We’re both shocked. “How do you know me?” he asks.
“I’ll explain, honestly. In the meantime, hold tight. I have to get something from the car.”
The ‘something’ she had to get turns out to be a terrified young man, his wrists bound by a twisted sheet. She comes back into the house, leading him with the sheet as if he was a dog on a leash. He follows her obediently, too afraid to fight, and when she puts him in the arm chair, he just sits meekly, his bound hands between his knees.
“Who is this?” I ask.
“Marco, this is Steven, and that’s Elian. Steven and Elian, this is Marco.”
He looks at the cop. “I saw you on TV.”
Marisol turns to me and smiles. “Have a seat, baby. You too, Elian.”
We both sit, just as obedient as Marco. She stands in the living room, looking at us with her arms crossed.
“Well, let’s get the obvious bit out of the way. I was shot and killed this morning, and you all know it. I was brought back by La Santa Muerte when my grandmother exchanged her life for mine, but I was given limited time and an assignment that I have to accomplish. I need your help.”
I remember my vow to Santa Muerte, and I nod. “Whatever you need.”
“Let me tell you what I need before I agree.”
“It doesn’t matter.” I look into her beautiful eyes. I never thought I’d see them again. “Anything you need, it’s yours.”
“I need to have sex with all of you, probably at least once a day, until this is over. And I need to hunt down the men who killed me.” She turns to Elian. “And you’re able to help with that, I think.”
“Wait, what?” Marco interrupts, looking shell-shocked. “Sex?”
Marisol laughs, but I know her. She’s not actually finding any of this funny.
“Well, when Santa Muerte brought me back, it came with strings attached. She can’t bring me back to life.” She gestures at her body. “Still dead.”
“But…” I shake my head. “You’re here, and you’re alive. You’re walking and talking.”
“Walking and talking, yes, but not alive. Not dead, either. More like undead.”
Elian speaks up, frowning in confusion. Like me, he’s trying to wrap his head around this situation. “Like a vampire?”
Marisol nods. “Exactly. But I’m not a vampire who feeds on blood. I’m a vampire who feeds on sexual energy. You come, I eat.”
I’m profoundly disturbed. One the one hand, I’m sickened for her and by what this means. On the other, and this is a part that causes me consternation, I’m really, really turned on by her right now.
“Our sexual energy will keep you alive until you fulfill your mission?” Elian guesses.
“Yes. You’re smart. I like that.” She glances at Marco, then clicks her tongue. She goes over and takes the bedsheet in her hand. “You’re not going to run away, are you?”
Marco looks up into her eyes, and his mouth falls open. His cheeks flush. “No.”
“Good.”
Marisol pulls a knife from one of her thigh-high boots and cuts the knot on the sheet, freeing his hands. He watches the knife as the fabric falls to the floor. She turns back to the rest of us, and she looks a little embarrassed.
“I’ve already eaten twice tonight, but they were dark souls, and that energy isn’t good for me. I need good, clean energy, like what I can get from good men like the three of you. And I know, because I have a demon riding shotgun in my head, that at least Elian and Steven are ready to go hunting. I want us to hunt together.” She turns back to Marco. “You can… I don’t know, vacuum or something while we’re gone.”
He flushes in embarrassment and looks away. Marisol goes to him and takes his chin in her hand, gently making him meet her eyes.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” she says. “It’s not a bad thing that you’re not a fighter. It doesn’t make you less of a man. I’m glad, actually. From what my demon tells me, you’re far too sweet to ever be risked in a gun battle.”
“And it’s okay to risk us?” Elian asks. I can’t tell if he’s being snarky or if he’s really offended.
She gives him a side-eye. “Sure is.”
I feel oddly complimented by that.
“Where do we start?” I ask.
“First we find out who did this,” she says, moving to sit in the other armchair. She crosses her legs, and I have a Basic Instinct moment. She’s not wearing panties, and my cock twitches when I notice. She smiles at me and slowly swings her leg. “Then I get fueled up, and we go and kick ass.”
