Heroines and Hellions: a Limited Edition Urban Fantasy Collection

by Margo Bond Collins

  Fuck. I did promise. Unfortunately, I hate going out to dinner. But he’s been asking for a long time. And I really need his help.

  Fine, I respond. Send me the details.

  He texts them to me and adds: Dress nice.

  Fuck you, I respond.

  Domingo is a semi-fancy restaurant in the South Loop. I dress up by making sure my jeans are clean instead of something I just picked up from the floor, and then slip on a black T-shirt, my usual attire. And I put on some makeup, trying to replicate what Fay did the other day.

  I actually look decent, and I take the time to check myself out in the mirror before heading out. I wish I could finish the look with my leather jacket, but the stupid spider ruined it with its sulfurous blood. The second jacket ruined in just a few weeks.

  Mrs. Bachman stops me in the hallway.

  “Heading out?” Her nose twitches like she smells something bad.

  “Yup. Blind date.”

  Her eyes narrow as she assesses the way I look. “You should be wearing a dress, then, or at least slacks without all those holes.” She gestures at my jeans, which do indeed have a small tear in the right knee.

  I shrug. “I hate blind dates. So, if I have to go, I’m going to be comfortable.”

  She sniffs. “Well you have fun. I’m just going to sit here in my apartment and do nothing, I guess.”

  I try not to roll my eyes. “Do you need help with something, Mrs. Bachman?”

  “Oh no. Not at all. Just that my television isn’t working. And I have books. I do. But I get headaches from the reading lately. My eyes aren’t like they used to be . . .”

  “Would you like me to take a look at your television?”

  “I wouldn’t want to put you out.” But her voice sounds hopeful.

  “It’s not a problem. Seriously.” I try hard to keep the annoyance from my voice.

  “Well, if you insist . . .” She leads me into her apartment, which smells like a mix of old grease and institutional bathroom freshener.

  Her television is on a table in the corner, and she picks up the remote control from her sagging couch to demonstrate how pressing the buttons do nothing.

  “Let me see.” I take the remote from her and try it. When it doesn’t work, I go up to the television and push the “on” button. The screen flickers to life.

  “Oh my. Well, what do you know? The remote must be broken then.” She shakes her head.

  “It probably just needs new batteries. Do you have any?”

  “Well, let’s see . . .” She heads into the kitchen, and I can hear her shuffling around in there for a few minutes. “I don’t think I do,” she calls out.

  “Let me check my apartment.”

  In a few minutes, I’ve replaced the worn-out batteries in her remote, and I leave her on the couch happily flipping through the channels.

  “Don’t be out too late, now,” she warns.

  I smile at her and leave, breathing in a sigh of relief—and fresh air—as soon as I’m outdoors.

  “Wow. You really dressed up for tonight, huh.” Leon raises his eyebrows at me as I get out of my Uber in front of Domingo.

  “Anything for you. You must be Francine!” I turn to his girlfriend and shake her hand. I hate shaking hands. And small talk. And being polite. But I figure I owe Leon, both for the shit he’s done for me as well as the shit he’s going to do. You know, like breaking into The Center.

  “It’s nice to meet you. Leon has told me a lot about you, and you sound, well, really cool.” She blushes a little as she says it, but her eyes are earnest.

  Maybe she’s not so bad after all.

  She’s blond and on the pretty side of average. Nice body. Black dress. I’d think she was just a normal, friendly person, but the intricate octopus design of her Cthulu necklace lets me know she might be just edgy enough for me to really like her.

  “Your date should be here any minute.” Francine looks at her watch and smiles at me.

  “Great.” I grit my teeth and hope they don’t notice.

  “Thea is really excited we set her up.” Leon winks at me.

  “I don’t date,” I confirm.

  “You don’t? Why not?” Sweet Francine’s face is a mask of incomprehension. “But you’re so . . . pretty. Sexy. I bet guys fall all over you!”

  “Dating is such a waste of time. Going to the movies. Having dinner. Accepting flowers or chocolates or other stupid gifts that prove the guy actually knows nothing at all about you so decides to go out and buy something stupid and generic.” I roll my eyes.

