What? Really?
Smoke’s best eye popped wide.
Sid looked over Smoke’s shoulder at the giants.
Thorgrim sat up and started rubbing the back of his head. He eyeballed Sid and grabbed his hammer.
Rexor’s great arms came to life, and with the help of Thorgrim, he wrenched the four-bladed axe from his face. The mutilated giant gave Smoke a nasty leer. Rising up to his towering height, he pointed at Smoke and then turned and walked away with his brother.
“Stupid and lazy. It’s their biggest flaw. They aren’t used to fighting so long, so they took a little nap. Pathetic,” Reginald said. “Guards, take Miss Shaw into custody and see that she’s well secured. I don’t want to come looking for her or her friends again. Not for a while anyway.”
“I guess this is goodbye,” Smoke said with a bit too much finality.
She searched his pummeled face for a place to kiss and ended up kissing his chin.
“That was awkward,” he said.
The guards started pulling her away. “Well, you shouldn’t have gotten your face all messed up.”
“If you think my face looks bad, you should see my heart.”
Sid’s own heart dropped into her stomach. Being hauled away, she yelled toward Smoke with tears running down her cheeks. “Smoke …”
“Don’t say it,” he said back. “I already know you love me.”
Epilogue
Days later, Sid was brought into a magnificent dining room, the largest she’d ever been in. Aged wood was everywhere. Exquisite china like one might see in the Smithsonian Museum. All around was nothing short of old family wealth. It was the kind of stuff you’d see in the Biltmore or the Vanderbilt. There was a grand fireplace, but no flame, no warmth. The room was cold.
Rubbing her elbows, Sid ventured in. She’d been cleaned up and adorned in the finest evening gown and jewels her eyes had ever beheld. She’d been treated like nothing short of a queen the last few days. She tried not to gape at the sparkling crystals on the mammoth chandeliers.
“Enjoying your stay?”
The strong and rich voice startled her. A man appeared in the room. He was refined, powerfully built, and wearing a dark suit. His salt-and-pepper hair was slicked back. His skin was dark, and his moustache was waxed.
Sid kept her silence.
“Please, Sidney, sit down.” He beckoned toward her seat. “And allow me to introduce myself. My name is Kane, Kane Lancaster, and we have much to talk about.”
***
Up in Smoke: Book 6
CHAPTER 1
Sid was gone. It had been weeks. Smoke still hadn’t fully recovered from the worst ass-kicking he’d ever had. His cracked and bruised ribs still ached, but he’d recover. It was his heart that hurt. Bad. He missed her. He sucked on a straw that was stuck inside a chocolate shake.
I’m going to kill that bastard.
“Honey?” said a sweet voice with a little spunk in it. It was a waitress, a nice-looking gal with a twinkle in her eye. “We’re about to close. Are you finished?”
Smoke eyed the empty malt glasses on the table. There was half a stack of pancakes he hadn’t finished. He shrugged. “I guess so.”
She smoothed her hands over the snug uniform that accentuated her nice figure and started picking up the plates. “You look like you could use some company. A good-looking guy like you shouldn’t be alone on a night like this.”
Looking into her pretty eyes, he said, “And a good-looking woman like you shouldn’t be alone, either.”
She smiled. “Is that a yes?”
“My body says yes, but my heart says no,” he said to her politely. “Sorry, Kim.”
She tugged his chin. “I’d be hurt by that if you weren’t so darn cute, Smoke. As for your lady friend, she’d be a fool not to come back around. Now get out of here before I lock you in and do something stupid.”
He put his money on the table. “All right. See you tomorrow then?”
“No, I’m off,” she said, walking away. “So yes, tomorrow the coast is clear.” Kim laughed at him good naturedly. “And you might want to cut back a milkshake or two. Your cheeks are getting a little chubby.”
He rubbed his scruffy jaw. “Really?”
Laughing some more, she said, “Goodbye, Smoke.”
A little bell rang as he exited into the dark, drilling rain. It was closing in on eleven p.m., and the parking lot was empty aside from his car and a group of young people hanging out between the diner and a convenience store with a gas station.
