The Rising: A Badlands Novel

by Morgan Brice

  Williams shook his hand as he rose. “Thank you. I know what I’ve said sounds crazy, but I really appreciate your help.”

  Simon watched the man leave, adding yet another odd circumstance to a day that seemed full of them.

  “You think he’s legit?” Pete asked.

  Simon shrugged. “I have a friend from my professor days who handles the permits for salvage dives and archeological digs. I’ll check into it. If he’s not—I’ll report him.”

  “But if he is, wouldn’t it be cool to know more about the Gallows Nine?” Pete’s ghost geek was in full swing.

  “Be careful what you wish for,” Simon cautioned. “Between people saying they’ve seen Blackcoat Benny and all this talk about the Gallows Nine, it makes me worry about the storm that’s heading this way.”

  Pete shrugged. “We made it through the hurricane, we’ll get through this. I’m not going to worry until they take the SkyWheel apart again.”

  4

  VIC

  Vic felt pretty sure that the saying “no good deed goes unpunished” was originally said by a cop. He bummed a ride home with Ross rather than walking the few blocks from the station to the blue bungalow, but the lights in the windows when he arrived gave him a second wind.

  “Go home to your fella and put everything out of your head,” Ross advised. “Tell Simon I said hello. Sheila wants the four of us to go out on another double date when she can get a sitter for the kids.”

  “That sounds like fun,” Vic said. “Just let us know when and where.” He’d been lucky to get Ross as a partner. Not only was Ross okay with Vic being gay and out, but he’d been cool with Simon’s psychic abilities once he had seen enough to realize they were real. The fact that he’d also accepted Vic as a partner and a friend despite his iffy recommendation from Pittsburgh had sealed Vic’s opinion. He tried to make sure he never gave Ross any reason to change his mind.

  Ross pulled away as Vic headed up the steps. He and Simon hadn’t been together a full year yet, but the blue bungalow had always felt more like home than his old apartment. Now he was living with the man he loved, and Myrtle Beach finally seemed like home.

  That made Vic happy deep down. It also scared the shit out of him because he’d never had so much to lose.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Vic called out as he came inside and hung up his coat.

  “Dinner’s almost ready,” Simon responded from the kitchen.

  Vic tried to figure out what was cooking from the aromas that made his stomach rumble with hunger.

  He stopped just inside the kitchen doorway and closed his eyes. “Meatloaf…mmmm.”

  “With roasted carrots and mashed potatoes,” Simon said, a hint of pride in his voice. “I timed it later figuring it was better to eat late than have to warm it up or hold it too long.”

  “You did good,” Vic replied. “How long until it’s ready?”

  Simon glanced at his timer. “About five minutes.”

  “Perfect.” Vic stepped closer to Simon, pulling him in by his belt loops. He slipped his arms around Simon’s waist, and Simon slid his around Vic’s shoulders. Vic kissed him, a gentle brush of lips at first, but then Simon opened to him, and Vic slid his tongue inside, licking and tasting. Simon arched against him, and Vic’s right hand moved down to grip Simon’s ass.

  “Missed you,” Vic growled, pulling back just enough to see the flush in Simon’s skin and his blown pupils.

  “Glad you’re home,” Simon murmured. Vic tangled his left hand in Simon’s loose, long hair to expose his neck, then kissed and nipped from earlobe to shoulder, pausing to flick his tongue against the shell of his ear and then across his collarbone.

  A timer dinged, and Simon pushed back ruefully. “We’d better get cleaned up unless we want dinner to burn.”

  The meatloaf smelled even better than before, and Vic licked his lips as Simon plated the food, drizzling brown gravy from the meat over the potatoes and adding a side of roasted carrots. A loaf of sliced bread from the bakery and a tub of butter were already on the table, along with two cold beers.

  Vic grabbed his plate and sank into his chair with a grateful sigh. Simon joined him a few seconds later. They dug into their food, letting conversation wait until they were nearly finished.

  “How did it go out at the old house?” Vic scraped up the last of the meatloaf on his plate and washed it down with a swig of beer.

