“Can I get you something?” Black asked politely. “Whiskey? Vodka? Or maybe something harder?”
He reached below the bar as he said this. When he came back up, he was holding a small baggie of heroin. Robbie licked his lips. He tried never to dip into his own stock—it was bad for business and the fastest way to fall out of being a pusher and into being a junkie yourself—but he had one hell of a soft spot for H. Even now when he was terrified, the little baggie called to him, and from the cruel look on his face, Lincoln knew it.
“Sounded like Angelo was making you one hell of a deal down there,” Black said, opening the baggie and casually tapping a few grams of Z3X into the mix from a giant container of the stuff. “He plays a good drug lord, but at the end of the day, he’s just another middleman trying to meet his quota. You and I, though, we’re different. We have ambitions.” He glanced at Robbie. “You want to make it as a rapper, right?”
Robbie tore his eyes off the drugs at last. “How do you know that?”
“’Cause everyone wants to be a rapper these days,” Black said flippantly. “You’ve also got your demo up all over the internet. Kind of a tip-off.” Oh yeah. Feeling like an idiot, Robbie was about to ask why Black had been researching him when the taller man gave the baggie of H a seductive shake before pouring it out onto a silver tray.
“Tough business, music,” Black said, stroking his long fingers through the white powder. “But not if you know the right people. Alone, you could try for years just to get an intern to notice you, but a well-connected man like myself could get you a recording deal just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “That’d be worth something, wouldn’t it?”
God, it would, but . . . “Why would you do that?” Robbie asked, incredulous. “I don’t even know you.”
“And I don’t know you,” Black said. “I don’t give a damn about your music, either. But lucky for you, you’ve got something I want, and I’m very generous when it comes to getting what I want.”
He held out his hand as he finished, offering Robbie the platter of pure white H cut through with the black lines of Z3X like he was passing around a tray of appetizers. “I’m a simple man,” Black said as Robbie took the tray. “You play along, you’ll get everything your heart desires. I’ve been doing this for a long time now, and everything guys like you kill for—drugs, girls, cash, record contracts—it’s cheap for someone like me. I can get you anything you want, and all you have to do is do what I say. Easy, right? Of course, if you try to stab me in my back, I’ll spread your guts all over town without breaking a sweat, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
Robbie’s hands began to shake on the tray. “What do you want me to do? Angelo’s already paid me to push Z3X, so—”
“That’s Angelo’s problem,” Black said dismissively. “The job I’ve got for you is much more important.”
Given how crazy everyone was going over Z3X, and how much money Angelo had been willing to fork over just for a pair of extra hands, Robbie didn’t see how that was possible, but he asked anyway. “What is it?”
Black’s smile widened. “You’ve got a sister, right? Doctor at Mercy Hospital?”
Robbie blinked. Out of everything, that was the last thing he’d expect Black to care about. “You mean Lauryn? Yeah, she’s my sister. What about it?”
“Nothing much,” Black said casually. “She’s just been keeping some . . . interesting company lately. And since we’re throwing such a big party tonight, I thought we’d invite her and her new boyfriend. Just to spice things up.”
Robert couldn’t help himself. “Are we talking about the same Lauryn Jefferson?” Because other than that white boy she’d dated for half a second, his sister couldn’t catch a boyfriend to save her life, and she was too straight edge to set foot in anything remotely resembling the kind of party Black would throw.
“I don’t know,” Black said. “You got another ER doctor in the family?”
Robert shook his head, and Black spread his hands like that was that. “I want you to call her and invite her over,” he said, strolling back to his cabinet to pour himself a shot. “Her and her gentleman guest. Do that for me, Robbie, and I’ll make your dreams come true.”
That was a tempting offer, especially when Robbie knew the man in front of him actually had the connections to pull it off. Still. “You’re not going to hurt her, are you?”
“Moi?” Black asked innocently. “What do you think?”
