by E. A. Copen
He didn’t like it when I dated. The last man I brought home to him was a co-worker from BSI, and Hunter didn’t speak to me for a week. He was going to feel betrayed. Maybe. Or maybe he’d be okay with it being Sal. I didn’t know, and that was what worried me the most. That and it was kind of weird dating a guy who could turn into a wolf if he didn’t want to talk.
I sighed and trudged to the door, still rubbing sleep from my eyes. Sal’s paws thumped lightly down the hall after me, stopping abruptly as I closed the bathroom door to pee. When I opened the door, he was waiting there, head tilted quizzically to the side as if he were a Doberman and not a werewolf.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I grumbled and passed him. “I know I look like shit in the mornings.” I went to hold open the front door, thinking maybe he wanted to go out. Werewolves in wolf form don’t tend to like closed spaces, and I reasoned he wanted to go and stretch his legs, maybe sniff around and chase off a jack rabbit or two. That’s what wolves do, right?
But Sal sat down short of the door, gave a wolfy sigh, and sneezed in protest.
“Well, I’m sorry. I’ve never lived with a werewolf before,” I snapped and pushed the door shut.
Sal coughed.
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, but I never saw Alex as a wolf. Best I can do is draw on my experience with a collie I owned.”
He growled at that, got up, and stalked past me, swishing his gray-white tail in the air and carrying his head high. That was a clear message. Sal thought himself far superior to a collie, and I’d probably just insulted him, treating him like a dog.
“Well if you don’t want to be treated like a dog, don’t look like one,” I mumbled and shambled into the kitchen.
Having paws instead of fingers, Sal wasn’t going to make any coffee, and I wasn’t going to function without it, so I fumbled through getting a pot on. I’d been to his place for dinner enough times that I had a decent handle on where everything was, though it was awkward to do everything with his eyes following me around. I couldn’t tell whether he was judging me or something else. Maybe he just wasn’t in the mood to talk. I knew I wasn’t.
Two cups of coffee later, I looked down at my rumpled clothes. “I need something to wear. Something whoever was in my house didn’t touch.” I knew it sounded weird, but I just wanted to burn the place down rather than let the pack clean it up. Someone had been in my house; someone I didn’t know. I felt violated in ways I couldn’t even put into words.
Sal, who had been sitting attentively on the floor nearby, turned his head toward the front door and pushed his ears back. A minute later, I heard the tell-tale sound of a motorcycle pulling into the driveway and rose to look out the window. The sour feeling in my stomach worsened. “Shit. It’s Istaqua. You’d better go get changed.”
The door to Sal’s bedroom closed in answer. I turned around and found him gone, leaving me to answer the door whenever Istaqua worked his way up the stairs to knock. I watched through the window as Istaqua trudged up the stairs, put his hand on the doorknob, and came in uninvited.
I didn’t know what tribe Istaqua hailed from. Like Chanter and Sal, he was some sort of Native American, and you couldn’t miss that looking at him. He wore his long, silver-black hair in two messy braids. A pair of aviators hid his eyes. Judging by the brewery smell he gave off, I guessed he hadn’t slept. The black leather vest he wore announced for all to see that he was the president of the Tomahawk Kings.
I narrowed my eyes when I spied the one percenter patch. While his vest was decorated in lots of other embroidered patches, that was one of the few I knew the meaning behind. It comes from an old saying by the American Motorcycle Association that ninety-nine percent of all motorcycle riders were good, law-abiding citizens. Only one percent were criminals. Istaqua wore that label as a literal badge of honor right under the patch announcing his rank as president of the Kings.
He hadn’t expected to see me there when he came in. His pause in the doorway said that. A sly smile spread over his face after a minute, and he stepped in, closing the door behind him. “Well, then. They told me you two were an official item, but I had you pegged as a bit of a prude. Looks like I owe Flash twenty bucks.”
I put a hand on my hip as he came in and sat down on the sofa, putting his dusty boots up on the coffee table.
“I smell coffee,” he said. “Good. I’ll take mine black.”
