by K. C. Hamby
“I’m sorry, say again?” I have no idea what the hell she just said.
“Faligator. Like alligator, but….with…Fal.” Her smile slowly drops, probably at the growth of my grimace.
“No. No no no no no.” I shake my head rapidly side to side. “Absolutely not.”
“Ah, come on. You’re such a fun-sucker,” she whines.
“A title I proudly hold.”
She pouts, looking defeated. I lean back in my chair with a small victory floating in my veins. Nina peers back at me and concern washes over her features again.
“Hey, what happened to your lip?”
I freeze. Damn.
My lip is still busted from last night. Of course I can’t heal fast enough for it to not be noticeable. Naturally, when I need my mouth to actually work for me, it picks now to hide like a coward.
“I, uh….”
Brilliant, Fal.
“It’s from work.”
I think my eyes are going to fall out of my head because they get so wide. That’s what I come up with?
“Work? Jesus, you must work with the FBI or something,” Nina says, laughing.
I keep my mouth closed. I’ll let her think whatever she wants. There’s no way I can make this situation any better, so I’m just going to shut up.
Nina stops laughing and her cheeks become red, but she doesn’t press the issue. I look around, desperately trying to find something to talk about. My eyes run across the name of the coffee shop. I clear my throat.
“So, why do you come here so much?” I ask the question partly to change the subject and partly because I’ve grown curious.
“Oh, I come here to write. I work online for the local newspaper writing articles and I do some freelancing. But, I mostly like to write for me.” She looks down at her hands in her lap. Is she bashful?
“You write for yourself?” She nods. “What do you write?” Her eyes light up with surprise and something inside of me is pleased.
“I write poetry. A lot of free verse, but I really like spoken word, even though I’ve never actually…spoken it to an audience before.” Nina’s smile grows so wide I think my mouth starts to hurt from her effort.
“Poetry?” She nods excitedly. Touchy feely stuff. Ew.
No, Fal, I tell myself. Be nice.
“Spoken word. I’ve never heard of it, but wouldn’t it just be…Word if you haven’t spoken it?” It comes off as a joke even though I’m genuinely confused.
She laughs nervously. “I guess so. I just haven’t gotten the courage to spill my heart out in front of a crowd yet. Spoken word is deeply personal.” She locks her weary eyes with mine. I don’t like the sadness transforming the sapphire pools into a stormy sky.
“You’ll get there. I can understand why you haven’t, though. Emotions aren’t exactly my thing.”
“You don’t like emotions?” She raises an eyebrow at me and I find myself backed into a corner with her questions once again. She could probably be a professional interrogator with the way she is making me sweat.
“Feelings get in the way of things,” I say slowly, testing the waters. She raises both of her eyebrows curiously and I continue. “I’m just not an emotionally oriented person, I guess.” I shrug. It’s as close to the truth as I’m going to get. I’m slowly starting to trust my mouth again.
“Seriously?” she asks like I’ve offended her in the worst way. “Have you not been in love?”
I jerk my head back so fast, I may have given myself whiplash. Goddess, the audacity.
“Oh, god. I’m sorry.” She reaches her hand toward me, searching for something, but I guess she comes up short because she puts it back in her lap. “I didn’t mean to ask that. It was way too personal. It just slipped out.”
After a minute, I relent. “I understand.” I soften a little. I can’t fault her for word vomit, even though her question makes me uncomfortable. I need to pull back with this conversation, though. I can’t let her in. She can’t know I’ve never been in love, nor will I ever be.
I skip the question completely, but ask another one because I apparently don’t want our conversation to end. I think this is the most social interaction—other than Ash—I’ve gotten since I was a kid and I can’t deny it’s a little enjoyable.
“So, do you live around here?” I ask casually. I immediately realize it could make me sound like a creep and I groan inwardly for what seems like the hundredth time today.
“Yeah! I live down that way a few blocks.” She points in the opposite direction of the place I have to go tonight. Good. She lives in a safe area.
