by Lynch, H. G.
I spun around and marched down the hall, not letting him see the tears on my face. He followed me, still explaining, still trying to talk himself out of the grave he’d dug.
“I was on edge from the fight, and the smell of your blood...it just made me snap, and I...”
He paused as I barged into his bedroom and grabbed my bag of clothes off the floor, slinging it over my shoulder. I spotted my jeans and boots by the bed, hauled on the jeans and shoved my feet into my boots.
When I turned around, he was standing in the doorway, looking worried and confused.
“What are you doing?”
That look on his face almost undid my intentions altogether, but I held it together—just barely. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m leaving. I am getting the hell out of here before you snap again because, next time, I might not survive it.”
He drew a quiet gasp, a pained sound, and I knew my low blow had connected.
He spread his arms, blocking the doorway. “Kester, no! You can’t leave. Red is still out there, looking for ways to get to me, to bend me to his will. If he finds you—”
I sneered at him, despite the ache in my heart. “I’ve come to realise that I’m about as safe out there as I am here. And you’re right. You did warn me.” Taking a breath, I softened my expression and said more gently, “You said that if I wanted out, you wouldn’t stop me. So this is me saving myself.”
He shook his head slowly, his eyes pleading with me. “I never said I wouldn’t stop you. I said I would understand it if you wanted to leave. I said I couldn’t let you go…and I can’t.” He sounded sad and apologetic as if he was sorry he was trying to hold me prisoner.
Glaring at him, I knew I was never getting past him—he would never let me leave. It wasn’t just about having feelings for me. He was addicted to me, he’d said it himself. He was obsessed with me. I’d just been too blind to see it until then because I’d been addicted to him too. He was a drug, the kind that took you as high as the stars, while slowly sucking the life out of you over time. He was dangerous in so many ways. I needed to escape him, any way I could.
That was when I remembered the nightstand, and I bolted for it, hoping and praying that he’d put it back after the fight. He had. My fingers closed around the handle of the knife in the drawer, and I brandished it at him. Brogan’s eyebrows shot up, and his mouth opened in shock.
“Move,” I commanded, “Or I’ll make you move.”
His shoulders slumped, his brow furrowing as he gazed at me sorrowfully. “You’d really do it, wouldn’t you? You’d really stab me to get away?”
He sounded so…hurt. I blinked back tears. “Did you miss the part where you tried to kill me?” I asked, my voice coming out softer than I meant it to.
Brogan sighed, a heavy reluctant sound, and stepped aside. I held onto the knife, pointing it at him, as I slid past him into the hallway and walked backward away from him.
His sad eyes followed me, and he whispered, “Please, Kester…I need you…”
My heart cracked in half, and I couldn’t stop the tears from running down my cheeks. I pressed my lips together, shaking my head. “No, Brogan, you don’t. What you need…I can’t give you. I don’t know if anyone can—not if they want to live.”
The last thing I saw before I turned around and fled out the door was the lost, anguished look on Brogan’s face.
I ran, half-blind with tears, down the street and around the corner, stumbling and tripping until I reached my neighbourhood. Leighton had called me two days before to tell me that the police were done with the crime scene that had become of mine and Evie’s house, and that I was okay to go home anytime, since he’d personally changed the locks and installed a security system for us. I hadn’t told Brogan about it, partly because I wanted to stay with him a little longer, and partly because I knew he wouldn’t let me leave anyway.
Leighton had also confirmed that the hand belonged to Brogan’s uncle and had asked if there had been anything else with the hand. I’d lied and said no, and he had seemed to believe me. When I’d asked, he’d said the cops had a couple of leads on who had killed Brent and put his hand in my room, but he couldn’t discuss it. Meaning, they knew who’d done it, but they couldn’t pin shit on Red. The guy was a shit-repelling magnet.
