by J. R. Ward
Rehv stopped right in front of the guy. “And so I ask you once more, did you think no one was going to double-check the math?”
“Reverend, boss…please, I was going to pay you back—”
“Yeah, you are going to make good on it. And you’re paying my vig for fucktards who try to play me. One hundred and fifty percent due at the end of this month or your wife’s going to see you mailed back to her in pieces. Oh, and you’re fired.”
The guy burst into tears, and they weren’t the crocodile kind. These were real, the sort that made the man’s nose run and his eyes puff up. “Please…they were going to hurt me—”
Rehv snapped his hand out and clamped on between the guy’s legs. The poodle yelp told him that even though he couldn’t feel anything, the bookie could, and the pressure was in the right spot.
“I don’t like being stolen from,” Rehv said into the man’s ear. “Cranks my shit right out. And if you think what the mob was going to do to you was bad, I will guarantee you that I am capable of worse. Now…I want you to sing for me, motherfucker.”
Rehv twisted hard and the guy screamed for all he was worth, the sound loud and high, echoing in the low-ceilinged room. When the shriek began to trail off because the bookie had exhausted his air supply, Rehv relented and gave him a chance to refresh those pipes with some gasping. And then it was—
The second scream was louder and higher than the first, proving that vocalists did do better after a little warm-up.
The bookie jerked and jangled in the hold of the Moors, and Rehv kept at it, his symphath side watching raptly, like this was the best show on television.
It took about nine minutes until the guy lost consciousness.
After it was lights-out, Rehv let go and returned to his chair. One nod and Trez and iAm took the human through the back way, into the alley, where the cold would revive him eventually.
As they left, Rehv had a sudden image of Ehlena balancing all those boxes of dopamine in her arms as she came into the exam room. What would she think of him if she knew what he did to keep his business running? What would she say if she knew that, when he told a bookie he either paid up or his wife got FedEx packages that leaked blood on her doorstep, it wasn’t a threat? What would she do if she knew that he was fully prepared to do the slice-and-dice himself or order Xhex, Trez, or iAm to do it for him?
Well, he already had the answer, didn’t he.
Her voice, that clear, lovely voice, replayed in his mind: You’d better keep that. For someone who might ever use it.
Sure, she didn’t know the particulars, but she was smart enough to turn down his business card.
Rehv focused on Xhex, who hadn’t moved from her position against the front door. As silence stretched out, she stared down at the short-napped black carpet, her boot heel making a circle around herself.
“What,” he said. When she didn’t look up at him, he sensed her struggling to collect herself. “What the fuck happened?”
Trez and iAm came back into the office and settled against the black wall across from Rehv’s desk. As they crossed their arms in front of their huge chests, they kept their mouths shut.
Silence was characteristic of Shadows…but coupled with Xhex’s tight expression and the protractor routine she was pulling with that boot, shit had gone down.
“Talk. Now.”
Xhex’s eyes flipped up to his. “Chrissy Andrews is dead.”
“How.” Even though he knew.
“Beaten and strangled to death in her apartment. I had to go down to the morgue and ID the body.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“I’m going to take care of it.” Xhex wasn’t asking permission, and no matter what he said, she was going to go after that piece-of-shit boyfriend. “And I’m going to do it fast.”
Generally speaking, Rehv was in charge, but he wasn’t standing in her way on this. To him, his working girls weren’t just a revenue center…. They were employees who he cared about and identified with intimately. So if one got hurt, whether it was by a john or a boyfriend or a husband, he took a personal interest in payback.
Whores deserved respect, and his were going to get it.
“Teach him a lesson first,” Rehv growled.
“Don’t you worry about that.”
“Shit…I blame myself,” Rehv murmured as he reached forward and picked up his envelope opener. The thing was in the shape of a dagger and as sharp as a weapon, too. “We should have killed him sooner.”
“She seemed as if she was better.”
“Maybe she was just hiding it better.”
