Arriving at his house, Bastian headed inside, dropping his keys on the marble-topped island in the open kitchen.
He walked into his bedroom. Lucy rolled over, her eyes searching his. She’d stretched out in his bed. He wasn’t surprised to find her there.
“You didn’t find her?”
“She got away.”
She sighed. “I’m sorry.”
He unbuttoned his shirt and sat down beside the leggy blonde. “We’ll find her. Eventually.”
“I’d never run from you.”
He reached out, running fingers through her silken hair. “I know.” She leaned her face into his palm, savoring his touch like a needy housecat. Precisely the reason why Lucy would never be more that what she was to him.
“It’s been a while. Since Crimson came to you.”
“Has it been that long?” His fingers caressed the soft skin of her throat, pausing over the pulse beats, which speeded up under his touch.
“Yes. And you need to. She’s not here to give it to you.”
“Lucy ...” He didn’t pull back but chastised her all the same.
“Do it. You know you need to. While she’s gone. Please.” She tossed her head back, displaying the white column of her neck more prominently than before. “I used to be special to you. Please.”
He leaned his head in, his lips applying pressure. She groaned from the light touch. His tongue slid out to skim her skin, licking upwards. His eyes closed. Lucy did taste wonderful. Always had. If only she could accept things for what they were, he’d use her more often. Of course, Crimson met all his needs perfectly. Until now that she’d left. And Lucy was right. His need was great.
His fangs punctured the skin as his hands came up to hold her head. Her gasp ended in a moan. He sipped her blood like the fine wine it was. Such a banquet ran through her veins.
Feeding for several minutes, he lifted his lips to kiss her soundly after he’d taken his fill. Sated for now.
“Thank you,” she murmured, pulling him down with her as she lay back in the bed. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her closely as they drifted off to sleep.
* * * * *
Click. Click. Click.
Stiletto heels tapped a rhythm as Evangeline walked down the beige-tiled hallway. Opening the door to the bedroom, she took a step, the pointed heels sinking into the plush red carpet.
“Leave us.” She shook back her hair as she circled the huge four-poster bed. The men scurried out of the room. She loved to be in charge. To have men at her beck and call. Women, too.
As the door clicked shut behind them, she spoke again. “I understand you don’t like our hospitality. I thought we had an understanding.”
“Fuck you.”
She ran her hands along the satin sheets on the side of the mattress, moving near the head of the bed. “Such language. Did I ever tell you where I came from?”
Silence.
She leaned over as her hand snapped out and backhanded the girl across the face. “Did I ever tell you where I came from?”
“No.”
“Victorian England. Talk about repressed.”
Stony green eyes stared back at her.
“My pet. You are so unhappy here that you would run? After our agreements?”
“We have no agreements. I’ve ... changed my mind.”
“More’s the pity. Your stay here could be highly pleasant or highly painful. Oh, but I did forget. For you, pleasure is pain, isn’t it?”
“Fuck you.”
“You need to get more of a vocabulary, pet. Though your spirit does challenge me.”
She sat down on the bed, adjusting the red silk and lace robe as she did so. “You ran from me. That’s unacceptable. Your part in this game is already set. I can’t have you taking off, away from the stage.” She stroked her fingers along the girl’s jaw line, caressing the soft, pale skin with the tips. Her pet shivered, freckles dancing, and pressed her head further into the mattress. “You don’t like my touch? I forgot.” She tapped her mouth. “You don’t like women. Only guys.” She leaned down and flicked a nipple with her tongue. “I like women. And men. Makes for so much more prey to do both.”
“Please, I don’t want to be a part of the game anymore.”
She tsked. “You beg so prettily, but it’s too late for that. Bastian is already playing. And I need you to get to him. So sorry, pet, no changes of heart this late. Is that why you ran? Last minute kind thoughts about your boyfriend?” Her palm skidded over the exposed breast. “Why didn’t you run to him? They caught you near your own apartment.”
