Someone must have slipped him something without him knowing. He wouldn’t be surprised, given what he’d seen, heard, and smelled in the short time he’d been there. It was like some kind of twisted Goth costume party, with half the patrons dressed like extras in a bad B movie horror flick and the other half, a low-budget skin flick. Hell, for all he knew, they might have actually been filming a porno there, given some of the things he’d seen (or thought he’d seen) in the shadowy corners. A haze of smoke had hung in the air, weed and incense and fire, adding to the scents of leather and copper and God knew what else.
What did surprise him was that Ryssa worked there. It had taken a lot of cash to track her down, but it was money well-spent. He never would have thought the scruffy urchin would have been a closet Goth.
She’d looked so different, he barely recognized her. Instead of the shabby jeans and freshly scrubbed face, she’d been in some kind of kinky bondage get-up, all black leather and chains. Ratty sneakers had been replaced with sky-high stilettos that hurt like hell when she’d stepped on his toes. Her big gray eyes had been lined with charcoal, her lips stained a dark, bloody red. Instead of the loose ponytail she’d sported, her jet black hair hung to her waist in straight spikes striped with red, with studded cuffs around her wrists, ankles and neck.
He still wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Part of him wanted to be disgusted, but another part found it disturbingly provocative. Since he had more important things to consider – and because he just didn’t want to look at that part of himself too closely – he shoved his personal feelings aside and moved on.
Yes, remaining objective was crucial, no matter what kind of primal urges tried to bubble up within his civilized, educated self.
He hadn’t thought much of her when she’d shown up on his doorstep that first night, but now he realized she’d put an effort into cleaning herself up to be somewhat presentable. He had to give her props for that, at least. Then again, if she had shown up looking as she had last night, he would never have let her in the door. She probably knew that. Any good scam artist knew the importance of first impressions.
David almost chuckled at that. The first impression she’d made on him hadn’t exactly been a good one. That didn’t make her a very good con artist.
Or did it? He was still thinking about her, wasn’t he? Picturing those big eyes, looking up at him. Angry, then pretending to be afraid. She had been pretending, hadn’t she? It was all part of the act, right?
Last night it had seemed real enough, but now he wasn’t so sure. Of course, maybe she was just worried about losing her job. Maybe the big, dark guy with the red contacts didn’t like her socializing on the clock.
Yeah, he told himself, ignoring the prickling at the back of his neck, that’s probably all it was.
Yet as the morning wore on, David’s unease grew. There was something not quite right about the way Ryssa reacted when that tall guy in black came over. That guy was more than a hands-on floor manager or a pissed-off employer. David couldn’t put his finger on it, exactly, but the more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that Ryssa’s fear had been genuine.
But why? The guy had mentioned a cover charge, and Ryssa said she’d take care of it, but no one said anything about a cover at the door. The big bouncer – the one who’d refused him entrance until he mentioned Ryssa’s name – hadn’t said anything. And why would it be such a big deal? It could have only been a couple of bucks, right?
Certain that his lack of sleep and worry over his mother were messing with his ability to think clearly, he pushed aside the niggling doubts that refused to go away completely and headed for the shower. The sky was a clear, brilliant blue, and the sun was shining. He’d promised his mother a day in the park, and that’s exactly what he was going to give her.
Chapter 4 – A Man’s Gotta Do...
It had been three nights since he’d gone to that club. Three nights his mother had waited eagerly for Ryssa to come and see her again. Three nights that she’d been disappointed.
That is why he found himself sitting in his car, staring at the run down collection of bricks that looked like it might collapse any moment. It was definitely not because of the deep, disturbing notion that had taken up residence in his gut, the wholly illogical one that he had somehow made things difficult for Ryssa.
In the first place, he hadn’t done anything. And in the second place, she was no concern of his. The only reason he was even there was because he couldn’t stand to see his mother disappointed. Ryssa had said she’d come, and he was going to see to it that she kept her word.