The four of them sat in the quiet for a bit. There were a lot of losses in their profession—people turning up dead was hardly a news flash—but for the most part, he and his crew were the minus signs in the equations: They did the taking out. A loss of their own by someone else sat badly.
“You want the update on tonight?” Xhex asked.
“Not yet. Got a little news of my own to share.” Forcing his head into gear, he looked at Trez and iAm. “What I’m about to say will make things very messy, and I want to give you both a chance to leave. Xhex, you don’t get that option. Sorry.”
Trez and iAm stayed put, which did not surprise him in the slightest. Trez also popped a middle finger at him. Not a shocker either.
“I went to Connecticut,” Rehv said.
“You also went to the clinic,” Xhex added. “Why?”
GPS sucked sometimes. Hard to have any privacy. “Forget the fucking clinic. Listen, I need you to do a job for me.”
“Job as in…?”
“Think of Chrissy’s boyfriend as a cocktail before dinner.”
This got a cold smile out of her. “Tell me.”
He stared at the point of the envelope opener, thinking that he and Wrath had laughed because they both had one: The king had come in to visit after the raids during the summer, to discuss council business, and had seen the thing out on the desk. Wrath had joked that in their day jobs they both led by the blade, even if they had a pen in their hands.
Wasn’t that the truth. Although Wrath had morality on his side and Rehv had only self-interest.
So it was not with virtue that he’d made his decision and chosen the course. It was, as usual, what benefited him most.
“It’s not going to be easy,” he murmured.
“The fun ones never are.”
Rehv focused on the sharp point of the opener. “This one…is not for fun.”
With the night closing down and her shift ending, Ehlena was antsy. Date time. Decision time. The male was supposed to come and pick her up at the clinic in twenty minutes.
God, she was back to waffling again.
His name was Stephan. Stephan, son of Tehm, although she didn’t know him or his family. He was a civilian, not an aristocrat, and he’d come in with his cousin, who’d cut his hand splitting logs for firewood. While she’d been doing the discharge paperwork, she’d talked to Stephan about the kinds of things single people talked about: He liked Radiohead; she did, too. She liked Indonesian food; he did, too. He worked in the human world, doing computer programming, thanks to virtual commuting. She was a nurse, duh. He lived at home with his parents, the only son in a solidly civilian family—or at least they’d sounded solidly civilian, his father doing construction for vampire contractors, his mother teaching the Old Language freelance.
Nice, normal. Trustworthy.
Considering what the aristocrats had done to her father’s sanity, she figured that all seemed like a good bet, and when Stephan had asked her out for a coffee, she’d said yes, they’d agreed on tonight, and exchanged cell phone numbers.
But what was she going to do? Call him and say she couldn’t because of a family situation? Go anyway, and worry about her father?
A quick call to Lusie from the locker room, though, and the news from home was favorable: Ehlena’s father had had a long rest and was now calmly working on his papers at his desk.
Hal
f an hour at an all-night diner. Maybe a shared scone. What was the harm?
As she decided to go once and for all, she didn’t appreciate the image that flashed through her mind. Rehv’s bare chest with those red star tattoos on it was not what she needed to be thinking about as she resolved to go on a date with another male.
What she needed to concentrate on was getting out of her uniform and at least nominally improving her appearance.
With the overday staff funneling in and those who had been on during the night leaving, she changed from her uniform into the skirt and sweater she’d brought with her—
She’d forgotten her shoes.
Great. White crepe soles were so sexy.
“What’s wrong?” Catya said.
She turned around. “Any chance these two white boats on my feet don’t totally ruin this outfit?”
“Er…honestly? They’re not that bad.”
“You so don’t lie well.”
“I gave it a shot.”
Ehlena packed her uniform into her bag, redid her hair, and checked the makeup situation. Of course, she’d forgotten her eyeliner and mascara as well, so the cavalry was out of horses on that front, so to speak.
