Maslow's Needs

by Sheri Gilmore

  A cue ball cracked against the other balls.

  She jerked her head up at the sound, her attention snagged.

  Two men and a woman around her age were playing a game of eight ball. The girl took turns with one of the men, indicating they were a couple. The lines of her face were pretty, from what Jessi could see beneath the layers of pale makeup and heavy mascara. Her black lip liner and lipstick didn’t help.

  Jessi studied the girl’s stance and form. She tamped down the urge to get up and bring the girl’s elbow in closer to her body and turn her wrist down instead of at the forty-five-degree angle she maintained.

  The girl shot and missed; Jessi cringed; the boyfriend yelled.

  “What the fuck kinda shot was that?” He jerked the stick out of the girl’s hands. “I got fifty bucks riding on this game.”

  Jessi’s gaze narrowed at the hurt on the girl’s face. This is none of your business. This is none of your ... She stepped down and stood beside the couple.

  “I’ll bet you fifty that me and ‑‑” She looked at the girl.

  “Trish.”

  “I bet you fifty, Trish and I can stomp your two sorry asses into the ground.”

  The other guy snorted. “Take the bet.”

  He walked up to her and stopped. White contacts covered the true color of his eyes, while white makeup covered his face. He leaned down to within an inch of her face. Black outlined both eyes and his lips. His t-shirt read I eat little girls like you for lunch. He sniffed like he was memorizing her scent.

  Jessi resisted the urge to lay the Manson wannabe out across the pool table. Little did he know that his show of intimidation had only served to piss her off more.

  Trish looked at her boyfriend, doubled over and laughing, then back at Jessi. Her mouth pursed and her eyes narrowed. “Yeah, we’re gonna ... stomp ... your asses into the ground.”

  “Okay, bitches, you’re on. We’ll even let you break.”

  “Yeah, that should be ... interesting.” The guys laughed again.

  Trish walked over to Jessi. She leaned close, like she wanted to tell Jessi something. Jessi bent down.

  “Stomp?”

  “Uh, picked it up from my mom. She’s from ... Jersey.”

  “Oh.” The girl stepped back, smiled, and held out her hand. “I’m Trish.”

  Jessi took the proffered hand, noting Trish’s long red nails. She glanced over at the two guys. Their nails were even longer and painted black. She made a mental note to ask Konstantinos what the deal with long nails was. “I’m Jessi. Nice to meet you.”

  “Oh, what happened?”

  Jessi moved her hand behind her back, embarrassed over the clear bandages she’d covered her cuts and scratches with earlier. At least the new bandages looked better than the gauze. “Nothing, just some scratches from a cat.”

  “Do you really think we can beat them?” Trish frowned, looking at Jessi’s hands.

  “Sure, but I need to show you some things first.”

  A wary expression replaced Trish’s smile. Jessi reached to take her arm, but Trish stepped back. Jessi eased her hand past Trish and picked up Trish’s cue stick, instead. Damn. I forgot they’re not very trusting.

  “I just want to show you an easier way to hold the pool cue so it won’t feel so awkward to you, if you don’t mind.”

  Trish nodded, slowly. “Okay.”

  “First, spread your feet further apart, like this.” Jessi bent toward the table, spreading her legs in a stance no one wearing a miniskirt and thong underwear should attempt. The leather rode high on her thighs. She ignored her discomfort and prayed she wasn’t showing more than a little leg.

  “Now, before you shoot, you want to bring your elbow close to your body and angle your wrist down, not out. You’ll have better control over the shot. See?”

  Jessi curled her left forefinger and thumb around the center of the pool cue, resting her last three fingers against the felt of the table. A sharp throb burned her cuts, but she ignored the discomfort when the boyfriend eased up behind her. The heat of his body seeped through to her back. She tensed, but didn’t break her form.

  “Nice ... assets.”

  She focused on the cue ball, ignoring the taunts from their opponents. She intended to show them a thing or two. She hadn’t spent the first twelve years of her life growing up in the back of a pool hall, eating oysters on the half-shell and listening to Hank Williams and Tammy Wynette, for nothing. She’d been trained by the best pool sharks from New Orleans to Memphis, including her daddy.