Now I’d left. The knife in my boot and the bag of clothes bouncing on my back were proof. The bandage on my neck was the cause, and I knew I was doing the right thing, getting myself out of a dangerous relationship. Was it even a relationship? We’d slept together, we’d been making out and groping and basically living together, so I suppose it had been a relationship in a fucked-up way. It still hurt to walk away from Brogan. I couldn’t deny that my feelings for him were stronger than I’d let on, and the pain I’d seen on his face as I left had made my soul ache. Why, if it was the right choice, did it have to hurt so damn much?
The relief when I reached home was immense, and I dug out the new key from under the loose stone in the pathway, where Leighton had said he’d leave it for me. With trembling hands, I shoved the key in the shiny new lock, and had to fight with it a bit because the new lock was stiff. I finally got the key to turn, and I exhaled as I stepped inside and slammed the door shut behind me.
There was a beeping noise coming from behind the coat-rack that nobody ever used, and I pushed the old, unused coats aside to reveal a gleaming, plastic panel with numbered buttons on it—the alarm system Leighton had had set up. I remembered the code he’d given me over the phone, typed in the five digits, and the beeping stopped. I sighed, leaning my head against the wall. I felt…hollow.
Pulling myself together, I lugged my bag of clothes up the stairs, glancing into the living room on the way—the place was neat and tidy though emptier than I was used to. The sofa cushions had been stitched up, and the stuffing cleaned up, but the TV and the smashed coffee table were still gone. We were going to have to buy new furniture, a new TV, new plates for the kitchen. Evie was going to be so pissed when she saw it. She was still living with Zack because she’d said she didn’t want to move back in until I did. I supposed I should call her to let her know I was home.
Later, I promised myself. I’ll call her later. If I call her now, sounding like my heart is breaking, she’ll ask questions, and I can’t deal with that right now.
I reached my room and hesitated at the door, picturing what it had looked like the last time I was in there, with the bloody hand on the bed, the knife, the note. It made me feel sick all over again, but I’d be damned if I let Red scare me out of my own bedroom. It wasn’t happening. That bastard wasn’t winning this one.
I pushed open the door with determination and strode in, flipping on the light switch. I let out a breath of relief as I saw my room was almost exactly how I’d left it—minus the hand, a new hole in the wall where Brogan had thrown the knife and the duvet cover on my bed was different. I’d have to thank Leighton for doing everything he could to make it seem like home again. He really was a good guy.
There was a lingering smell of some sort of chemical the crime scene techs must have been using, but aside from that, it felt like my space again. I relaxed, grateful to have my sanctuary back.
I was suddenly aware that I was still wearing one of Brogan’s t-shirts, and since it was not covered in blood, he must’ve changed me while I was unconscious. I hadn’t even noticed until then, I’d been so afraid and upset. The thought that he’d had the consideration to clean me up after attacking me made my throat swell shut. I yanked the t-shirt off and tossed it into a corner, swearing. “Bastard!”
How was I supposed to hate him for attacking me when he did something sweet right afterward? How was I meant to deal with that?
I groaned and pulled a clean t-shirt out of my bag, a plain black baggy one, and tugged it on over my head. Then I sat down on the edge of my bed, breathing hard as I fought to keep back the tears. Once I was there, at home, the silence was disconcerting without Evie blasting her music or banging aro
und in her room. Suddenly, I didn’t want to be alone.
Standing, I decided to go to Zack’s and see them both. If nothing else, they would cheer me up and make me feel less lonely. I went down the stairs and paused beside the coat-rack as I realised, with a curse, that I’d left my favourite leather jacket at Brogan’s. Shit. I snatched one of my old military-style jackets off the coat-rack and started to tap in the security code to turn the alarm back on, my new house key in my pocket.
However, before I could type the fourth digit, there was a creak behind me, and I whipped around in time to see two heavy, menacing guys emerge from the living room. I knew immediately they belonged to Red, and that I was in deep shit.
One of the guys had a nasty scar down one side of his face, and the other had a sleazy-handsome sort of face—the kind you saw on TV adverts. He was the kind of guy who’d smile at you while stabbing you in the gut. He grinned that cheesy grin and said in a smooth, American accent, “Stupid move, coming home, darling. You should have stayed with your boyfriend.”