“Please don’t. Don’t touch me.”
“Say my name.”
“You never told me it.”
“Malarkey. You’ve heard it many times. And I’m sure that Bastian told you all about me. Say my name. I want to hear it from your lips.” Her thumb rubbed the already hardened nipple. She could feel the divots under the pad.
“Evangeline. Please stop.”
She withdrew her hand from the mound of flesh. “Oh, my pet. You are a hoot. I can cut you, whip you, do anything of that sort to you. But god forbid I touch you. And once upon a time people called me sexually perverted.” Evangeline laughed. “Such a pity to mar that beautiful flesh.” The scent of blood had hung heavy in the air of the room since her entrance. She’d been temped by it from the first, but had other matters to attend to. “My new edict shall be, no touch by me, no pain by anyone.”
“Evangeline. I want to leave. I don’t want to ... be a part of this anymore.” Her voice rose, fear evident.
Evangeline took pleasure in the tremor she heard. Didn’t think she’d ever heard such from this one. “It’s too late, pet. I already told you that. You have such a beautiful Southern twang. A deep, husky voice. I bet I could get off listening to you talk.” Her hand slid down under her robe and stroked her own sex gently. She touched, until she rocked herself against her soaked hand, then withdrew. The musky scent lingered in the air. “I think it’s time I let one of the boys in. And time I fed.” Her laugher tinkled. “And I don’t even have to do anything to feed. Your blood is right there. How convenient for me.”
Evangeline took another look at the bed before she got up to fetch one of her boys.
Crimson lay naked on the red sheets, flaming hair behind her, arms tied with black ropes to the posts, feet tied similarly. Her side oozed blood from where the knife had cut her. If the healing properties from feeding didn’t seal the wound, Evangeline might have to find a doctor to sew her up. What a picture the girl made. And how much Bastian would give up to set her free.
Chapter Two
Copper rubbed a hand over her eyes. They felt gritty, like she had sand in them. That’s what only sleeping a restless half hour on a plane would do to a person. She yawned, looking out the window of the rental car.
St. Louis. It had been two years since she’d graced its streets. Since she’d lived here. She guessed she could have moved back after Mom had died. But she never had, having gotten comfortable in St. Joseph. She’d been desperate to leave it when she’d graduated. Probably as much as the Pony Express riders starting their routes there way back when it had been in service. St. Louis had been the first stop back then, the first stop for her, too, in life.
Abandoned, graffiti-clad warehouses zipped by her window as she sped down the interstate. The morning sun hung low in the sky.
Now, where do I start?
There had been no word from Crimson. Should she go to the payphone? Or to Crimson’s apartment?
Easy choice. She’d head to Crimson’s first. Maybe she’d get lucky, and her sister would be home. Then she could kill her for scaring her shitless.
She’d considered the police, but there’d be so many questions about the life Crimson led. And despite her protests to Jared, there was still a part of her that worried it was all part of a game, a scene Crimson played in. Until she knew more, she couldn’t contact the police.
Managing to find a parkin
g space on the street, Copper trudged up the five floors, carrying her duffel bag, to Crimson’s tiny studio apartment
She banged on the door. “Crimson! Crimson!” No answer.
A spectacled, gray-headed woman opened the door next to Crimson’s. She blinked. “Did you get locked out again, dearie?”
Sometimes Copper forgot how much Crimson and she looked alike. “Uh ... yeah, I sure did.”
“Let me go get the key you left here. Good thing you did that.”
She’d planned to jimmy the lock or use a credit card to get in. It had always worked in the past; probably no one had fixed the half-assed lock since she’d lived there. This way made it easier.
One good thing about having an identical twin was that you got mistaken for them a lot, which helped in situations of impersonation. However, mistaken identity was also the bad part about having an identical twin. Sometimes, she’d wanted to be unique. Not to be a mirror image. To have someone be able to tell her apart from her sister.
