by Mary Calmes
“I’ll be there, sir. E-mail me everything I need, and I’ll be in touch in the morning.”
“Excellent,” he said, and I heard the relief in his voice. “I will be in your debt, Jackson.”
“No you won’t, ’cause you’re gonna pay me.” I smiled into my phone.
“I love your honesty.” He clipped his words. “It’s in rare supply these days.”
“Amen to that.” I chuckled as I hung up my phone.
Raphael’s smoky topaz eyes flicked over me from head to toe, and I found myself caught in his heated gaze.
“So it looks like I can’t play,” I told him, my breath catching as he stepped closer. I was noticing things about him lately that I had not seen before—the hard, muscular lines of the man, his long aquiline nose, high cheekbones, and thick eyebrows. “Sorry.”
“Where are you going?” he asked, lifting his hand, taking hold of the lapel of my peacoat, letting his hand just hang on it.
“I have to go to Malibu.”
“That’s terrible. What a tragedy for you.”
I smirked. “Well, ya know, perils of the job.”
He lifted his other hand and slid it around the side of my neck. I closed my eyes under his touch. It had been months since anyone had pressed skin to mine, and I had forgotten how good it felt. Not that my asshat friends didn’t touch me, but that was different. This was different.
“I gotta go home,” I told him.
“You’re trembling,” he said, leaning in, and I felt his breath on my collarbone.
“If you just want some blood”—I shivered—“go find a donor.”
“I don’t want blood,” he told me before his mouth opened on the base of my throat.
“Fuck,” I groaned, hands fisted on his ridiculous leather trench coat, making sure he couldn’t get away.
His tongue swirled over the spot, and even though I decided that I didn’t even care if he bit me, he began kissing a trail up the side of my neck to my jaw.
I let my head fall back against the hard brick wall and felt his knee wedge between my legs before his thigh was shoved into my groin. I hissed in agony.
“You’re like a bow that’s been drawn too tight and left,” he whispered, kissing along the line of my jaw to my chin and up.
I leaned forward at the same time he drew back. Our eyes locked together, and I saw the heavy-lidded hunger, the dilated pupils, and then the man behind him.
“Shit,” I yelled, hurling him off me, sideways, slamming him into the wall as a knife was buried in my side.
It was like a burning razor was driven into my flesh. I yelled as the man yanked it out of me and drove forward again. Raphael grabbed him, yelling in Spanish. I could tell the language—I had a working understanding of it—but the words tumbled out too fast, too clipped and guttural for me to catch them.
I saw the shadow to my left and pitched sideways before the man who swung at me with his katana could complete his killing stroke. Stretching out, lengthening my body even though it hurt like hell, I used both hands and caught his wrist, wrenching the sword free, holding it tight as I turned and waited for his next attack.
His jaw looked like it unhinged, his mouth opening to grotesque proportion, filled with hundreds of needle-like teeth. He snarled and lunged. I was concentrating so hard on him that I missed the creature behind me. Claws drove deep into my right shoulder at the same time the demon in front of me charged. I slammed my body as hard as I could back against the creature, ramming him into the side of the building. Pinned there, he released his hold so I could whip the katana up and then down, beheading the demon with a wide slicing arch. The hole in the sidewalk was instant, sucking him through a black-hole vortex so fast that I had to throw myself forward or be devoured by the darkness as well. Whirling around, I faced the demon that had taken half my shoulder with him.
“Warder,” he gasped, shivering, horror all over his face.
I was startled. He hadn’t been after me?
Head back, his body went dim and was gone, dematerializing right in front of me.
He had not been there for me.
“You fuck!”
I looked up and saw Raphael with his hand on the chest of the demon who had driven a long serrated knife into my side. He was shoving the blade into the throat of the creature inch by inch, strong enough to drive it through muscle and bone and into the brick-and-mortar wall behind him. The demon was hanging there, twitching for a moment, black blood pumping out of the wound before his head fell sideways, dead.
It was gruesome, not the death a warder dealt, not clean and tidy and fluid-free. I felt the bile rise in my throat before I went to my knees, clutching at my side. I saw blood seeping through my fingers as I tried to breathe.
Raphael rushed across the space separating us, skidding to a halt and dropping down beside me. I felt his hands on me, one on my back, the other on my chest.
“You should go,” I told him, freezing suddenly, beginning to shake. “I have to call somebody, and I’m gonna hafta take a trip to see my sentinel. You don’t wanna be here when another warder shows up.”
The muscles in his jaw clenched. “I want to stay.”
I reached into the pocket of my peacoat. “Do me a favor—hold onto this gun for me. I might need it down the road if that guy ever goes after Simon again, so if you could just put it somewhere that you could put your hands on it, I’d be appreciative.”
He made a sound in the back of his throat as he took the weapon from me. “I can heal you if you let me, and then you don’t have to see your sentinel.”
The thought was appealing. “But I have to be in Malibu tomorrow. If you fix me up, can I do that?”
His brows furrowed, and he shook his head fast.
