by Joss Ware
“I’m going to head up,” he said, standing abruptly, still eyeing the room.
“You’re not eating?” Quent asked.
Simon shrugged. He’d noticed Sage hadn’t eaten either and wondered why no one had commented. Either they didn’t notice or didn’t care, or she was so independent or that much of a recluse that she was left to her own devices. He wasn’t certain if either instance would be considered flattering. “Not hungry. See you later.”
“Well, I’m going to eat,” said Lou, waving over one of the waitresses as Simon left. “Tonight’s meatloaf night.”
As Simon passed through the restaurant, he continued to scan the tables, noting with relief that none of them had emptied or changed since Sage’s exit. That was good.
The restaurant had once been part of a cluster of eateries and shops in the lobby of New York–New York Casino and Resort that were made to look like street blocks in the Big Apple. The area had been maintained as well as possible—which was to say, very well—since the Change, and Simon found that much of the basic setup was intact. A little shabby, not so obviously NYC-ish. The high ceiling that had covered the lobby area now had some skylights in it (likely holes that hadn’t been able to be fixed and now protected by screens or pieces of glass). Some living trees and bushes grew as well, and someone had even taken the time to plant a random cluster of flowers.
He left the restaurant and walked along in the path that Sage likely would have taken if she were going back to the secret computer lab. He listened carefully, passing one of the ballrooms that had been turned into a movie theater. Tonight’s feature was Pirates of the Caribbean, causing Simon to roll his eyes because, living in L.A. and frequenting places like Chateau Marmot and Nobu, he’d been mistaken more than once for the star of that film.
He hadn’t seen the resemblance except for the long dark hair, but what the hell.
At least he hadn’t been mistaken for that lip-glossed pretty boy bolillo Orlando Bloom who couldn’t even grow a full beard.
Simon strolled along the way, moving beyond what had been the tourist area toward the administrative wing of the casino.
He turned down a hall that led to the depths of the old hotel, brushing past a warped wooden park bench flanked by two bushes, and would have continued on his way if he hadn’t seen it out of the corner of his eye.
Open, pages bent, its soft cover crumpled at the corner, just beneath the shadow of the bench: a book.
* * *
Vegas!
I’m staring out the window, looking down on the Strip. It’s two in the morning and it’s still incredible. The lights, the sounds, the people, all the activity—it’s nonstop. They say that New York is the city that never sleeps, but I think it’s truer for Vegas. And it’s all contained in a much smaller area. Pleasure within walking distance. I love Vegas!!!!
Drew and I had our first dinner as a married couple (the reception yesterday didn’t count—but it was great seeing all of you there!) at a great Italian place, and then lost $20 each playing slots. Tomorrow, we’ll sleep in, have breakfast in bed, and then hit the Strip. Two more days of bliss!
But for now…Drew’s giving me that look. Better close up the laptop and join him. This is, after all, the honeymoon suite. *wink*
—from Adventures in Juliedom:
The blog of Julie Davis Beecher
* * *
CHAPTER 2
It happened so quickly that Sage didn’t have the chance to cry out.
Strong hands shoved her hard, whipping her against a wall. Her temple and shoulder slammed into it, and the books slipped from her fingers as she struggled to recover from the sudden assault. But by then, he’d yanked her around so quickly that she couldn’t keep her balance, and his fingers closed over her mouth, pinching into her cheeks. Her head and shoulder throbbed but she tried to shake off the shock and fear, twisting beneath his grip as the man dragged her into a dimly lit area.
“This way, little Cor-Whore,” he said, his voice low and steady.
A room. The door closed quietly behind them as he shoved her down hard. She crashed into a table, its edge banging into the back of her hips, and she cried out at the pain as much as to raise alarm. In the dim light, she could see little detail of her attacker, other than that he was a man of average size and height.
Fear threatened to clog her mind, paralyzing her, but Sage forced herself to push it away. To concentrate and pull from the dregs of her memory the moves Theo had taught her.
