by Jasmine Walt
Ignoring her question, he asked, “And you enjoyed him, true?”
“True enough. We had a good time.”
“As evidenced by…” He swept his arm in a half circle, indicating the tequila, joint, beer bottles, and other assorted remains.
“I was sorry to see him go. I thought we clicked…sort of. In a ‘we had to get drunk or high to enjoy one another’ kind of way. But he left because of you,” she blurted.
“People leave for all sorts of reasons. Some of them might go away. Some of them might be killed.” He shrugged.
She stiffened, waiting for him to make his chilling point.
“My point is, when you lose someone you care about…” He turned his green eyes on her. “You might do something you wouldn’t normally do. Say, out of grief.”
“Like what might that be? And who are we talking about?”
He picked imaginary lint from his pale shirt. “That depends on whether or not the loss could have been prevented.”
“What are you saying, D?”
“I’m saying, you’re a terrible liar and if I lose Sultana, I don’t know what might happen in your little town. Switzerland might turn into Somalia. A blood bath.”
“You knew all along, didn’t you?” Chia said, defeated, her mood falling into sub-zero territory.
“Not dignifying that with an answer,” he said.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Take care of it, what else? You’re a bright and courageous woman. I’d suggest you get a move on. My date commences in an hour.”
Her cheeks puffed with air and she let it out slowly. “So much for a bubble bath, huh?” She got to her feet, feeling like she weighed two tons. “Did you even want to hear about my ghosts?”
“Not really, not tonight. I might, though in the future. It depends on your outcome tonight. If things go well for you, I may be quite generous with my advice. I suspect it has something to do with your skills in isolating your emotions.”
“You mean not dealing with them, as in denial.”
“You say denial, I say isolating.” D’Raynged swished his hand back and forth. “It all serves a purpose of allowing you to do your practical, boring job rather than live a life of passion.”
“Fuck off, D. Leave me and my passion out of the conversation.”
“As you wish.” He sipped his serum mixture.
She poured the rest of her wine down her throat, refilled, and repeated her actions, the effect of the alcohol already hitting her system.
“You’re going to go out drunk?”
“I think well when I’m drunk.”
D’Raynged scoffed. “I seriously doubt that. You’re putting yourself and others in harm’s way if you try operating a motor vehicle.”
“Do you want to drive me around?”
He rolled his eyes.
“There’s no one on this road for miles. When I get to town, I’ll walk.”
“Whatever. It’s your life. And no, I won’t be your maker. I don’t want something like that on my conscience.”
“Do you even have a conscience? Never mind, I don’t care. I’m out of here.”
“Do you have any kind of plan?”
“Not really. Still planless.” Other than pleasuring myself with Hung Durand before making him dead. She got to her feet, weaving slightly as the wine shook the sense from her system. For good measure, she seized the bottle and poured a glug down her gullet. “Where do you suppose a bounty hunter would go for the evening?”
“A bounty hunter has three objectives—eat, fuck, and kill or capture, not in any particular order. Rather, the order is served by the day and the duty. Those should be fairly simple to discern. You know he can’t be seen in public to do any of the three, so that should narrow things even further.”
“You’re kidding, right? Once you hit town’s edge, it’s a literal wilderness out there.” She waved her hand angrily at the windows feeling both peeved at the task ahead, and jealous at the thought of Hung in some other woman’s bed. “How do you know he hasn’t already accomplished his mission, huh? I could be heading out on a fruitless mission when I could be taking a bubble bath.”
A mirthless smile crossed his face. “Let’s hope that isn’t the case. For your sake, as well as for your townspeople. All of this could be so simple if you didn’t have your silly restrictions and protections on shifters and bounty hunters. I could take care of everything.” He snapped his fingers. “And get a filling meal in the process. Now, if you’ll excuse me…wait.”
“What?” she said, glumly.
“Hasn’t it crossed your mind that Red and Dick…aren’t those the names you used?”
“Yes.”
“Hasn’t it crossed your mind that the Red Spotted Dick plans on violating your city ordinances? Sounds like they’ve already begun.”