“See, I gotta be good by the morning.” I forced a smile, closing my eyes for a second, letting the need flow through me and out, releasing the call for aid. “Okay”—I opened my eyes—“now you really have to get outta here. Whoever shows won’t understand me bleeding and you here with a dripping knife.”
“I fear no warder.”
I was going to speak, but my body shuddered with the answering call of a fellow warder. It rolled through me, warm, comforting… Ryan.
“Go already,” I ordered him.
“I told you.” His voice cracked. “I fear no warder.”
“But Ry’s coming, and you really should be afraid of him,” I said. “’Cause even though Marcus and Malic are bigger and Leith’s smarter and I’m meaner”—I grinned—“he’s the fastest. Ryan’s a killing machine, and he’s usually logical, but he’s not gonna really see all this. He’s only gonna see me.”
“I too only see you.”
It was crap, but it was flattering crap. “Go away.”
“You don’t want me hurt.”
“Not today,” I told him. “And get rid of your mess.”
Clearly he did not want to go.
“Please.”
He rose, and I put my head back and waited for Ryan Dean.
“I will see you soon, warder,” I heard Raphael say.
But I would be gone in the morning. When was he planning to visit?
III
THE HOUSE was huge. As I sat beside Cielo Jones in the rented silver Lexus, I tried to find a position in the seat that would not put any pressure on my right side. It hurt every time I moved, and when I winced, my friend and business partner noticed.
“You should have stayed home.”
“I’m fine,” I lied for the tenth time in the last half an hour.
“You’re not,” he told me, guiding the car down the long paved drive toward the front door. “And this is some place.”
It was. The house looked like a huge beach cabana complete with an enormous entryway, fans that ran the length of the wooden porch, and double French doors. Once we were out of the car and on the front steps, I found the panel beside the front door, punched in the code—my employer’s late wife’s birthday—and gave Cielo a nod. H
e used the keys that had arrived from private courier at the airport before we left San Francisco and opened the front door. The smell of marijuana hit me even from where I was.
“Shit.”’ Cielo chuckled, waving his hand in front of his face. “Even I like to indulge on occasion, but, Christ.”
I turned and looked over my shoulder at the six other men walking up the stairs behind Cielo. The looks on their faces, between annoyed and amused, made me shrug.
“For fuck’s sake, Jacks.” One of them, a man who had been with me for over three years, Miguel Andrade, shot me a look.
“What?”
Cielo moved to walk inside, but Miguel took hold of his shoulder, stopping him.
“Me first,” he grumbled, brushing his suit jacket back to reveal his holstered Glock as he walked into the house.
The others followed behind him, with Cielo and finally me bringing up the rear.
It looked like a Roman orgy in the house. There were people everywhere in various stages of undress, the house itself looked like the morning after a raging frat party, and it smelled like pot and puke and piss and beer.
“Are you kidding?” Miguel snapped. “This is cleanup, Jacks; you didn’t need muscle. You needed Chase and Brooke.”
I usually brought Chase Holmes and Brooke Canellas and their teams when it was more of an intervention than security, but it was at that moment that a big muscular guy in boxers came charging down the staircase from the second floor. He had a gun in his hand.
“See,” I told Miguel, gesturing at the gunman.
Six guns were drawn fast and pointed at the man with shouts to put the gun down and get on the goddamn ground. I had never seen a big macho guy come so unglued and move so fast. I thought he was going to pee his pants.
It was chaos after that as Miguel secured the guy, handcuffing him, and the rest of the team, three upstairs and two downstairs, started sweeping the house. Normally I would have gone, but I hurt, so I went out onto the vast patio and waited.
Cielo joined me minutes later, sitting down across the table from me, opening up his laptop and turning the Cincinnati Reds baseball cap around on his head, the bill backward as he began tapping away.
“You should have stayed home,” he said without looking up.
“It’s my company. Mr. Thompson called me.”
“It’s my company too. Just because you own 51 percent and I own 49 percent doesn’t mean that me being here wouldn’t be enough.”
“He called me,” I said again, rubbing the bridge of my nose. “And it’s my responsibility. Shut up already.”
“That’s mature.”
“Please shut up.”
“Asshole,” he barked, and I was surprised enough at his outburst to look up at him from the screen of my phone. “Without you, none of us have anything. You’re it. You’re the company. Please do not fuck around with your life.”
“I’m not gonna die.” I scowled.
“Or mine.”
“I’m fine,” I insisted, wanting him to actually believe me.
“But you did need stitches,” Miguel said from behind me, shoving two men out onto the patio and down into chairs. “So just take it easy.”
“I am,” I told him, motioning at the two. “I let you do all the heavy lifting today.”
He grunted and walked back toward the house. “I’m gonna clear everyone out. If you hear yelling, just never mind.”
“Do I ever question you?” I called over to him.
I heard him make a noise before I turned my head to look at the two men sitting beside me. I lifted my sunglasses and looked at them both. “Good afternoon.”
“Who the fuck are you guys?” The taller of the two men yelled, ready to lift up out of the Adirondack chair he had been shoved down into.
“Just calm down,” I told him. “We work for Calvin Thompson.” My eyes flicked over to the heavyset man beside him. “Your father.”