David rechecked the address the private investigator had given him several times, certain he had made a mistake. People didn’t actually live here, did they? The neighborhood – if he could call it that – looked like pictures he’d seen of war-ravaged cities after a bomb had been dropped. How could a place like this exist in this day and age, and only a short driving distance from his home? How had he never seen it before?
For all intents and purposes, the area appeared deserted. The streets and sidewalks were empty. No one was walking or jogging; there were no children playing or yelling, no teens loitering on the corners. David fought the chill that settled in the base of his spine and the sense of bleak hopelessness and despair that seemed to permeate the air.
Ignoring his instincts, he gritted his teeth and forced himself to open the door and step out of his car. He was doing this for his mother, he reminded himself. Not because he wanted to ease his niggling conscience. Ryssa was fine. She had been staying away because she was a cold, heartless con artist. She had realized she wasn’t going to be able to run her scam, and that’s why she hadn’t been by.
Yet even as he thought that, the image of clear gray eyes filled with dread appeared in his mind and raised a tiny wisp of doubt.
His footsteps echoed loudly as he crossed the street, unable to completely avoid the broken glass that seemed to be everywhere, embedding itself in his leather-soled shoes. He thought of the torn sneakers Ryssa had been wearing that night she showed up at his door. How did she walk around without cutting her feet to ribbons?
Moving quickly, he made his way up the crumbling steps and into the dank foyer of the dilapidated building. He took the stairs to the second floor, deliberately trying to avoid touching anything, just as he tried not to stare at the graffiti adorning every available surface. The chilling black and red hieroglyphic symbols meant nothing to him, yet somehow made his blood run cold.
The numbers on the doors were long gone, but enough of the faint dirty outlines remained for him to be fairly certain he’d found the one he was looking for. Taking a deep breath, he raised his hand, formed it into a tight fist, and brought it down once, then twice more. Like his footsteps, the knock sounded too loud in the dim hallway.
Seconds ticked by in silence with no indication of any movement within. He knocked again, louder this time.
“Whatcha want?” The voice came from behind him, a low growly voice that belonged to a small, rat-faced guy with dark, beady eyes and sharp features.
David considered him for a minute, took in his torn, stained clothing and unwashed hair as the unpleasant scent of body odor and sweat hit his nose. Swallowing his gag reflex, he said, “I’m looking for Ryssa. Do you know if she’s in?”
Ratface sucked his teeth and looked David up and down. “Whatchu want with Ryssa?” He lifted his nose and sniffed. “You don’t smell like you’re dying.”
What an odd thing to say. “I’m not.”
They stared at each other for several long minutes. When it became clear that the other guy wasn’t going to answer him, David turned back to the door and raised his hand to knock again.
“Wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Ratface warned.
“Why not?”
Ratface chuckled. “Cuz you only got about ten minutes till the sun goes down, and you don’t want to be here when Jax wakes up. He won’t like you sniffing ‘round Ryssa.”
<
br /> David never considered that Ryssa might not live alone. Something sharp and uncomfortable squeezed around his chest. Like his instincts, he ignored it.
“Who is Jax?”
“Stick around and find out,” Ratface said with an evil grin that showcased sharp, surprisingly white teeth.
David extracted a business card from his pocket and stuck it in the door. Outwardly, he remained cool, but inside his heart pounded a panicked tattoo against his chest and every instinct he had screamed at him to get the hell out of there. It was very similar to the feeling he’d had when he’d gone into Seven Circles.
“If you see Ryssa, tell her it’s very important she visit Elizabeth, all right?”
“Do I look like a fucking messenger boy to you?” Apparently disappointed that David wouldn’t be sticking around to provide a little entertainment, Ratface snarled and retreated back inside, closing the door.
