Ember (Death Collectors, Book 1)

by Jessica Sorensen

  His feet stay planted. “You know he used to talk about you when we’d go out drinking after work.” He leans down in my face, his breath reeking of booze as he whispers in my ear. “He told me your little secret—how you could cause death.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I start to stand again, but he shoves me down and my elbow cracks against the table and the faint scent of his death pollutes my lungs: electricity, chair, people watch, grateful he’s dying. It’s vile and knocks the breath out of me.

  The next thing I know Gary is on the floor clutching his jaw and Asher is standing over him.

  “If you ever touch her again, you won’t be walking out of here alive.” He extends his hand to me and I happily take it. Calmness rushes through me as we swiftly weave through the tables. A group of men push up from the barstools and follow us. Trouble lingers in the air, like a warning before a storm. Some of the men are as weak looking as Gary, but some are large, beefy, and have scars all over their arms and faces, probably old wounds from bar fights.

  People eating dinner at the tables watch us nervously—they smell what’s coming. And so do I. Asher and I speed up as we near the door.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” one of the larger men calls out.

  Asher pauses at the door, deliberating something intensely. Then he slowly turns around. “We are leaving. Do you have a problem with that?”

  A bulky man, sporting leather pants and a vest crosses his arms. “Yeah. You can’t just knock out one of my friends and then walk away without paying the consequences.” He waves his finger at me. “And that one… well, she’s just a downright filthy murderer who gets to walk off easy.”

  “You didn’t even know my dad,” I state. “So shut the hell up.”

  “I’m not talking about your dad,” he growls. “I’m talking about my nephew, Laden Miller.”

  “I had nothing to do with that.” My legs tremble but I refuse to cower back. “I barely knew him.”

  “So you say.” His eyes burn with a loathing so powerful, I want to run. “But you did know your daddy and you probably killed him just like you killed my nephew. I bet you even had somethin’ to do with that girl he was always hangin’ out with. That Farrah girl. Yeah, I bet you killed her too.”

  Asher drops my hand. His muscles are tense as if he’s trying to channel all his anger to stay in his body. He steps toward the man and spreads his arms open. “The next word that comes out of your mouth better be an apology.”

  The man cracks his knuckles and neck. “Or what?”

  I eye the men, who are twice Asher’s size, and then tug on Asher’s sleeve, trying to lure him back. “Asher, I think we should go.”

  Laden’s uncle laughs and the rest of the men join in. “Ooo, little murder girl said it’s time to go. You better listen.” Suddenly, he clocks Asher in the face.

  Asher crumples to the ground, holding his cheek. “Well, that was a cheap shot.”

  “Oh my God.” I hover over Asher. “Are you okay?”

  His grey eyes darken as he starts to stand up. “Stand back,” he warns.

  “Are you being serious?” I ask. “They’ll kill you.”

  “Ember, please stand back,” he says, not looking at me, but at Laden’s uncle with a ravage glint in his eyes. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  I don’t move. From the corner of the bar, Cameron’s dad is watching Asher with fascination as he sips out of a martini glass. Asher stands up and pops his knuckles. With one swing, he knocks Laden’s uncle out.

  “Holy shit,” I breathe, staring down at the unconscious man, his legs and arms sprawled across the floor, and there is a little bit of drool pooling at his lips.

  Then all hell breaks loose.

  The rest of the men charge at full speed. Asher dodges to the side and nudges me out of the way with his elbow. A few men bump into tables, sending people springing from their chairs and plates flying through the air. The whole bar scatters for safety, screaming, and dashing for the front door. The music switches to a heavy metal song and abruptly, the small fight becomes a full-on brawl. I’m not surprised. I’ve seen it happen many times. Men take swings at each other and even a few buffer females get in on the action. Bottles are being smashed over heads and chairs are getting clobbered.

  A tall, lanky man comes strutting up to me with a smirk on his face. “What’s the matter, sweetheart? You scared?” He steps closer and exhales beer breath in my face. His hands touch my waist and I knee him between the legs. Death flashes through me, but it was worth it.

  He collapses to the floor, groaning and clutching his manly parts.

  “Do I look like someone who’d be frightened by a little bar fight?” Shaking my head, I step over him. Phil hurries out of the back room with a baseball bat and his cell phone. “Shit.” I duck through the flying glass and fists. “Asher!” I trip over an unconscious man and glass slices my palms. Keeping my head low, I dash across the room, leaping over chairs and weaving around broken tables.

  Asher is near the back door, exchanging punches with a guy with a bald head and a snake tattoo coiling his upper arm. Asher’s lip is split open and his cheekbone is swollen. He throws jab after jab and his movements are almost inhuman, swifter and stronger.

  I’m impressed and terrified.