  “Worrisome.” Simon leaned back in his chair. “There’s plenty of spirit activity—most of it hostile. The contractor’s sticking his neck out to bring me in because the developer doesn’t believe in ghosts. But at least one ghost is angry enough that someone’s going to get hurt. So…I’ve got to figure out an intervention.”

  The wording made Vic chuckle. “Jesus, you sound like it’s a domestic incident.”

  Simon shrugged. “It is—just one of the participants is already dead. Can’t exactly cuff him and drag him off to jail, so I’ve got to figure out who’s pissed and why, and then how to make the spirit go away for good.”

  “Just please, be careful. Can’t you bring one of your psychic friends network buddies in on this?”

  Simon grimaced at the nickname and gave an exaggerated sigh at the long-running joke. “Maybe. I’m going to connect with Miss Eppie and Gabriella tomorrow and see what they advise. Josh—the contractor—is really worried, and I don’t want anything worse to happen.”

  Vic helped Simon clear the table. He loaded the dishwasher while Simon put away leftovers. Then he grabbed two more beers as they headed into the living room. He and Ross had spent the afternoon working another suspicious “suicide,” with the same pattern as the one he’d shown to Simon. He just hated to bring it up. As it turned out, he didn’t get a choice in the matter.

  On the television, the evening news ran footage of a scene Vic recognized all too well, with a crawl that read “North Myrtle man found dead in hotel room.”

  “Aw, shit,” Vic muttered, knowing he needed to tell Simon that he’d been called to that scene. The news segued into the storm forecast, promising that the weather would be getting dangerously nasty. That’s when Vic realized Simon had frozen in his tracks, staring at the TV with a blank expression, completely zoned out.

  “Simon?”

  Simon shook off his trance. “He wants our help.”

  “Who?”

  “Roger Burnside, the man in the hotel room. It wasn’t what it looked like.”

  Vic caught his breath. “We didn’t release the victim’s name to the press,” he said quietly.

  “No. He told me. Just now.”

  “Roger Burnside was here in the living room?” Vic sometimes struggled to keep up with Simon’s psychic abilities. He no longer doubted; hell, he’d seen Simon work actual magic a few months ago, so seeing spirits and getting glimpses of the future didn’t seem far-fetched at all anymore. Still, Vic sometimes felt like a guest at a party where Simon was in the thick of the conversation, and no one talked to him.

  Simon frowned. “Not exactly. I don’t know where he was—he didn’t materialize. I saw the picture of the hotel, and I heard his voice.”

  “What did he say, exactly?” Vic heard himself go into cop mode, and he winced. Simon’s my lover, not my suspect.

  Simon didn’t react to the change in tone for once, still preoccupied and trying to parse out what had just happened. “He said, ‘I’m Roger Burnside, and I didn’t do it.’”

  “Is he still here? Can you ask him what happened?” Vic’s voice held the excitement he knew too well came with chasing down a lead. He struggled to walk the fine line between cop and partner.

  Simon shook his head. “No. New ghosts usually aren’t very strong. I’m surprised he managed that much at a distance. I mean, North Myrtle’s miles away. It’s not like we’re standing over his body.”

  Vic took Simon’s hand and led him to the couch, setting the bottles on the coffee table. “Ross and I spent the afternoon at the hotel. Another hanging. A maid found him
. No note, but the door was locked from the inside, and there was no evidence of a break-in. The body’s with the coroner, but it’s likely to get ruled a suicide, although Captain Hargrove asked us to take a look since Burnside’s death has the same pattern as Mitchell’s.”

  Simon sighed as he leaned back and closed his eyes. “I can’t feel the ghost now. He probably used all the juice he had with that message. It might be a while before he can muster up anything else, but I’ll keep trying to reach him, and Mike Mitchell, too. If you want me to go to the scene tomorrow, I will.”

  Vic remembered their conversation in the car. Had it only been that morning? Simon might dismiss his fears that chasing murder suspects would change him, but Vic had seen that happen to far too many of his police colleagues. Simon hadn’t lost his faith in people, hadn’t grown weary of seeing people betray each other in the worst ways, hadn’t developed the flat, hard look Vic thought of as “cop eyes” that showed a distrust for everyone and everything.

