Dead Ringer (The Journals of Octavia Hollows #5)

by Stacey Rourke

  “If I was ever going to be with a dude, it would be you, Tyrese.” The guy chuckled and kept on walking.

  “Of course it would! Everyone wants a piece of this chocolate dessert!” Lifting the bottom of his shirt enough to showcase the sculpted abs beneath, he rolled his hips suggestively.

  “Look at you, making people more open-minded with your raw, sexual magnetism.”

  Resting his elbows on the counter, Tyrese offered me an eyebrow wiggle. “It helps that they know I can beat the ass off most all of them in here. Makes them way more tolerant. Quick question: are you aware of the pig at your feet, or do we have the weirdest infestation ever?”

  “That’s Bacon.”

  “When cut right…” he mused.

  “He’s my bestie.”

  Raising his hands palms up, Tyrese took a respectful step back. “No judgement, no foul. I won’t eat your bud. For reals though, where you been? Chase off after some premium D that treated your kitty like the queen she is?”

  “My… ahem… kitty appreciates being dubbed royalty.” Just uttering that sentence made me feel in need of a shower. “But sadly, she hasn’t been up to anything that fun. We were on one of those wayward journeys of self-discovery. You know, the kind where you travel the countryside with just a backpack and your wits?”

  Sure, I just described how I lived basically every day of my life, but he didn’t need to know that.

  “Good for you!” Throwing his hands in the air, Tyrese exalted my brave efforts. “I couldn’t do it. I need my espresso maker every morning and takeout every night. So, after an exciting adventure like that, what brought you back here?”

  The lie was easier, all things considered. “What can I say? I missed you. So, catch me up. What have I missed?”

  The door chimed as if cued, and in strode a god of strength and testosterone. A specimen of sculpted muscle with a chiseled jawline.

  “Well, him, for one.” Tyrese wet his lips, undressing the newcomer with his wandering gaze. “That is Reid, a walking, talking wet-dream. He strolls around pretending to be a normal person—which anyone with eyes can see he’s most definitely not. On top of that, he’s got the whole stoic man-of-mystery thing going on. Doesn’t talk much. Doesn’t seem to have any friends to speak of. Hell, I’ve never seen him scoping out any guys or gals, even though damned near everyone has tried to hit that. Far as I can tell, he just comes in to unleash his deliciously sexy fury, and leaves.”

  Sure, the guy was sex on a stick. But that wasn’t why the hair on the back of my neck rose as he sauntered past the desk. A pulsing cloud of death permeated from him, like a foul stench that had seeped into his pores. Set on edge, my palms itched for the security of my swords. “He just comes in, trains, and leaves?”

  “Nah, Jack’s got him in some special fighting ring. Not that I would know about that; I didn’t warrant an invitation,” he sniffed.

  Stepping out of the locker room with his lips pressed in a thin white line, Jack waved Reid over with an urgent hook of his hand and closed the door behind them.

  Unable to tear my stare from the door, I scratched at my nose ring with my pinky nail. “What’s with the cloak and dagger routine?”

  A glance at his watch, and Tyrese shrugged off his t-shirt to prep for ring time. “Oh, I’m sure Jack’s gotta hype up his golden boy. Rumor around the club is that he’s undefeated. Those aren’t just glamour muscles, baby girl. That Khal Drogo lookin’ motherfucker is a stone-cold warrior. Not that I can confirm any of this, but tongues do wag about that gorgeous hunk of man-meat.”

  “Don’t call people man-meat. It’s gives me horrible visions of bologna people,” I muttered, feigning interest in the conversation despite the icy prickles skittering down my spine. Never before had I encountered anyone touched by death enough to magically reek of it. My mind whirled and clicked for possible answers as to why. Was he a serial killer? Taking out his opponents in staged accidents as part of some get-rich-quick scheme with Jack? No wonder Stormie was pissed. If her husband being an accessory to multiple homicides didn’t warrant a hissy fit, I didn’t know what would.

  My thoughts instantly veered to Arroyo, and all the lives she took for her own selfish desires.

  No.