Robbie’s eyes went straight to the sword on Black’s hip, and the assassin began to laugh. “Yeah—that’s what I think, too,” he said, downing his shot in one smooth motion “But I didn’t bring you up here to explain my motives. You’re here—and alive—because I want to have a few words with the man who’s become obsessed with your sister. Beyond that, though, I don’t care about her. I’d go over to your father’s house myself if I could, but in case you haven’t noticed, we’ve got a lot going on right now, and preachers’ houses are . . . let’s say difficult for me to enter. You know how it is.”
Robert didn’t actually have any idea what he was talking about, but now didn’t seem to be a good time to admit that. “So you won’t hurt Lauryn,” he said, making sure. “Just this guy who’s with her?”
“More or less,” Black said, nodding. “But trust me, he has it coming. I can handle everything once they get here, I just need you to make the call. Do that for me, and I’ll take care of you.” He smiled wide, a cruel, predatory flash of white teeth. “Trust me.”
Robbie didn’t see how he could trust anyone with a smile like that, but what choice did he have? Black wasn’t someone you said no to—that, at least, was something he could trust. And it wasn’t like he was actually interested in Lauryn. He just wanted the dude who was with her, which meant Robbie wouldn’t be betraying his sister at all. He was just making a call . . .
“If you could justify this to yourself a little faster, that’d be great,” Black said, snapping his fingers. “I’m on a schedule. In fact, here.”
He walked over and grabbed the metal plate of H out of Robert’s hands, taking a big pinch in his gloved fingers and shoving it under Robbie’s nose. “This Lady H is the good stuff. Pure enough to snort, and she makes all the hard decisions easy. So go ahead, take a hit, and when you’re done, this will all be easy.”
He had a point there, and it wasn’t like he’d be able to say no anyway, so Robbie leaned down and breathed deep, snorting the drug like he’d never get another hit.
The effect was immediate. Black wasn’t lying about this being the good stuff, because the rush of intense pleasure hit him like a train. But just as Robbie was getting ready for the ride, the high shifted. For a long heartbeat, he felt like he was teetering on the first crest of a roller coaster. And then, without warning, he pitched over the edge, sliding in free-fall down, down, down into a pit like nothing he’d ever known where the darkness was alive and claws dragged him under.
“What—” he whispered, or thought he whispered. “What is this?”
“Top of the line,” Black said, his voice coming from very far away. “Sin in a powder.” Something cold and sleek slid into Robbie’s limp hand. His cell phone, he realized dimly.
“You’ll be tripping for a while, so I suggest you hold on tight and enjoy the ride,” Black’s voice drifted over him. “I have to go play tour guide for a dead man, boss’s orders, but I’ll be back in plenty of time to close the trap.” He chuckled. “Your little bitch of a doctor’s a slippery target, but she never could leave a patient in the lurch, and I’m betting that goes double for her brother. So you just sit there and focus on getting nice and pathetic. And in a few hours when the haze of your own private hell finally lets go just enough for you to cry for help, you know who to call.” He tapped Robbie’s fingers against the smartphone’s cool screen. “Just mash it anywhere, and that phone will call your little doctor and her protector right into my loving arms. That’s all I need from you, kiddo. Just be your weak, pathetic
self, and when it’s over, I’ll take care of everything, just like I promised.”
He patted Robbie on the head like a dog as he finished, but Robbie was too gone to care. All he could feel were the hands in the dark, the horrible hooked claws dragging him down toward a dark, hot place that reeked of brimstone and death. By the time he realized he was alone in the room, the stench was so thick he couldn’t form words. All he could do was clutch the phone and wait, battling his way through the fear toward his sister. His last chance at escape.
11
Intentions of the Heart
For the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword,
piercing to the division of soul and of spirit, of joints and of marrow,
and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart.