  He wanted to wrap his arms around Simon and protect him not only to keep him safe but to make sure he never grew bitter and disillusioned. Vic knew he couldn’t, and shouldn’t, do that, knew Simon took on the burden of helping solve murders for a good reason. He had to respect and support that, just as Simon supported him. Vic rarely worried about himself, but he knew Simon lived with a silent fear every day that Vic would get hurt or killed in the line of duty. And Simon rarely voiced his fears, knowing that the risk went along with loving a cop. So Vic knew he had to do the same, but it was so damn hard.

  “I love you,” Vic said, pulling Simon close. “And I’ll take you by the hotel in the morning if you’re willing to go.” He paused, trying to figure out how to put his fears into words.

  “You told me that being a medium means letting a ghost possess you long enough to pass along a message. Could the…entity…take you over and not let go?”

  Simon hesitated before answering, which Vic took as a partial reply in itself. “I don’t think so,” Simon said carefully. “For one thing, I’ve had experience my whole life dealing with spirits, and I’ve learned how to shield. I’ve run into aggressive ghosts and either thrown them out or kept them from trying to get in. And I carry my silver and onyx, which help protect me.” He met Vic’s gaze. “But you and Ross could be at risk. Do you have the bracelet and the kerchief I gave you?”

  At Christmas, Vic had given Simon a silver bracelet with an engraved protective warding and a Kevlar vest. Simon had given Vic two hand-woven items made by a powerful Weaver witch with protective magic sewn into the cloth itself.

  Vic held up his left wrist and showed that he had the bracelet, then pulled a corner of the kerchief out of his pocket. “Yep. And I make sure Ross wears his saint’s medallion.”

  Simon nodded. “Good. That’s important. I usually have some of the other charms from Miss Eppie and Gabriella on me somewhere. When I see them, I’ll ask if they can give me some amulets for you and Ross, now that we know what we’re up against.”

  Vic pulled Simon close, wanting nothing more than to kiss away the worry. He didn’t want to talk shop; he wanted their time at home to be an oasis from the darkness they both saw all too often outside. That wasn’t always possible, but for tonight, Vic was going to do his damnedest to make it happen.

  “Let’s forget about work for a while,” he murmured, licking the rim of Simon’s ear and tonguing into the shell in a promise of good things to come. Simon shivered in his arms, and Vic bit lightly at his earlobe, loving the moan it earned in response. He reached out and grabbed the remote, turning off the TV, then went back to slowly, thoroughly, exploring Simon’s body with his hands and mouth.

  “You’re wearing too many clothes.” Vic reached for the hem of Simon’s t-shirt, then pulled it over his head. He tossed the shirt aside and pressed Simon down onto the couch, then sat back to admire his long, lean body.

  “You are so beautiful,” Vic said, amazed anew that he’d managed to find a man like Simon and be loved by him in return. Vic ran a hand down Simon’s chest, tweaking his pink nipples, trailing down over his firm abs to the trail of chestnut hair that led down to the waistband of his jeans.

  “I was thinking the same about you.” Simon’s smile made Vic’s heart do flips. Simon tugged at Vic’s shirt, and Vic was quick to lose it, leaving them both bare-chested. Simon ran a finger over the tats on Vic’s chest, making him catch his breath.

  Vic leaned forward and licked a stripe down the side of Simon’s neck with the tip of his tongue, glorying in the way it made Simon’s breath hitch and his pulse race. He kissed his way along Simon’s collar bone, then moved down to suck each nipple to a hard nub. Simon ground against him, bucking his hips, his cock obviously straining against the fabric of his jeans. Vic just chuckled as he kissed and licked his way down Simon’s happy trail. He teased a finger inside the waistband of Simon’s jeans, stroking over the sensitive head of his prick that was already leaking enough pre-come to wet the cotton of his briefs.

  “Vic—” The need in Simon’s voice and the hunger in his eyes stoked Vic’s own desire, but he palmed his straining cock, promising himself they’d take this slowly.

  “These jeans have to go,” Vic rumbled. He worked the buttons this time until Simon grew impatient and batted Vic’s hands away to shove his pants and briefs down to his thighs. Vic moved off him just long enough to pull the clothing the rest of the way and drop it onto the floor. Simon’s scent just made Vic harder.

