Exhaling a low snarl, he shot Ashley one last contemptuous glare before turning back and ushering her toward the door.
“Where in the hell do you think you’re going?” The staccato rap of high heels clicked after them. Ashley grabbed Olivia’s other wrist with a surprising amount of strength and yanked—hard. “She’s not going anywhere with you! I’ll take her home.”
Olivia felt like the rope in a tug-of-war contest, each contestant determined not to give a quarter. Her head was starting to spin from the tequila shots, and the jerking back and forth was giving her motion sickness. Her opportunity to press Haden for more answers was rapidly dwindling. By the stubborn set of her best friend’s jaw and the squinty-eyed glare she arrowed on him, Ashley wasn’t going to back down.
“Ashley can bring me home,” she told Haden. “Besides, you said it yourself, you’re not my babysitter. And I’m not your responsibility.”
He scowled. She could sense his hesitation to let go of her wrist. Casting that surly glare toward the bar, it then swung to her, back toward the bar, then to her again. As if he decided on something, Haden dropped her wrist and, without another word, marched past her. Halting beside Ashley, she heard him growl, “I hope you drive more responsibly than you drink.” Then, without breaking stride, he headed toward the bar. She could just imagine the curses flying out of his mouth as the crowd, once again, parted before him.
“Come on,” Ashley snapped, storming out the door. “Let’s go before that maniac comes back. What were you thinking, leaving with him?”
She was thinking she’d finally get some answers. That’s what she was thinking.
Chapter Eight
Haden approached a booth that gave him full view of the bar and a piss-ass drunken Mitch. He sat half-cocked atop a stool, elbows leaning heavily on the counter. Pathetic piece of shit… Haden knew he should have drowned that bastard in Lake Superior back when he had the chance. He’d kept the bastard alive only to be a bane in Liam’s side, but now it seemed he was just one in Olivia’s.
Haden gave a commanding “Move” to the couple occupying the space he wanted. They couldn’t beat feet outta there fast enough. When the waitress came around to take his order, he requested tequila. He’d never been a fan of the wormy drink, but after tasting it on Olivia’s mouth tonight, it held a hell of a lot more appeal.
Just the thought of their kiss made his mouth water, his pulse pounding the blood in his veins directly south. With a muttered oath, he readjusted himself in his jeans, which suddenly fit way too tight, and cursed himself for kissing that female. He knew better. And thinking back on it, he was more than a little remiss to admit that Mitch’s treatment of her had, and not for the first time, triggered protective instincts he’d thought long dead.
More concerning was that he felt any such emotion toward Liam’s female in the first place. She was nothing more than a means to an end—the key to his revenge. The vindication his Anya deserved… How many years would her whitewashed bones have to lie in that shallow unmarked grave, waiting for justice only he could serve? Now that he was so close, he’d not allow himself to become distracted by unwanted passions and unnecessary desires.
It was her sight that drew him, his instinct to hunt consuming his thoughts of the female. After all those years of tracking and killing the Sighted, it only stood to reason he’d be drawn to Olivia. It had nothing to do with her delicious vanilla-jasmine scent, or her breathtaking beauty, or her keen intelligence…
No, she was the key to forcing Liam’s hand into submission—nothing more and nothing less. Immanuel’s Stone would give him the power he needed to return to Sheol and kill Gahn—the father who’d raised him—the bastard who’d betrayed him—the killer who’d taken everything from him.
He’d waited long enough. He was running out of patience and time. The Dark Court was expecting him to return, and with Olivia dead, no less. If they became suspicious of his true intentions, then all would be lost. Clearly, the warrior wasn’t returning without the proper motivation. At first, he believed Olivia was lying about her amnesia. Now…not so much.
In Duluth, she’d told Mitch the stone was hidden at the Grotto of the Redemption, but where at the grotto? That place was a bejeweled landmine. Maybe Mitch knew which of the nine grottos it was in. At least then he’d have a starting point. Perhaps a little road trip would precipitate the return of Olivia’s memories.
