Dark Sacrifice

by Angie Sandro

  “Why didn’t he kill you too?”

  Dad shrugs. “My guess? The guy killed Rathbone and Gloria before they had a chance to tell him about me. That or he figured I was so out of it he could take me out of the equation later. I didn’t stick around for him to come back.”

  My stomach sours at how close he came to getting killed. “What about the bodies?”

  “I went to Jasmine’s house. The police had already come and gone. I figured it for the perfect place to hide out. Who would think to look for me at the scene of my crime, right?” He shakes his head. “The bodies had been moved by the time I finally gained the courage to go back. I don’t know where he disposed of them. Can’t feel too hurt over Rathbone’s death after what he did to your sister, but Gloria…”

  “How do I find this guy?”

  “You don’t have to worry about finding him, son. That’s what I’m trying to explain. He’s cleaning up Rathbone’s mess, one person at a time. He’s gonna come after you and Mala. No loose ends. He’ll be coming here next, and I’ll be waiting. I won’t let anything happen to you or to Mala.”

  * * *

  Dad and I come up with a plan. I’ll hide his lurking about the property from Mala, while he does his best to protect us. The relief at not being alone in this almost has me skipping through the woods as I return to the house. Okay, maybe skip-limping—sklimping—’cause those damn broken stitches sting like the devil. My one regret is keeping Dad a secret from Mala. I swore after the whole “accusing her of murder” issue that I would be up front with her, but…hell, I can’t risk her flipping out.

  If Dad gets arrested, I’m screwed. There’s no way I can protect her solo. How am I supposed to stop a murderer whose face I’ve never seen? The dude hides in the shadows. I’m bait. Pure and simple. Mala and I both are. We need someone to reel this guy in while we dangle on the hook, and I sure as shit don’t trust DA Cready to pull off a save.

  Mala is sitting on the front porch when I return. The sun makes her brown hair shimmer with auburn highlights. It tangles in wet curls around her waist. She catches me staring and grimaces. “I had dirt and sticks in it from Acker’s attack. It’s so thick, I have to let it dry out some before I braid it.”

  She’s so pretty.

  I edge up the stairs, trying to keep her on my blind side. If I can’t see her, I won’t feel guilty.

  She bounds into view, and I jump. “Where have you been?”

  I scowl. “Like you care.”

  “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t ask.” She steps closer and lays the tips of her fingers against my chest, and I suck in a breath. “Your stitches tore.”

  “How did you know?” Can she feel my heart race beneath her palms? If she knew how little control I have when it comes to her, would she keep touching me like this? I edge aside, and her fingers drop. I draw in a slow breath.

  Eyes as black as a raven’s wing stare up at me. A tiny frown creases her brow, as if she’s trying to read what I’m struggling to keep hidden. I look away.

  “You’re horrible at keeping secrets, but I’ll forgive you this time.”

  I gulp. “Huh?”

  “You should’ve flushed the bandage and bloody tissue down the toilet. Although my septic tank thanks you for not clogging it up.” She slides her arm through mine. My gut tightens as I hold back a groan. “The first aid kit is still out from when I patched up Georgie. You’re next, buddy.”

  Ugh, George…why throw him in my face? I pluck her fingers from my arm. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re mad at me?” Her bottom lip pokes out in an unconscious pout.

  She’s killing me. “Why would I be mad?”

  The darkness hovering over her returns, and she frowns.

  I go inside, and she follows a few steps behind. When I try to go into the kitchen, she swivels around me and blocks the way with wide-stretched arms. “Uh-uh, not until I bandage you up.”

  “I’m okay…”

  She shoves me toward the sofa. I fall onto it with a grunt. “Take off your shirt.” Her voice trembles on the words, and her eyes stay locked on my chest as I slowly lift the T-shirt. The tip of her tongue flicks out to wet her lips. Heat fills her eyes. I close mine and lift the shirt over my head while trying to slow my heavy breathing so she doesn’t notice. I drop the shirt onto the floor.

  Mala drops to her knees between my legs. Her hand trembles. My stomach muscles contract when her fingertips brush across my skin. Her gaze flits up to meet mine while she removes my makeshift bandage. “Are you trying to get an infection?”