  “I want to see you,” Simon murmured, running his fingers down Vic’s chest and working at his belt. Vic lost no time shedding his jeans, and lay down between Simon’s spread legs, relishing the feel of skin against skin.

  “So good,” Vic said and slid down until Simon’s hard cock was right in front of him. He took him all the way down in one move, earning a yelp from Simon. Vic worked him up and down, swirling his tongue over the slit and the ridge of his knob, sucking and humming until he had Simon writhing and grabbing at the couch cushions. Vic pulled off with a pop and rose up far enough to get a good look at his lover.

  Simon’s hair was a chestnut cloud around his head, and with kiss-swollen lips and lust-blown hazel eyes, Simon looked utterly, fabulously debauched. Vic reached for one of the many bottles of lube they kept stashed around the bungalow, making a show of drizzling it onto his hand and slicking up his fingers. Simon watched his every move like Vic was a porn star in his very own fantasy.

  Vic leaned forward, lifting Simon’s legs and exposing his tight pucker, then he bent down and let the tip of his tongue rim Simon with gentle flicks.

  “You’re killing me!” Simon groaned. Vic kept up the exquisite torture, gradually growing bolder, alternating between the flat of his tongue and the tip, then adding first one finger and then two, opening Simon and getting him ready. When Simon started fucking himself on those fingers, Vic decided to take pity on both of them.

  “Ride me,” Vic said, swinging his legs around so that he was sitting up on the couch. He poured more lube into his palm and thrust into the circle of his hand to slick himself up.

  Simon stretched, giving Vic a good look at his body, then sat up languorously, as if he weren’t aching to be fucked. He stood and moved in front of Vic.

  “Like what you see?” he asked, presenting himself.

  “You know I do,” Vic rasped. He reached for Simon, gripping his hips, and brought him closer to straddle him. “Need to be in you, now.”

  Simon knelt on the couch, one knee on either side of Vic’s thighs, and lowered himself until the head of Vic’s cock brushed between his ass cheeks. He let the knob breach him and stilled, letting himself adjust, then took Vic in all the way. Vic moaned, watching as his cock slipped inside Simon’s ass.

  “Move,” Vic managed.

  Simon gave a sinful smile, and rose up a few inches, then sank again, resting his forearms on Vic’s shoulders. He pulled almost all the way off, then came down, hard, watching for Vic’s reaction.

  Seei
ng Simon confident enough to seduce him made Vic all the hungrier. He fought the instinct to grab hold of his lover and pound into him, remembering his promise to take it slow. Simon leaned back, bracing himself on Vic’s knees, changing the angle so that Vic’s cock hit his sweet spot, and Simon let out a groan of pleasure.

  “Simon.” Vic couldn’t manage more than a couple of syllables, not with Simon’s ass clenching around his cock and his body on display. He reached for Simon, pulling him closer, kissing him hard. His hands slipped down to Simon’s hips and thrust up, earning a happy moan. They began to move together, matching each other’s strokes, setting a rhythm that grew faster with their hunger. Despite the promise to take his time, Vic knew he was too close to last.

  “Go ahead,” Simon whispered, kissing his ear. “Let go. I want to feel you come.”

  That did it. Vic felt his orgasm slam through him, whiting out his vision for a second as he filled Simon’s ass with his spend. Simon’s release followed close after, painting Vic’s chest with jizz. Vic wrapped his arms around Simon, kissing him slowly, happily fucked out.

  “We’re going to stick together,” Simon murmured after a few moments of cuddling.

  Vic grabbed a box of tissues from the end table and handed a wad to Simon, while he used more to wipe down his chest.

  “How about round two in the shower?” Vic asked, with a playfully lascivious grin.

  “How about we switch it up?” Simon returned, tugging on his wrist to get Vic up off the couch and moving toward the bathroom.

  “Okay by me,” Vic answered, feeling his dick twitch at the thought. He’d always preferred to top before he met Simon, but now he found that he liked how they fit together, no matter how they did it. If anyone had told him before that he would sometimes crave the feeling of being filled and owned, he would have laughed, but with Simon that intimacy met a need he never knew he had.