She almost laughed at the phrase Red Spotted Dick but weariness took over. I’m going to have to use that. “Yeah, well, you know how long it takes to intervene when government gets in the way. And Joseph, the regional manager, has an election coming up. The laws were only made by me, one handshake at a time. That’s why they’ve worked so well. But an election, a new person in office, and my rules are dust.” She ran a hand through her pink frosted hair. “This sucks. And, you’re part of the sucking, asshole.”
“I should hope so,” he said, lightly. “Sucking and biting is something I do very well. Now, shouldn’t you be on your way?”
7
“Good luck,” D’Raynged called cheerily from his perch on the sofa. He lifted a hand, not bothering to look up from the magazine he read.
“Fuck you, too,” she answered. She heard his chuckle as she slammed the door. Chia marched out to the barn, a small flashlight in her hand, her ghosts resting benignly along her body like layers of silvery ectoplasm. Or, maybe they’re tipsy like me. She needed two things—to check on the confiscated steel body and leg traps she’d taken from every citizen who owned one, and get more bullets for her gun. Maybe grab another gun or two. She flicked on the outdoor lights as she opened the front door, illuminating her frigid surroundings.
She stomped…okay, more like staggered out to the barn, slipping and sliding. Once housing her grandparent’s livestock, the large, well-made wood and brick structure, shadowed from overhead branches bare of leaves at this time of year, stood to the side of the driveway.
Leaning against the door to steady herself, she jammed the penlight between her teeth and hefted the sturdy lock she used to protect the space. Sure enough, one side of the rugged shackle had been sliced, making it appear secure.
Instead, the entire lock pivoted in her gloved hand. “Dag nab it,” Chia uttered. She removed the padlock, threw it into the stand of trees, and opened the barn door. Her tools stood neatly against the wall. Her snowmobile sat at the far end of the long barn. Her metal gun case loomed in the corner, and it appeared to be locked tight. “They would have had to use dynamite to get in there,” she said, her words sounding a little slurred. She peered inside one of the stalls that used to house horses, and sure enough, all of the traps she’d confiscated were gone, gone, gone. “Goddamn it,” she swore. “Goddamn Red Spotted Dick.”
She strode to the gun case, entered the combination in the lock and the door swung open easily. She retrieved bullets, along with a Nosler, her favorite rifle. She held it at eye level, imagined viewing Hung through the scope and pretended to shoot it. “Wham! Right between the eyes.”
She knew she was a good shot, even on her worst days, like today. She’d even competed in some of the local shooting contests Charming held each year and won, much to the chagrin of the male contestants. They made up endless excuses as to why she won and they didn’t. She locked the gun case, made a mental note to buy a new lock for the barn door, and tromped to her SUV, growing used to the sloshing sensation in her head resulting from slamming the wine.
Focusing hard, she managed to maneuver the Jeep along the slick, arctic road. She paused at
a crossroads. “Which way would a bounty hunter like Hung go, if hunting a vampire, looking for food, or seeking a good fuck?” She blushed, thinking herself as good a fuck as any, probably better. “Hormones are hormones,” she mumbled, in her defense. “And preferences are preferences. And he fits my ideal male…sort of…at least in the physical department.”
She grimaced, chiding herself at wanting to have anything remotely sexual to do with Hung Durand. “I barely know the guy. I don’t know much about him except that he rolls through town when he has business here.” Her fingers played along the edge of the steering wheel, as she stared into the starry night sky. “Hmmm. There’s a little known hangout for one of the arcane clans outside of town a couple miles. That’s a start. Maybe one of the shifters knows where he is?”
Although everyone knew the bounty hunter registration laws, the shifters lived by a “don’t ask and we won’t tell” kind of code. In other words, as long as no one got hurt, they didn’t need to snitch.
She turned in the opposite direction of town, heading toward the rocky outcropping where the arcane clan gathered. Even in her wine sloshed state, she managed to avoid most of the potholes on this desolate road. Her truck seesawed along, lurching and sliding in the muddy places, much as she would have done had she been on foot.