  “Do I hear worry in your voice? Better watch out or I might think you care about me.”

  “Don’t be an idiot.” She takes a cotton ball from the first aid kit, pours antiseptic on it, and dabs it on my wound. I let out a low hiss. My manly quotient for the day is seriously depleted. I’m too damn tired to hide my pain. At least my dick’s not embarrassing me by acting up with Mala within touching distance.

  Until she leans forward and blows the sting from my wound. I think I’m gonna die.

  I stare at a crack in the ceiling and try to think distracting thoughts. Nothing’s coming to mind. My body’s too hyperaware of her—the floral scent of her hair, the touch of her right breast brushing across my knee, the shine to her lips. I want to drag her across my lap and…Shut up, brain. Just shut up.

  “You’re not upset about George, are you?” Mala asks, pressing on a bandage. She gets up and flops into the chair across from me, draping one leg over the arm. Her foot rocks back and forth as she picks at a loose string on her cut-offs. She epitomizes casual, as if she doesn’t care about my answer. Well, fine. Two can play that game.

  I lift my feet onto the coffee table. I try to look relaxed, but tension keeps me stiff even when I fake slouch. “What does your relationship with George have to do with me?”

  Her skin reddens until her cheeks look like caramel apples. “We’re not in a relationship.”

  Ha! Liar. “Are you sure? ’Cause you both act like you are. ‘Are you okay, Georgie Porgie?’” I coo, imitating her icky-sweet voice.

  Her jaw flexes. “I do not sound like that.”

  “Wanna bet? I had to get out of here before I threw up my breakfast.”

  “Take it back.” Her hands ball up into fists.

  “No takebacks, Mala. Admit it.”

  “Aah!” She launches out of the chair.

  I have a second head start. I scramble over the back of the sofa, placing it between us. “Oh, Georgie. Did my itty-witty baby get an owie?”

  “Stop talking in that annoying voice!”

  Her cheeks glow even brighter, and her frizzy hair looks like she stuck her finger in a light socket. Her chest heaves with each breath, stretching her T-shirt. She takes advantage of my distraction. She lunges forward, and her breasts slam against my chest. My arm wraps around her waist as the impact of our collision sends us flying onto the sofa.

  Air whooshes out of my lungs.

  Mala’s eyes widen, and she freezes. She stares at my mouth. Mesmerized by my luscious lips…only it turns out to actually be the case. Her eyes go dreamy as her head tilts downward, and her lips purse. I close my eye and roll sideways.

  She hits the ground with a muffled curse.

  CHAPTER 16

  MALA

  Humpty Dumpty

  Landry freakin’ Prince!

  I slap a piece of toast onto his plate. “Breakfast.”

  His nose crinkles as he pokes the toast with his finger. “Do you have butter or jelly?”

  “I’m not your maid.” I rub my bottom and glare at him. He pretends not to notice. Or maybe he really doesn’t. Why did I try to kiss him last night, especially after he hid the fact that he met with his father? I mean, after listening to the rev’s story, even I felt a twinge of sympathy for him. Maybe I even believe him about not being there when Mama died. I never actually saw anyone’s face, other than Acker’s. The fact he’s living out in the boonies just to protect his son m
akes me willing to give him a chance to make good on his promise to catch the fourth guy.

  Hell, I’m not totally delusional. Anger made me crazy enough to think I could go all Wonder Woman and take down the rev with my own two hands. Reality set in real quick when he talked about finding Rathbone’s and Gloria’s bodies. I can’t fight a gun. Not even if I learn how to use my super-ninja magic to bore a hole in the bad guy’s gut.

  Course that power fizzled on me when I tried to use it on the rev yesterday. He didn’t even fart from the pressure I put on his gut. Damn fickle magic.

  I sit across from Landry and scoop up a forkful of scrambled eggs. “Mm-mm, so good…”

  Landry slides back from the table with a sigh. He catches me staring as he walks to the refrigerator, and I glance away. He’s limping. Did I hurt him when I fell on top of him? I’m not a thick girl, but I won’t blow away in a strong wind either. I try to squash my concern, but it’s so hard. Maybe I should say something about spying on him and his father. Relieve some of his guilt.

