Sworn (Blood Duet Book 1)

by Maria Luis

  Mother. Fuckers.

  “Step away from her.” All too familiar memories clouded my vision and I thrust them away. “Step the fuck back from her.”

  Another whimper, this one so keening that she actually sounded like an abused pup.

  “How about we take you, too?” Red’s grasping hands found my backpack and tugged me forward in a hard pull. Don’t cower. Don’t run. Don’t be Laurel.

  I fell to my knees beside the girl, my shoulder crashing into hers.

  Shoving his face close, Red’s breath wafted over my face like a harbinger of death by cigarettes and booze. “How about we take that leash out of your hands and tie you up? How about that, boys?” He glanced away at his friends, teeth shining off-white as he grinned. “You think we should walk her down Bourbon like the bitch she—”

  The wine bottle shattered over his head.

  Silence pervaded our circle, aside from the girl’s crying, as Red dropped to the cracked sidewalk with a heavy thump.

  And then everyone shifted into motion.

  “Jesus fucking Christ!”

  “Get the bitch!”

  They launched toward me as my hands peeled open my backpack in frantic motions, diving for the taser I always kept hidden in the front pocket. Only problem was, the electric-prongs were a one-shot only type of deal. And while I had my gun in the bag, too, I’d lied to Sergeant Asher about something else.

  I’d never fired it, not a single time.

  Pete had given it to me a few years back for safety. We’d always talked about going to the range, but life had gotten busy for him. Which meant that I owned a gun I didn’t even know how to use, aside from a general knowledge to pull the trigger and hope for the best.

  Fan-flipping-tastic.

  Large hands went to my shoulders, dragging me away from my backpack, away from my gun, away from the girl who needed saving. Her wide eyes followed me as I let my body go lax, the backs of my legs scraping raw along the unforgiving cement.

  Don’t fight. Wait.

  I held onto my breath until my captor released me with the order to “get down, bitch.”

  I was a great order-follower when I wanted to be.

  I leaned back against the sidewalk just as he said, then wrapped my hand around the base of my taser where I’d quickly stashed it in my jacket pocket.

  He didn’t see it coming.

  I aimed the taser at his crotch.

  Pulled the trigger.

  The two electrode prongs released, zooming straight for ground zero, and I curled and rolled to the side to avoid his massive body landing on mine.

  Satisfaction flared at the sight of him cupping his dick, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

  “Asshole,” I ground out before hopping to my feet, not a little wearily. There were three more of them and only one of me, and as bad as I was at math, the odds were certainly not in my favor.

  The sound of bone crunching had me whirling around to see Lincoln Asher grab Brown Hair by the shirt collar and deliver a punch straight to his face. Another crack, this time the man’s nose splintering. Blood burst like a fountain, which didn’t stop Asher. He reeled back and clocked the guy yet again, his knuckles glistening under the dim lighting.

  My stomach heaved.

  Don’t think about blood and Momma and death. Focus, focus, focus.

  Scuffling shoes across the cement teased me back to reality, and I turned just in time to see one of the guys come at me from the side. He went for my hair, chubby fingers grasping at the long strands, ugly words crossing his lips. I jabbed my taser into his rib cage, thankful for the stun-gun feature when his brows lifted in shock and he mumbled something incoherent under his breath.

  He stumbled, one foot crossing over the other like a drunken sailor, hand outreached for the stucco wall of the house beside us. His fingers barely grazed it before he went down, hard.

  Thank God.

  “Done this before?”

  I wouldn’t have thought I’d find Asher’s raspy voice comforting, but I suppose that was before I’d been jumped by four boys who thought their dicks were the equivalent to a unicorn’s horn.

  Asher had the last guy on the ground, belly flat on the sidewalk, as he handcuffed the guy’s hands behind his back.

  “Not a single time,” I muttered, then turned my attention to the girl. At the sound of my shoes crunching over gravel, her shoulders visibly jerked. I knelt beside her, careful to leave space between us so she didn’t feel threatened. “Are you okay?”