  “It’s all ...” Sliding the pool cue forward and back several times to get a bead on the ball, she gripped the stick tighter with one last pull back, then forward ‑‑ quick. The momentum of the cue pushed by her upper body strength focused on the pinpointed spot. The cue ball exploded against the rack, sending multi-colored balls, solid and striped, in all directions. Six balls in all found their way into the side pockets. “... in the wrist.”

  “Holy ... did you see that?” The boyfriend elbowed Mansonite boy, who choked on his beer.

  Jessi straightened and smiled sweetly. “I think we get to choose what we’d like to be.” Jessi handed the cue back to her partner, who stared at her like she’d found a new hero. “Trish, love, what do you like better? Stripes or solids?”

  Trish’s pale face lit up with a smile. “I like stripes.”

  Jessi sipped her soda and idled over to the empty table next to theirs. Setting the drink beneath the table, she chalked her hands to aid in a clean slide of the cue. She selected a new stick from the cue stand and held it out in front of her, closing one eye. First, she looked down the barrel. Hmm, seems straight.

  She rolled the stick across the table, watching to see if it warbled. When it did, she replaced it in the stand and went through the process again until she found the cue stick she wanted. She looked up to see her three companions watching her, their mouths open in astonishment. Behind them, a small crowd had gathered. Jessi smiled. More witnesses for the slaughter.

  “Then stripes it is.”

  * * * * *

  “She’s good.” The bartender across the club looked at the man sitting in front of him.

  “No, she’s fucking fine.” Nolan watched the woman his brother had kissed. His cock swelled within the confines of his leather pants. “And I want her.”

  “Drayden might have something to say about that.”

  The bartender didn’t have time to blink before Nolan’s taloned hand snaked out and latched onto his throat, digging the sharpened nails in deep. The man’s words of protest coughed and gurgled in his throat as Nolan brought him closer to his face.

  “I am in control here, not my brother. Understand?”

  The bartender nodded, turning blue beneath his white makeup.

  “Good.” Nolan released the fool with a shove. “Now, fix me another drink.”

  “Y-Yes, sir.”

  Two seconds later, the bartender returned with a glass of water and a bottle of emerald-green liquid. Carefully, he spooned sugar into the water and poured the green liqueur over it before stirring the concoction. The emerald color turned an opaque white. He set the drink in front of Nolan, but didn’t move away.

  Nolan looked sideways, slowly, without moving his head. He didn’t want to miss a move of the woman bent over the pool table. Her burgundy cropped top molded high, firm breasts and exposed a flat abdomen made more interesting by a pierced belly button. Black fishnet stockings hugged long, slender legs disappearing into the tops of knee-high combat boots. The outline of her backside in the leather skirt triggered pictures of him behind her, driving his cock into her ass, deeper and deeper. Oh, how he’d make her scream.

  The bartender still hadn’t moved away.

  “What?” Nolan demanded.

  The bartender jumped at the unexpected question.

  Nolan grinned and closed his eyes for a second, enjoying the power that another’s fear gave him. He watched the way the bartender’s Adam’s app
le moved up and down. He had the wimp nervous and scared.

  “You do know that absinthe has been proven toxic, don’t you ... sir?”

  “Ha!” Nolan took the glass and downed the bitter liqueur in three gulps. When he reached the end, he sucked air through clenched teeth. The rush he received outweighed any chances of toxicity. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  He slammed the glass down on the counter. “Bring me the bottle.”

  The bartender disappeared into a room behind the bar where Nolan knew Drayden kept the more exotic liquors. In a matter of seconds, the man returned to set a new bottle in front of Nolan and handed him another glass of water.

  Nolan mixed the water with absinthe, liking the way the illegal liqueur swirled as it settled. Green, like the eyes of Drayden’s bitch.

  He looked back at the woman, shooting pool. Correction. My bitch, when all is said and done. She might not be willing, but that hadn’t stopped him before. The image of the young woman in Hattiesburg rose in his mind. He frowned.