Elian nods. “Steven identified the gunman as Juanito Bustamante.”
She waves her hand. “Already dead. I mean the ones who were holding his leash.”
“The Rojas Cartel.”
“Yes.”
He shrugs eloquently. “If I knew where to find them, none of this would have happened. I’ve been hunting Pablo Rojas for years, and the closest I’ve come is jailing his foot soldiers and lieutenants.”
Her eyes go cold, and her voice changes. A thin voice, oily and sly, says, “I know how to find Rojas.”
Elian narrows his eyes. “Where?”
She laughs, and it’s not Marisol’s laugh. I don’t know who is speaking, and it makes me go cold inside. “I’ll direct you when the time comes, but first things first. Fuel, then guns, then directions.”
I balk at the thought of these other men taking my Marisol, but as soon as I do, my tattoo burns. I made a promise. I swallow my pride and nod.
“Whatever it takes to keep you strong and alive.”
She looks at me, and I feel like she’s looking through me into my soul. She stands up and comes over to kneel in front of me, her hands on my knees. Her touch is cold. When she speaks, she’s Marisol again.
“I know this is difficult for you. Please know that I don’t really have a choice.”
I try to answer, but my voice breaks on the first attempt. I swallow and try again. “I know.”
She kisses me, and the feeling is the same as it always was. I stroke her silken hair and breathe in her scent. She never used to smell of marigolds before, but it’s a good scent for her. It’s feminine but strong, like she is. Like she always was.
Marco says, “I don’t want to do this.”
Marisol pulls away, and her face changes. Suddenly she’s painted up for Day of the Dead, but the colors I’m seeing aren’t makeup. This is her. Her eyes are cold and black, and she turns to him.
“You said you wanted to help me, Marco. This is how you do that.”
His jaw drops. “I never said that. I thought that, but…”
“Thinking and saying are the same thing,” she says in her other voice. “If you think a thing, I will hear it. If you’re lucky, I won’t share what I’ve heard. It all depends on how useful to me the information is.”
Marisol shakes her head, and the coldness leaves her eyes, even though the skull coloration remains.
“No,” she says, and it’s her voice again. I’m not sure whom she’s speaking to. “You’re not in control here. I am.”
“I…” Marco starts.
She leaves me and walks over to him, sitting on his lap and putting her arm around his neck. He’s visibly affected by her body against his, and I can’t say that I blame him.
“Marco, I would never do anything to hurt you, and I won’t let this demon riding around with me hurt you, either. You’re safe with me. I can’t offer you anything in return for this favor I’m asking, other than the satisfaction that you’re helping punish people who richly deserve it. And I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do. But you’re one of the purest souls I’ve seen, and I need your help.”
He stares into her eyes, and slowly, like a moth drawn to a flame, he leans in to kiss her. My first instinct is to punch him in the face, but this is my test. I said that I would share her, and even though it kills me to do it, I made a vow. Letting it happen isn’t the same as watching it
happen, though, and I turn away. When I do, I find Elian watching me, his intelligent eyes full of understanding. I don’t want his pity. Marisol softly says my name, and I force myself to face her. She’s standing now, one hand holding Marco’s, the other extended toward me.
“You have to be part of this,” she tells me.
“I don’t want to be.”
She looks hurt. “There isn’t much time, Steven. Please. I need you.” She looks at Elian. “I need all of you, right now. I’m afraid of fading, and I don’t want my body to start to die around me.”
Elian stands and takes off his suit coat, tossing it back onto the couch. His eyes are locked on her face.
“Do I call you Marisol, or Catrina?” he asks.
Her sugar-skull coloration vanishes. “Marisol is dead,” she says, and her voice sounds hollow and echoing, as if she’s speaking in the depth of some cavern. “Call me Catrina.”
