren knuckled her hips. “Did he not text you the other night asking if you were safe?”
“Sure.” Sarah shrugged. “But tell me how that is in any way unprofessional, considering what they both bailed me out of at the bar? Northwood texted me later that night, too.”
“Northwood doesn’t look at you like she could devour your mouth, either.” Wren pointed toward her. “And … I don’t remember her getting all hot on your neck at your apartment. Plus, there’s that little bit you keep forgetting about how he said that if you hadn’t been with bitch-boy then he might would have talked to you at the club that night.”
“He doesn’t want this, Wren.”
“Bullshit.”
Sarah threw her arms out to the sides. “I can’t blame him. I’m a lot to deal with even without all the new drama. Photographers everywhere … just … let it go, okay?”
Wren tossed her hand up and rummaged through the rack. “Alright.” It was an effort not to look incredibly guilty, so Wren decided not to turn her face back toward her when she asked her next question. “You heard anything from him?”
“Who?”
“Brent.”
“Why do you care? I thought you’d be happier, honestly.”
Wren pulled out a costume, turning it over and glancing at the price tag before promptly shoving it back onto the rack. “Oh, I’m giddy. I just … wondered how you both were handling it. I kind of expected it to be a little more—I dunno … theatrical?” She huffed a laugh.
“He hasn’t said a word. I’m kind of glad. I mean, I have some questions I’d like answers to, but … I’m not ready for more awkward, tense shit right now. I have enough of that as it is.”
“I get that.” Wren’s eyes grew wide and ravenous when she spotted the perfect outfit. The price wasn’t going to matter. She’d pay it. “Oh, my fu—Sarah.” She jerked the hanger off the rod and spun excitedly toward her. Sarah took one look at it and paled.
“Oh, my God. Please, no. No … no, no and no.”
“Yep. You’re wearing it,” Wren said, hurrying down the aisle while Sarah nervously ran at her heels.
“Wren!”
“It’s not up for debate, bitch!” Sarah tried grasping at the back of her jacket and Wren giggled loudly, batting her away and hauling ass toward the checkout counter.
“Move again, and I’ll rip that heart clean out of your chest … and devour every piece of it,” Dahlia whispered as her tongue slipped along the shell of Devin’s ear. His breathing hitched as she sank back down onto his cock, the dark red blood from his neck dripping down her chin. She raised her eyes toward her other newborn slave—what was his name again? “Patrick …” The light-haired, pretty, little drunk she’d found with his fake I.D. at her bar tried not to tremble beneath her smoldering stare as he awaited her orders from the corner of her four-post bed.
“Yes, mi’lady …” He bowed his head.
“I want you to sack me like you would if I was on that football field. You miss it so much? You don’t appreciate the life I’ve given you?” She licked the blood from her lip.
“I—it’s not—”
“Ungrateful little vulture. Show me how angry you are. Get behind me.” She rocked her hips back and forth, Devin groaning beneath her, keeping as still as death as she rode him. Patrick cautiously moved around the bed, and she lowered her body to lay flush against Devin’s chest. “Get on the bed, boy.” She moaned, spreading her moon-white ass with her slender hands, and inviting him closer as she watched him from over her shoulder. Patrick hesitated, making to cover himself as she stared at his length. Impressive for a kid his age. He was barely nineteen, she’d come to learn. All of Boston was still searching for the missing athlete from the local high school. “Come now, pet. You’re too modest. We’re going to have to fix that. Don’t you want to fuck?” She smiled devilishly.
“I—” He looked as if he could vomit.
Dahlia raised herself off of Devin, turning and crawling across the bed to the youngster. She moved his hands away, taking them into hers and pressing his palms to her naked breasts. He swallowed and his eyes lowered to the remaining stains of the blood on her mouth. “You want a taste, love?” She grinned, a cruel wicked thing. His lip trembled and she moved her hair over her shoulder, exposing her neck and pulling him closer. “Feed.” she ordered, closing her eyes when he moved to obey her. He had almost closed his mouth around the crook of her neck when a knock sounded on her chamber door. Patrick startled, and she snapped her head toward the sound, rolling her eyes and grabbing him by the throat. She threw him like he was no more than a stuffed animal across the room, the sound of his immortal body hitting the wall a sound thud. “Stay right there, you little coward.”
