There was one solid bang, like something solid had been rammed into metal. The rumble of loud voices reached her ears. It sounded like a group of boys arguing.
Untangling the sheets from her legs, she stumbled out of bed. Peeking through the shades, she gave a few hard blinks and tried to focus her sleepy eyes.
There were four teenage boys surrounding a smaller form near the garbage dumpsters. She squinted and caught a brief glimpse of their captor, a girl with mid-length, dark hair and thick legs poking out from a very short mini-skirt. They were taunting and poking at her, grabbing her from both front and back.
Shit. I’d better get out there, she thought. Quickly pulling on a pair of jeans, she skipped shoes then rushed out the front door and down the flight of stairs.
“Hey,” she called out, “let her go.”
All four boys turned but held their positions encircling the girl.
As Shyla approached, her earlier suspicions were confirmed; the girl they were harassing was the very same one she’d busted the other night at the Walgreens. Figured.
Two of the boys looked startled, maybe a bit frightened and they took a step back as Shyla approached. One boy seemed indifferent, as if this were just an everyday occurrence in his boring life. But the fourth, the shortest one who had a tight grip on the girl’s upper arm, gave an amused grin.
“No,” he said simply.
Shyla wished she had her gun and badge. They often spoke louder than words.
“I said let her go. Now,” she warned.
The boy’s smirk faded.
“Fuck off, lady. Turn your ass around and go back up to your apartment or you’re gonna get a little piece of us, too.”
Shyla ignored his warning and stepped forward. She knew her action would cause his reaction. She was counting on it. When he let go of the girl, stepped forward and grabbed Shyla’s t-shirt, she mirrored his movements and grabbed him by the front of his thin jacket. The sound of his nose breaking when she head-butted him in the face didn’t faze her. In the blink of an eye she, she had him on the ground face-down, blood gushing from his nose, his arm twisted behind his back.
His friends stood back, their faces gripped in shock and awe. They hadn’t had the time or the wherewithal to react.
The girl looked half terrified, half delighted. She stood shaking with an odd grin on her face and both hands to her cheeks.
Shyla sat on top of the boy, one knee digging in at the spot between his shoulder blades.
“I warned you, buddy,” she said, “now are you going to bug this girl anymore or are you just going to be smart and go home?”
He struggled beneath her weight.
“Jesus, lady, we were just messing around. I’m going to call the cops and sue your ass. You broke my goddamn nose.”
Shyla dug her knee in a bit deeper.
“You know what? I don’t think that you are going to call the cops, because my version of what was going on out here will be a lot more interesting to the authorities than you having a broken nose.”
She looked up at her audience.
“Don’t you think?” she asked them.
They all stared at her like she was the anti-Christ. She looked back down at her captive.
“But, if you really want to go that route,” she said, “feel free. I have no problem telling the cops what you boys were doing to this girl and the threats that you threw at me before you attacked me. I was just defending myself. You see?”
“Attacked you? You attacked me!”
“What? That’s crazy. I was going to help the girl and you grabbed me by the shirt. Isn’t that what happened?” She looked to her audience again. This time there were a few hesitant head nods.
She felt the boy’s body slump as he realized his defeat. He would not be saying anything to make this already embarrassing and complex situation any worse. Satisfied, she slowly stood up and stepped toward the girl protectively.
“Go ahead. Get up and go home. This has been fun and all, but I have to work tomorrow and I’m tired.”
The boy jumped to his feet and wiped the blood from his nose. It was already starting to congeal and crust up around his nostrils. He straightened his shirt and jacket then gave one final look in Shyla’s direction before he turned away. She could see the mix of anger, confusion, and bruised ego in his eyes.
She watched the small group slowly walk off with their shoulders slumped. She knew the dynamics between them would change after a night like this.
“Holy shit! That was awesome.”
Shyla turned toward the girl. Dark mascara and eyeliner encircled her wide eyes. She had a hand on her jutted out hip and looked at Shyla like she was waiting for answers or an explanation.
“Are you okay? Did they hurt you?” Shyla asked.
“Not really,” the girl shrugged, “a couple of them pinched me pretty hard but it’s nothing that won’t heal. They’ve bugged me before but never like that. I think they were going to…”
“Don’t worry about that,” Shyla said. She knew what those boys had intended to do, “they won’t be bothering you again anytime soon.”
“Dang right they won’t,” the girl scoffed, “not after that. Where did you learn to do that?”
“I’m a ninja by night,” Shyla quipped and turned toward her apartment. She suddenly wanted to get away from the girl’s curious and perceptive gaze. She had already seen too much.
She heard the girl’s hurried footsteps as she followed after her.
“Hey, wait. I’m serious. How do you know how to do that stuff? Who are you? Where did you come from?”
The barrage of questions made Shyla nervous. She paused and turned toward the girl again.
“It’s really not a big deal. I took a couple of self-defense classes in college. Anybody could do it. I’m just a secretary. Now you need to be scootin’ and get your butt home. And speaking of home - why aren’t you there now? Why do I keep finding you out in the middle of the night knee-deep in trouble? Don’t you have school or something tomorrow? Do your parents know where you are? Do I need to make a phone call and have them pick you up?”