Tipping his head back, he downed the tequila shot and popped the lime into his mouth. He sucked the juice from the rind and spit it back into the shot glass before slipping out of the booth and swaggering up to the empty seat beside Mitch.
“What do you want?” Mitch growled, casting him a surly scowl.
What did he want? He wanted to nail that bastard in the jaw again. “You should take a good, hard look at yourself, Mitch. You’re a pathetic piece of shit. If you ask me, Olivia dodged a bullet when she dumped your sorry ass.”
“I hate you.”
“Yeah, well, the feeling’s mutual, I assure you. Anyway, I didn’t come here to discuss your affection for me. You called me a Nephilim tonight and I’d like to know how in the hell you know anything about me.”
“Are you fucking her?”
Haden raised his hand, barely resisting the urge to bust Mitch in the lip. Instead, he snapped his fingers beside the guy’s ear. “Come on, Mitch, focus! How do you know what I am?”
“I know lots of things…” his drunken slur was proof positive the alcohol had eaten away the filter between Mitch’s brain and his mouth. Either that or he had a death wish—one Haden was more than willing to grant.
“Such as…?”
Mitch’s cocky arrogance grated on Haden’s last nerve. Eyeing the worthless mortal, the thought was quickly dawning on him that this guy might actually know enough to be a threat. What had Rhen and Cale told him? Did Mitch suspect he’d been instrumental in the destruction of Rowen’s legion? In the wrong hands, that kind of knowledge could destroy Haden.
“I know why you keep sniffing around Olivia’s skirt.”
Arching a brow in feigned apathetic boredom, he drawled, “Oh yeah? And why’s that?”
“You keep hoping she’ll get her memory back and tell you where that stone is. Maybe she’s using you, Haden. Have you ever thought about that?”
Haden nearly laughed. Something he rarely did. “Do you honestly think that Olivia and I are a couple? That she has feelings for me?” It bothered Haden that the idea didn’t sit as ill with him as he wanted it to.
“So you’re not together?” Mitch challenged.
Had Mitch not already sealed his fate the moment he’d called him a Neph, Haden might have tried to put forth a more convincing argument to the contrary. “I have no interest in Olivia. Not like that, anyway.” Even as he denied it, the taste of her kiss came to memory, stirring an unsettling ache in his groin.
“You’re lying,” Mitch accused. “I saw the way you looked at her. You wouldn’t defend someone who meant nothing to you.”
“I would if it meant I’d get the chance to punch you in the face.” That comment earned him another surly scowl.
“Sucks to want what you can’t have, doesn’t it,” the prick taunted.
What the fuck? Did this asshole really think he was going to sit here and bond with him over that female? “Who have you told about me?” Haden asked, preparing to make a mental hit list.
“She tastes good, doesn’t she? Man, I miss that.”
She tasted fantastic, but that wasn’t the point. And the more Mitch sat there talking about that female, the shorter Haden’s fuse grew. That green-eyed monster lashing at its tether was just begging to reach out and snap Mitch’s neck.
“—those lush lips and that sweet little tongue…”
Snap!
With blinding speed, Haden reached out, grabbed the back of Mitch’s neck, and slammed his face into the bar. The bartender paid little notice to the thump, probably figuring the guy just passed out and face plant
ed into the wooden countertop.
Mitch’s body went limp, slumping against Haden. His grip on the guy’s neck tightened as he held him upright. With a don’t-worry-I’ve-got-this nod to the man behind the counter, he slid his arm around Mitch’s back. Grabbing ahold of his waistband, he hefted the guy up, half-walking, half-dragging the unconscious POS out the back exit.
No one paid them any mind as they crossed the parking lot, the clip of each determined step echoing counterpoint to the scuffing drag of rubber soles against asphalt. Patting Mitch’s front pocket, he felt for his keys and pulled them out. Using the keyless entry to locate his car, the security system chirped as a set of halogens flashed on a dark blue Audi.
As he neared the passenger side of the car, Mitch began to stir. A pained groan left his lips as he attempted to lift his head. His flaccid muscles slowly tensed back to life as he started to struggle against Haden’s unrelenting hold.