  Her bottom lip quivered and she ducked her head. “I-I . . .”

  I understood her fear. I’d breathed it, I’d been reborn to it.

  Like she was a terrified colt, I parked my butt on the cement and settled my hands on my knees so she could keep watch on where they were at all times. With a tilt of my chin, I said, “That’s Sergeant Asher. He’s with the New Orleans Police Department, and I can guarantee you’re safe with him.” Hadn’t he said that he found no thrill in pursuing those who couldn’t protect themselves? “My name is Avery.”

  She swallowed and then gave a little nod. “Casey. Thank you . . . thank you for stepping in.”

  It hurt to know that she’d expected me to walk on by, even when I’d thought she was a dog. It indicated that others had; they’d put down their heads and continued on with their night even as she’d been assaulted.

  Shrugging out of my jacket, I held it out to her. “Take this.”

  “You’ll be cold.”

  I offered her a small smile. “I’ve dealt with worse. Take it.”

  When she did, Asher stepped forward, his face menacing and dark and unholy—but he’d saved Casey and me both. “Ma’am, you’ll need to go to the district station over on Royal.” As if sensing the girl’s hesitation, he put up his hands, palms facing out. “I know you don’t want to. I know it’s going to be hard to explain what happened and relive it, but a statement from you will ensure these guys go to jail, you hear me?”

  “I hear you.”

  Asher gave a clipped nod. “Good. Now, you can wait until backup arrives, so they can transport these guys to lockup and I can take you—it might be a minute. Or maybe Avery wouldn’t mind walking you over to the station. Your choice.”

  What? No.

  In no universe was it a good idea for me to bring Casey to the Eighth District Police Station—not because I didn’t care to see her safely there. I did, really. But bringing her would be like walking into the lion’s den.

  I swallowed thickly as youthful fears set in like prongs latching onto my skin.

  It would be just my luck to run into someone who recognized me.

  Red emitted a groan as he tried to roll onto his back and then realized his bound hands limited his mobility. “Uncuff me, man,” he groaned. “Fuck me.”

  Asher shot him a look of disdain. “You’re not anyone’s type, kid. But your wish might be granted with where you’re going.”

  Casey’s eyes went wide, and she shuffled behind me. “Can we go?” she whispered. “I don’t want . . .” She licked her lips, clearly nervous. “I don’t want to stay here.”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her no.

  I tried but the words wouldn’t come. With a sigh, I grabbed my backpack by the strap and hooked it over my right shoulder. My taser went into the front pocket of my bag, just in case.

  “Thank you.” Casey wrapped her arms around her middle. “Just . . . thank you.”

  Her quiet praise didn’t sit well with me. It felt too much like a spotlight, bright and without a single place to hide. I averted my gaze from the gratitude lining her bruised features. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s go.”

  I didn’t make it two steps past Asher before his large hand clamped down on my forearm, stilling my escape. He’d touched me twice tonight; the first, a simple brushing of our fingers, had stolen my breath. This time, my heart thudded in my chest with something that felt a lot like anticipation.

  “Have a problem, Ser
geant?” I kept my tone light, slightly wry, but I worried he could detect what I so wanted to hide. Interest, in him. It was incredibly inconvenient.

  His thumb stroked my arm. “Don’t leave the station without me.”

  “Is that a request or an order?”

  I felt his breath by my ear, rustling the strands of my hair. “An order, Miss Washington.” His thumb continued its up and down strokes, sending sparks of something throughout my body. “You good at obeying?”

  There was no mistaking the way his voice dropped an octave. This man was not one for bullshit, as he’d told me, and so I wouldn’t give him any in return.

  With a little tug, I pulled free of his grasp and flashed him a grin. “Not in the least. Obeying has never been one of my strong suits.”

  “Start learning,” he growled in what I had to assume was the tone he took with the men and women in his unit. “I’ll see you at the station. Don’t make me chase you.”

  The words had the opposite effect on me than what he’d probably hoped.