  The throb of pain shooting through my butt when I shift in the chair makes my decision. Nah, he deserves to suffer.

  “I’m going to town for supplies. Be ready to go in an hour,” I say.

  “I don’t feel like going.”

  I fix him with a level stare.

  He slams the refrigerator door. “Fine, but I need more energy to deal with a road trip. Toast isn’t gonna cut it.” He grabs my plate and transfers half of my bacon and eggs onto his. I don’t bother to argue. What’s the point?

  We eat without further conversation, and the silence between us at breakfast continues during the drive into town. I cast sideways glances in his direction. What’s going on in his head? The distance he’s creating between us feels like a wall I can’t climb. He catches my glance and gives me a long, penetrating look but doesn’t say anything.

  I shift uncomfortably in my seat and sigh. I miss the way he used to tease me. I didn’t know how much until last night. The sexual tension blazed so hot that I thought my body would spontaneously combust. Before Mama died, he would’ve kissed me until I lost my breath. Maybe he thinks he’s being a gentleman. Does he want me to make the first move?

  I shake my head so hard the road blurs, and I almost drive into a ditch. Dummy, you jumped him, and he dumped you flat on your ass. My hands grip the steering wheel as the memory of Landry’s words comes back. Saying I cooed at George like an insipid nitwit. Well, he didn’t say that exactly. Those are my words but I couldn’t deny it. Not after seeing George bleeding from a head wound. He looked like an injured puppy, but the thing is, I never once felt like “kissing his owie.” The only injury I want to kiss is Landry’s. If he hadn’t run off into the woods and instead spied on the rest of our conversation, he would know George and I just confused platonic love for romantic love. Which I hope will eventually morph into the love of a sister for her stepbrother.

  Gah! I kissed my brother.

  The more I think about it, the queasier I get. Sure, there’s no blood relation, but a foul taste lingers in my mouth. I rake my fingernails across my tongue, almost choking myself in the process.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  My eyes widen. Crap! Landry.

  “A bug flew into my mouth, blech.” I spit out the window. Saliva hits the glass and drips down the pane. “Oh, uh, can you grab a tissue from the glove box, please?”

  He does so without further comment. Not that he needs to speak. His body language shouts louder than words: I’m locked in the truck with a crazy person. Hopefully his sense of self-preservation won’t force him to leap out a moving vehicle to get away from me. He scrunches his large frame against the door, almost choking himself with the seat belt.

  “Ha, ha,” I say. “Very funny.”

  The tiniest of smiles flickers across his lips then disappears. He shifts back over and sinks back into brooding.

  “Seriously, Landry, why are you so nervous? You’ll get to see your friends.” I wait for a passing semi truck, then swerve around a slow-moving tractor. Woodland thins and turns into orderly rows of sugarcane fields.

  “What friends?” His shoulders hunch as he crosses his arms. “Do you know how many of my so-called friends visited me while I was in jail? One.”

  Jerks. “Well, that’s cool. Maybe you’ll get to see that person.”

  “I’m looking at her right now.” He turns his glare out the window, and I lean back in the seat. No wonder he doesn’t want to go. I’ve been on the bad end of being bullied. Someone stuck a rotting possum in my locker at work. I hope nobody does anything like that to him. He’s been hurt enough.

  I let him sulk in silence. He needs to get the angst out of his system before it festers into a seeping wound not even an antibiotic can cure.

  On Saturdays, the local farmers set up a market in Paradise Park. I plan to do my veggie shopping there since I didn’t get my garden planted this year. The streets bordering the park are packed. I’m lucky to find a spot in the parking lot of First National Bank kitty-corner from the Vietnam Memorial Rose Garden. Colorful tents are lined up in orderly rows in the square. Each section is separated, with the organic foods in one row and regular folk who want to sell extra produce in the other. Local shops also set up booths selling everything from pastries, coffee and tea, handmade clothing and soaps, fresh eggs, and organic meat, to toys and games. A freaktastic clown stands on the street corner with a tank of helium, and a gaggle of kids around him. I’m tempted to buy Landry a balloon to cheer him up.

