by Louisa Bacio
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A Duel with Death
Copyright © 2014 by Louisa Bacio
ISBN: 978-1-61333-711-0
Cover art by Tibbs Designs
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC
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Also by Louisa Bacio
A Date with Death
A Dance with Death
A Duel with Death
A 1Night Stand Story
By
Louisa Bacio
~DEDICATION~
Special thanks to Sabrina Sol and Christina Alexandra for helping to get the language right, and to my editor Valerie Mann for making this story as good as possible.
Prologue
Opaque red smoke clogged the air, like when he stared into a light for too long and then shut his eyes. A dull green glowed from the bedside clock. Johnny drew in air, choking on the stagnant taste that resembled the thin remnants drifting when one blows out a candle, except amplified a thousand times.
A laugh resounded and he turned in a circle, seeking the source. He squinted, making out a dark shape in one corner. The shadow shifted, moving closer, and cold fear seeped into his heart.
“What do you want?” he called out.
The darkness shifted, moving above him, clinging to the ceiling. “Everything you hold dear.” Tight hands enveloped his throat and he strained to break free. Heat brushed against his cheek, his ear. “I shall take the one you love.”
Johnny broke free and struggled back from the threatening figure. The red. The heat. Am I in Hell? “Who are you? The devil?”
More laughter. “Personify me any way you want. I am what you fear. I am Death, and I shall have her.”
It paralyzed him. Johnny fought against unseen forces. He needed to move. To stop Death from coming. Invisible ties bound his arms, his legs, wrapped around his body.
“No!” he screamed, coming awake. Sweat-dampened sheets twisted around his limbs and he tossed them off, terror pounding through his veins. He fumbled with the bedside light until its glow cast the shadows from the room.
What a fucked-up dream. A nightmare like he hadn’t had in a long time. And an echo of the threat lingered.
I shall take the one you love.
Good thing he wasn’t in love, let alone dating anybody, or else he’d really be freaked out. How the hell did one fight against Death?
Chapter One
“Yes, I’m just a güera.” Carmen Sanchez pulled back her shaggy blonde hair and inspected the red splotches marking her pale complexion. “I’m the only Mexican who burns.”
That was an exaggeration, but after being told the same thing by her abuela, her mamá’s mother, Mamá herself, and all of her cousins during her entire twenty-seven years on earth, she’d come to believe it. Forget about those of mixed African-American and Caucasian heritage “passing” for white to gain their freedom in years past. Carmen squeezed into a niche made uncomfortable with racial jokes about illegal immigrants and undocumented workers while growing up in San Diego. Mean-spirited hypocrites cackled and cracked jokes around her about illegals, thinking it was safe. Either she said something and risked making everyone uncomfortable and lost her job, or she held her tongue and fumed.
If they knew the truth.
In her family, women were married by her age. Her nineteen-year-old cousin had gotten knocked up a few months ago and already sported a ring on her finger. Carmen, on the other hand, had a college degree in accounting and her CPA license. She didn’t care for touchy-feely nonsense. She liked numbers—simple, pure. If laid out right, they wouldn’t change. Or lie.
She’d had enough of untruths. Of holding back. Of living a life not hers. What she had left, she wanted to be authentic. The odds depended upon how one looked at the situation. She could calculate numbers until the sunset and the weekend were over, but she’d done everything possible to beat the statistics. For the next twenty-four hours, she wanted to forget.
Maybe she should leave her hair short rather than trying to grow it out again. After securing the mess in a headband, she jabbed at the wall switch and turned off the overhead light.
Carmen doubted it could be possible, but at that point, what did she have to lose? Her girlfriend had given her a card for a dating service, 1Night Stand, for women like her. Madame Evangeline, the owner, promised a night to remember, with a man who fulfilled every wish. Doctors didn’t have the cure for everything.
***
When Johnny had agreed to oversee the family business in Dana Point, he’d taken the position on a temporary basis. A few months shifted into three years and he’d settled into the laid-back atmosphere. He enjoyed walking the grounds overlooking the great expanse of the Pacific Ocean, its shades of blue stretching as far as one could see. Every now and then a sailboat floated by, and the gray-shadowed shapes of migrating whales. He couldn’t imagine moving anywhere else, and getting trapped—land-locked.
At first, the Castillo Resort at Dana Point Cliffs had acted as an escape from reality and a place for him to mend his heart. Now, the exclusive resort had transformed into a haven. He helped satisfy the fantasies of others. He watched love kindle over and over, and his own desire grew. No, he didn’t want to leave the home that he’d created, but he did want to share it with someone special.