  They didn’t inspire fear.

  No, they inspired lust.

  Sergeant Lincoln Asher could chase me all he wanted, but unless I let him, he’d never catch me.

  7

  Avery

  The back of my neck prickled with anticipation as I waited on Asher by the eighth district precinct. It would be all too easy to blame the goosebumps flaring to life on my skin on the cool, wrought-iron fence against my back. A lot easier than admitting the truth, which was—

  “You followed a command, Miss Washington. I’m impressed.”

  My gaze cut to his powerful form striding toward me from Royal Street. The dim street lights allowed the darkness to hug him, casting shadows across his face. His left hand rested on the butt of the gun on his hip, and I swallowed that inconvenient anticipation all over again. Pushed it as far down as it would go until it’d been strangled into nonexistence.

  I didn’t have time for men, not even ones who looked like, or exuded the confidence that Lincoln Asher did.

  Tilting my chin, I allowed my crossed arms to fall to my sides as I pushed away from the fence. “I thought I’d show you how it’s done, considering you followed me when I specifically told you not to.”

  Nothing in his stoic expression hinted at humor, but I had the impression that he was laughing at me. “We can pretend that’s what went down.”

  “Pretend?” My nose wrinkled as I kept my eyes on his face. He stopped less than a foot away, looming large in front of me. His close proximity forced me to tip my head back to maintain eye contact. Lincoln Asher was a big man—a lot bigger than me.

  “Pretend,” he confirmed evenly. “I was on my way home for the night when my radio went off with a 103-F.” He cupped my elbow and, for a half-second, I was convinced he was about to pull me into his embrace. My mind raced with the possibilities, shifting through them each individually—would he kiss me? Did he want to? Hell, did I want him to?

  Then his words actually penetrated the thick fog of that unwanted anticipation, and I blinked at the unfamiliar term. “103-F?”

  “A fight.”

  Asher didn’t pull me into a hug. Instead, he backed me up, using his much larger frame to intimidate me into stepping backward, toward the pale-yellow district station that looked a lot more like an elegant English mansion than a home base for cops.

  My feet followed his lead, regardless of the fact that I had no plans to step back inside the building with him. “So what, you thought you’d come and rescue me?” My voice stuck in my throat, and I forced a rough cough to clear it. “You’re assuming I needed your help.”

  Blue eyes flashed in my direction. “You’re assuming that I even knew it was you.”

  Good point.

  Embarrassment slithered like vines around my legs, dragging my pace to a slow crawl.

  He mimicked my pause, his heavy combat boots grinding to a halt, his wide shoulders turning so that we were chest to chest. Or, more accurately, chin to chest. His fingers fluttered up my arm, coasting over my right shoulder. Landing directly on that sensitive place where my neck and shoulder met. Stealing my breath and infusing my head with wild, foreign fantasies that were as alien to me as the man invading my space.

  “I had no idea it was you, but the moment I did . . .” His thumb arched upward, sweeping under the jut of my jaw in a gesture that was both erotic and possessive. “I don’t get angry, Avery. I never lose my cool. And then I saw you hit the pavement, and I was ready to unload my clip into any fucker who touched you. No one touches you or they answer to me.”

  At my swallow, I felt the imprint of his thumb like a stamp on my neck. “You hardly know me.”

  His blue eyes fell to my lips. “No, I don’t. Not yet, but I will.”

  With that mysterious comment, he stepped back, and the sudden space was like I’d been relieved from a vacuum. My lungs seized air in one, two, three quick breaths. Desperate to change the conversation, I averted my face and watched a group of tourists stumble down Royal with green Hand Grenade bottles clutched in their hands.

  “You want me to give a statement, don’t you?” I asked, my gaze locked on the tipsy tourists. “That’s why you asked me to stick around?”

  “In part.”

  “And the other part?”

  It happened then, just the smallest uptick of his mouth. It was hardly a smile. Hardly worth noting at all, really. But still, I felt it all the way down to my toes. Felt it all the more when Asher tucked a hand against the small of my back and murmured, “Don’t ask questions when you aren’t ready for the answers.”