Use your legs. They’re the strongest part of your body.
She collapsed on the floor, tumbling half under the table, her dress wrapping around her, but oh, thank God, she felt a wobbly metal leg.
“Now, let’s take care of some business,” he said, a hint of laughter in his voice. “Come on, now. Don’t be shy.”
As the man lunged toward her, Sage surged up from beneath the back of the table as she lifted it. The table tumbled forward and she scuttled back as it crashed onto his feet or arm or something—she didn’t know and didn’t care.
He grunted with rage and came after her again, but Sage knew she couldn’t get past him to the door, so she’d remained on the floor with her legs half-bent as Theo had taught her, gasping for breath, trying to focus the pain away. As he lunged, she slammed her feet forward with all of her might, catching him in the gut and sending him off balance.
Scrambling to her feet, head and shoulder aching, hardly able to move from the pain in her lower back, she stumbled toward the faint outline of the door. But a hand lashed out and grabbed at her ankle, and with a hard yank, he dropped her to the tile, palm-flat, knee-hard.
Sage shrieked with rage and pain and tried to crawl away as he dragged her back toward him, her dress bunching and catching up around her hips. His fingers curled tightly into her right ankle and then his other hand pulled on her bare leg, and then as she came close enough, he backhanded her across the face.
Even in the dimness, she saw stars and a streak of light, then felt the wave of pain and grasping, clawing fingers tugging at her dress. “Now, that’s more like it,” he said as she struggled to breathe, to regain her focus, not to think about where his hands had moved…
She thought she was imagining it when the light seemed to grow brighter, but that galvanized her into hope. Sage twisted one hand away and, as he was tearing at her dress, buttons flying, she slammed her palm up and into his nose. Aim for the septum.
Something crunched beneath her hand, he cried out, and then suddenly, he was gone. Lifted, like a puppet…and then his silhouette was flying through the air. Sage heard the crash as he landed on some furniture, and then the unmistakable sounds of fists thudding into flesh and bone, and even over the man’s groans and the slams and slaps, she discerned a nauseating crackling sound.
Sage pulled to her feet, knees weak and fingers trembling, just in time to see her attacker slammed down onto a table—ouch, no, it was the edge of the overturned table onto which he was shoved, bent backward over, by a powerful hand at his throat.
She recognized Simon with a little jolt of surprise, and then the surprise was replaced by awe. Unruffled, unmoved, he held the man’s life in the palm of his hand, in the little vee of his thumb and forefinger jammed up against the attacker’s neck. One twitch, one twist and she knew it would be all over.
“Wait,” she said, pleased that her voice came out steady, if a bit husky from the dryness that barely allowed her to swallow. “Uh—Simon?”
He turned to look at her, casual in his movements, unquestionably certain of his control of the situation—as if she’d simply hailed him while walking into the room, not as if he’d just finished beating the bunk out of the guy. He wasn’t even breathing heavily and his dark hair was still pulled back neatly in its low-riding tail.
Unlike hers, which straggled in her eyes.
Simon nodded, and Sage took that as invitation to approach. He didn’t talk much, but in this case, speech wasn’t necessary.
S
he walked closer, steadying herself, feeling the rush of adrenaline still burning through her. Her fingers were shaking, and she would probably puke as soon as she was alone, but she refused to cower in front of this man who’d tried to violate her. She might be a curdled mess inside, but she wasn’t about to show it.
“Someone you know?” he asked.
The door hung open, allowing plenty of light into the room for her to see details. Even through the shiny dark blood that dripped from the attacker’s face, and the eye that was beginning to swell shut, she knew she’d never met him before. “No.”
Then she looked at Simon, who’d not moved a muscle, except perhaps to tighten his fingers warningly over the man’s throat—for he’d stopped struggling and simply rasped heavily. She noticed that Simon’s tee was stained with what had to be blood, and that there was a streak along the shoulder of the unbuttoned shirt he wore over it, but there wasn’t a cut or bruise on his face, nor was the tee even untucked from his many-pocketed pants. The light from the door poured in behind him, casting his beautiful, carved features half in shadow.