  His gaze narrowed on her. With her hair dyed black, she looked a lot like ...

  “Couldn’t be.” He closed his eyes to picture his last “donor.” He traced the outline of her still body with his mind ‑‑

  She laughed!

  His eyes snapped open and he focused on her. The laugh sounded the same. The lips smiled the same, and she had the same ... green eyes. Had his prey returned to haunt him?

  “No, this one’s older.” He watched the woman study the table in front of her, plotting her strategy to ensure the downfall of the two idiots challenging her. Of course, she’d win. He acknowledged a warped sense of pride at the same time his cock throbbed harder with need. “My prey are always the best at everything they do.”

  The little bitch in Hattiesburg had been the best at begging. He threw his head back to swallow another gulp. His ears rang. Tonight he’d hear the voices. He closed his eyes, willing his demons to come closer and possess him so he could perform his greatest magick yet. A laugh erupted from his chest, deep and threatening.

  When he lowered his head, his gaze connected with hers. He stared, widening his eyes, challenging her to find out who and what he was. He smiled, rose, then strode from the main room through the back door, knowing curiosity would bring Drayden’s woman to him.

  * * * * *

  This was sooo fun. Jessi couldn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed a game of pool more. The two male goths had started the match with such superior attitudes. Now she watched them sweat, waiting for a chance to claim the table. She shifted her weight back and forth on her feet to obtain the maximum stance for the final shot.

  “Eight ball in the right corner pocket.”

  “Shit. She even knows to call the last pocket!” Trish’s boyfriend shoved his hands into his pants pockets, like a pouting boy.

  Jessi pulled back and shot. The white cue ball crashed into the solitary black ball. Straight as an arrow, the eight ball zinged down the table into the corner pocket. She held her hand up, and Trish gave her a high-five.

  The goth who had tried to threaten her with his looks turned his body in an angry semi-circle, with a string of profanity following. His brows in a scowl, he marched over to her and pulled a wad of cash from his pocket. He shoved the bills at her. “We don’t like hustlers around here.”

  Jessi counted the money with pointed accuracy. “Neither do I.”

  Behind them rose, “Oooo.”

  She watched the infuriated man storm from the game area to disappear into the dark perimeters of the room where small tables, each lit by a single votive, stood along the walls. A small wave of guilt assailed her. She should have been casing the place instead of playing pool. Her cousin’s family wanted answers and justice.

  She glanced around to see a few solitary goths dancing in the open space designated for the dance floor. The DJ had a setup in the far corner of the floor. Nothing suspicious there. She eased her head around to the bar, trying to look nonchalant. Since New York City had banned smoking, she had a clear shot of the bar. Nothing there but lively chatter and a few flamboyant arm movements where a guy demonstrated something to his amused companions. She scanned back into the darkened perimeter.

  Wait ... Her gaze snagged on a lone male figure at the bar, laughing at some private joke. Their eyes met, and a strange sensation shivered down her neck and spine. The man’s gaze narrowed, like Drayden’s had done the night before. He smiled.

  Her skin tingled and pricked as a sense of pure evil flooded her senses. The light touched his face, and she froze. The guy from my dream.

  She took a step toward him.

  “Jessi.”

  She turned toward Trish, but kept the man in her peripheral vision. He rose and headed out of the main club area.

  “Trish, I gotta go. Here.” She shoved the wad of cash at her new friend.

  “I can’t take all of this. You won most of it.”

  Jessi had already crossed half the dance floor. She waved a hand at Trish. “It’s okay. I won it for you.” She looked back at her friend. “Don’t let him treat you like that.”

  Trish nodded. Jessi felt certain the girl understood what she meant. Jessi had learned the hard way with her ex-husband that no one should be allowed to speak to another human being like they were dirt beneath their shoes. She gave Trish a smile, then hurried after the mysterious stranger. She didn’t know how, but the dream had been from Molly. Jessi had just made contact with the killer.

  Chapter Nine

  As the door closed, the music evaporated, to be replaced by the beat of more music coming from down the hall. Jess reached for the little black purse containing her gun, but didn’t pull the weapon. Technically, she was an observer ‑‑ a guest of the NYPD ‑‑ and shouldn’t be carrying a weapon.