Wait, why do I care?
“It’s just me and Luna,” she tells me and smiles.
“Luna?” Does she live with someone? Like a significant someone? Why does that make me uncomfortable?
“My black and white border collie mix. Luna is her name.” She coos as if the dog were sitting with us and I relax. She’s a dog person. Maybe that’s why she won’t leave me alone.
I laugh, meaning for it to be in my head, but instead I hear it come out of my mouth. That’s it, I’m sewing my mouth shut.
“What’s so funny?” She cocks her head to the side.
“Oh..nothing. I just think dogs are..awesome.”
I’m obviously great at talking.
She smiles wide and laughs, bringing out the freckles on her cheeks.
“Nina?” is called out from across the patio. Nina’s eyes flash up to me and she turns around in her seat. My eyes follow where she’s looking and they lock with the suspicious eyes of a spiked pixie cut blonde who’s a little taller than me. She’s wearing a leather jacket with spikes on the shoulders. Her red shirt underneath makes her pale skin nearly translucent and her jeans have tears up the front. She finishes the look with some black converses. I think she’s going for a punker look, but it only seems like she’s trying too hard.
The longer we have our gazes locked, the more her suspicious eyes turn into daggers. My stomach knots, warning me danger is around.
“Oh, that’s Sara. I forgot I was supposed to meet her here today,” she whispers and looks at me with an ‘oh shit’ face with her eyes wide and her mouth making a strange frown. I chuckle at her and peer back up at Sara. If looks could kill, I wouldn’t say I would be dead because pff that would never happen, but she could have probably left a little bruise. My stomach does not like this girl.
“So…” Nina stands up, having the good graces to pick up her chair this time instead of scraping it across the damn cement. “See you around?” she finishes, staring at me with big, hopeful eyes. Meanwhile, Sara is glaring a hole into my forehead. A startling realization hits me.
What if she’s a Poacher? Maybe it’s the knot of danger I’m getting. That’s why she’s glaring at me.
“Uh..” I’m trying my best not to snarl in Sara’s direction. “Possibly,” slips out of my mouth before I realize what I’ve said. I want to slap myself. I can’t see her again. I can’t be her friend. All I had to do was say no.
“Awesome!” She smiles so wide, I regret thinking about denying her request. “See ya later, Faligator.”
I scoff as she walks off and turns around to wink at me. I shake my head and move my attention back to this Sara. Nina walks up to her and Sara goes for a hug as I reach down to pull out my knife from beneath my joggers.
I grab the handle as Sara’s neck is becoming visible to me.
Nina awkwardly side hugs her and I get a full view.
Huh. Not a Poacher. No scythe tattoo. I take my hand off my knife and sit up in my seat. They go to leave and Nina turns around, waving at me. I nod my head at her and she continues on her way.
Sara is back to staring daggers at me and I don’t understand. She’s not a Poacher, so what the hell is her problem?
She nods her head at Nina and makes a big deal about looking at her all over. Especially her backside. She makes a grabbing motion with her hand and raises an eyebrow at me. She’s looking at Nina like she’s a
piece of meat and wants me to know about it.
My skin tingles as my wolf pushes against the cage I’ve locked her in. Rage flies through my veins without warning, lighting my blood on fire. I grit my teeth, but a snarl forces its way out of my mouth and my eyes dilate. I sound every bit like the wolf I am, and, for some reason, I don’t care if she knows.
Her eyes nearly pop out of her head and her sneer falls off her face faster than it came. She runs into a table and the doorframe trying to get away from me. I laugh and sit in my own bubble of victory for a second until I catch sight of my reflection in the shop window.
My eyes. One is glowing bright amber and the other is a bright gray.
My breath hitches and my heart races. My wolf is so much closer than I thought. I try to calm myself down. I lie my head in my hands and breathe deeply, praying I can shut her down again.