I thought hard about telling him where he could shove his coffee order. After all, I wasn’t his waitress, and I wasn’t some girl he could order around. If he thought he could snap his fingers and get me to jump, he had another thing coming, especially this early in the morning. I gripped the handle of my own coffee cup tightly and imagined pouring the entire steaming pot on his lap. I wonder what you’d think of that black coffee, asshole.
The bedroom door opened, and Sal stepped out in human form again, still working on buttoning the shirt he’d chosen for the day. He stopped in the kitchen, giving me a look that said, play nice.
“Fine,” I grumbled and pulled another coffee cup down.
“Didn’t expect to see you this early.” Sal strolled into the living room. “Did I miss a call?”
“Is it early?” Istaqua shrugged. “And I didn’t want to do this over the phone. Too much gets lost in translation when you can’t look a man in the eye and ask him questions face to face.”
Sal crossed his arms.
I walked into the living room and dropped the coffee cup onto the table between Istaqua’s boots, letting some of it slosh over the edge. Istaqua didn’t take the hint. He lowered his feet, and casually picked up the mug, frowning after he took a sip. “You should train your pet human better, Saloso.”
I took a step forward but found Sal’s hand blocking my advance. He might have stopped me from hitting Istaqua, but Sal couldn’t stop my mouth. “You should think twice before showing up in front of a fed piss drunk wearing a criminal billboard.”
He showed me a mouthful of yellowing teeth. “So, that’s how it is, huh, brother? You going to sell out for a little pussy?”
“I’m not selling out,” Sal answered. “And you and I already had this discussion.”
“And I’ll tell you what I told you then. It ain’t none of my business who you’re fucking, so long as it ain’t the club and it ain’t me or anybody else with a patch.”
“What’s the problem then?”
Istaqua leaned forward and put the coffee cup back down with a loud bang. More coffee spilled onto the wood surface of the coffee table. “The problem is, I had to hear from Phil that you were in the bar last night with this broad. We don’t shit where we eat, son. I thought I made that clear.”
I folded my arms over my chest. “You got a problem with me?”
He pointed at me. “I ain’t talking to you.”
“You are now.”
Istaqua raised his sunglasses to reveal bloodshot eyes. “Girl, if two of my brothers weren’t already firmly on your side, I’d belt you across the mouth for the way you’re looking at me. I’d break out some of those pretty teeth of yours, give you something better to put in that mouth of yours than spiteful words. I bet you’d change your mind real quick about me.” He grabbed at his crotch.
I gagged at the idea.
Sal stepped firmly between us with a low growl. “That’s not going to happen.”
“Last I checked, I was still running the Kings. I decide what happens and when, and I decide who’s allowed to come and go from the clubhouse. You feel me, brother?”
“I feel you,” Sal answered through clenched teeth. “Now, do you got some other reason you drove all the way out here or is this just a dick waving contest?”
He lowered the sunglasses again. “I need to know if she’s going to be a problem.”
Sal turned and glared at me. It was an angry warning-look, one I didn’t see on his face often. After a moment, I realized I’d shrunk down and away from him and fought to recover.
“Judah understands th
e ramifications of being involved with me.”
“You going to lay an official claim on her then?” Istaqua asked, leaning back. “Because that is a mighty fine piece of ass you keep parading around. Better make it known before somebody mistakes her for a hang around.”
Sal’s hand shot out and gripped my arm tight. “Anybody who tries better have his affairs in order, because he’d be a dead man.”
“Good to hear it.” Istaqua stood and picked up the coffee cup. He took a sip and then waved it at me. “Thanks for the Joe.” He headed for the door, cup in hand. He paused by the front door and turned back around. “Oh, by the way. I talked to Valentino a little while ago. We’re going to look into whoever trashed your place, Judah. Not as a favor to you or anything, of course, but Paint Rock and Eden belong to the Kings. This is our backyard. Nobody fucks with people in our backyard without expecting to get fucked up in return. Don’t you worry your head about it, little lady. We’ll get this straightened out.”
He left just as he’d come, without another word to either of us.