The woman came back with a key clutched in her knobby, shaking fingers. “Where have you been hiding? I haven’t seen you in almost a week. I was getting worried.” The older woman’s hands were cool as she handed over the key.
“Oh, you know, the usual. This and that. I’ve been busy.” A week? Her heart bottomed to her ankles.
“I can imagine, with that boyfriend of yours. Guess that’s why you needed your overnight bag again.”
“He’s something.” Boyfriend? Crim had a boyfriend? They were going to have a serious talk when she found her sister. She frowned. What was the lady’s name? Mrs. Fields? No, she made cookies. What the hell was it? “I’ll hang on to this key until I find mine.”
“Be careful, dearie. I’m not sure I like his looks. Too dark for me. And in this day and age, you never know what can happen. You do that with the key. Drop it off anytime.”
“I will. Thanks so much.” She turned the key in the small lock and stepped inside Crimson’s apartment.
Talk about dark. Crimson had hung sheets over all the windows, blocking out the view and the outside light. Walking in was like walking into a bat cave. If a bat hit her in the head, she was going to whap her sister. Musty, stuffy air hit her face like the place hadn’t been opened in a while.
Finding the lamp, she switched it on. Hadn’t changed much from when she’d lived here. Clothes all over the flowery couch and love seat. Stuff heaped on the coffee table.
Copper shook her head, remembering all the fights over the mess they got into living together. “You never change, Crimson.”
She searched the apartment. She didn’t find Crimson -- not that she’d thought she would. A harsh scent made her nose twitch in the kitchen. She opened Crim’s refrigerator to find a few science experiments. White mold grew on some unidentifiable thing, and spoiled meat had turned black. As she opened the cabinet under the sink for the trashcan, she found the real source of the stench. The trash reeked.
She got rid of the bad stuff in the icebox and cinched up the trash bag. How long had Crimson been gone? Just because neighbor lady hadn’t seen her in a week didn’t mean she’d been gone a week. It could have been longer or shorter. God, please let it be shorter. Even a few days was long enough for her to be missing.
Copper carried the bag down the steps and tossed it into the dumpster. Pursing her lips, she climbed up to peek in. Nothing but trash. It wasn’t close to being full, so she could see well, and pickup happened tomorrow unless the apartment had changed it since she’d lived there.
With a sigh of relief and a reproach to herself for being paranoid, she walked several blocks north to the pay phone. She found the corner and checked the number. This was it.
Her eyes scanned the stand the phone stood on and the ground beneath it. A dark spot on the concrete. Several more a few inches away. She swallowed. Not that she knew much about evidence gathering, but could that be blood? No way of knowing. And it could be unrelated to Crimson. So why did she shake all over like a tree in winter winds?
Sighing in frustration, she checked out the phone itself. It worked. Nothing unusual. She didn’t know what she’d hoped to find, other than something to tell her where her sister was. Why she’d screamed. But there was no huge red sign indicating, “This is what happened!”
Copper noticed some more dark drops. She followed them. They went a half block away and stopped at the street. She didn’t see any more. Across the road, yellow police tape blocked the alley.
Her heart pounded. She looked at the tape. A large, dark splash marred the light gray concrete in the center. What had happened here?
“Hey!” a voice called.
She turned to find a man racing up to her. “That’s been cordoned off by police. You can’t go over there.”
“I wasn’t. I was only looking.” He wore a uniform, gun holstered by his side. Not a police uniform. Security guard? She’d bet so, probably from one of the hotels. “Do you know what happened here?” She waved her hand to the alley.
“Police found a body.”
Copper’s hands shook and her stomach dropped below her knees. No, this couldn’t be happening. But all she could get out of her mouth was, “Oh?”
“Yep. Some bum. I overheard his throat was ripped out.”
“A man?”
He nodded. “Some homeless guy. I’d seen him panhandling earlier.”
She let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. It hadn’t been Crimson. Closing her eyes a second, she blew out another breath. She still didn’t know where her sister was. But relief at the body not being her was overwhelming.