Busy running the resort, he didn’t get out to meet new people often, and he hesitated to date anyone on staff. What if the relationship went bad? He wouldn’t want to bring negativity to the sanctuary he’d created. Not that there were any prospects his age at the hotel. But he needed to release some of his pent-up energy. He might not be able to find love, but with the gig she had going at 1Night Stand, she could match-make like no other.
He’d witnessed several re
lationships begin—Reece and his fiancée, Maise, who had been snatched from death’s door. Raul and Isabella—one needed to believe in ghosts and miracles for that one. Even his hardened heart had softened a touch after each couple left the hotel holding hands.
The corridor opened to the hotel lobby and Johnny trailed his fingertips along the textured wallpaper. The light scratching noise sent shivers of awareness through him. He slipped one of the business cards with the dating service deets into his suit pocket and headed to his private office.
At his desk, he fingered the cream-colored card. Had he ever thought he’d come to this point? Making a date for a one-night stand? There wasn’t anything wrong with it, and his cousin, Jackson, still sang the praises of Madame Evangeline, especially after his rendezvous and resulting marriage with Leah. Johnny shut his eyes and rested his head in his palms. Locks of hair hung over his face. He’d put off getting a haircut. It had gotten unruly in the past two months, but he hadn’t felt like taking the time to go to a barber.
His cell chimed from a new text. It was his buddy Rod. Hey, ladykiller, you hitting the bars with us?
Not tonight. Thanks for asking.
Just about every weekend, Rod asked, and Johnny turned him down. When he’d been known to hit the bars, women sent drinks and phone numbers. The fun of the pickups stopped after Sheila blew through his life.
What a ball-busting, confidence-shaking bitch. True, his mamá had taught him much better than to refer to women by that word. But even she didn’t have a kind word to say about Sheila. And Sheila had been gone more than three years. He’d learned. He’d moved on. He was ready to live again.
But he wasn’t into the bar scene anymore. He wanted something different. Taking a deep breath, he sent a text message to 1Night Stand.
Madame Eve responded without hesitation. Hello, Johnny, I’ve been waiting to hear from you.
His stomach did a loop-de-loop. Anticipation? Am I doing the right thing? No way could she respond that quickly, could she? Maybe she was trying to throw him off.
I think I’m ready. What do I need to do?
Within seconds, she replied, I knew you would come around sooner rather than later, and I think I have the perfect date for you.
***
With the ocean on one side of the highway, and dry, grass-covered hills on the other, the drive up the I-5 was difficult without getting too distracted. Fortunately, or unfortunately, the slow traffic made safety not much of an issue.
Nearing Dana Point, Carmen exited onto Pacific Coast Highway. The scent of salt and ocean floated in through the open car window. An abundance of colorful and overgrown flowers greeted her in the resort’s parking lot. She slung her overnight bag on her shoulder, and headed for the check-in desk. Empty. Easy-listening music played over a speaker system, but no one stood behind the counter.
“Hello? Is anyone here?” She walked around the lobby, taken aback by the lack of staff. Where was everyone?
Upon returning to the counter, she held her hand over the bell, hesitated then pressed down with a quick, one-two-three ding. The sound echoed, hopefully calling out to whoever was in charge of getting her registered.
A red envelope with Carmen written in caps on the front sat on the counter and caught her attention. Had she overlooked it the entire time? She glanced around to see if she’d somehow missed someone then picked it up. She slit open the back and out fell a key card and a note indicating she go up the stairs behind the desk, to the third floor.
Chapter Two
Johnny’s penthouse oasis sparkled with fresh flowers and various accessories found in the highest-end hotel rooms. Champagne cooled on ice and Housekeeping had laid out crystal flutes and a tray of cheese and crackers. The apartment smelled like a Mediterranean paradise, with lemon chicken warming in the oven and tabouli in the fridge. Johnny stood in the foyer, taking a mental inventory of preparations for the night. Am I ready for this? On a physical level, yes. Mentally, he’d better suck it up.
He couldn’t think about a long-term relationship after his past experiences. And it wasn’t like he had a lot of close role models to learn from.
His parents had been a mess. His dad had taken off before Johnny turned four, and his mom had poor taste in men. She swayed toward the strong, silent, stereotypical Latino types who spoke with their fists rather than their mouths. As the child from the other guy, Johnny didn’t fare well in the household. He had his cousins and the family resorts as escapes.
The day after turning eighteen, he’d packed and moved out of the house. His mother had stood in the doorway crying, while his most-recent stepfather helped carry Johnny’s few possessions out to his 2006 canary-yellow Mustang. George slapped him on the back, a little too hard. Johnny had fisted his hands, fingernails cutting into his palms, and taken the abuse for the last time.