  I wasn’t going to stand by and allow anyone else to be hurt. It seemed I needed to score myself an invite to Reid’s next fight. With me in his victims’ corner, I could make damned sure they came back swinging.

  Chapter Three

  “Abso-fucking-lutely not!” Jack bellowed, face morphing from red to purple. “You are not coming to the fight!”

  The club closed about an hour ago. Since then, the two of us had been working side-by-side to get everything cleaned for the night. Bacon was no help at all. Having discovered the mats, he hopped around, enjoying how they squished under his hooves.

  Throwing armloads of pungent towels into the cart, I peered Jack’s way over the growing pile. “Why not? It’s not like I’m asking to get in the ring. I just want to help!”

  Stuffing spare gloves in the storage locker, Jack turned to face me with his arms folded over his chest. “What help could you possibly offer? Besides drawing unwanted attention from some of the more unsavory characters there? Which means I would have to watch over you instead of my fighter!”

  Hidden agenda aside, that shit was just insulting. Throwing down a towel, I jabbed my fists on my hips, nostrils flaring. “And what the actual fuck makes you think I need anyone watching over me? Have I ever given even the slightest impression I couldn’t take care of myself?”

  Hands in the air, Jack’s shoulders sagged. “I meant no insult. You’re a strong female more than capable of taking care of herself.” I could tell it wasn’t the first time he’d uttered those words. Stormie had trained him well. “I just meant I would worry with you there. I’d feel the need to look out for you. That’s all.”

  A bit of the tension eased from the firm set of my clenched jaw. “I appreciate that. I do. And it’s that same mentality that makes me want to be there… for you. You and Stormie have always been good to me. If what you’re mixed up in is dangerous, I want to have your back. Stormie would want someone there to have your back. Hey, if it makes you feel better, I can even put Bacon in his carrier under my hoodie. It’s a disguise we’ve used a bunch of times that makes me look huge pregnant. No one will mess with us if they think I’m going to pop at any second.”

  A beat of silence, then Jack dropped his chin to his chest and shook his head. “You’re a weird chick, Octavia Hollows.”

  Eyebrows raised, I fixed on a mask of wide-eyed innocence. “Weird enough to tag along?”

  Stepping forward, he puffed his chest and glared down the bridge of his nose at me. “Bring the pig, work the pregnant angle, and—this part I absolutely will not bend on—you stay back stage. They give us a small, private locker room. That’s where your ass lives while we’re there. You got it?”

  Back stage, where they would most likely scuttle away anything they didn’t want seen—like the body of a guy who just got pummeled to death.

  “You, sir, have got yourself a deal,” I beamed.

  “Hey, sweet thang. Wanna fool around? It’s not like you can get more pregnant. Know what I’m sayin’? How about you and me do some nasty things that would make your daddy cry?” A dude with a greasy soul patch and James Dean sideburns licked his lips as his lecherous gaze wandered the length of me.

  Bacon tucked safely under my sweatshirt, I supported his weight with one hand under his rump. Turning in an abrupt about-face, I met the perv’s gaze head on. “Actually, my daddy is dead. Mama killed him for making gross comments to young girls. Nice wedding ring by the way, asshole.”

  Face blooming a bright tomato red, Soul Patch slunk off to retreat under whatever rock he crawled out from under.

  Seizing me by the elbow, Jack quickened his pace as he steered me down the hall. “I thought you said the belly would prevent that kind of attention.”

  “I
hate to break it to you,” I grunted as Bacon landed a solid kick to my kidney, “but some members of your gender are disgusting towards women. All the time. No matter our age, reproductive state, or general lack of interest in them. Welcome to the #metoo movement. Sucks, doesn’t it?”

  Rolling his eyes, Jack pushed open the door marked number four and ushered me inside. “Further reason for you to stay in here, where it’s safe.”

  Safe… in a closet-sized room with a possible serial killer. Oh, Irony. You’re such a bitch, sometimes.

  Reid stood by a narrow bank of lockers, taping his knuckles for the fight to come. Shirtless, a pair of black shorts sat low on his hips. Mahogany hair was knotted at the base of his neck, one rogue strand having broken loose to tangle in the rough stubble of his jaw line. A lacework pattern of scars covered his torso, jagged markings left from what looked like countless battles. How many people paid with their lives for daring to mar his flesh?