Heart pounding, I backed up, knocking over the coat-rack and stumbling to one knee. I swore, adrenaline pumping so fast, I felt dizzy with fear. It was fight-or-flight, and I was more than ready to flee…until I remembered the knife in my boot, the one I’d threatened Brogan with.
A wave of fresh courage swept through me, and I got to my feet, yanking the knife from my boot. I was terrified, yes, but if I was going down, I was going down fighting. I wasn’t going to make it easy for the fuckers.
The American laughed when he saw me holding the knife, but Scarface grimaced. His dark eyes narrowed. “You know how to use that thing, bitch? I bet you do, don’t you? Your dick of a boyfriend would have taught you a few things. Too bad he isn’t here to save you now.”
I smiled viciously, baring my teeth. “I don’t need him to save me. I’m perfectly capable of saving myself,” I said. Then I lunged, taking them both by surprise.
Maybe they hadn’t expected me to actually use the knife, or maybe they were just startled by my bold and insane move, but either way, they were stunned enough that I managed to get a slice across the American’s arm. He roared and thrust the back of his hand toward my face, but I ducked back, so his fingertips just clipped my ear. Scarface grabbed me from behind, and I jerked my heel backward and into his groin. He groaned, his arms loosening enough for me to wiggle free.
Landing light on my feet, I spun and slammed my boot into Scarface’s chest, knocking him off balance. As I turned to run for the door, the American grabbed my arm bruisingly hard and whipped his hand across my face, knocking me into the wall. Pain exploded across my cheek, and the back of my head smacked against the wall. Stars sparkled across my vision for a second, and I slashed out wildly with my knife.
A hand gripped my wrist and twisted hard, and I screamed as my fingers spasmed with pain. The knife fell from my grip. A sudden pain exploded in the side of my head, and darkness enveloped me.
Chapter Twenty-Five
** Brogan **
I was sitting on the sofa with my head in my hands when Jet came home from work at some time after midnight.
He flipped on the lights as he came in. “Hey, man, why you sitting in the dark like a…Whoa, what the fuck happened in here?”
After Kez had left, I’d been angry at first—furious really. I’d ended up trashing the flat all over again, and when my steam ran out, I hadn’t bothered to tidy it up. Instead, I’d sat down on the sofa. I hadn’t moved for what must have been hours, judging from the stiffness in my back, and the fact that Jet was home. If he’d come in earlier, I’d probably have smashed his face in, or tried my best to anyway. I’d thought Kez would be safe there, in the flat because Jet had promised me he’d set up Wards to protect the place. Either he’d lied, or those Wards had failed when we’d really needed them. Somehow, Slick had gotten into the flat and everything that happened after that was…
I sighed, raising my head slowly and squinting in the sudden brightness—it took my eyes a moment to adjust after hours of sitting in the dark like some Emo Goth kid. Not usually my style, but damn, I just couldn’t bring myself to move. It felt like, if I tried, I would shatter into little Incubus pieces, and all the kings horses and all of Red’s men would laugh as they crunched the pieces under their boots.
Jet was standing by the door, grimacing at the state of the flat; there were glass and porcelain on the floor from where I’d smashed a mug off the wall, the TV remote was in scattered plastic pieces, my iPod was a lifeless hunk of technology in the corner. However, all that must’ve paled in comparison to the look on my face when I met Jet’s gaze.
His blue eyes widened, and he muttered, “Jesus, mate. You look like you’re about to lose your shit. Who died?”
I just put my head in my hands again and murmured, “One of Red’s guys broke in earlier.”
“Shit!” Jet spat, his heavy footsteps crossing the room to me. I felt the sofa dip as he sat down. “That shouldn’t have been possible! I had the Wards!”
“Yeah, well, he got in somehow.”
He was silent a moment, as if he was thinking, and then he said, “This is going to sound weird, but is there any chance the guy could have had some of your DNA? A drop of blood or some hair, anything? If he had some of your essence on him, it might’ve confused the Wards for long enough for him to get inside the flat.”