The young man gasped. “We called the police.”
“And they’re not coming,” I informed him. “We were there already this morning, giving them our credentials and contact information. Both the sheriff’s department and your local police department as well as your private security company know we’re here.”
“Who are you?” the other man shouted.
“Do not yell at us,” Cielo warned him, looking at both men, tearing his eyes away from the screen of his laptop. “We work for his father”—he pointed at Hayden Thompson—“and we’re here to shut down Xanadu and rein in all this ridiculous spending.”
Both men stared.
“I’m Cielo Jones, and this is my partner, Jackson Tybalt. Our company, Guardian Limited, provides security, accounting, and basic intervention and lockdown services to high-end clients. Your father, Calvin Thompson, has given us all access to your accounts, your home, and your list of employees.”
He just stared at Cielo.
“How can he do that?” the other man asked.
“Because he foots the bill for the lap of luxury,” Cielo informed him. “And as of an hour ago, all of your assets are frozen, Mr. Thompson. Your credit cards, every check you’ve written, absolutely everything is being scrutinized by our accounting team. A report will then be compiled and sent to your father’s accountant, and at that time we will inform you as to what accounts will be terminated and which will be continued.”
“Wait,” he said, leaning forward, hands on the table. “I have people who work for me on vacation with their families who—”
“Mr. Campbell, your groundskeeper.” Cielo cut him off. “We know about him. Of the people who work for you, as far as I can tell, he’s the only one who actually does work. His trip to Disneyland with his family is the only secured payment that we approved.”
Hayden was stunned; it was all over his face. “But Javier….” He turned and looked at the gorgeous man sitting beside him. The guy looked like a model, all smooth caramel skin and big brown eyes. “He has school and a club membership and—”
“It’s called getting a job,” I growled before turning on Javier de Souza. “Your tuition is paid for this semester, and that’s it. Your expense account, your club membership—”
“Clothes allowance,” Cielo offered.
“Clothes allowance,” I echoed, “all of that is gone. You wanna continue to live here, fine. We don’t get to say who stays and who goes, but to stay here, you have to submit to a drug test that includes hair and blood, and an extensive background check. If you wish to operate a vehicle owned by Mr. Thompson, you need to submit a driving record to us, an abstract, with proof of insurance. Once we leave, there will be an onsite handler in charge of security and all house and personal accounts who you will be able to obtain all your clearances from.”
“He can’t do this.” Hayden gasped, looking at me. “My father can’t just get rid of all my friends and—”
“I’m out of here,” Javier announced, getting up and walking around the table.
“Wait,” Hayden called, getting up, running after him.
We heard the begging, the cajoling, and the apologizing. I winced when Javier told him that the only thing he cared about was the money. It was the only thing that had made sleeping with a fat fuck bearable.
“Ouch.” Cielo sighed, going back to what he was doing, closing more accounts, sending e-mails, basically turning off Hayden Thompson’s life as he knew it. “I guess you shouldn’t just live off Daddy.”
“Nope,” I agreed, sighing heavily, getting up and walking to the edge of the patio that looked out onto the Pacific Ocean. “God, it’s pretty here.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“I didn’t tell you what?” I asked, looking up and down the beach, waving at some women who were jogging by. Four sets of hands waved back, all tanned, blonde Barbie beautiful.
“You didn’t tell me how you got hurt.”
I turned around, putting my glasses back down over my eyes to regard my friend. “What do you want to know?”
>
“I want to know if the demon that stabbed you is the same one who cut clean through your shoulder.”
“How did you know I was hurt?”
“I saw you in your office before we left this morning.”
I grinned. “Why were you skulking around? Are you trying to catch me naked?”
He stared. “If we could be serious for, like, half a second, that’d be great.”
I groaned and started to turn around.
“Jackson!”
I had no choice but to look at him.
“I know all about you, asshole, so tell me what the fuck.”
So I told him about the kyrie and the demons and how pissed Ryan had been at me and how worried Jael had been and how I ended up going home alone to an empty house.
He sighed heavily. “I know you’ve been a basket case since Frank left but—”
“I don’t wanna talk about that.”
We stared at each other.
“Listen,” he finally said. “You’re in pain, I know that. But please do not have a death wish because you’re inconsolable. I need you.”
“Yeah, I know.” I sighed, turning back to face the beach. “It smells good here, huh?”
“It smells like the ocean,” he grumbled. “And I hate it.”
“You’re just bein’ a dick.”
“I need you alive and well, and I know that Frank tore your heart out, but—”
“Just let it go.” I cut him off.
He was quiet, and after a few minutes, I relaxed when I realized he was actually going to do what I asked and drop it.
“You think that if you submerge yourself in violence that you’ll stop hurting.”
I rolled my eyes but didn’t say anything.
“Frank’s an idiot.”
“Frank needed more.”
“You would have turned yourself inside out to be whatever he wanted,” he told me. “We both know that.”
I couldn’t argue, because it was the truth. Two years with Frank Sullivan and three months without him had told me, if I didn’t know already, what I would have done.
“Just be careful. It’s not just you.”
And I knew that.
“Jackson.”