I want to rage, but I know she’s telling the truth, and it’s time for me to man up and keep my word. I reach out and take her hand. She smiles at me, both approving and apologizing, and she leads the way toward the guest room, pulling me and Marco along behind her. Elian follows, his face impossible to read.
She pulls us all into the room, then turns to face us with a welcoming smile. I can’t deny how gorgeous she is, or how very much I want her. She’s always been sexy to me, but there’s something almost scorchingly hot about her now, and I suppose that’s probably due to the change in her.
Marco asks, “Is this going to hurt us?”
“No,” she reassures him. “You’re going to give off this energy anyway. It’s a natural part of love-making. I’m just going to make sure it doesn’t go to waste.”
He looks relieved. I’m impatient with him, probably because I’ve got the same anxiety, and it makes me feel like a coward. I’m trying to hide my fear, and he’s here owning it. I wonder which one of us is actually braver.
I wonder if it even matters.
She sits down and pulls off those boots, then reaches out and palms both Marco and Elian. Her eyes look up at me, and she leans forward, mouthing me. I step closer and close my eyes, trying to pretend it’s just her and me, but I can hear the other guys’ breathing and I can feel their body heat as we’re all crowded in close to her. Her mouth is doing amazing things to me, but it’s not like I remember. She’s needier, more demanding than before. When she used to go down on me, it was like she was giving me a gift. Now she’s hungry, and I feel like she’s using restraint to keep from outright devouring me.
Damn. That’s hot as hell.
She grabs the tab on my jeans zipper in her teeth and teases it downward, her eyes still turned up toward my face. I stroke her hair, and she smiles. Her hands are busy freeing the other guys’ tools, and I don’t want to watch, but the adolescent kid in me wants to see what they’ve got in comparison to me. We’re about the same, I decide, although it looks like Marco is a grower and both Elian and I are showers. By the time we’re all hard, it doesn’t matter.
She stands and kisses me, wrapping her arms around my neck and letting me clutch her close. My hard-on rubs against her skirt, and she pulls away with a mischievous smile. She kisses Elian next, and he makes a little noise in his throat. He’s hardly said anything this whole time. I wonder what he’s thinking. When that kiss is done, she goes to Marco and takes him in her arms. He crushes her to his body, and his embrace is desperate. I guess fear will do that to a guy.
Marisol - I mean, Catrina - steps back and peels out of her minidress. She’s totally commando underneath, and even though I’ve already got an erection, seeing her naked somehow makes me harder. I hurry to get out of my own clothes, and Marco and Elian do the same. She kneels, and the three of us crowd in closer.
She takes me in her mouth, and unlike the hot, wet welcome I used to find, she’s cool to the touch. It feels too damn good to worry about right now, though, and I file that information away for later contemplation. I can’t waste a minute of this. I don’t know how long I’ll have her.
She sucks me until I’m close, and then she pulls off with a smile. She’s been working the other guys with her hands this whole time, and she replaces her mouth on my cock with her left hand. Elian is now the recipient of her attention, and when she closes her lips around his shaft, I’m jealous, but I’m also weirdly encouraging him to enjoy her. This is getting weird.
When Elian is close, she shifts hands and positions again and takes Marco in her mouth. He moans immediately, and I wonder if the kid has ever gotten a blow job before. Elian steps back, stroking himself and watching, and his eyes are glassy with lust. Marco shudders and nuts, and if I were him, I’d be embarrassed that I came so fast. Ma - Catrina drinks it down, and she shivers in what looks like delight.
I reach down and pick her up, and she instantly wraps her arms and legs around me. I want to kiss her, but I don’t want to taste some other man’s spunk on her lips, so I don’t. Instead I lay her down on the mattress and get into position. She spreads her legs for me and reaches out to Elian, pulling him onto the bed with us. I’d rather she didn’t, and I have to keep reminding myself that I made a vow to someone a lot more powerful than me. I also remind myself that this is about her, and I need to put my stupid machismo aside.