The girl rolled her eyes.
“Like they would give a shit where I am or what I’m doing. Go ahead. Call ‘em. They’ll be pissed at you for waking ‘em up. And no, I don’t have school tomorrow. It doesn’t start till next week.”
Shyla cocked her head and looked at the girl closer. She was trying to act like she didn’t care about her parent’s indifference to her well being, but Shyla could see the underlying pain. It lay just under the surface of all that bravado and heavy make-up.
“What’s your name?”
The girl looked at Shyla with trepidation.
“It’s Carmen. What’s yours?”
“Shyla. Come on upstairs for a minute. I’ll get some shoes on and drive you home.”
Again, Carmen hesitated.
“Sure,” she said, “but only if you teach me some of those moves.”
Shyla wanted to laugh out loud. This girl had spunk. She wanted to spank the little twerp.
“Fine,” she sighed, “but you have to promise me that I’m not going to catch you out past nine o’clock at night anymore. You’re thirteen. Your butt should be in bed. Not mingling on the streets with boys five, six years older than you.”
“Deal. You won’t catch me out anymore,” Carmen gave Shyla a clever little grin.
“Very funny, but I’m serious. I’ll turn you in next time.”
Carmen’s smile faded slightly.
“Aww, gee. You’re no fun. Fine. It’s a deal. I’ll stay in at night. And you’ll teach me kung fu or whatever.”
Shyla finally cracked a smile.
“Come on. Let’s get this show on the road. My feet are freezing.”
FOURTEEN
Shyla let out a soft moan and tilted her head back. The moon was directly overhead, watching the way Victor’s hungry mouth was exploring her neck. She closed her eyes and shoved aside the na
gging knowledge that she was making out with a criminal who she intended to put in jail for a very long time.
She ran her fingers through his thick, wavy hair and pulled him closer. She couldn’t let nerves throw her off course. The picnic had gone well. They had flirted and talked while watching the sun set over the mountain. As night enveloped them, Victor had turned up the charm. Before Shyla knew it, she was in his arms.
As his hand slid over her jeans and inched up her inner thigh she tried to stay relaxed. But when his fingertips brushed her center, every muscle in her body tensed up. It wasn’t just the fact that it was Victor. She responded that way every time a man touched her intimately.
“Is everything okay, Shyla?” Victor asked, his lips hovering over her throat.
“Yes, I’m fine. I think…I’m just a little chilly,” Shyla lifted his chin and kissed him fully on the mouth, hoping to assure him.
Victor’s body responded as she wanted. He deepened the kiss. She tried to return his intensity. His movements were strong, almost a demand. Again, she was reminded of her past and she shivered. He pulled back and lifted her off the blanket they’d been picnicking on.
“Well, we can’t have that. Can we?”
Shyla let him carry her to the car, knowing he liked to play the chivalrous gentleman. When he leaned over to buckle her in, she grabbed him by the front of his shirt and gave him another intoxicating kiss.
“But I’m not ready to go home yet,” she purred in his ear.
“I’m not ready for you to go home yet, either,” Victor groaned, “you can come back to my place. Just let me grab our things.”
As she watched him, Shawn’s warning crept into her mind: ‘…none of us are thrilled about you dating this guy…he’s dangerous…be careful.’
She clenched her jaw. There was no doubt that Victor was dangerous. Charming or not, Shyla was very aware that underneath that smooth veneer was a cold, calculating man who insisted on things being his way. If they weren’t, he would make it so they were, even if it involved killing someone. She had to keep that in mind.
*
Brennan started awake when he heard the crunch of gravel as Victor’s car pulled up the long drive. His heart was racing and there was saliva pooled in the back of his throat. He swallowed. He’d been dreaming of taking a live prey.
In the facility, he’d been expected to take live prey on a monthly basis during routine experiments. The schedule was always the same. For three weeks they would provide his supplement via intravenous fluids, poking him, prodding him, observing and theorizing. Then the first few days of the fourth week they would deprive him while injecting him with all sorts of drugs, chemicals, or whatever Shinto felt necessary for that particular experiment.
Each time, he would spend those three weeks mentally preparing for the starvation period. He would tell himself that he was stronger than the craving, stronger than the need. But no matter his preparation or his will, by the time he slipped past the thirty-six hour period, his basic survival instincts reigned supreme. There was no rational thought or moral code. There was only a craving so strong, so visceral, that to deny it would be physically painful and probably impossible.
Two months had passed since Victor helped him escape the facility. Two months without a live prey. Though he had ample supply to fresh blood, thanks to another of Victor’s invaluable contacts, he was disgusted to admit that he still had to fight an internal struggle against the basic desire to take a live prey from time to time. It was ingrained.
The dreams had been coming about once a week, but when they did, they triggered and exacerbated that instinct. They were so vivid, so real. He often woke shaking and sweating as his body anticipated the thrill of the kill, the high which came as he took life and drank it to sustain his own. The prey would die in his arms, and its blood would pulse through his veins, their adrenaline mixing into one intoxicating elixir.