  A tall guy with a thick neck sneaks up behind Asher, holding a beer bottle in his hand. I pick a glass cup off the floor and throw it at the guy’s head. It slams him in the forehead, he drops the beer bottle, and falls to the floor like a bag of bricks.

  Asher slams his opponent in the face and blood spurts from his mouth. He repeats the movement over and over again, until the guy passes out.

  Asher breathes violently as he clutches his hands. “I’m sorry, Ember… I just.”

  I grab his hand and lead him toward the backdoor. “Phil’s about to call the cops… I can’t get caught in this mess. I’m already on probation.”

  I shove open the door and we breathe in fresh air. The door slams shut and the noise from the bar fight is suffocated. The back parking lot is secluded from the highway and the sky is black. The lights from the neon signs flash across our faces, making us look ghostly.

  Asher faces me, breathing heavily, his eyes untamed. “I’m sorry, Ember. I didn’t mean for things to get so out of hand.”

  My heart knocks energetically in my chest. I feel alive, high on adrenaline, like I could conquer the world. “It’s okay. Trust me when I say I’m used to bar fights.” I touch the tip of my finger to his bottom lip. “You cut your lip open.” I wipe the blood away and I start to pull my hand back. But he covers it with his and presses it against his lips. He kisses my palm and his eyes penetrate me, making me feel exposed. Our breaths quicken, in sync and matching each other’s desire.

  “Can I kiss you?” he whispers with begging eyes.

  I nod my head once and his lips crash into mine.

  My first kiss. And it’s as beautiful and exciting as everyone makes it out to be.

  Maybe even better.

  He covers my lips with his, quickly, like how he moved during the fight. But his touch is gentle. My skin ignites with heat and I wrap my hands around his waist. My lips part and his tongue slides in. He caresses the roof of my mouth with his tongue ring and I let out a moan.

  He withdraws slightly, and I worry he’s repulsed by my enjoyment. But then he growls, wraps his fingers around my thighs, and picks me up. I enclose my legs around his waist as he continues to taste every inch of my mouth and backs us against the wall, beneath the shadows and florescent lights. There’s no space remaining between our bodies and I can feel every inch of him. His kisses bring me a feeling of ecstasy for the first time in my life.

  His hands are tangled in my hair. They trail down my neck, finally settling on my hips. He slips a hand up the back of my shirt and the contact sends a jolt of electricity down my spine. He holds onto me like I’m his lifeline, as if letting me go will kill him.

 
“I’ve wanted to kiss you forever.” He groans against my lips and steals my breath away. It’s like we’ve unleashed a hungry animal in each of us. But the sound of the sirens makes him pull back, although it looks like he doesn’t want to. His eyes are as black as coals and his lips are swollen.

  “We should get out of here,” he whispers, looking like he might kiss me again.

  I nod and untangle my legs from his waist. Holding hands, we sneak around the side of the building and quickly hop into the car. Red and blue lights flash through the dark parking lot and cops hop out of squad cars. A swarm of people are barreling out the front door, distracting the cops enough for us to drive off into the night unnoticed.

  From the corner of my eye, I watch Asher. He meets my eyes and gives me this look that makes me wonder what he could possibly want to show me.

  “Now where are we going?” I ask, buckling my seat belt.

  He smiles and winks at me. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

  I lean back in the seat and watch the trees blur by, feeling alive and carefree for the first time in my life. I wish I had a pen so I could write about this moment and preserve it forever. Then I could remember what it felt like when it vanishes.

  Chapter 11

  We drive along the highway, making small chitchat about the fight. Asher doesn’t ask questions about what was said. When he looks at me, it feels like he’s really looking at me, instead of at the girl who was brought in to the police station for the suspicion of her dad’s disappearance.

  Asher finally turns off the main road and parks his car in a gravel turnout overlooking the lake. He turns the car off and dabs the cut on his lip with the collar of his shirt.

  “You know, this whole night really didn’t turn out how I was planning it,” he says.

  The lake shimmers and the moon reflects against the surface, the water rippling a dance against the breeze. The mountains are black and the trees dark silhouettes.

  “How were you planning it to go?” I ask.

  He puts the parking brake on. “A little less bar fighting and a lot more making out in the back of the bar.”

  I look at him to see if he’s being serious. He stares at me with hunger in his eyes. I touch my lips. “How did you learn to fight like that?”

  His jaw tenses. “My dad taught me.”

  “Yeah, mine too,” I mumble, lowering my hand from my lips.

  He relaxes a little. “Yeah, I saw you knee that guy… You didn’t so much as hesitate.”

  “Hesitation shows weakness.” I sigh. “At least that’s what my dad used to say. He was a do-or-die kind of guy.” I pause. “I didn’t kill him.”

  “I know.” His voice and gaze is rock steady.

  “So you don’t believe the rumors at school?”