Spying the dim lights of the club ahead, she parked several yards away and got out of the Jeep, her ghosts still apparently snoozing on her body. “Good that you guys are getting some rest,” she said, sarcasm evident. “Or are you sleeping it off?” She reached for her leather chest holster, strapped it on and stuck one of her revolvers—a robust Smith and Wesson—in the opening. After that, she pulled on her coat and wove her way toward the hundred-year-old timber lodge. She knocked on the iron door with her fist. A tiny door slid open and a gold and green shimmering eye appeared in the peephole.
“What do you want, Chia? This is a private club,” the bouncer said.
“I need to ask some of your members about something. It’s vitally important. It could mean the difference between peace and war in our fair hamlet.” A heavy sigh followed, the peephole covering slid closed and the bouncer yelled something to the inhabitants. Then the gigantic, heavy portal eased open.
Chia walked in, still unsteady, her eyes adjusting to the extremely low light. Her ghosts stayed sandwiched to her body as if they were tired. She didn’t possess the visual skills many of the shifters possessed. Nor did she possess their hearing ability. Or their scent capturing ability, for that matter, save for her ability to sniff out bounty hunters, one in particular.
She lifted her nose and sniffed the air, but her olfactory senses were assaulted by wet fur, sweat, marijuana, tobacco, alcohol, and other assorted smells. No scent of Hung. Once her eyes adjusted, she peered around the now silent room, removing her gloves and shoving them in her jacket pocket.
Several sets of eyes peered back at her, most human, some in their animal form. It gave her the heebie-jeebies to be the focus of attention, as if she were prey. Once they seemed satisfied she was who the bouncer apparently said she was, their eyes turned away and talking resumed. After taking a deep breath of relief, she sauntered to one of the tables, occupied by a few of her shifter friends. “Boys,” she said, nodding to the males. “Carmen,” she said, nodding to the lone female. “Any of you seen Hung Durand?”
They all looked askance at one another, avoiding her eyes.
“It’s important. All of your lives could be in danger if I don’t find him.”
“We don’t know anything,” the bobcat shifter said. He lifted his glass of greenish sparkling liquid and drained it.
“Not a thing,” a wolf shifter said, his golden glowing eyes darting toward the corner of the room.
She turned to look in the direction he’d cast his gaze and spotted a staircase. “Okay,” she said, rapping the wood table with her knuckles. “Thanks anyway.” She turned and wobbled toward the staircase, hoping she didn’t appear too out of it. That was too easy. Maybe my day’s about to turn around.
Upstairs, wandering through the brothel, which harkened back to the 1800s, she trekked along the narrow staircase, lined with a worn paisley wool rug. The walls were lined with old tintype portraits of historical figures, sternly gazing out of the paper reality as if in perpetual judgement.
Hearing the moans and groans from satisfied coupling inside the rooms, she searched for clues. The last door on the left revealed no sound whatsoever. Light shone from underneath the door. She doubted if the participants were sleeping and they were far too quiet to be doing anything else. Suspicious, she lifted her hand and softly rapped.
“Come in,” called a weary female voice.
She turned the crystal door handle and let herself into the room.
Ruby, one of the local whores, lay propped against the headboard, bare breasted, the sheets in disarray around her. Her beautiful face appeared annoyed, obsidian eyes glaring at her hands as if wishing they held something other than a wad of silk bedding. Her bluish black hair looked messed from pleasure.
“How’s it going?” Chia asked the voluptuous woman.
“It goes,” the woman said, avoiding Chia’s gaze.
“What’s the matter?”
“Oh, I was in the middle of a very satisfying encounter, when you showed up.”
“I don’t see anyone in here. Is he under the bed?” Chia, missing the clue, smiled, wanting to reassure Ruby she meant no harm. She sniffed the air, but there were too many competing smells in the dank room to discern Hung Durand. Unless…maybe…is that his smell? Nah.
“No, he’s not under the bed,” the prostitute muttered. One of her ring clad hands reached for the joint still smoldering on the side stand.
“Where is he?”