  “Leon got me a pack of Pokémon cards on our second date.” Francine grins at him.

  “Leon’s a good guy.” I smile.

  “Oh! Here’s Ben!” Francine waves through the crowd as a guy emerges. He’s an average looking dude in khakis and a button-down shirt. Brown hair. Handsome enough, in a pretty-boy sort of way.

  And he’s holding a bouquet of flowers. Even better? They’re slightly wilted. Fucking awesome.

  “You must be Theadora.” He grins at me.

  “Thea.”

  “Thea. I’m Ben. It’s really great to meet you.” If he’s at all put off by my casual outfit, he doesn’t let on. Instead, he thrusts the flowers at me. “There are for you.”

  “Thanks.” I take them, unsure what to do with them, even less sure what he expects me to do with them when we’re seated at the restaurant.

  Francine laughs silently at me over Ben’s shoulder. Leon shakes his head, already understanding the obvious: this blind date is going nowhere.

  But I can put up with it for one night, and at least I can get a good meal out of it. The hostess seats us, and we order drinks while looking at the menu. Ben and Leon get beers, Francine a glass of sauvignon blanc, and me, whiskey neat, which causes Ben to raise his eyebrows in an interested and slightly impressed way.

  I’m deciding between the salmon and steak when I feel it. The low hum in my brain. It stops, then comes again. Stops, then comes once more. Controlled. Intentional.

  Foster.

  My body tingles and I look up to see him seated at a table across the restaurant, his dark brooding eyes staring hard at me.

  A jolt of electricity passes through my veins, like I’m coming to life after years asleep.

  Without taking his eyes off me, he picks up his wine glass, filled with a dark red, and sips. When he sets down his glass, he tilts his head toward the back of the restaurant, then gets up and heads that same way.

  What the fuck is he doing here? And why the hell is my heart pounding so hard? He can probably hear it from the other end of this place, the blood pumping furiously through my veins. Does he want to hurt me? Or fuck me again? Or both?

  “I’ll be back.” I smile at the people at my table, take a sip of my whiskey, and head down the hallway to the restrooms.

  Nobody’s there. Fancy lettering on two doors indicates which is for men and which is for women, and I’m not sure where Foster is. I’ll check the ladies’ room, just to see if he’s waiting in there.

  Faster than I can comprehend, the women’s restroom door opens, and I’m grasped, pulled, up against the wall in the single-stall bathroom, decorated with paintings of Italian scenery on the walls. Tendrils and vines from real plants hang down from shelves above, giving the room a pleasant feeling, unlike most bathrooms.

  But it’s hard to pay attention to my surroundings when I’m trapped by Foster’s body, my back against the hard wall, my front against his cold, rock solid chest.

  I hold my breath till he shifts slightly, using the opportunity to duck out from under his arm. In a second, I grab both his wrists, bending his arms at the elbows and holding his hands up against his back.

  He struggles, so I wrap one arm around his neck, squeezing hard, choking him.

  “Fuck.” The word is strangled, just like his breath. With one hand, he grabs my wrist from around his neck and peels my arm away.

  I jump away from him and we face off, staring into each
other’s eyes. His are dark. Glinting. Savage. I’ve never felt this way before: like I want to hurt him. Fight him. Overpower him. But also, be taken by him. The two conflicting feelings boil up inside me, passion and anger, my body a mess of hormones and adrenaline.

  I think he feels the same. I think he feels worse. Because he not only wants to hurt me; he wants to kill me. When he takes a step closer to me, I don’t back up. Another step and I hold my ground.

  His arm darts out, so quickly I barely see it, spinning me around so I’m facing away from him, holding both my wrists tight behind my back. It mimics the move I made on him, but unlike before, I don’t fight it.

  In one fast movement he pushes me against the wall, the painted scene of downtown Tuscany. Securing my arms with one hand, he uses the other to brush the hair back from my face and neck.

  His breath is on my skin. Frosty. Minty. I shiver, both from cold and desire. His hard thickness presses into my back as he lowers his head to whisper in my ear.