Dahlia stepped off the bed, pulling a black satin robe around her and tying it off in the middle as she padded toward the door. She opened it to find Decclan with his head bowed in apology. “I’m sorry, mi’lady … but you advised me to let you know if anything arose regarding …”
Her thin brow raised, and she smirked. “Athan?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Dahlia chuckled through her nose. “What’s my little detective up to now?” Decclan raised his eyes to hers and her amusement faded. “Speak.”
“He—he was here, ma’am.”
She narrowed her eyes and a slight ripple of rage simmered in her gut. “When?”
“A few nights ago. Before we opened. He had a drink with Tony.”
“And our good bartender didn’t feel obliged to share this information?”
“No, mi’lady. I was checking the camera feeds for the week. He wasn’t here long. Maybe fifteen minutes.”
Dahlia exhaled sharply. “Get him in my office. Now. I’ll meet you there in five.” She turned and slammed the door in Decclan’s face. “You two. Get your clothes on … we have shit to do.” she said, waving an arm over her head as she disappeared into her bathing chamber. She didn’t bother to look back to see if they’d obeyed her.
It was two more days until Halloween. Two more days before the full moon. How wonderful. First full moon on Halloween in ages. Rhaena guzzled down water in her kitchen, sweating like a mule as her heart sped up, and then slowed down. It had been like this all day long. Hot flashes all night, lasting throughout the day. Jenkins had got a little too excited when she’d taken him home with her a few nights ago. She assumed he’d been under the impression that he was to blame for her sudden state of unrest. She let him hold onto that prideful notion. He hadn’t been as bad as she’d expected in bed. He hadn’t been bad at all, if she was being honest. But anyone, in comparison to Athan Kane … would be hard to get used to. She doubted that there were very many that could be as ruthless as he was while having sex.
At least this time she could put her hands on another man’s body. She could face him and be as much in control of the actions as he was. It felt good to be kissed on the mouth. To succumb to some sort of passion, and a long-awaited hookup. She smiled at the thought as she stood with her freezer door open and fanned the cold air toward her. There was a knock at the door, and she blew out a breath as the next wave of a hot flash sent her panting.
“It’s open, Kane!” she yelled, resting her forehead on her extended arm.
“Damn … that bad, huh?” He snickered as she stuck her middle finger up at him.
“This is gonna be a rough one.” She huffed, raising the gallon jug to her mouth, and taking another large gulp from it. “I’m gonna need you to make sure I’m locked up good this time, Athan.”
“Is there anything else I can do?” he asked, leaning against the kitchen doorway.
“I think I need to use the cabin this time.” Rhaena cut him a look over her shoulder.
“You want me to go prep it tonight? The boat chains seemed to work better last time you got like this before the change.”
“It’s a thirty-minute drive.”
“You got gas? I can use your truck.” he offered, sliding a cigarette into his mouth.
“Don’t smoke that in here. And don’t you dare smoke in my car.” Athan moved his cupped hands from around the end of his cigarette and cocked his head in irritation, taking it from his mouth and shoving it back into his pack.
Walden Pond was wooded, and just far enough from Boston that no one would recognize them or pay them any heed. The cabin used to belong to Rhaena’s uncle—the only person she truly cared for, aside from Athan. Her uncle had been fatally hit by a transfer truck over fifteen years ago. An unfortunate accident that left her alone. No pack. No family. Just a small inheritance of the cabin and everything he had in it. On the nights that she felt like she could really lose control or hurt someone, she used the cabin to chain herself in and wait out the night. There, she could scream as loud as she needed to, tear the place apart, and know without a doubt that there wasn’t anyone around for miles that would be in any danger.
“You want me to hang out on Halloween?” Athan asked, pocketing his hands.
Rhaena quieted. “No.”
“I don’t mind, and you know it.”
“If this is some pity-me shit about what happened with Sarah, just know that I would have been there regardless.” She resumed her position, returning her forehead to her arm and cooling down from another surge.
“I know you would’ve. I’ve never liked seeing you like this.”
“Careful, Kane. You almost sound like you give a shit.” Rhaena smiled. He snorted.
“You know I do, Rhaena. And I’ll fuck you up if you tell anybody.” They both laughed, a long pause extending between them.
“Have you talked to her?” Rhaena asked. He didn’t answer and she cut him a glance. “You know you can’t avoid it forever. Whatever we blame this on, she still needs to know the truth before something ends up happening to her. We don’t even know how she’s still alive, or how long she has left before—”
“Stop, please. I know. I’ve been keeping an eye on her. I haven’t seen one sign of her slowing down, or the mark trying to kill her off. If nothing happens, then I’m debating not telling her anything.”