Traffic from the highway whizzed by, mostly eighteen wheelers. A rush of wind hit Smoke every time one went past. As he approached his old Camaro and briefly admired its new coat of cosmic white paint, a new figure stepped into view.
It was a girl, maybe twenty. Her hair was black with pink streaks, and all of her clothes were black and grey. She leaned up against the driver’s door of his car.
“Got a smoke?”
He chuckled. “Get your butt off my car, little lady.”
She sneered at him. “Little lady? What’s that supposed to mean? What are you, like forty? Give me a cigarette.”
“I don’t smoke.”
“I don’t care,” she said, giving him more attitude. “There’s a store over there. Go get me some.”
Four young guys came into view. They weren’t a bunch of slouches, either. They were fit, and dressed with Daddy’s dollars. Their eyes were busy, fiendish, and rebellious. Two of them were as big as Smoke. Heavy hitters at the gym. Cocky.
“Jenna, is this guy bothering you?” said a good-looking fellow with too much gel in his brown hair. There was nothing but attitude all over him, and he sniffed a lot. Eyeballing Smoke, he tossed an empty beer can on the ground. “You, guy, you bothering my woman?”
“No,” Smoke said, “she’s bothering me, and now you are too.”
The young man huffed and thumbed his nose. “I tell you what. Give me the keys to your car and I’ll forget you said that.”
Smoke felt his nostrils flare, taking in the fumes from all of them. Cigarettes, pot, alcohol, and other toxins seeped from their skin. The young men were tense. Charged up.
One big one smacked his fist into his hand.
But Smoke’s instincts told him that was just a show. His attention was drawn to the leader, whose eyes were glued on Smoke’s shirt for a second before he pointed at it and started to snicker.
“Get this, guys. This big doofuss’s shirt says, ‘Always be yourself, unless you can be a unicorn, then always be a unicorn.’”
Two of them started laughing. One of the gang said, “What a wuss.”
“You read pretty well for a slimy little turd.” Smoke glanced at the others. “You girls don’t have anything against unicorns, do you?”
They all stiffened up.
“Let’s roll him, Jimmy.” One of the bigger goons stepped forward. He was built like a lineman for a college football team. There were old bloodstains on his T-shirt. “I want to drive his car when we’re done with him.”
“And I want my cigarettes.” Jenna poked Smoke in the chest. “And an apology.”
The small group of spoiled young punks hemmed Smoke in by the side of his car.
He only looked at the one in front of him. “You might want to reconsider, Jimmy. I’m not the typical person you usually trifle with.”
Jimmy’s laugh was part wheeze. “Oh, I know that. There aren’t too many big pussies running around in unicorn shirts these days. Haha. Look, hand over the keys, give us your money, and the four of us—”
“Five,” Jenna corrected.
“Yeah, the five of us won’t beat the hell out of you.” Jimmy sucked his teeth and licked his lips. “Now, hand over the keys.”
“Let’s just whip his ass and take them,” said one of the young men to Smoke’s left.
Smoke had long ago noticed the car the street punks clung to. It was a black-out BMW X5 SUV. New. There weren’t very many things that made him angr
y, but spoiled and entitled young people like this really irked him. It was hard to reason with people whose parents never told them no. When they were supercharged with drugs and felt invincible like this, it was nigh on impossible. But he considered himself a good guy, so he tried.
“You know Jimmy, I don’t usually give second chances, but because all of you are so young, I’m going to.” Smoke glowered down at Jimmy. “Back off.”
Jimmy snaked a knife out of the back of his pants. “I don’t think so. Take him!”
CHAPTER 2
Thugs could be fast. Thugs could be slow. These were fast. From all sides they came, high and low.
Smoke back-kicked the one straight behind him, driving his boot heel into the abdomen muscle.
The man collapsed like a tent with a groan.
Meanwhile, Smoke evaded the first swipe of Jimmy’s blade. The young man had overextended his arm. Using the punk’s momentum, Smoke locked his hand on Jimmy’s wrist and slung him into another thug.
Three down, for the moment.