—Hebrews 4:12
After trying, and failing, for twenty minutes to get in touch with her brother, Lauryn decided phones just weren’t going to cut it. She wanted to go out and look for him herself, but Chicago was a big place, and from what she’d been able to dig out of her dad, the parts of it Robbie usually went weren’t places she could search easily. She was also in no condition to search. Between the attack yesterday, a terrible night of sleep, and the crisis this morning, Lauryn was running on empty.
Maxwell must have seen it, because once it became clear she wasn’t having any more luck with Robert than he was, he’d asked her to go back to the house instead, just in case her brother came home. When Lauryn had quipped that maybe he should go home and wait, Maxwell had gruffly informed her that he had a duty to his congregation. After that, she’d just given up, because God forbid her dad put anything—including his son—over his precious church.
The angry thought was reflex, but as soon as it was done, Lauryn knew she wasn’t being fair. Given her own realization about her role—or lack thereof—in her brother’s life, Lauryn could even admit there might be four fingers pointing back. Either way, someone had to help Robbie, and since her dad wasn’t leaving his church anytime soon, the task fell to Lauryn. And Talon, since he still refused to leave her alone.
Since the car was stalled and there were apparently no more miracles on tap to get it going again, they’d had to walk. Thankfully, it wasn’t far, and Lauryn knew the way by heart. Even with the snow, it was only ten minutes before they walked into her dad’s living room.
Of course, Robbie wasn’t home, so Lauryn plopped down on the blanket-covered couch in front of the door to wait for the little delinquent to show up. Talon dutifully took the spot across from her without a word, lowering his big body carefully into her father’s rickety old chair with his sword across his lap. That would be a sight to greet Robbie when he came in, but for once, the thought of her brother freaking out couldn’t bring a smile to Lauryn’s face. She just wanted him to come home safe and sound.
And preferably not with a police escort. That was a depressingly likely scenario. But despite Lauryn’s intention to wait by the door like an angry mama bear, she must have been more tired than she’d realized. One moment, she was sitting on her father’s couch across from Talon, the next she was waking up in a dark room lit only by the last traces of the day’s gray sunlight filtering in through the living room’s lacy curtains.
She sat up with a curse, grabbing her phone off the table. Six pm. She’d been asleep all afternoon. There were no calls from Robert, either, which pissed her off even more. She was also hungry. Starving, actually, which made sense considering she hadn’t eaten anything today. Fortunately, unlike everything else that had happened, hunger was a problem she could fix, and so Lauryn hauled herself off the couch and teetered into the kitchen to see what was for dinner.
Not much, seemed to be the answer. Her father must have still been at the church, because the usual offerings hadn’t appeared in the fridge yet. Since no one in their family could cook, that meant Lauryn’s choices were cans and boxes. She was waffling between beef stew and good old blue-box mac’n’cheese when she heard a strange, almost musical sound coming from the backyard.
Like most of the freestanding houses in this part of Chicago, her dad’s home had a tiny postage-stamp square of grass for a backyard. A tall board fence gave it privacy from the identical yards of their neighbors, but the high walls also made the already small space feel even smaller. An illusion that was further emphasized by Talon, who seemed to be taking up all the space by standing right in the middle with his shirt off and his sword balanced like a feather in his outstretched hand.
“What are you doing?” Lauryn asked, glancing nervously at his cast-off clothes. “Aren’t you cold?”
“The discomfort is part of the practice,” Talon replied, swinging his sword in a beautiful arc through the air. The blade whistled as it flew, the musical sound Lauryn had heard before. “Comfort dulls the mind and makes you complacent. In the cold, everything is sharper.”
“If you say so, sensei,” Lauryn said, wrapping her arms around herself. “Can you at least put on a shirt? I’m getting cold just looking at you.”
Instead of answering, Talon swung his sword again, but this time, he accompanied the move with a graceful kick that turned into a leap, sending his body moving like silk through the air. He followed this up with another series of rapid-fire moves, his body dancing weightlessly around the tiny square of grass.