In a way, he was proud he’d never resorted to fighting back. Once he’d left, he never looked back. On the other hand, he wished he’d knocked the asshole flat.
He swore not to get caught in all that machismo bullshit and stayed away from dating Latina women. Their tempers burned too hot, and he’d seen the drama his mamá created. He shook his head, clearing the images of flying dishes and screamed curses. He’d never understood the duality. How could a mother be so loving and so crazy in love?
The same drama had plagued his relationship with Sheila. He’d stayed with her longer than he should have. The yelling matches had fueled some fiery action between the sheets though. But even that had grown old, and Sheila wandered away for another challenge.
No more loco women for him. Sane may be boring, but he was more than ready for a lack of surprises.
An electronic beeping sounded from the front door. His guest? She’d arrived an hour early, maybe to get ready for their big night. He looked down at his khaki shorts and black T-shirt. Damn. Not his usual wardrobe, but he’d been in setting-up mode and had thought he still had time to shower. Smiling, he pushed his wayward hair back, wishing he’d gotten that haircut after all.
“Mierda,” Carmen muttered, pushing the heavy door. Three flights of stairs and she shouldn’t be wheezing. She had been working out again, but still, when she strained to open a door, something wasn’t right.
“Welcome to the Castillo Resort at Dana Point Cliffs,” a man standing right inside the room said.
She screamed, dropped her bag, and let the door go. It ran over her big toe, which brought out another squeal. Hopping on one foot, she did a small circle dance, walking off the pain. “Who are you?”
“Sorry for scaring you. I’m Johnny.” He gestured with his right hand, with a flourish and twist of his wrist. “Making sure everything was ready for your arrival.”
Dark hair hung over his eyes, and she checked out the muscles on his arms and legs. ¡Ay, caramba! Nothing like a tight shirt to show off broad shoulders. What a fine specimen of man. Too bad her date might not be that handsome. Maybe she should lock the door and keep this guy for the night.
She fished into her purse, trying to find some loose dollars for a tip without appearing too obvious. Some of the anger from not being greeted downstairs dispersed. He’d probably dashed upstairs to make sure everything was in order for her stay.
“I appreciate the personal welcome,” she said, holding out a five-dollar bill. “Everything looks lovely.”
The man stood looking at her outstretched hand with the money and then blinked a few times. “Excuse me, there’s some type of confusion. I’m the manager, and your date.”
“Oh.” Carmen gasped, opening her hand. They watched the bill float to the floor.
Heat spread across her face. How embarrassing. She shouldn’t have assumed. But what else was she supposed to think? Great first impression. No wonder she didn’t go out much. She lacked finesse interacting with the opposite sex. And with her history and appearance, she hadn’t expected to be set up with a Latin god…in shorts.
“Not what you were expecting, eh?” Johnny had to admit
his pride stung more than a little bit. He was used to charming the ladies, and the one standing in front of him acted shocked at being matched with the “help.”
Too far beneath her?
It looked like she’d tried to tame her blonde hair back in a band, but loose strands hung around her too-pale face. True, he tended to date white women, but this one appeared to never get out in the sun ever. Accountant. Less than an hour outside, and she’d be burnt to a crisp. A far cry from his own olive-toned skin. All he did on the beach was get darker.
He bent down, retrieved the five bucks, and handed it back to her. “I figure I haven’t done anything yet to earn that tip,” he said with a wink. “But maybe by the end of the night.”
Carmen’s cheeks turned a brighter shade of red. Serves her right.
“Now, it’s my turn to say I’m sorry. In your picture, you had short hair and wore a business suit…well, you look much different than in real life.”
“Gotcha. Sorry to disappoint,” he said. “Can I help you with your bag?”
“No worries. I’ve got it.” She hefted the bag onto her shoulder, and swayed sideways. It had to weigh as much as she. Carmen was so slight, one good gust of wind could knock her over. That girl needs some meat on her bones and some sun on her skin, Mamá’s voice said in his head. This time, he agreed with her.
“The bedroom’s back here.” Johnny walked without checking to see if she followed. “I cleared a spot for you in the walk-in closet—top drawer. If you don’t mind, I’m going to jump in the shower to rinse off. Why don’t you unpack? Dinner should be ready in about half an hour, and I have some wine open in the kitchen.”
In the bathroom, he leaned against the counter, taking a moment to calm down. It had been too long since he’d been out with someone new. No matter how much he’d talked himself up, he’d lost his mojo. Sure, he may be in the business of service. But all he could manage was, may I take your bag? No wonder she’d thought he was just an employee.