That left the two big ones. They had moved with the explosiveness of football players and were now on him.
From behind, the one that spoke the most caught Smoke in a bear hug and lifted him off the ground. “Nail him! Nail him!”
Pain exploded into Smoke’s brain from his ribs. They were still tender from fighting with the doppelganger, Reginald.
The second big punk had slipped some brass knuckles over his fingers and was coming straight at him.
Smoke caught him in the face with his boot and crunched his nose.
“Aagh!” the thug moaned, holding his nose. He pulled his hand away and gaped at the blood. His eyes became flame. “Hold him! Hold the bastard!”
From the vice-like grip of a goon hopped up on cocaine and built up with an extra muscle layer from steroids, Smoke kicked again at his bloody-faced assailant. His boot hit the nose again, dead center.
The man screamed and backed away in shock, trying to push his nose back into place.
“That looks pretty bad,” Smoke said. “You’ll probably need to use your momma’s plastic surgeon, assuming you haven’t already.” He launched his head back into his captor’s chin, bringing spots to his eyes.
Roaring, the bigger man’s knees buckled, but like a bear he held on.
Toes touching the ground, Smoke executed a Judo move, flipping the big man over his front and landing on top of him.
His assailant now lay flat-backed on the pavement. A whoosh of air escaped from the man’s lungs, and his mighty grip loosened.
Quick as a mongoose, Smoke slipped free, stood, turned, and drove a boot into the man’s ribs. Blood flowed like a river through his veins, and his milkshake-dulled battle instincts ignited.
Behind him, Jimmy had bounded to his feet and now came right for Smoke, knife flashing under the parking lot lights.
Smoke caught Jimmy’s wrist and wrenched the weapon free. “You like knives, Jimmy?” Without looking, he stuck it in the leg of another punk who was coming for him.
The young man let out a scream and hobbled away, clutching his wounded leg.
Smoke raised his right hand up. “I like fists, Jimmy. Especially this one.” He punched Jimmy in the chest so hard that all the air came out of him. His next uppercut lifted Jimmy off the ground. He didn’t let up.
Every one of the men who moved toward Smoke was hit until he moved no more. Two of them hobbled away. Jimmy stared blinking at the sky, holding his busted jaw.
Chest heaving and lathered in sweat, Smoke cocked his head toward a distant noise until he could make it out. Sirens were blaring in the distance and getting closer by the second. The young people wouldn’t be able to hear them yet.
Good. Let them explain what happened here and why they’re out after curfew.
Smoke dusted off his hands, got in his car, and rolled down the window. “And that, kids, is why you shouldn’t do drugs—or make fun of people who like unicorns.” Back wheels smoking, he peeled out of the parking lot and onto the highway just as the punks showed signs of hearing the sirens.
Adrenaline pumping like gas in a top fueled engine, Smoke roared down the road. He stuffed some classic rock into the 1986 Camaro’s cassette player and turned the tunes up. The fight had his juices flowing again. His hands drummed on the wheel. He’d stayed calm since Sid departed under uncertain circumstances, but now he was peeved.
He downshifted and stomped on the gas to roar up the interstate. A question he didn’t have an answer to plagued his mind.
Where is she?
Since she departed with Reginald, there hadn’t been any trace of her at all. There weren’t any signs of her sister Allison or her niece Megan either. As for The Drake and all of their foul alliances, they’d gone quiet. No one from the FBI had approached Smoke, either. Things were odd. Aggravating. It wasn’t like him to be aggravated about anything, but he was now.
Sid was gone, and it seemed a part of him was gone with her.
He sang along to the cassette he played. It was a mix, and it wasn’t his mix, either. It had come with the car when he bought it, and he liked it. Classic rock before his time. Styx. Def Leppard. Van Halen. Dio. AC/DC. Foreigner. Rush. Devo. He’d gotten quite fond of it. He dropped his shades out of the visor and put them on. The darkness went with his mood.
Sid being missing wasn’t the only thing aggravating him. There was also Reginald the doppelganger. The shifting fiend had beaten him like a drum, and he didn’t like getting beaten. It left a foul taste in his mouth. Sure, everyone else could be beaten, but not him. Not Smoke. He was special for a mortal. He’d always known so.