  He shakes his head and a wisp of his inky black hair falls into his eyes. He leans over and tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. “Come on, there’s something I want to show you.” He grabs a flashlight out of the glove box and hops out of the car.

  I climb out and meet him at the front of the car. We walk down a dirt path, holding hands. It’s pitch dark and he lights the way with the beam of the flashlight. An owl hoots from in a tree and the crickets’ melody haunts the night. It’s strange but peaceful knowing we’re the only two out here and that we are sharing a private moment no one else can ever touch.

  Asher unexpectedly makes a sharp veer off the path into the trees. The leaves and twigs crunch under our shoes as we hike deeper into the woods.

  “Where are we going?” I whisper, forcing my eyes to adjust to the night. The branches form eerie shadows above our heads and the soft swish of the lake’s waves whisper in my ears.

  He shoves a branch aside and lets me walk through first. “There’s something out here I want to show you.”

  “What? A roll of tape and a shovel,” I say sarcastically.

  He spots the flashlight on my face. “Am I scaring you?”

  I shake my head. “I think it would take a hell of a lot more than a creepy walk in the forest with a really hot guy to scare me.”

  “You think I’m hot, huh?” It’s nearly pitch black, but I hear the smile in his voice.

  I roll my eyes, playing off my slipup. “So what’s really—”

  He silences me with his lips crushing into mine. We melt together, steaming up the woods as he presses his body against mine. His fingers find my waist and I wonder if it’s possible to stay like this forever, in the darkness of the woods, away from the world and death.

  He pulls back, breathing ravenously. “You’re beautiful, you know that? Especially when you’re embarrassed.”

  “I don’t get embarrassed,” I assure him. “Only uncomfortable.”

  We finish the rest of the walk holding hands and taking in the serenity of each other’s company. We finally emerge out of the trees and onto a flat spot of land. Asher sweeps the light across the area, highlighting a stone statue of an angel with wings pointing at the sky and its head and back is curled toward the earth. Surrounding it are small wooden crosses staked in the ground, covered with vines of rose bushes.

  “How did you know this was here?” I roam through the tiny cemetery, feeling as though I’m stepping on forbidden territory. “And does anyone else know it’s back here?”

  “My father took me here when I was younger.” He watches me with the flashlight in his hand. “And I don’t think anyone else knows it exists.”

  “How’d your father know about it?” I stare up at the angel statue.

  “His father showed it to him.” He spotlights an engraving on the foot of the statue.

  I read it aloud, “To guard the Earth from the wrath of death, we must use vigilance. For those we seek to guard could destroy us and themselves.”

  “Do you know what it means?” I run my fingers along the elaborate lettering. “It feels like I’ve heard it before.”

  His mouth moves next my ear. “Some people believe that angels are the guardians of humans’ deaths. However, most humans have a general fear of anything involving death. They have the potential to destroy themselves and their protectors. A long time ago people used to slay anyone they suspected were Angels of Death.”

  “Did they have black-winged feathers,” I half joke, but am half serious, thinking of all the feathers I’ve come across during my life.

  “Are you speaking of Laden’s crime scene?” Asher asks gravely. “Or of something else?”

  “You know about the feathers on Laden’s crime scene?”

  “Everyone knows about the crime scene.”

  I unintentionally bump a cross with my boot. “Do you know it was almost exactly like my dad’s crime scene?”

  He places a hand on my hip and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Yeah, I heard that.”

  Silence capes us as my memories drift back to the night my dad disappeared; the panic that led to my stupid decision to run away and who ran away with me.

  “Do you know that some people believe that angels exist?” he asks. “And that they walk in disguise, looking for the Grim Angel who will save them?”

  “That’s not too hard to believe, I guess. I mean, there are a ton of strange things in this world.” Like me. I lean back against his chest, breathing in his proximity. “But what’s the wrath of death?”

  His fingers coast up my forearm and my stomach quivers with desire. “The Grim Reaper,” he whispers and I’m slapped back to reality.

  I jolt away, stepping on a cross. I quickly pick it up and stab it back into the moist dirt.

  “What’s wrong?” Asher asks. “Did I say something that makes you uneasy? Because if I did, you can tell me.”

  It’s like he knows. I gaze up at the statue and then at the crosses in the ground around it. “No… it’s just getting late. I should probably get home.”

  He nods, not pushing me to tell him. “Yeah, we can go back.”

  As we backtrack through the trees, I think about the Grim Reaper. In my head, I pictur
e walking inside my house and he’s waiting for me on the couch with a cup of tea, like we’re old friends. But I’m too old to be seeing imaginary people.

  “Do you think that… do I come off as a little crazy?” I ask.

  We edge along the turnout and he pulls me close so I can see the genuine expression on his face. “I think there are a lot of people that are considered insane, but they just see and go through more than the average person can understand.” He kisses me on the forehead and I breathe in the warmth and silence of his lips.