Despite his increasing discomfort, David contemplated knocking just once more. He’d driven all the way over here, after all, and hated it to be for nothing. He rationalized that it was because Elizabeth had had a bad day, and because she was still pissed at him for the way he’d treated Ryssa. He was only here on his mother’s behalf, and not because he wanted to see Ryssa again or assure himself she was okay.
His interest in her only extended as far as making his mother happy, and Ryssa hadn’t kept her promise. Last night, when he’d tried to visit the club again, he’d been flatly refused at the door. Ryssa was deliberately avoiding him, and it was pissing him off.
David reached out and snatched his business card back. She wouldn’t call. He was running out of options, and Elizabeth was running out of time.
* * *
Ryssa knew she was being followed. Whoever it was, they sucked at it. They didn’t stay far enough behind and made enough noise to wake the dead. In this neighborhood, that was more than a cliché.
She sped up her pace and altered her course slightly, veering to the back lot of the twenty-four hour convenience store. Sliding around the corner, she slipped into the shadows and waited.
“Stop,” she commanded when her pursuer barreled around the edge of the building. A familiar scent of fresh male soap and laundered clothing hit her nose. She inhaled deeply, hating the fact she liked it so much.
She should have known he wouldn’t respond to subtle hints like telling him off and avoiding him. The man was like a bad penny and a broken mirror, turning up everywhere and bringing bad luck with him.
“Why are you following me, Gilligan?”
David bristled. “Corrigan.”
“Whatever.” Ryssa rolled her eyes, a gesture he missed because she was still encased in shadow. “What do you want?”
There was a lengthy pause as David peered into the shadows, trying to see her. “You didn’t come.”
His normally arrogant tone was laced with something else. Desperation? Hurt? Her preternatural senses picked up on the heavy emotional burden he carried, and her ire lessened somewhat. The man was in pain, and some part of her wanted to ease his suffering.
She inhaled, subconsciously drawing in more of his scent, then exhaled heavily.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
He paused, as if he hadn’t been expecting the apology. “My mother is getting worse. I... don’t know how much time she has left. God knows why, but she really wants to see you again. Will you come? Tonight?”
Ryssa knew the woman was nearing her final moments. She could feel the tug deep inside, but she hadn’t dared show up at the mansion. The first night she couldn’t, since she’d been unable to walk. Jax had to come down to the club and carry her home. And it had taken the last two days to heal from the worst of her injuries.
Of course, David couldn’t possibly know that. Nor did she want him to. Ignorance truly was bliss, and she would never be cruel enough to take that away from anyone, no matter how much of an asshole they were. She sure wished she didn’t know half the things she did.
“I’ll try.”
“Please, Ryssa. It is very important to her. And she is very important to me.”
Give the man bonus points for saying please, even if he did probably bite through his tongue to do it. Ryssa had the feeling it was not a word he spoke often; the decided downturn of his firm, male lips was a pretty good clue. He didn’t like asking for her help, and that was something she could relate to. She didn’t like asking for help either.
“Okay,” she agreed wearily. Ryssa made a mental note to talk to one of the witches down at the club about hitting her with an energy spell and a topical glamour or something that would last long enough for her to see Elizabeth. Ryssa neither wanted nor needed anyone’s pity, and would do whatever she had to in order to keep the focus on Elizabeth and her upcoming journey.
“Anything else?”
David didn’t answer right away, the slight shift of his weight betraying his discomfort. “Can you step out of the shadows? I feel like I’m talking to myself here.”
After hesitating briefly, she did, immediately sorry when he gasped.
“What happened to you?”
She pinned him with a fierce glare. As it turned out, the horror and pity in his eyes was even better than an energizing spell, sending her blood pumping through veins with renewed intensity. “None of your goddamn business.”
David stepped forward, reaching out and completely ignoring her outburst. “Jesus. Did you get mugged or something?”