  Hand between my shoulder blades, Jack pushed me in Reid’s direction. “I have to go see what match he’s in and who he’s up against. Get him oiled up for me.”

  Eyes bulging, I spun on him. “I’m sorry, what?”

  Jack’s eyes crinkled at the corners by my obvious discomfort. “There’s a jar of Vaseline on the table. Slather him in it.”

  Feeling myself blush straight up to my earlobes, I fought—and failed—to keep my expression neutral. “Why? Why would I do… that?”

  “It makes it harder for his opponent to get ahold of him, and makes his skin more elastic so it’s less likely to tear. Added benefit I just now learned? It makes you insanely uncomfortable, which I’m truly enjoying.” Turning with a wink, he started to pull the door just behind him. “Do a good job, maybe he’ll find a way to thank you for it.”

  The click of the door was followed by the most awkward silence of my life.

  Lips parting with a pop, I walked across the room to grab the Vaseline off the small folding table in the corner. “No need to make this weird. Doctors feel up their patients all the time, and it’s totally professional.”

  “Not if anyone refers to it as feeling up, it’s not.” The words rumbled from Reid’s lips in a deep and throaty cadence.

  “Good point. Just so you know, this is Jack’s way of teaching me a lesson. He didn’t want me to come, I pushed the issue, so he retaliated by forcing me into the most uncomfortable situation of my life.” Unscrewing the lid, I dipped three fingers in and scooped out a lump. “Is there a proper procedure here? Like, start at the pecs and work down?”

  Taking a step closer, Reid closed the distance between us. The heat of his breath tickled my cheeks as he peered down at me. Guiding my hand, he led it to his chest—right over his heart. “You definitely weren’t pregnant at the club earlier. I would have noticed that.”

  In a similar situation, I’m sure plenty of females would’ve been panting at the prospect that he’d noticed them at all. I would dare say ninety-nine-point-nine percent of those gals wouldn’t have a piglet strapped to their chest.

  “Oh, shit!” Smearing the goop on his chest just to get it off my hand, I lifted my hoodie to let Bacon breathe.

  My little pig in a blanket shook his head and snorted his relief.

  Reid’s mouth fell open in an easy laugh. “Of all the things I’ve seen when a girl tried to flash me, that is a first.”

  “Yeah, sorry. If we’re going to be in here a minute, I should let him down. If he gets too squirmy in this thing, I get bruises in places that prefer to be treated kindly.” Unclipping the carrier, I grabbed Bacon by his round little belly and lowered him to the floor. He immediately got to work sniffing around in search of anything that could pass as food.

  Thankful for the momentary reprieve, I returned to the lump of goo I left on his chest. Starting at his pecs, I spread it over the rises of his bulging muscles to the valleys of each chiseled ab.

  “What’s his name?” Reid stared over my head, pretending this wasn’t an intimate situation for two strangers to be in.

  “Bacon.” Only then did I realize I hadn’t bothered to tell him my name before slathering him up. “I’m Octavia, by the way.”

  “I know.” He glanced down, granting me a glimpse of the amber hue that haloed his russet stare. “Jack told me all about Octavia Hollows, the pink-haired badass who insisted on being our bodyguard for the night.”

  Finished with his front, I moved to the broad expanse of his back. “Not all about, I hope,” I murmured more to myself than him. “So… fighting must be quite a thrill.”

  I felt him bristle beneath my touch, the tendons of his neck tightening. “What makes you say that?”

  Little tip, Octavia, I mentally coached myself, don’t piss off the serial killer.

  “You’re… you’re just covered in scars,” I stammered, “Why would anyone put themselves through that if they didn’t love it?”

  Peering down at his hands, Reid turned them over as they told a million stories only he could hear. “They would… if it’s all they knew.”

  “Word around the club is that you’re undefeated.” Reaching for the jar, I got a second heap of goop.

  Rolling his shoulders, his tone chilled to pure ice. “That’s what they say, huh?”