A quick look over Haden’s shoulder confirmed they were out of sight, and he slammed the prick up against the side of the car. Using his six-four, two-twenty frame to pin him, he reached around and grabbed Mitch’s head while the other leveraged his jaw. “I thought you would have learned by now not to fuck with me,” Haden growled.
The quick jerk of his hands wrenched Mitch’s head to the side. Bone gave way with a satisfying crunch. His body fell limp as Haden stepped back, catching him around the waist. Unceremoniously, he dumped the lifeless body into the front passenger seat. Mitch lay slumped over the center console, looking like a passed out drunk to anyone who may happen by as Haden casually rounded the Audi and climbed into the driver’s seat.
“You really shouldn’t have talked to Olivia like that,” Haden said quietly, making conversation with the corpse as he pulled out of the parking lot and hung a left for Mitch’s house. “She’s not a whore and she doesn’t deserve to be treated like one. You really upset her tonight.”
Silence.
He nudged Mitch with his elbow, shoving him away. His body flopped against the passenger side door, head clunking solidly against the window. “What’s the matter, Mitch? Cat got your tongue? You’re not much of a conversationalist. I do believe for once in your life, you’re finally speechless.”
Haden pulled inside Mitch’s garage. As the large door slowly closed behind him, he tucked his hand inside his sleeve, briskly wiping down the steering wheel and gear shift. Using his cloth-covered hand, he opened the door and climbed out. Walking over to the passenger door, he opened it and caught Mitch before he hit the floor. Tossing him over his shoulder, Haden fireman carried the guy into his house.
Kicking off his shoes at the door, he entered the kitchen and walked down the hall. Hanging a left, he climbed the flight of stairs in the foyer. Once he reached the top, he turned back around and leaned forward, letting Mitch slide off his shoulder. He hit the stairs with a loud thunk and tumbled down in a flail of arms and legs. Along the way, his arm snagged in between the railing, bone cracked, snapping it at an odd angle.
“Oops…” Haden winced as the offended extremity flopped around haphazardly—thunkity-thunk-thunk-bang. Mitch’s body tumbled to a stop, sprawled awkwardly on the tile foyer. “Damn, that had to have stung.” He descended the stairs, stepping over the corpse. Without breaking stride, he cut through the foyer, down the hall, and paused only briefly to shoe-up before exiting the kitchen. Ducking out the back door of the garage, Haden kept to the shadows as he made his way back to the bar to retrieve his wheels.
Olivia awoke to the shrill ring of the doorbell and was instantly hit with the smell of bacon. Her stomach lurched, her hand flying up to cover her mouth as she rolled out of bed and ran for the bathroom. Slamming the door behind her, she dropped to her knees before the porcelain throne and emptied her stomach.
Again the bell rang, followed by the persistent pounding of flesh against wood. “Will you answer the damn door?” she yelled between hurls.
“Sorry, dove, can’t do.”
That undertone of irritation was back in his voice, thick with judgment. “Damn touchy angel…” she grumbled, slamming her hand against the lever. The whoosh temporarily drowned out the banging as she braced her hands against the seat and forced herself to stand. The head rush that followed temporarily darkened her vision and she made a grab for the towel rack to keep upright. “I’m never drinking again,” she vowed to herself as she opened the door and stepped into the hall, running smack into Tate.
“Promise?” he grumbled. His hands shot out to steady her, one remaining firmly attached to her bicep. A disapproving scowl settled on his face as he led her toward the stairs.
“You could have gotten the door,” she complained, wincing as the bell pierced her ears.
“No, I can’t. The police are outside, and I’m not about to explain who I am and what I’m doing here. I can’t lie, remember?”
She turned to look at him and the brisk movement threw her off balance. His hold tightened and he tugged her a step closer as they traversed the stairs. “The police? Why would the police be here?”
His scowl darkened. “I was hoping you could tell me. By the way, you’re the only one who can see me right now.”