The bruises were still visible, despite the liberal use of foundation, the artful arrangement of hair around her face and the long-brimmed baseball cap she’d donned. For most things, she healed pretty quickly, but Karthik was an ancient, skilled demon who knew a lot about the most effective ways to push a body to its physical limits. Pain was like crack to Karthik; it was his second favorite way to feed. Plus, like any master of his craft, he took pride in showcasing his handiwork.
Ryssa stepped back into the shadows, out of his reach, and laughed bitterly. “Yeah, ‘cause I look like I have something worth stealing. Go home, Gilligan. Tell your mother I’ll be there after my shift.”
* * *
David stopped and dropped his hand. Her rejection stung, which made no sense to him whatsoever. What had he been thinking? He’d seen the bruises marring her pretty face and something dark and ugly had clawed inside his chest. Clearly, she neither wanted nor needed his help.
“What time?” he pressed.
Ryssa cursed at him. He wouldn’t admit it, but was secretly glad. Dealing with her sassy mouth was infinitely preferable to seeing her looking so fragile and broken.
“I work till two. It’ll take me an hour to clean up and walk over there.”
Was she trying to blow him off again? Get him to think she’d come by so he’d just go away and then not show up? “I’ll pick you up.”
Ryssa shook her head. “No, it’s too dangerous for you.”
He frowned. “But not for you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Ignoring his question, she told him what he really wanted to hear. “I’ll be there. Tonight. I promise.”
When David leaned forward again, she was gone.
So he did the only thing he could do. He went home and waited, hoping she kept her word.
David breathed a sigh of relief when the doorbell chimed. Ryssa had come.
Dressed once again in shabby but clean clothing, she looked more like she had the first time he’d seen her, but he didn’t know if he would ever get the mental image of her in her “uniform” out of his head. It made him think and feel things he just wasn’t comfortable dealing with under the circumstances.
Her face didn’t look nearly as bad as he’d originally thought. What he’d imagined to be bruises had probably been just shadows, or artfully applied make-up. Maybe it was zombie theme night at the club, and she’d been dressing the part.
Neither of them said anything as he led her to his mother’s room. That was probably a good th
ing; he didn’t want to give her the wrong impression. This was not a social call, and they weren’t friends.
Once again, he was not asked to join them. He closed the door, glad that he had seen Elizabeth’s eyes light up when she spotted Ryssa. And oddly disappointed that he was excluded.
Two hours later, he was still skulking around outside the room. Sitting, pacing, and straining to hear without actually pressing his ear to the door. Other than indistinguishable murmurs and the occasional sound of laughter, he couldn’t make anything of it.
Whatever the reason, Elizabeth had really taken to the girl. Woman. Whatever. How old was she, anyway? Her pale face and big eyes had a timeless quality that made it impossible to gauge.
Was she even old enough to work in a club like that? Without all the crap on her face, she looked about as young and innocent as she could get without being jailbait. But her eyes – those damn gray eyes - they held more pain and experience than anyone that young could possibly feel.
David put a halt to those thoughts. None of that mattered. She obviously had problems. Lots of people did. Not his fault, and not his business, as she had so eloquently pointed out. The only thing he needed to be concerned with was making sure she wasn’t taking advantage of his mother. He needed to stay focused on that, and nothing else.
Thinking she’d been physically hurt, though – that bothered him. Not because he cared about her; he didn’t. Well, not more than he should. Anyone with a sense of decency would be bothered. She was young, she was female, and she was small. Yeah, she had a foul mouth on her and an attitude the size of Texas, or maybe Alaska. Yeah, she worked in a bad place and dressed up like some fantasy character in a deviant porn flick. But still. Some things were just hardwired into the male DNA, and seeing a woman hurt – any woman – was inherently wrong.
She hadn’t had any of those marks that first night, nor when he’d shown up at the club. Did someone there do it? That guy that had come by and said something about a charge for him being there - was that her boss? Ryssa had paled and begged him to leave, then said she’d pay...
Fallen Angel: Mythic Series, Book 2 Page 4