By the time he came to a stop again, Lauryn’s jaw was hanging open. She hadn’t even known humans could move like that before this moment. She was still gawking shamelessly when Talon turned to her with a smile.
“Want to try?”
Lauryn blinked in shock. “What? Me?”
Talon moved toward her, flipping the sword in his hand to offer her the hilt, and Lauryn jumped back inside so fast she tripped over the doorstep. “No way,” she said, putting her hands up. “I’ll just stab myself.”
“Being afraid of a weapon is often more dangerous than the weapon itself,” Talon said. “Just hold it. Everyone should know how to handle weapons for their own safety, even if they never mean to use one.”
Lauryn didn’t know about that. That sword was big, not to mention heavy looking, and when was she ever going to need to hold a sword again anyway? But even as her mouth opened to tell him no, her fingers were drawn toward the wrapped handle. It really was lovely, she realized with a pang, the blade shining mirror bright in the evening’s last sunlight.
Talon handed it to her slowly, easing the weight into her grip. But though the blade was definitely too heavy for her as she’d predicted, there was something about the weight in her hand that Lauryn liked way more than she’d expected. She’d never done anything physical as a kid, no sports or dance or martial arts. This was partially because her dad had never had the time or money to enroll her in anything and partially because Lauryn wasn’t exactly what anyone would call coordinated. She wouldn’t go so far as to say she was klutzy—her hand was steady enough in the ER—but her earlier comment about stabbing herself hadn’t been an exaggeration. With the exception of scalpels, Lauryn and knives generally didn’t mix. But this sword must have been special, because when she curled her fingers around the grip, she didn’t feel unsure or uncoordinated at all. She felt powerful, like she was holding a dragon by the tail.
Talon must have seen it in her expression, because he gave her a knowing smile. “Go ahead,” he said, stepping back. “Give it a swing.”
Lauryn shook her head rapidly. Holding the beautiful weapon was one thing, but that edge was sharp. If she started flailing it around, she could take off someone’s arm, probably hers. Before she could open her mouth to tell him as much, though, Talon cut her off.
“You won’t hurt anyone,” he assured her, stepping back until he was leaning against the back fence, well out of her way. “Just try.”
She took a deep breath and looked down, flexing her grip on the blade’s handle. It did feel lovely in her hand, perfectly balanced and heavy, but in a good way. A strong way, the sort where she swore she could alrea
dy feel it moving. After a moment’s hesitation, she moved with it, letting the sword’s weight pull them both through the air in a wide sweep. It wasn’t nearly as fast or impressive as anything Talon had done, but the move still made her feel like she was flying. A feeling that only got better with every additional stroke she made.
“It suits you,” Talon said with a smile.
“Not really,” Lauryn argued, blushing that he’d caught her having so much fun. “It’s too big.”
“We’ll get you a smaller one,” he assured her. “Someone who takes to a holy sword that quickly clearly needs one of her own.”
That comment killed the moment like a shot to the head, and Lauryn dropped her arm with a sigh. She was about to tell Talon that they were absolutely not rehashing the ridiculous conversation from earlier when her phone began to ring, buzzing and rattling loudly across the table she’d left it on in the living room.
With that, Talon was instantly forgotten. Lauryn raced through the house, almost tripping over the half step between the kitchen and the living room in her rush to get to her phone. Sure enough, when she snatched it up, it was Robbie’s number, and she clutched the phone with both hands as she frantically hit the icon to accept the call.
“Robbie!”
The silence on the other end stretched on so long, Lauryn began to worry she’d gotten worked up over an accidental pocket dial. Eventually, though, her brother’s tiny broken voice whispered, “Lauryn?”
“It’s me,” she said, whole body slumping in relief. “Where are you? Do you need help?”
“I don’t . . . I . . .” He broke off with a shudder. “I need you, Lauryn. Been trying to call forever, but . . .” He gasped again. “Help me! They’re everywhere, clawing. The voices.”
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