Elian straddles her head and she takes him all the way down her throat even as I penetrate her sweet pussy. I have to admit, watching her deep throat him is erotic as hell, and I start pistoning hard, too excited to go slow. She hooks her feet behind my hips and uses my legs to pull me in, encouraging me to go to town, so I do. Her hands and mouth are busy on Elian, and I can’t stop watching. It’s becoming a point of honor to hold off until after he busts, but it’s getting difficult. She squeezes around me, and I’m gone. I see her swallowing at the same time, and I’m assuming that it was a photo finish.
I don’t even know why I care.
I collapse on top of her, and Elian pulls out her mouth. She’s warm to the touch now, and the marigold scent has been replaced by sandalwood. In Mexico, they put marigolds on graves. I wonder if she smells like those flowers when she’s hungry and like sandalwood when she’s fed.
I guess I’ll find out.
Chapter Six
Catrina
Sunlight wakes me, and for a moment, I can almost make believe that the last twenty-four hours were just a strange nightmare. Then I see that I’m in bad with three men and I know that the nightmare is just beginning.
~We fed well,~ the demon says softly. She sounds sated, which I think must be a good thing.
I don’t answer her. Instead, I get up and get dressed again. The dress and boots are as clean as if I’d never worn them, and the silver daggers will come in handy later today. I already feel different, like I really have the power of Santa Muerte behind me. I know exactly where Pablo Rojas is, and how to get in to see him. I don’t know how I know this, but I’m glad that the information is here in my head. It will save time.
Today is Halloween. I have two days left.
What would you do if you knew you only had one day to live? It’s a party game, or a Facebook meme. Would you want to know? Would you spend the time holding your loved ones near? Or would you try to go out in a blaze of glory?
Santa Muerte has affected me so deeply. I can hear voices everywhere, crying out for justice or for mercy. I can hear drug runners praying to her for protection while they’re running their product into America, and I can hear mothers of their customers begging her for their children to be delivered from their addictions. Which one gets justice? Which one is ignored? It’s a question that seems too big for me, and in a way, I’m grateful that I only have until All Souls’ Day. If I had to hear these prayers and voices for much longer than that, it might drive me truly insane.
I can hear the voices of the people Rojas has killed. They call to me from their shallow graves out in the desert, and from their mausoleums. I can hear spirits of people who are still alive but might as well be dead, their bo
dies kept alive by machines while their spirits yearn for freedom. All of this noise… all of these sounds… at least I know what I need to do.
Rojas has to die.
I take the time to cook breakfast for my boys, and they come out when the smell of frying bacon wakes them. I’m making a stack of tortillas when they all appear, dressed and shower-damp and awkward.
“Oh, come on,” I say to them with a smile. “Don’t be that way. After last night, I’d think you’d be closer.”
“It’s… strange,” Marco admits.
Steven nods. “I’ve never been in a group thing before.”
Elian shrugs and sits down.
I pour orange juice for them and finish cooking breakfast. I don’t eat, because I don’t need to. I don’t even know if I can eat physical food. Something tells me that I can’t.
“Not eating?” Steven asks. I shake my head. Elian takes a bite and makes an appreciative face. I smile at him.
Marco asks, “Are we really going after Rojas?”
I nod. “That’s why I’m here. He has to fall.”
“We’ve been trying to find his headquarters forever,” Elian says, sounding frustrated. “We’ve had a few leads, but every time we get to his houses, he’s already cleared out. Once we missed him by two days.”
“That must have burned.”
“I almost shot myself, I was so angry.”
I have a hard time picturing him losing control that much. He seems far too locked-down for such dramatic reactions.
“What would you do if I told you that I know exactly where he is?”
Elian almost puts his fork down. “I would want to know.”
“Would you call in a horde of police, or would you let me do what I’ve been sent back here to do?”
He and Steven look at one another. They’ve apparently been doing some bonding in my absence. I approve.
Elian answers, “I would let you do what you came here for, but we would go with you.”
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