  After rubbing the Vaseline between my hands to warm it, my fingers traced down his back to where it curved in at his sides. “You’re coming home with the purse every night, aren’t you? You must be doing something right.”

  “There’s more than one way to make money at a boxing match.” Jerking away, he grabbed his shirt off the table and twisted the fabric around his white knuckled fists. “Maybe you shouldn’t run your mouth about things you don’t understand,” he snapped. “Do us both a favor– don’t be here after my match.”

  With those as his parting words, he stomped from the room.

  “Well, isn’t he a fucking delight?” Flopping down on the wooden bench, I patted my leg in invitation for Bacon to trot over. When he plopped down beside me, I rubbed my fingers over his velvety soft ears. “Suddenly, I don’t feel so bad about making it my own personal vendetta to take him down.”

  Chapter Four

  With the locker room door open a crack, I peeked out and peered down the hall in one direction and then the other. With each second that ticked by, I grew more agitated. I shouldn’t be standing around. I should be racing off to save my coven. Unfortunately, my stalker had picked now to switch into stealth mode. Without the slightest clue where to find the sociopath, I’d have to settle for taking my aggression out on the nearest one I could find. Namely, Reid. The second I saw them trying to hide away his latest victim, I would make my move. A touch of my hand and the bell would ding for a fresh round of vengeance.

  To my surprise, they came at me hard and fast. Barreling down the hallway, straight for the room I was meant to be hiding in. Easing the door shut, I barely had time to stumble back a few paces before the locker room door burst open hard enough to bounce on its hinges. Jack and another man dragged a man in with his arms slung over their shoulders. Both men wore horrorstruck expressions, their pallor a sickly green.

  “He’s fine! Just fine!” Jack shouted over his shoulder to the concerned huddle trailing them. “Had his bell rung, that’s all!”

  That was most definitely not all. Whoever this poor bastard was, his arm was visibly broken in at least two places. Jagged bone stabbed from torn flesh. His jaw hung slack and unhinged in a gruesome sideways smile.

  Scooping Bacon up, I pressed my back to the wall to give them room to ease the limp form down on the wooden bench. Only as his arms drooped lifelessly to the floor did I realize… it was Reid. His nose had been crunched flat against his face. Splashes of crimson gore covered his torso.

  “I got him, he’s fine.” Clapping his hands on the shoulders of the man who helped him, Jack shoved him towards the door and slammed it shut behind him. Spinning on the ball of his foot, he took a knee at Reid’s side to examine him.

  An ear to t
he chest.

  Two fingers to the inside of the wrist.

  I could have saved him the trouble.

  Death called to me.

  Resonating from Reid’s hollow shell, it begged for my touch.

  It seemed justice had been served without my intervention.

  Jack, on the other hand, wasn’t ready to give up. “He needs a shot of adrenaline,” he murmured to himself, and sprinted out. “It worked before.”

  “That’s going to be about as effective as plugging in a potato,” I mumbled under my breath at the door.

  Squiggling in my arms, Bacon demanded to be put down. The second his hooves hit linoleum, he marched straight to Reid’s side. Nosing at the boxer’s hand, my swine-kick peered up at me expectantly.

  “Oh, no!” I argued, folding my arms over my midsection. “He’s a bad guy! In fact, he’s the bad guy we came here to stop! Why would we help him?”

  Sitting down, Bacon peered my way with what appeared to be a slathering of judgment.

  “You’re impossible when you get like this. You know that?” Shoulders sagging, I inched towards the body. My gaze scanned over him, not knowing where to touch that I wouldn’t risk a part falling off. Hands hovering over him, I filled my lungs to capacity and attempted to ease my nerves with an old school Ashlee Simpson remix. “You’re bloody and messy, dead now and smelly. I have a job to do, so listen. I mean it, it’s your mission. Keep hold of the pieces, pieces, pieces of you.”

  My musical stylings were interrupted by a low groan that closely resembled one of Bacon’s potent belches.

  Lips sinking into a downward C, I scowled in his direction. “See? I warned you about that protein bar. You know that much fiber gives you—”

  The words died on my lips as Reid’s pinky finger… twitched.

  “No… fucking… way.”