“Could you just…step aside a bit?” she asked.
Sage could have sworn she saw the white flash of a smile, but if she did, it was gone just as quickly. He moved to the side, still holding her assailant. She walked up to her attacker and, without hesitation, jammed her knee into his groin.
“Don’t ever come near me again,” she said as he squealed and choked beneath Simon’s hand. An elegant hand, wide and dark with slender fingers that looked as if they couldn’t be strong enough to hold a man at bay. He wore a strap around his tanned wrist, flat and smooth.
“You heard the lady,” Simon added, then as nonchalantly as if he’d shaken the man’s hand, he released him and turned to Sage. “What do you want me to do with him?”
“What do you mean?” Despite the casualness of his demeanor, now that they were facing each other, she could see the danger in his eyes. Cold and merciless. Was he asking if she wanted him to kill him? Or what? She felt a little tremor deep inside her belly and bit her lip. Ow. It was sore and puffy from when the guy’d hit her.
Simon shrugged, a subtle movement as if he were as spare with his gestures as he was with his words. “The cops? Jail?”
Sage glanced at the sorry excuse for a man, who looked as if he were about to expire on the spot. He wasn’t going anywhere for a while. And she really didn’t want to draw attention to herself.
As if reading her mind, Simon looked back down at the puddle of skin, bones, and sticky blood. There might have been a heartbeat in there, too, somewhere, and maybe a few working organs. But no brain to speak of.
“If I see you near her again—or hear about any other incident, I’ll break both of your legs. Into four pieces each.” He said it as if he were ordering a dish of ice cream. With caramel sauce. “And then I’ll sic her on you to finish the job.”
Sage felt the man shiver next to her leg and felt a grain of pity for him. Only a grain. Then it was gone. “Leave him here,” she said, answering his original question. “He won’t bother me again.”
Simon gave a nod. He didn’t say anything, but she felt his eyes score over her as if to ensure that she was all right. As he did that, Sage realized that the bodice of her dress hung open, torn to her waist, barely clinging to her shoulders.
“Here,” he said, slipping off the shirt he wore over his tee.
She took it. The fabric was warm and well worn, and she slipped her arms through the sleeves, unable to ignore the scent that came with it. Nothing that she could identify, but it was subtle and masculine, and she liked it. She buttoned it and rolled up the sleeves even more than they’d already been rolled.
“You broke his nose,” Simon commented, directing her toward the door.
“Did I?” Sage was more than willing to leave, as she felt the adrenaline beginning to subside. Her knees buckled as she took a step, but she caught herself before Simon noticed, and she swallowed back the nausea that threatened to bubble up from her suddenly churning stomach. She was glad he hadn’t made any move to comfort her, to put his arms around her or to otherwise croon over her, pet her—do all the things people did when something awful happened.
She wasn’t a child, needing to be held and petted, tears brushed away. She could handle this. The worst that had happened, thank God, was a few bruises and a torn dress. Jade hated that sundress anyway, so she’d be glad it was ruined. Even Flo wouldn’t be able to fix it.
And besides, if Simon was going to touch her, she didn’t want it to be because he felt pity for her.
Whoa.
She almost stopped walking, the thought had been so…unexpected. So non sequitur So…odd.
Her belly tingling, Sage resisted the strong urge to look up at him. “Thank you,” she said, realizing suddenly that she’d been remiss in expressing her gratitude. She might have broken the guy’s nose and fought back, but he’d been gaining the upper hand. If Simon hadn’t arrived…
He shrugged again as he closed the door behind them. “Here,” he said, and handed her one of the books.
“Oh, thank you,” she said, taking it and clasping it to her chest. “I was afraid it had gotten lost or destroyed.”
“Here’s the other.” He bent and retrieved it from under a low-growing bush.