Please. I can’t do this. I can’t.
After a moment, I calm down enough that my eyes are no longer glowing. The tightness in my chest and tingling skin doesn’t go away, but at least people can’t see that.
I have to get out of here.
I stand up abruptly and hop over the small iron fence surrounding the outside patio of The Bean. I walk quickly back in the direction of the dungeon where the girls are being held as I let the cool air fill my lungs and calm me more. I try to wrap my head around what the hell just happened.
Sara was being territorial over Nina, clearly believing Nina is her property.
I got protective of Nina after that Sara creep made suggestive gestures and eyes at Nina.
I shake my head at myself. This is just leftover protectiveness from the other night and from me enjoying Nina’s company just now. She’s nice enough to deal with me. She doesn’t deserve someone treating her like that.
I need to be done with this. They are gone and I’m sure Nina can handle herself.
It’s time to figure out how the hell I’m going to save these girls.
Ugh, I need a drink.
Chapter 10
I hang up the phone after talking with Ash and telling him what time he needs to show up here. The breeze blows my hair into my face; the soft tresses brushing across the skin of my cheeks. I’m back on the rooftop of the building across the street from the squatter where the girls are captive.
I change into some black jeans, a black shirt, my black combat boots, and a black leather jacket with a cloth hood attached and black zippers instead of silver. I seriously cannot be seen while I’m in this building trying to find my way around. It will blow the whole mission and possibly kill the five girls who don’t know I’m coming in to free them. All black is a necessity—and not just the only and favorite thing I wear—this time.
I fasten my springblade on my wrist and set the blade over the springs with a click. My favorite knife is tucked snuggly in my boot. The familiar pressure of the steel against my skin helps me focus. I slide five throwing knives into my belt and strap one of my silenced RUGAR pistols to my right thigh. I braid my hair and coil it into a bun, so it doesn’t fall out of my hood. I swipe the black paint over my eyes, reveling in the cool sensation the brush drags across my skin. I carefully slip a black gator over my head to rest at my neck so I can pull it over my mouth. It will cover the rest of my face without me having to paint over the whole thing. I pull up the gator and yank the hood over my head. My breath warms the cloth of the gator while I slip on some leather gloves.
I grab my bag full of the clothes I was wearing earlier, slink down the fire escape, and leap to the cement as quietly as a ghost and make my way across the street. Pushing my bag in the shadows of the small, three-stair staircase leading to the front door of the building, I look around to make sure there are no eyes on me. I can grab the bag on my way out.
Taking a deep breath, I peer around the area, finding no one on the street to witness what I’m about to do. I walk up the stairs and gently pick the lock with a bobby pin I used to help hold up my hair. The metal silently searches around in the keyhole for the lever to spring the lock open. It clicks around softly and I finally find what I’m looking for. A soft click answers my efforts and it sounds just like victory. Slowly twisting the knob, the door slides open beneath my hands. Pushing the door open, I realize—to my utter amazement—it doesn’t creak. It contradicts the whole feel and look of this place. It should have croaked like a frog and fallen off because I breathed on it the wrong way, but it seems to be decently sturdy. They probably reinforced the doors of this place to accommodate their…visitors..tucked safely away inside. I step through the threshold and push the door closed quietly behind me.
I blend into the darkness of the walls. Oddly, this building is set up like a house should be. There’s a living room area to my left with a dingy green couch in front of an old flat screen TV, but it’s all that’s in the room.
On my right, there’s a room set up like a bedroom with two twin size beds pushed up against the walls. Multi-colored comforters which should be burned instead of slept under cover the lumps on top of the beds. The blankets move with every breath the lumps take. I move closer, needing to get a better look and the smell of mothballs rises from the beds and I want to vomit.
I peek my head over the comforter just enough to see the face of its occupant.
Ugh. No girls. Just more meatheads working for Boss.