“I’m glad you’re going,” Catya said as she erased the night roster from the whiteboard.
“Considering you’re my boss, that makes me nervous. I’d rather have you happy to see me coming into the clinic.”
“No, it’s not about work. I’m glad you’re going out tonight.”
Ehlena frowned and looked around. By some miracle, they were alone. “Who says I’m going anywhere but home?”
“A female going home doesn’t change out of her uniform here. And she doesn’t worry about how her footwear goes with her skirt. I’ll spare you the who-is-he.”
“That’s a relief.”
“Unless you want to volunteer?”
Ehlena laughed out loud. “No, I’d rather keep it private. But if it goes anywhere…I’ll spill.”
“And I’ll keep you to that.” Catya went over to her locker and just stared at it.
“You okay?” Ehlena said.
“I hate this damn war. I hate having the dead come in here, and seeing the pain they went through on their faces.” Catya opened the locker and got busy getting her parka out. “Sorry, don’t mean to be a downer.”
Ehlena went over and put her hand on the female’s shoulder. “I know just how you feel.”
There was a moment between them as their eyes clung to each other’s. And then Catya cleared her throat.
“Right, off you go. Your male awaits.”
“He’s picking me up here.”
“Ohhh, maybe I’ll just hang around and have a cigarette outside.”
“You don’t smoke.”
“Drat, foiled again.”
On her way to the exit, Ehlena checked in at the registration desk to make sure there was nothing else she needed to do with the handoff to the new shift. Satisfied everything was in order, she went through the doors and up the stairs until she was finally free of the clinic.
The night was out of the cool zip code and into chill city, the air smelling blue to her, if the color did indeed have a scent: There was just something so fresh and icy and clear as she breathed deep and exhaled in soft clouds. With each inhale, she felt as if she were taking the sapphire sprawl of the heavens above into her lungs and that the stars were sparks skipping through her body.
As the last of the nurses departed, dematerializing or driving off, depending on what they had planned, she said good-bye to the stragglers. Then Catya came and went.
Ehlena stamped her feet and checked her watch. The male was ten minutes late. No big deal.
Leaning back against the aluminum siding, she felt her blood sing in her veins, an odd freedom swelling in her chest as she thought about going out somewhere with a male on her own—
Blood. Veins.
Rehvenge hadn’t had his arm treated.
The thought slammed into her head and lingered like the echo of a big noise. He hadn’t dealt with that arm. There had been nothing in the record about the infection, and Havers was as scrupulous about his notes as he was about the staff uniforms and the cleanliness of the patient rooms and the organization of the supply closets.
When she’d come back from the pharmacy with the drugs, Rehvenge had had his shirt on and done up at the cuffs, but she’d assumed that was because the examination had been finished. Now she was willing to bet he’d put it on right after she’d finished taking the blood.
Except…it was none of her business, was it. Rehvenge was an adult male well within his rights to make poor decisions about his health. Just like that drug overdose who had barely survived the night, and just like the any number of patients who nodded a lot when the doctor was in front of them, but who went home and were noncompliant about their prescriptions or their aftercare.
There was nothing she could do to save someone who didn’t want to be rescued. Nothing. And that was among the biggest tragedies in her work. All she could do was present options and consequences and hope the patient chose wisely.
A breeze rolled in, shooting right up her skirt and making her envy Rehvenge’s fur coat. Leaning out from the side of the clinic, she tried to see down the drive, looking for headlights.
Ten minutes later, she checked her watch again.
And ten minutes after that, she lifted her wrist once more.
She’d been stood up.
It wasn’t a surprise. The date had been so hastily thrown together, and they didn’t really know each other, did they.
As another cold breeze tackled her, she took out her cell phone and texted: Hi, Stephan—sorry to have missed you tonight. Maybe some other time. E.