“How did you find me? How did you know?”
“The book.”
She shook her head. “I mean, you were eating—or going to eat. Why did you leave? And how did you know to come…this way?”
Now he looked uncomfortable, then all expression was wiped from his face. “I had a feeling.” He shrugged again.
A feeling. Sage narrowed her eyes as if that would help her read his mind. It didn’t. But then, before she could speak, she heard her name and turned to see Theo approaching.
He took one look at her, and even from the distance she could see his face turn shocked, then black with anger. She must look terrible if he could tell something was wrong that far away. Sage automatically brushed her hair back, refastening most of it in its band, and adjusted Simon’s shirt over her torso.
“What happened?” Theo fairly ran up to them, glancing at her, and then turning to Simon. He bristled with ferocity. “What the hell happened?”
It took Sage a moment to realize that Theo wasn’t accusing Simon—which had been her first thought after seeing his expression—and that not only was he asking Simon to explain what had happened to her, but he wasn’t even acknowledging her, let alone asking how she felt.
But then Theo, her dear friend who’d kissed her earlier tonight (a consequence which still surprised her), curled an arm around her shoulders and tugged her up against his side. Hard and tight. Still not looking at her…but now she felt the rage and trembling beneath his skin.
“Why don’t you ask Sage?” Simon replied coolly. Again, she noticed that flavor of an accent in his voice. “She broke the bastard’s nose.” He met Theo’s eyes and she felt as if some sort of message passed between them that she didn’t comprehend. Then, with the barest of nods in her direction, he turned and walked away. Casual, loose, easy.
And as he disappeared into the shadows, the last bit of her control slipped away. Her stomach swirled like a vortex. She looked up at Theo and said, “Get me out of here. I don’t—”
But it was too late. She lunged for the bush and barely made it before her stomach rebelled.
He gently pulled the straggling hair back from her face as she bent and violently emptied her belly.
Theo. Lucky she had such a good friend that would stand by, holding her hair and wiping her face while she puked.
Simon told himself he should seize the opportunity.
He’d only been to the underground computer lab a few times since he and the others arrived in Envy and were brought into the inner circle of the Waxnickis’ Resistance, but he knew the way. And now that Sage was with Theo, they’d be busy for a few minutes—hopefully longer, if Theo would hitch his gana
s up and do something other than flex that ridiculous dragon placa and look at the woman with puppy-dog eyes when he thought no one was watching.
Chavala. Take her back to her room, or your room or somewhere and tell her how it is.
At the very least, Simon was glad to escape from what he recognized as a rapidly deteriorating situation. Sage was about to fall apart, and the last thing he needed was to be trying to comfort her. He didn’t need to be getting anywhere near those delicate shoulders and slender hands and that long, thick, fascinating hair. He could fairly smell her innocence, all wrapped up in that smooth skin and intelligent blue eyes. Hell, her upper lip had a small freckle right on it, right at the fullest part, and every time he noticed it, the bottom dropped out of his stomach.
No. He needed to get far away from the breakdown on the horizon. Especially since he didn’t want to deal with the complication of Theo coming upon such a scene.
Not to mention the fact that he’d just about gone over the edge—back over the edge—there in that room. He was right there, right on the fucking line. It would have been so easy…too easy…to finish the gabacho off. He’d killed for much less. Those dirty hands and greedy mouth manhandling Sage, tearing at her—
Simon blanked his mind. No. Don’t fucking go there.
But it still nestled in his body, that cold rage, as he cruised quickly and silently through the hallways that led to the uninhabited part of the hotel.
He could have acted on that rage, and no one would have been the wiser. In fact, in this world, it was more than like the Old West—a man had to take the law into his own hands because there wasn’t widespread authority.
There were a few small prisons cells in Envy, but not much of a legal system. Simple trial by jury…if anyone made it that far. No, most of the time, it was up to the individual to mete out the punishment if someone was caught in the act, which could include banishment.