“Are you all right?” His eyes narrowed, searching her face.
“Yes. I’m fine. Thanks for the information.” She turned to go.
“Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?” She hadn’t even taken one step away.
She turned back toward him. “I don’t think so.” His eyes traveled up and down her jeans-and-T-shirt-clad body. She saw the interest flicker in them.
“I know where. You waitress at Lucky’s Bar.”
Oh, damn. He recognized her as Crimson. “Ohhhh. Yes, that’s probably where. You come in often?”
“Often enough. You’re one of the best ones there.” He licked his lips. “So I hear. Though I heard tell, you have a boyfriend. Big and mean sucker.”
She smiled brightly. “Why, yes, I am involved. And I have to go. Bye and thanks again.” Copper took long strides walking away. She hadn’t missed his eyes darkening or the bulge under his khakis. And there went boyfriend talk again. She hated to even think what Crimson did so well at Lucky’s Bar.
“I’ll see you next time I come in!” he hollered from behind her.
She didn’t turn around or acknowledge him, but swore she could feel his eyes boring into her back until she turned the corner. Yeah, he was jonesing, but after the wrong twin.
* * * * *
Back at Crimson’s apartment, Copper paced. She rubbed her hand over her face. “You didn’t think this would be easy, did you? Dammit, Crimson, where are you?” Maybe she should call the cops? No, the authorities had to be a last resort. So now what?
Time to snoop.
She’d gone through all the magazines on the coffee table, mostly Cosmo, People, and various bondage magazines. Her sister had too much time on her hands. The phone rang. Holding up a finger, she walked around the apartment. “Answering machine. I know you have one, Crim.” It wasn’t in the kitchen or the living room where everyone else she knew had theirs. Where had it been when she lived there? The kitchen. Crimson must have moved it.
On the fifth ring, Crimson’s voice sounded. “I can’t come to the phone right now ... too busy doing other things ... teee heeee ... but leave me a message, and I’ll get back to you.”
Copper had heard the message a dozen times over the past day. But hearing her sister’s husky voice, her attempt to be sexy by dropping an octave on “other things” in contrast to the giggle, while standing in her empty apartm
ent, rattled Copper.
“Oh, Crim.” Her vision clouded with tears, and she shook them off.
The answering machine rested on a nightstand in the bedroom. “Crimson, this is your last chance. I’ve been leaving messages all week. You don’t show up for work today, you’re fired!” Click. The angry baritone cut off.
So Crimson had to work today.
Copper sighed, looking at the machine. The number two blinked beside the alert light.
Wait a minute. Only two? She’d left a message most times she’d called. She hit play. The first message was hers. From earlier today ... or was it yesterday? Her time clock had gone screwy.
How could there only be two? The boss had said he’d left messages all week. If that was true, who erased them?
Copper bolted for the fridge. On the outside were tons of papers held up by magnets. A few menus for restaurants that delivered. A note on dumpster pickup for the building confirming the day hadn’t changed. Where was it? She spied her sister’s work schedule and nabbed it, glad Crimson’s habits hadn’t changed. She always posted her work days on the fridge.
She’d been scheduled several days this week. But the week before, she hadn’t worked at all.
Copper plopped down on the couch, the schedule in her hand. She needed to find out lots of things but didn’t know how. If only she knew more about her sister’s life.
Sitting up straighter, her head went up. What better way to find out about her sister’s life than to be her sister? They looked identical, with only a few differences, and nothing casually noticed. They’d passed for each other before.
She checked the clock. One hour before Crimson had to report to work.
Investigating the closet, amidst the leather and the two floggers -- which Copper didn’t touch -- she found a short black dress uniform that had “Lucky’s Bar” emblazoned in bright pink, with lipstick-like kisses all over it. One piece with a flippy skirt.
She slid it on and looked at herself in the mirror. It was short. She’d be flashing her underwear if she wasn’t careful, not being used to skirts and dresses.
Blood Lines: Conduit Page 2