She put her phone back in her pocket and dematerialized home. Instead of going right in, she burrowed into her cloth coat and paced up and back on the cracked sidewalk that ran down the side of the house to the rear door. As the frigid wind kicked up again, a blast hit her face.
Her eyes stung.
Turning her back to the gust, wisps of her hair feathered forward as if they were trying to flee the chill, and she shivered.
Great. Now when her vision got watery, she didn’t have the excuse of the stiff breeze.
God, was she crying? Over what could just be some misunderstanding? With a guy she barely knew? Why did it matter so much to her?
Ah, but it wasn’t him at all. The problem was her. She hated that she was where she had been when she’d left the house: alone.
Trying to get a grip, literally, she reached out for the handle of the back door, but couldn’t bring herself to go in. The image of that crappy, too-ordered kitchen, and the remembered sound of those creaky stairs going to the cellar, and the dusty, papery smell of her father’s room were as familiar as her reflection in any mirror. Tonight it was all too clear, a brilliant flashlight nailing her in both eyes, a roaring sound in her ears, an overwhelming stench bombarding her nose.
She dropped her arm. The date had been a get-out-of-jail-free card. A raft off the island. A hand reached over the cliff she was hanging off of.
The desperation snapped her into focus like nothing else could. She had no business going out with anyone if that was her attitude. It wasn’t fair to the guy or healthy for her. When Stephan hit her up again, if he did, she was just going to say she was too busy—
“Ehlena? You okay?”
Ehlena jumped back from the door that had evidently just opened wide. “Lusie! Sorry, just…just thinking too much. How’s Father doing?”
“Fine, honestly fine. He’s sleeping again now.”
Lusie stepped out of the house and closed off the escaping heat from the kitchen. After two years, she was an achingly familiar figure, her boho clothes and her long salt-and-pepper hair comforting. As usual, she had her medicine bag in one hand and her big purse hanging off her opposite shoulder. Inside the medicine bag there was a standard-issue blood pressure cuff, a stethoscope, and some l
ow-level medications—all of which Ehlena had seen put to use. Inside the purse there was the New York Times crossword puzzle, some Wrigley’s spearmint gum she liked to chew, a wallet, and the peach lipstick she slipped across her lips on a regular basis. Ehlena knew about the crossword puzzle because Lusie and her dad did them together, the gum because of the wrappers that went into the trash, and the lipstick was self-evident. She was guessing on the wallet.
“How are you?” Lusie waited, her gray eyes clear and focused. “You’re back a little early.”
“He stood me up.”
The way Lusie’s hand landed on Ehlena’s shoulder was what made the female a great nurse: With one touch she conveyed comfort and warmth and empathy, all of which worked to reduce blood pressure and heart rate and agitation.
All of which helped the mind unscramble.
“I’m sorry,” Lusie said.
“Oh, no, it’s better this way. I mean, I’m looking for too much.”
“Really? You sounded pretty levelheaded to me when you told me about it. You were just going for coffee—”
For some reason she spoke the truth: “Nope. I was looking for a way out. Which won’t ever happen, because I will never leave him.” Ehlena shook her head. “Anyway, thank you so much for coming—”
“It doesn’t have to be an either-or situation. Your father and you—”
“I really appreciate your coming early tonight. It was good of you.”
Lusie smiled in the way Catya had earlier in the evening, tightly, sadly. “Okay, I’ll drop it, but I’m right on this. You can have a relationship and still be a good daughter to your father.” Lusie glanced over at the door. “Listen, you’re going to have to watch that sore on his leg. The one he did on that nail? I put a new dressing on, but I’m worried about it. I think it’s getting infected.”
“I will, and thank you.”
After Lusie dematerialized, Ehlena went into the kitchen, locked the door and bolted it, and headed down to the basement.
In his room, her father was asleep in his huge Victorian bed, the massive carved headboard like the framing arch of a tomb. His head was against a stack of white silk pillows, and the bloodred velvet duvet was folded precisely halfway down his chest.