When he was gone, Sal stormed over and locked the door. “Son of a bitch! I fucking told him not to call the club in.”
“Valentino? Is he a member, too?”
“Val can’t run with us. He’s got... other obligations.” Sal trailed off and punched the door. “God dammit!”
“Calm down. You know he only came out here and acted like that to get you all wound up. But he does have a point.”
“About what?”
“I saw the one percenter patch, Sal. I know Marcus is protecting you guys. We can’t go on pretending I don’t know you’re doing something illegal. I need to know what and how deep you are in it. Without that truth, I can’t trust you, and if I can’t trust you, how are we supposed to build a relationship on that?”
Sal leaned his forehead against the door. After a long pause, his shoulders slumped. He turned and sank down to sit. I sat down on the arm of the sofa, facing him, waiting.
“If I tell you, you’ll walk away,” Sal said after a long time.
“Maybe, but I’ll walk for sure if you don’t.”
“Things would be so much more simple if you weren’t a fucking fed.”
A small fire lit in my chest. My heart picked up speed. “But I am a fed, Sal, and that’s not going to change. It’s my job to protect people. I need to know if I should be protecting them from you.”
He leaned forward. “Come on, Judah. You know me. I’ve bled for you. With you. I don’t ask questions about where you go, what you do, and with who.”
“Maybe you should. At least you know I’m not killing people or running drugs and guns all over. Until I know everything, that can’t be true. I don’t know you, and I can’t care about a man I don’t know.”
“You didn’t know Alex,” Sal snapped, his words full of venom. “You didn’t even know he was a werewolf before you fucking married and had a kid with him.”
The fire that had been burning in my chest just a minute ago iced over. Sal might as well have stabbed me. It would have been kinder. He knew, knew that it hurt me that Alex hadn’t been honest with me. He knew I saw that as a mistake on my part, one I wasn’t willing to repeat. Everything about my marriage to Alex hurt to talk about. Even looking at Hunter and seeing Alex in the corner of his smile, or the way he wore his shaggy hair long, or the way he swaggered around the house, those things hurt. It was all a constant reminder of the price I had paid for my ignorance and complacency. It’s what I got for not asking questions. I got my husband, my son’s father killed.
A response formed in my brain, but I couldn’t get it out. My whole chest ached. I felt my jaw tremble as the hurt transformed itself into anger. Sal had said that to hurt me. Did he think so little of me that I would crawl into bed with a criminal without knowing the first thing about him? What if he thought of me like Istaqua did? Just a convenient piece of ass. Property.
Then I realized what he’d almost said on the phone to Valentino before he caught himself. He’d been ready to list me along with other possessions. “My business,” he’d said. “My town. My woman.” I filled in the last word, which should have been obvious by the way he cut himself off and looked to see if I were listening. He thought he owned me just like that stupid bike of his, and that’s why I didn’t deserve to know. Property doesn’t question its usefulness.
Even as I finally prepared a response, it was too late. Sal stood and let out a long string of curses before grabbing his keys, cigarettes, and lighter off the counter and storming out the front door. A minute later, I heard his bike start up, and he roared away.
I stayed seated on the arm of the sofa, stewing in my own rage, running over and over in my head how stupid I was for letting myself fall for him. It was my own fault. I’d known Sal wasn’t a straight arrow. I knew the minute I saw him at Aisling with his club colors on and some bimbo in his lap. I knew, and yet I’d let him smooth talk me into forgetting, into putting off talking about it. The night before, I’d let him haul me halfway across the county to a dirty roadhouse, where he tried to convince me they were good people. At least, that’s how he’d wanted it to seem. Maybe the only reason he’d taken me out there was to assert his ownership of me in front of his friends.
The phone in my pocket buzzed and I took it out, staring at the screen. It was a private number. “Black,” I said into the phone, trying to force the quiver out of my voice.
“Judah,” Marcus said. “I’m glad to hear you made it home last night.”
“Some assholes trashed my place. Ruined everything I owned. You wouldn’t have anything to do with it, would you?”