  Did I want to push for more?

  Pushing meant admitting to this unwanted attraction, an attraction like I’d never felt before.

  But pushing also meant gaining something in return—information, for one. Lincoln Asher carried himself like he held the weight of the world on his shoulders. It seemed unlikely that he could get to where he was now within the NOPD without learning a thing or two about the city’s ring of politicians. I wanted access to those secrets. I needed access to that information.

  I craved, after all these years, to set aside my thirst for revenge and live my life without glancing over my shoulder every other moment.

  More than anything, I wanted to know the reason why my stepfather had my mother murdered in cold blood. A former oil tycoon like him, Foley had swept her death under the rug with hand-rolled cash to all the right people, I had no doubt about that. And that wasn’t even covering the fact that he’d wanted me dead, too.

  Mentally shaking loose the memories, I indicated the station with my hand. “Should we go in? I’d rather not spend my entire night on the front steps.”

  My abrupt change of heart earned me a hard, unrelenting once-over.

  Asher didn’t say a word as he spun on his heel and took the steps two at a time. I followed at a brisk pace, head held high. It was time for me to stop hiding in the shadows, however terrifying the prospect.

  Pulse racing as we entered the marble-floored foyer, I glanced around the brightly lit room. Receptionist desk to my right. A hallway extending away from the lobby, leading to god-knows-where.

  “Follow me.”

  At the sharp note in Asher’s voice, I drew my jacket tight around my shoulders.

  This is what I’d wanted all these years—an in. A chance to learn more about my stepfather. An opportunity to do more than just passively collect information from those who sat at my table to have their tarot cards read.

  Not that I expected the mayor of New Orleans to be strolling around a police precinct on a Sunday night, but the mere possibility had me stretching on my toes and craning my neck, just in case.

  “This is us,” Asher murmured as he paused by a wooden door to our right. He palmed it open and ushered me inside with a hand to the center of my back. Desks were haphazardly arranged throughout the room. Some had computers on them. Others were bare, save for stacks of papers. A lone officer sat on the far en
d of the room, shoulders slouched as he stared at the computer screen before him. Asher indicated to a desk to our left, and he settled his hand on the worn wood. “Take a seat here. I need to grab something first, and then we’ll get this over with.”

  I met his gaze. “Not even a little scared that I’ll take off?”

  Asher glanced at the other officer, and then retrained his attention on me. “You aren’t going anywhere.”

  “You’re cocky.”

  “No,” he said with another one of his barely-there smirks, “I’m just confident that you’re craving something else entirely from me, and I plan to deliver until you’re weak in the knees and sprawled across my lap.” The grin that widened his mouth was all male satisfaction. “Get comfortable.”

  The expanse of his back winked at me as he slipped through the open door and out into the hall.

  It took a whopping two seconds for the bravado to un-pinch from my features.

  I dropped inelegantly to the rolling desk chair, my knees—true to form—trembling way too hard to keep me upright or my dignity intact. Lincoln Asher was . . . he was—I skipped my sweaty palms across my thighs and drew in a sharp breath.

  He was trouble with a capital T.

  Trouble for my piece of mind, for my aims, for my body. Even now, I couldn’t forget the way his hand had felt curled around my neck. The rapid tattoo of my heart rate had yet to slow, and as I sat there, there was only one lingering thought: I wanted more.

  I was twenty-five, a virgin, and the only man who’d ever kissed me had taken that desire from me with a disturbing thrust of his tongue in my mouth and his fingers yanking painfully on my hair. I’d sworn then that I would never give another man the opportunity to take what wasn’t his.

  I bowed to no one.

  And yet, in the span of two days, Asher had thrown everything I wanted to believe about myself out the window—and he’d done it all with nothing more than the timbre of his voice, the rawness in his blue eyes, and a touch that was impossibly seductive.

  “Stop,” I muttered beneath my breath.