  The passenger door slams shut as soon as I shut off the engine. Landry wastes no time coming around to open my door and lift me to the ground before I can squawk in protest. He strides off while I grab my cloth shopping bag, leaving me to stare after his retreating back in shock. When he’s halfway across the street, he pauses and turns around.

  “This is your idea. Hurry,” he yells.

  “I’m coming.” I shut the door and run to catch up. When I reach him, he moves around me until I’m on his blind side. He starts forward again, but slows his steps so they match mine. If I didn’t know him so well, I’d think he didn’t have a care in the world, but I do. He walks like he did in jail—shoulders back and tight, chest slightly raised. He scans the area, alert for a threat.

  I take his hand, squeezing when he tries to pull away.

  We blend into the crowd, strolling up and down the rows. It’s a mix of people of all ages. A few people say hi. Most don’t. A large percentage of them stare. I feel like I’m at the mercy of paparazzi.

  “Smile and wave,” I mutter from the corner of my mouth, jabbing Landry in the side with my elbow.

  “Huh?”

  “You’re acting like you’ve done something wrong, but you haven’t. Don’t let these fools see you sweat. Weakness breeds violence. Like a silverback gorilla in the jungle, you need to beat your chest and fling your poop at someone.”

  His snort-laugh doubles him over, and I pat him on the back. “That’s perfect,” I say. “No worries.”

  He turns and lifts me into a breath-stealing hug. “Thanks,” he whispers in my ear and presses a brotherly kiss to my forehead. Wish he’d move his lips a little lower. Would a few inches kill him?

  My voice comes a little thick and raspy too, and I cough to clear my throat. “No problem.”

  How long has he been standing here holding me? We have an even larger audience than before. Now we really are the object of paparazzi-like behavior as people snap pictures of our embrace with their phones. I wrap my arms around his neck and press my cheek against his. “Cheese,” I say, grinning for the cameras.

  A couple of high school kids start to laugh.

  One yells, “Give her another kiss, Landry.”

  “Yeah, Landry. Give me a kiss.” I bat my eyelashes, whispering in his ear, “I swear, if you drop me on my ass in public—”

  I don’t have to finish the threat.

  His mouth steals across mine.

  I lea
n into him, head tilting. My arms tighten around his neck. His lips are soft and juicy, like peaches. Yum. My thoughts scatter and swirl, leaving only the sensation of his mouth on mine.

  He breaks free first and lowers me to my feet. He avoids my gaze. “Did it work?” he asks, running his fingers through his black hair so it falls forward to shield his eye again. He shifts from his forward foot to his back, which somehow puts distance between us without him having to move.

  I laugh, playing off the hurt. “Yeah, we gave our fans a titillating bit of new gossip to take the place of the old. Rumors about our relationship will be flying through town before lunch.” I glance around to be sure. The crowd drifts away, realizing there’s nothing more to see. Even better, nobody hurls insults or throws dead animals at our heads. “Let’s go.”

  I don’t wait for him to follow, but I’m conscious of his presence at my side.

  There’s a line in front of the shop selling fresh-baked goods. I listen to my craving for homemade muffins and fall in behind a woman with a toddler in a jogging stroller. The little boy has blue-colored honey smeared across his face from the plastic straw he’s sucking on. The kid looks over my shoulder and cracks up laughing.

  I catch Landry making funny faces at the kid. He finally remembers how to smile, or he does until the woman sees us standing behind her. She pushes out of the line, practically running, like we’re baby snatchers or something.

  Landry folds his arms and glares at the ground. Time for a distraction.

  “So have you ever been to the market before?” I ask. He shakes his head, and I hold in my sigh. “Well, you’re in luck. Carmela makes the best blueberry muffins you’ll ever taste. They literally melt in your mouth. Actually all of her muffins are good. I also need more bread. Hell, with you eating everything in sight, I need to restock my whole pantry. The trick is to check what the other vendors are selling because, while the prices are the same, the quality of the items varies.” I point to the tent beside us. “See those carrots? They’re tiny compared to the ones across the way.”