“No.” His voice was firm. He sounded irritated so I believed him. “Where are you now? Are you safe?”
“I’m safe,” I answered and then thought of something else. “But you and I need to talk, Marcus, and not just about this case you handed me.”
“You’ll have to speak with my personal assistant about that. I’m afraid I barely even know my own schedule right now. I’m very busy. This is my only free moment until this evening. I only wanted to call and check in. I’m sure she can find you a suitable time.” There was a moment’s hesitation. “Should I send a car for you, Judah?”
I looked out over the sleepy reservation. The sun was just starting to come up and Tindall’s place wasn’t far. I could reach it on foot and still be early. The walk would really help me clear my head. “No, I’ve got a car. Just make yourself available.”
Marcus sighed. “I really am busy. If you’re willing to wait, I do have dinner reservations. Yes, let me treat you to dinner tonight. It’s the least I can do for all the help.”
I pressed my lips together in thought. What I knew of Marcus Kelley couldn’t fill a teacup. Any chance I could find to grill him for more information was one I should take, but I also knew dinner could be a tricky subject for vampires, especially vampires of Marcus’ disposition. I knew already that he and his daughter, Kim, fed in the same manner. Nothing says creepy and unsettling like Succubine and Incubine vampires. Nothing would get under Sal’s skin more than me accepting his invitation. It was mean, low, and petty, but I was a woman scorned, dammit. And Hell hath no fury like a pissed off woman who’d just been played by a biker werewolf.
“Sure,” I answered after a moment’s thought. “So long as you actually talk to me about the case and answer my questions. This can’t be a social call, Marcus.”
“I’ll send a car to pick you up. Be ready at five. Oh, and you’ll need something nice to wear. Stop by Miss Patsy Adam’s place. She and her coven will see to your every need. I’ll instruct the driver to pick you up there.” There was a slight pause. “You know, I’m surprised you haven’t called on your neighbor for assistance. I was under the impression that the two of you were quite close.”
I hung up and almost threw the phone. “Jackass,” I muttered and stood. Patsy’s place was over on Vampire Avenue, not far from where Tindall lived. If I hurried, I could stop there o
n the way and save myself some time.
Chapter Seven
Patsy Adams lived in a circle of singlewide trailers at the end of a cul-de-sac, all pulled up as if they were a wagon train circled for the night. I couldn’t remember exactly which one belonged to Patsy, so I just walked into the middle. While I was deciding, the door to the trailer in the center opened. Patsy poked her head out wearing purple curlers in her hair and oversized sunglasses. She was wearing a pink kimono knock-off with floral print.
“Agent Black,” she called and waved me over. I walked up to her porch and stopped at the bottom stair. “Come in! Come in!” She made an exaggerated gesture. “Welcome to my humble abode.”
Her place wasn’t as nice as Sal’s and not quite as big. It looked like a two-bedroom model. The ceilings were low and the spaces more cramped. The furniture was bright and cheery in color, which made up for the blackout drapes on the windows. Patsy put a hand behind my back as if we were old friends and pulled me to the sofa. “You sit down right there. Oh, you poor dear! You look just awful! Tell Patsy what she can get for you.”
“Marcus was supposed to have called ahead.” I frowned.
“He did. You needed some clothes. Formal wear?”
I cringed. He’d said something nice, not formal wear. “I guess. He’d know more about it than me. He said he had dinner reservations. I’m helping him with a problem.”
“Oh, say no more!” she exclaimed jumping up. “Let Patsy help you, dearie. I think I have just the thing.”
She waddled down the short hallway, her pink slippers making a clickity-clack sound on the linoleum floor. “I don’t have a lot in your size,” she called to me from down the hall. “You’re such a petite little thing and you’ve always looked so comfortable in... casual wear. But then I remembered the time we had that young initiate. She was about your size. I know I kept one of her prom dresses so it’s got to be somewhere in here. Ah! There it is!”
Patsy came bustling back down the hall, a hanger in her hand. The dress she held out to me was crimson with a beaded halter top and a plunging neckline, something I never would have chosen to wear on my own.