  “I need you, Thea. I can’t stay away.”

  “Did you follow me tonight?” My voice is low.

  “I could kill that asshole you’re with. I could snap his neck in a second and be gone before anyone even saw me.” One fingertip traces along the sensitive skin under my chin.

  “But you won’t.” I’m not positive that’s true.

  “I won’t.” He kisses my neck.

  I hold still. A statue. I don’t know what he’s going to do, and part of me knows I should fight or flee. He’s dangerous.

  But I refuse to back down. “What do you want, Foster?”

  He growls in response.

  “Right now. Right here. What do you want?”

  “I needed to make sure you were safe. There’s a lot going on.”

  “Or are you jealous?” I tease.

  His hand tightens on my wrists. “Jealous? Of that little prick out there?” But there’s uncertainty in his voice. Just a trace. Enough to let me know he’s not sure about me.

  Good. Because I’m not sure about him either. Not at all.

  “I need to fucking have you right now.” His words rumble against my skin as he lets go of my wrists to reach around me with both hands, undoing my jeans and pushing them down.

  I start to turn, to help him out of his clothes, but he holds me in place. “No. Put your hands on the wall.”

  I do as he says, letting him pull my underwear down.

  It’s hot. And dirty. And fast. My boots are still on, my jeans and panties around my ankles. My hands are on the wall, and he pulls my ass toward him so I’m bending over, spreading my legs as much as possible with my clothes still partially on.

  It’s never been this good. This frantic or exciting.

  Like I’ll die if he stops slamming into me.

  “Fuck,” he whispers, his voice hoarse.

  I agree.

  A knock sounds loudly on the door.

  “Occupied,” I manage to shout, breathless, on the verge of coming.

  Foster’s huge inside me, fucking me up against the wall. He kisses my neck, then bites it, so hard I almost cry out. I’m on the verge of orgasm, and the pain and pleasure and desire and everything else mixed together hits me so hard that, when I come, Foster knows enough to put his hand over my mouth. Otherwise every single person in this restaurant would know what we were doing.

  When we’re done, the knocking on the door is in earnest. “Just a second!” I call out.

  We clean up and pull on our clothes.

  “Those flowers he got you are fucking ugly.” Foster takes my chin in his hand, rubbing my cheek with his thumb.

  “And useless,” I agree.

  “I got you something better.” He gestures to a large shopping bag in the corner.

  I guess I was too busy being well fucked to notice it earlier.

  “What is it?” I grin at him as I head over and open it. A brand-new leather jacket. It smells so fucking good, and it’s hot. Like, the nicest thing I’ve probably ever owned. “Seriously?” I stare at Foster.

  The woman outside knocks again.

  “Seriously. Don’t ruin this one though.” He winks, then grabs me, holding on tight and whispering into my ear. “You open the door. I’ll go out so fast so whoever’s been knocking won’t see me.” All I want is to go with him. To leave this restaurant and the stupid flowers I’ve stashed under the table, and take off into the night.

  I nod.

  When I open the door, the woman waiting smiles. “Sorry! I just really have to go!” she says. She must see the rush of cold fog that’s Foster running quicker than human eyes can sense, because she looks in his direction, then shrugs.

  “It’s all yours.” I head back to the table. How long was I gone? I have no sense of time right now. We could have been fucking for five minutes. Or it could have been half an hour. And I hope nobody can see on my face what I’ve been up to.

  “Everything all right?” Francine looks at me curiously, but Leon and Ben continue their conversation, so I guess nobody else thinks something weird is going on. Or notices I’m wearing a jacket I wasn’t before.

  “Yeah. Have you guys ordered yet?” I pick up my menu again.

  “No. We’re still waiting for the server. Looks like he’s here now!” She grins at the well-dressed young man who’s come to take our orders.

  We sit back to wait for our food, and Ben turns to me, a frown on his face. “What’s on your neck? I think you’re bleeding?” He pushes back some of my hair.

  I reach up to feel wetness, and when I pull my hand away from my skin, there’s a drop of blood on it.