He gave her a last-second reminder as she opened the pounding door to an unwelcomed slap of reality. Olivia squinted against the sun shining brightly into her photophobic eyes, making the two officers before her nothing more than two dark figures. “Can I help you?” She lifted her hand, shielding her eyes from the glare.
“Olivia Norton?”
“Yes.”
“We have to inform you of some bad news, I’m afraid. You’re listed as the emergency contact for a Mitch Mathis.”
“I am?”
“Yes, ma’am, you are. And I regret to inform you that there has been an accident at his home. Mr. Mathis has passed away.”
“What?” She took a surprised step back. Her hand flew up to cover her mouth as the shocking news sent her fragile stomach lurching.
“We do have a few questions for you, ma’am. If we could come inside…”
Her head was spinning as she stood there in stunned silence. How could this be happening? Guilt assuaged her on so many levels. He was little more than a stranger to her, yet in her heart she knew at one time he had been more. By the sounds of it, their relationship had been complicated, and they’d both hurt each other in different ways. Actually, she’d broken his heart, he repeatedly reminded her in his failed attempts to get back together with her. When she’d refused, needing time and space to heal—to remember again—he’d turned downright nasty. Case in point, his treatment of her last night.
What was she supposed to do with this information? How was she supposed to respond? Of course she was shocked, she’d just seen him last night and their parting words had been harsh. She held no affection for the guy and felt guilty she wasn’t more grieved by the news. It was sad to hear that a human life had been lost, but other than the passing empathy she’d have for any stranger, she wasn’t overly broken up about it as it seemed these two officers carefully eyeing her expected her to be. They glanced more than once at her arm, then exchanged questioning looks.
A hand gently took her bicep, and she winced against the pain. Glancing down, she saw dark purple bruises poking out above Tate’s hand that no doubt covered the worst of it. But it was too late. By the expressions on the officers’ faces, they’d already seen her arm. She looked up to see Tate guiding her a step back. The expression on his face was unreadable, except for the small furrow of his brows. “Come on. Let them inside.”
Numbly, she moved back, and the officers entered. She guided them to the kitchen and offered them a cup of coffee, which they both declined. With a steaming mug in her hand, she sat across from them and beside Tate, whose displeasure seemed to grow by the second.
The older of the two officers began to speak. “Please tell us the nature of your relationship with Mr. Mathis.”
“We were engaged, I am told. A few months ago, I had an acci
dent and have since lost my memory. I have tried to end things with him on several occasions, but he hasn’t taken the breakup well. Why do you ask?”
“Before this can be ruled as an accident, an investigation must be done, Ms. Norton. We’ve found some evidence that could be…questionable. We just need to ask you a few questions. We’ll be brief, ma’am.”
“What do you mean by ‘questionable’? Are you saying you think someone killed him?”
“Possibly.” Tate replied before the officers could answer.
She shot him a concerning glance. “Don’t look at me. I didn’t do it,” he grouched. “But someone did. Why else would the police be questioning you?”
“Can you tell us where you were last night and what happened between you two?” The larger of the two officers asked.
“Nothing happened.”
“Something happened. Witnesses reported seeing the two of you together. How did you get those bruises on your arm, Ms. Norton?”
Shit… “Mitch grabbed me,” she confessed, posting her elbows on the table and scrubbing her face with her hands. She didn’t have to be a detective to know how bad this looked. “But I didn’t do anything. He saw me at the bar and he wanted to talk. I didn’t. He was drunk, as usual. He grabbed my arm and pulled me off my stool. That’s how it got bruised.”
Tate hissed a curse beside her and for a moment, she was grateful for the police presence so she wouldn’t have to weather Tate’s I-told-you-so glower.
“Someone saw us arguing and he intervened. I left right after that, and found my friend, Ashley. Then we went home.”
“Any idea who the guy was that intervened?”
How could she answer that? “No.”
Tate crossed his arms over his chest, looking wholly unconvinced, his surly scowl turning downright livid.
The officers stood, and the younger one reached into his pocket, handing her his card. “That’s really all for now, Ms. Norton. Thank you for your time. We’ll be in touch. Again, we’re sorry for your loss. If you think of anything else…”
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