I thought back to the first time I’d fought Slick, at the hotel. He’d punched me in the face and split my lip. He’d probably gotten some of my blood on the sleeve of his jacket and hadn’t washed it off. I shrugged. “It’s possible.”
Jet sighed. “Damn. Are you okay? Is Kester?”
No, I’m not okay, was what I was thinking. But Jet was talking about physical injuries, and as far as those went, I was fine—thanks to having fed from Kez, like some fucking Hollywood horror monster. “We…I’m fine. Kester shot the bastard, and I stabbed him, and we tossed him out.”
Jet barked a laugh. “She shot him? Damn! That girl is crazy.”
I nodded glumly, feeling worse by the second. Then Jet sobered and said quietly, “Wait…she is okay, right? He didn’t…”
I shook my head. “No, she’s fine. Hell, I think she actually enjoyed shooting the fucker.”
“Uh huh. So why do you look like you’ve just been to a funeral? Where is Kez?”
I groaned, gripping fistfuls of my hair. When I spoke, my voice came out hoarse, “Gone,” I croaked. “She left. I fucked up, man. I fucked up big time.”
I didn’t need to look at him to feel his stare burning into the side of my skull.
“You fed on her, didn’t you? You drank her blood.”
It wasn’t really a question, and I lifted my head to look at him. “How’d you know I—”
He cut me off with an exasperated eye-roll, slouching back against the sofa cushions. “Educated guess,” he muttered.
I wondered what that was supposed to mean, but he didn’t give me a chance to ask. Instead, he waved a hand at me.
“Why don’t you just admit you’re at least a little bit in love with her? I mean, hell, man, you’ve practically been living with her for the last week.”
I glared at him, and he held his hands up. “I’m not complaining. I like her, I think she’s good for you, but you’ve got to admit your relationship with her isn’t exactly normal.”
I snorted. “In case you haven’t noticed, Jet, but I’m not exactly normal! That’s the whole fucking problem!”
He gave me another one of those patronising eye-rolls, and if he did it again, I was going to punch him in the nose.
“Who the fuck is normal, bro? If you really care about her, you won’t let her run away, mate. Go and get her! Right now, she’s probably pissed off that you fed on her, but Kez isn’t a coward. If you go after her, she’ll come back to you.”
I stared at Jet as if I’d just run into the Dalai fucking Llama. “How the hell can you be so sure of that? You should have seen her, Jet…she wa
s going to stab me if I didn’t let her leave.”
To my surprise, and anger, he laughed. “Like I said, she’s pissed off. And I don’t know it for sure, but your only other option is to sit around here feeling sorry for yourself while she’s out there where Red can get to her.”
Fuck. He had a point. “Shit.”
He spread his arms along the back of the sofa and gave me a smug grin. “Well then? What are you waiting for? Bloody get going, asshole!”
Launching to my feet, I flipped him off, and he beamed.
I paused to say, “Thanks, mate.”
He shrugged. “Anytime you need a kick up the arse, I’m here for you.”
That almost made me smile. I was about to Flash-Travel out of there, but I realised popping in on Kester, when I knew she was armed and probably on the lookout for Red’s guys, was not a good idea. She’d slice first, ask questions never, and I wasn’t so sure she would react any better even if she knew it was me.
I grabbed my leather jacket, and remembered she’d left hers lying on my bedroom floor in her rush to escape me, so I snagged it too, and tucked my gun into the waistband of my jeans, just in case. Not like I’d shoot Kez, but there was nothing saying I wouldn’t run into Red’s guys again on the way over.
Jet called out to me as I went out the door, “Pick up a new TV remote on your way back!”
I didn’t get any further than the hallway before I stopped dead and felt my heart sink in my chest. There was a small parcel sitting on the floor outside the front door, and there was a white envelope attached to the top with my name scrawled on it. “Oh, God,” I breathed, bending to pick it up carefully, as if it could contain a bomb. For all I knew, it could, but I suspected it was something much worse.
I brought the parcel slowly back into the house, and Jet’s eyes narrowed when he saw it. “Is that from—?”