Ruby reached out and fiddled with the ashtray, as if rearranging it. “He told me you could smell him. I guess that’s a lie, huh?” The woman brought the hand-rolled to her lips and inhaled.
“What?” Too late, Chia caught the true smell of Hung, mixed with the scent of weed and sex.
He dropped to the floor, directly behind her, wrapping his powerful hand around her mouth, as he did in her SUV this morning.
She yelped into his warm hand, inhaling the strong fragrance of musk, body odor, and alcohol emanating from his skin.
He pressed his entirely too-naked, muscle-laden body into her fully clothed back, his head lowering to nuzzle her hair. “Come to play, did you? Ruby and I were about done. I’m all warmed up for you.” His hand slid down to her throat, tipping her head back against his chest as he ground his massive erection against her. He moved in slow circles, his other hand finding her breasts, in the same way he’d found them earlier today—without the barrier of a truck seat between them.
Oh, shoot me dead, right here, right now, Chia thought, her body responding in wet readiness. “What’s this? You get excited hanging from the ceiling like a bat? Seems a little odd, don’t you think? You’ve got a hard-on the size of Alaska.”
“And it’s oh, so ready to please you.”
Chia almost moaned from the hot nearness of him.
Ruby sent dagger-filled gazes in Chia’s direction.
He breathed whiskey and the musky odors of a woman, no doubt Ruby, toward her nose. Chia grew instantly jealous. I’m so done with this fucking day. She lifted her booted foot and brought it down hard on Hung’s bare one.
He cursed, releasing her. “That wasn’t very nice,” he yelled, limping around the room.
She opened her coat and retrieved her Smith and Wesson, aiming it at the bounty hunter. “I’m not in a very nice mood, thanks to you. In one short day, I lost my latest lover, I lost a friend to an agonizing death, and I’m about to lose my job, all because of you. I need to talk to you, jackass, before you start a bloodbath in this town.” She kept her back to the closed door. “And then I’m going to kill you.”
“Me? I’m about to start a bloodbath? Sounds like Red and Dick’s plan, not mine. Or maybe yours,” he sa
id, eyeing the revolver. He sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his foot. “You going to shoot that thing or merely wave it around?”
“Depends on you. Care to discuss your options?”
“You’ve got me. I surrender,” he said, putting his hands in the air. He slowly stood, favoring the foot she hadn’t crunched with her sturdy hiking boot.
Footsteps pounded the hallway, either from someone coming down the hall or someone going to his room so he could come in other ways. Chia smiled at her little joke. “That’s the spirit.” She cocked back the hammer on her revolver, squinting at her target. Spreading her legs wide in a study stance, she made a two hand grasp of the gun, holding it as steady as any inebriated person would—in other words, not very steady. She had to keep blinking to focus and her dumbass ghosts kept sailing in front of her eyes.
Ruby lay back against the pillows, stoned.
The door behind Chia flew open, thwacking her in the back, causing her to stumble, cursing viciously. Her ghosts shot to the ceiling in alarm like small, bright Roman candles. The firearm went off, shattering the window. Ruby screamed, and Hung lunged for Chia. He swiftly grabbed the gun and resumed his restraint of Chia, while still, oh, so naked.
The goddamned bouncer stood in the doorway, calling, “Everything okay? You rang, Ruby?”
Chia’s eyes widened. “What? You called for him?”
Ruby shrugged. “A girl’s gotta be safe,” she said, turning her attention toward the male. “It’s better now you’re here, Leroy,” she said, batting her lashes at the beefy bouncer. “It looked like things were going to get ugly in here.”
“Yeah,” he said, eyeing Hung. “You’d better leave, man. We don’t want trouble.”
“On my way,” he said gruffly.
“And you’re going to have to pay for that window, Ms. Manager.”
“Understood,” she said, sighing.
Continuing to clutch Chia, Hung moved around the room, grabbed his belongings, shoved his feet in his boots, wincing slightly, and slipped from the room, gripping her wrists behind her back with his free hand. “You’re helping me stock my firearm collections. Nice Smith and Wesson, by the way. You’ve got good taste when it comes to weaponry.” He roughly thrust her forward.