He didn’t want the dreams. They made him crave something he didn’t ever want to crave again. He was determined to be satisfied with his daily supplements. He shook off the last remnants of the dream and stood up. He shuffled to the window and peeked out.
From his apartment above the large shop across the circular drive, he could see the front of the house perfectly. He stood in the dark in nothing but sweatpants and watched as Victor stepped out of the car, then ran around the front to get the door for his guest.
Brennan held his breath when he saw Victor shut Shyla’s door and back her up against the car. He was kissing her. Her hands were in his hair and his hands were on her ass.
Brennan looked away and tried to shove aside the pressure that was building up inside of him. It was just the dream. It had got to him this time, worse than usual. But when he looked back and saw the couple walking hand in hand up the front walk, he knew where they were going and again something inside of him flared up white hot.
He turned away from the window. Pacing, pacing, pacing. He reached into the fridge and chugged cold milk straight from the carton. It wasn’t what he wanted. He paced the length of his studio apartment again. He lay down on his bed and willed his mind to shut down, and the pressure building within to subside. He tossed and turned for what felt like hours.
He looked at the clock on his bedside table. Just over an hour had passed. He felt calmer but was still restless. He stood at his window again. Most of the lights in the main house were off. He couldn’t see Victor’s room from where he stood but had the light in his room been on, he’d have seen it spilling out the window into the field just to the left of the house.
He was about to turn away and return to the warmth of his bed, but he caught sight of movement. He stood very still and watched. There it was again. Someone was in Victor’s office but the lights were still off. His mind kicked into high gear. If Victor was milling around in his office, why didn’t he turn on the lights? And wouldn’t he be too busy with his guest? So if it wasn’t Victor, then it would be Shyla. And why in the world would she be rummaging around in Victor’s office? Where was Victor? Something wasn’t right.
He didn’t want to contemplate any longer. He was Victor’s bodyguard and he took his job seriously. He didn’t waste time with shoes or a shirt. He just slipped out the door, down the stairs and across the gravel drive.
Once inside the house, he paused and listened. It was silent. He took the stairs slowly, his bare feet silent on the wood floors. At the top of the landing he paused again. On the left at the far end of the hall was Victor’s door. It was slightly ajar and appeared to be as still as the night outside.
To his right was Victor’s office. That door was open just a crack as well. He slid next to the doorframe and when Shyla stepped out he grabbed her from behind, covering her mouth and pulling her back into the office out of the hall.
“Shh,” he warned.
He felt her body stiffen as if she were going to put up a fight. He held tighter. She bit down on the palm of his hand but he’d felt worse pain. He held on and pulled her against his chest. He felt the flutter of her heartbeat beneath his forearm.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispered, “settle down.”
He was telling himself to settle down just as much as he was telling her. She smelled entirely too good. When he felt her body relax a bit, he still held tight.
“I’m going to let go of your mouth. Don’t scream. I’m warning you.”
He didn’t let go of the grip around her waist but did pull his bruised hand away from her mouth. He felt a trickle of blood where her teeth had done their damage.
“Where is Victor?”
“He’s asleep, you asshole. Where do you think he is?” she hissed in a high whisper.
“What are you doing rummaging around in his office?” Brennan asked.
“I was looking for the bathroom. I got lost,” she stated plainly.
“There’s a master bathroom in Victor’s room.”
“Yeah, well,” Shyla sighed, “I didn’t want to wake him so I wen
t looking for another one. What’s the big deal? Why are you acting like a damn lunatic? You scared the holy living hell out of me.”
Brennan didn’t buy any of it. He knew damn well she hadn’t been lost. She’d had a full tour the last time she’d been over. She’d been in Victor’s office for a reason. He just couldn’t figure out what that reason would be. And despite his instincts, he had no proof that she meant any harm. He probably was coming off as a total lunatic.
“I’m going to let you go, okay?”
When he stepped back she turned and stared him down in the dark of the office. Only the light of the moon sifted in through the window. Her hair was still pulled back, but there were loose tendrils spilling around her face. She was small compared to him, but she exuded strong-will and tenacity. The look on her face was defiant, almost amused. She didn’t seem angry or frightened. She seemed exhilarated. He was baffled. He wanted to kill her. He wanted to kiss her. He only stood and stared.
After a moment, he broke the silence.
“I’m sorry that I scared you. I saw movement from across the way. The lights were off and I knew it wasn’t likely to be Victor. So I thought I’d check it out. I shouldn’t have grabbed you that way. I guess…” he stammered, trying to think of an excuse for his behavior, “I guess I’m still not used to living in the country. I get a little spooked when things are out of place.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Shyla scoffed, “where are you from again?”
“Uh…”
“Never mind,” Shyla said and waved her hand, “I need to get home. It’s late. Do you mind?”
Brennan stepped aside to allow her to pass.
“I thought you needed the restroom.”
“I guess the need passed,” Shyla said, before pausing, “Do you think Victor would be angry about this little misunderstanding?”
Brennan recognized the subtle threat.
“It wasn’t a misunderstanding, as I see it. I saw something suspicious and it happened to be you, lost and wandering in the house - Victor’s office, to be specific. What do you think? Do you think we should mention it to him?”
Rogue Alliance Page 7