  The strap crossed over one shoulder, leaving the purse on her right side. She unsnapped the flap, letting her hand rest against the cool leather. Her outfit had proved lacking in more ways than one. There had been no reliable spots to hide a weapon. Even her combat boots were too tight to squeeze a smaller piece into the side.

  Jessi squinted in the dim light of the narrow hallway. She counted at least two closed doors, which looked like they belonged in an ancient dungeon, with heavy metal hinges and locks. She didn’t want to dwell on the unknown possibilities of what lay behind such fortified portals.

  She glanced around for another type of weapon, but couldn’t see anything worth using. Her gaze caught and centered on the red glow emanating from gothic sconces in the shape of dragons with miniature swords crossed behind them.

  What the heck. She reached up and grasped the handle of a sword, knowing the chance that it could be real would be slim. She pulled, expecting resistance. Her weight carried her back a couple of steps. An eight-inch dagger slid from the metal scabbard.

  Her eyebrows rose. “I’ll be damned.” These guys were more paranoid than she about protection. Her proficiency with a knife left much to be desired, but she did feel safer with some sort of weapon in her hand. She eased forward, drawing level with the first door. She took a deep breath and tried the knob.

  Locked.

  She turned her head and heard a soft murmur. At first she thought her heart had gone into overdrive, but soon realized the low whispers and music came from across the hall behind the second door. She clasped the dagger with both hands. Turning her head from left to right, she proceeded across the narrow space.

  Her back to the wall, she slid into a squatting position. Fingers tightened around her weapon, as she turned and peered through the ancient keyhole.

  Nothing. A sliver of light seeped through the space. She squinted and shifted her body into a better angle. A slight breeze brushed her back where her shirt left her skin bare.

  Jessi turned to see someone in a black robe looming above her as a swish of soft velvet touched her calf. She gasped, preparing to block a blow with her raised arm. After a second of no impact, she lowered her arm.


  She curled her body into a ball and rolled twice before she came up to her feet with the dagger at ready. Her knees bent in a crouch for attack, but there wasn’t anyone there. She blinked, then glanced back and forth down the hall from the direction she’d come. The red glow from the hall sconces had been extinguished, leaving everything pitch black. A movement behind her showed her error.

  Never leave a blind eye to your back. She responded too late. The arm snaked around her waist, and her body lifted into the air.

  With a hard thud, her assailant threw her back against the far wall. Air whooshed from her lungs, and the dagger flew from her hand to clatter down the tiled floor. Before she could think of a counterattack, he forced her around, slamming her cheek and breasts against the same wall.

  Pain exploded from the point of her temple in a pattern of stars and sparks behind her eyelids. She tried to kick her foot up and back to crush down on her attacker’s foot, but found she couldn’t move an inch.

  The male body holding her captive radiated strength and heat. The scent of clove cigarettes clung to his skin ‑‑ sweet ... and, suddenly, sickening. A shaft of pain and light streaked through her mind, but she fought not to lose consciousness. She blinked hard, focusing on her breathing.

  In and out. A ringing sound vibrated in her ears. A floating sensation spread through her arms and legs. The rush of a hard, hot breath brushed against her ear. She swallowed the saliva gathering in her mouth.

  A wave of panic hit at being unable to defend herself. She couldn’t abide being held down and helpless. Thoughts of her cousin, Molly, and how she must have suffered during her last hour of life, floated through her mind.

  The murder scene played over and over with Molly’s lifeless body stretched out and chained to the floor. The killer had been very precise with how he had cut her. The coroner’s words echoed through her mind ‑‑ the perpetrator had used a razor blade to produce shallow cuts to Molly’s breasts, inner forearms, and inner thighs, where he then sipped at the small trickles of blood produced.

  According to the lividity left from the incisions, the killer had progressed over a period of hours to the deeper, more punctured wounds in her wrists and neck to allow the girl’s blood to flow freely. These had indicated the use of ... fangs.