Miles down the road south of DC, he geared down on the next exit to enter the stretch of road that led to his service-garage apartment. The tall pines he passed were stark on either side of him. They always had been, but it was even more ominous when the full moon glowed over the horizon.
Shifters.
On nights like this, Mal Carlson said, the shifters were at full power. On a night like this, they would be causing trouble. Killing. Tormenting. Humiliating.
Evil does what it does.
He turned the car off the main road down the long stretch that led to his driveway. Rounding the bend, he found himself face to face with a black helicopter that had landed between his car and his apartment.
He slammed the Camaro into reverse.
Two Humvees burst out of the woods behind him, blocking him in.
He shoved the Camaro into park.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
CHAPTER 3
Hands glued to the steering wheel, Smoke remained inside his car. In truth, there wasn’t any reason to run. No one had exited the Humvees. Nobody was pointing a muzzle at him. It was just the Camaro, the Humvees, and the helicopter that sat like a bird of prey, no movement at all.
And that full moon.
Smoke’s eyes scanned the details of the chopper. It was shiny black without any distinct markings on it. There weren’t any logos from The Drake. No deaders. No shifting monsters or men bigger than two NBA players. Things were just cold and black. Odd. Mysterious.
I guess they want me to come to them.
He popped the door open and got out. There was a pistol in the back of his pants and a knife inside each pant leg. After casually closing the door, he approached the helicopter the same way. It was sealed up. No one sat in the cockpit. He peered around the tail of the chopper and spied the front door of his apartment. It was cracked open.
Breaking and entering. Illegal. I might have to blow someone away for trespassing.
He pulled out his gun and approached cautiously, peering into the front room from a distance. Chimney smoke was rolling out of the black pipe of a wood-burning stove he’d put in years ago. The summer evening was too warm to warrant burning anything for warmth.
Jaw clenched, he was headed for his front door when a figure shuffled out through it. Ranging and a little stooped in the shoulder, its slack jaw marked
it for a deader. It wore a pea coat and slacks. Had that dead look in its sunken eyes.
Smoke dotted its chest with his laser sight.
“Easy now,” said a familiar voice. A man, well dressed and slender in build, came outside and stepped right into the laser. It was the doppelganger, Reginald. “We have business, Mister Smoke. Please, come inside.”
“You’re inviting me into my own home. That’s funny.” Smoke stuffed his pistol into the back of his pants. “Real funny. I never took you for a comedian, Reggie.”
Reggie was a fit man, good-looking, cool and calculating in demeanor. He wore an expensive golf shirt and slacks with a little room to grow in. “Actually, I did do a shtick in Vaudeville back in the day. You look to be doing well for a man I thought I’d beaten to death. How are the ribs?”
Smoke headed inside his own place, feeling like a guest and hoping the ever slightest that Sid would be in there. She wasn’t, but a dazzling pair of legs did catch his eye.
It was Sid’s sister, Allison. Full-bodied and gorgeous as ever, she sat on his sofa wearing a short skintight black dress with tiny sequins woven into it. Diamond and ruby-laden earrings hung from her lobes, their radiance oozing with the fortune of kings. A playful smile started on her full lips when she saw him.
Getting up, she said, “Hi, John.” She pressed her body into his and gave him a firm hug, her soft warm lips landing on his neck. “You look well. Very well.”
He started to speak.
But she put her finger to his lips. “My sister is fine. That’s why I’m here, to give you assurance about that. But let’s not spoil the moment with thoughts of her. I want all your attention.”
“Please, Mister Smoke,” said Reggie, “sit down. Have a glass of wine. It’s from our cellar, French, 1763.”
“You know, your treating me like a guest in my own home is starting to get under my skin.” Smoke picked up a bottle with an old weathered label and chucked it out the front door. “Now, Reggie, can I offer you a cup of nothing?”
The Supernatural Bounty Hunter Files Collector's Set: Books 1-10: Urban Fantasy Shifter Series Page 68