I make my way out of the dusty room, keeping myself concealed in the darkness. When I walk out, there are stairs leading to the next floor on my right. I skip them for now because I need to see what else I’m dealing with down here before I even think about going up there.
I brush past the stairs and move further down the hall. There’s another room to my right with the doorway coming out from under the stairs. Whoever designed this place really didn’t think any of the design through. What could possibly fit in there? It’s way too small for anything important.
I pull open the door under the stairs and surprise washes over me. It’s another bedroom furnished with three twin-sized beds, but only one sleeping lump. I instantly put myself on high alert. There are supposed to be more people here if there are empty beds. This just got a whole lot more complicated.
I move silently out of the room and continue down the hallway. At the end, there’s a kitchen type thing set up with a table, a grimy stove, and a sink stacked with enough dishes for an army. The smell penetrates the gator and I nearly gag. These people are disgusting.
I look around and freeze.
There is a meathead sitting at the far end of the table.
Luckily, his back is facing me, and he seems to be eating something smelling a lot like greasy chicken. I back up quickly and breath out a slow, quiet sigh of relief when I’m safely concealed by the darkness again. I really don’t need to be caught here. There’s no way I can succeed if anyone alerts all the other meatheads in the damn building of my presence. Talk about a major buzzkill.
I turn around and hurry back down the hall, careful to keep myself hidden. I turn left and make my way up the dusty staircase, dropping my feet gently on the stairs. They are old and creaky—to my complete annoyance—but, I manage to make it to the top without too many deathly creaks.
There are three rooms on this floor. I check the first one.
Empty. Nothing but boxes and a bathroom.
I check the second one.
Empty again.
I make my way down to the last door on the floor. It’s the room farthest from the stairs. I catch a noise coming from inside and I freeze, opening my senses to the sound.
Metal. The scraping, skin tingling sound of metal sliding across the floor registers and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. A horrible smell reminding me of rotting skin and sewage creeps out from the bottom of the door. A copper hint to the smell tells me there’s blood.
Well, that’s definitely not good.
There are a series of locks on the outside of the door seemingly with the intention of locking a monster inside the room. Nothing w
ould be able to get out of that.
I think I’m in the right place.
I slowly unlock the door handle and slide open the deadbolt. I unhook the chain lock and twist open the jimmy proof lock. You’d think they were harboring a fleet of wild dogs inside or, you know, prisoners.
Twisting the knob, I pull the door open—I guess they had to turn the door around to accommodate the locks—to look inside.
My wolf lunges out of its cage I’ve tried so desperately to lock it into. Tingling zaps through my skin like lightening and my bones crack with the intention of shifting. I throw myself out of the door and lean on the wall, sliding to the floor and biting my forearm to stop myself from screaming. My breathing becomes erratic and I fight to pull in calming breaths. My wolf is pushing so hard to get out.
I can’t do this. I can’t let her win. Not now.
Not ever.
I bite the shit out of my forearm through my jacket and the ripping of my skin brings me back to myself. I pull in slow, jagged breaths, trying to rein in my wolf and suppress the rage that instantly bubbled inside of me.
I pull in one more calming breath and take control of myself again. My skin is sore from trying to shift, but I have to push past it. I’ve had worse.
I stand back up quietly and push myself off the wall and back through the door. My legs wobble slightly, shaking off the near shift. Five girls are all crowded onto one bed—for warmth, I’m assuming because they don’t have on anything other than bras and panties—and sleeping deeply. Or, I hope they’re asleep. Knowing how these sex slavers work, they are probably all doped up on something, keeping them subdued.
The rage threatens me again, but I shut it down and drop into business mode.
All of the girls have at least one wrist or ankle shackled to the wall or floor. They are heavy duty chains I can’t break without assistance. Well, I could, but I’d be here for hours trying. The odor overwhelms me. I wonder if they are even allowed to go to the restroom outside of this dungeon. They all have cuts and bruises all over their barely clad bodies and black makeup smudges around their sleeping eyes.