  “Oh. I must have scratched myself.” I shrug and pull my hair forward to cover it up.

  “You know what’s crazy? Two little dots. Like a vampire bit you or something.” Ben laughs at what he thinks is his witty joke.

  Francine rolls her eyes.

  But Leon gives me a look.

  I lift my glass in a silent toast to him, and take a long drink.

  Leon insists on driving me back to my apartment, and Francine waits in the car with him while Ben walks me to my building. And then, despite my protests, up to my apartment. When he goes in for a kiss, I turn my head and lightly push him away. Nope. Not interested.

  As soon as he’s gone, Mrs. Bachman sticks her head out of her door. She must have been watching through the peep hole. “Good girl. Don’t let the boys kiss you right away.” She nods her approval and clucks her tongue.

  “Good night, Mrs. Bachman,” I say.

  “Good night, Theadora.”

  I spend the next few hours on my computer scouring the deep web for information on unusually large numbers of cryptids suddenly appearing in one place. It’s definitely happening here, and I’m still not sure why. Marcus has bounced some theories off me, but none of them completely makes sense. I need more.

  I also suspect Foster knows more than he’s telling me. And for some reason, I think tonight’s adventure with Leon is going to give me some answers.

  Finally around 2:30 a.m. Leon texts me. Pick you up in 10.

  Great, I respond.

  You got some explaining to do. About dinner? Your neck?

  I don’t respond, but sneak outside quietly—so Mrs. Bachman doesn’t hear me—to wait for him. In a few minutes I see the white van from The Center come around the corner and slow down in front of my building.

  “You really should move.” Leon stares at three tough looking thugs on the corner as I buckle in and he pulls away from the curb.

  “Fuck that. I could kick all three of their asses.”

  “True.” He nods as he turns at the corner. “So we’re going to park about two blocks away from The Center. Just in case someone’s watching. I managed to get into the security system, so I can shut down the cameras from my laptop, and the elevators will keep working.” He tips his head backward to gesture to the back seat, where his laptop is aglow.

  “Thanks, Leon.”

  “Yeah.” His voice sounds app
rehensive.

  “You okay?”

  “Wow. You’ve never been concerned about my feelings before.” He opens his eyes wide in mock surprise and glances quickly at me before focusing on the road again.

  “Just worried you’re going to pussy out on me.”

  “You’re an asshole,” he jokes.

  “Damn straight. No. Seriously. You having second thoughts?”

  “Not really.” He shakes his head. “Just . . . I don’t know what we’re going to find. And what fucking can of worms it’s going to open. You know?”

  I know exactly what he’s talking about. But unlike him, unlike almost everyone else I know, I embrace disaster and conflict. It’s what makes life exciting. If I wasn’t doing what I’m doing, I’d probably be a storm chaser or a fire fighter. I can’t imagine working in an office from nine to five every day.

  I check the knife sheathed to my ankle, just to make sure it’s in place. Kind of like a security blanket. “We’ll figure out what to do when we see what’s going on. I just . . . lately Marcus hasn’t seemed genuine.”

  Leon nods, putting on the blinker to turn at the light. It’s funny that even though there are no other cars around, he still uses his signals. “I know what you mean. He’s been really distracted and irritable. He used to be all cool and calm. The past few weeks? I have no idea what he’s thinking.”

  “But you know that what we’re doing tonight could get us in serious trouble. I mean, lose our jobs. Or worse.” I’m not totally sure what I mean by worse. But something feels really off to me.

  “I know it. I kind of have a bad feeling about all this.” Leon sighs. “But we need to do it.” He pulls the car over onto a dark side street and parks, then shuts off the engine. “So. We’re about two blocks from The Center. I’m going to shut down the cameras, and then we’re giving ourselves half an hour to get in and out. Any longer than that and I think we risk getting caught. Or if there’s some sort of alarm that gets sent to Marcus or someone else if the system’s messed up, we can’t spend too long inside. Got it?”

  “Yeah.” I tighten the ponytail holding my hair back, then stick a black baseball cap on my head, pulling my hair through the hole at the back. “I’m ready.”