The Midnight Club

by Love, Michelle

  Inca tried not to smile. “You are very sweet, Hunter. But I have Boomer.”

  He looked at her in the eye. “Dog ain’t no protection against a knife or a bullet.”

  Inca swallowed. He had a point. “Hunter, I know everyone on the peninsula. Who’d come over from the mainland just to … there’s a lot of other people between me and … after all.” She smiled and pointed out the window. “The next land that way is Japan. I’m okay. I promise.”

  “Olly would want me to look out for you.”

  “I know, and don’t think I don’t appreciate you. I do. You’re my family, Hunter; don’t ever forget that. I’m sorry about earlier. I promise I will be more careful. I’ll keep Boomer in the house and keep the door locked. I won’t answer the door after dark unless I know the person. Is that okay?” Inca got up to get him another beer and to pour herself a glass of milk.

  “Not all bad people are strangers.” Hunter muttered and she turned, frowning. Hunter looked away from her, down into his drink. She sat down again.

  “Hunter, who are you talking about?”

  He didn’t answer, but Inca had already guessed.

  “Hunter, are you talking about Tommaso?”

  He nodded. She leaned over and grabbed his hand, squeezing it.

  “Hunter, why would Tommaso want to hurt me?”

  “I don’t trust him.”

  Inca gave a frustrated laugh. “Have you been talking to Olly?”

  “Olly’s a good man. Smart guy. I’ve seen him watching you.”

  “You’ve seen Olly watching me?”

  “No. Him. Tommaso. He watches you. He’s said things.”

  “What things, Hunter?”

  Hunter flushed, shifted in his chair. He didn’t look her in the eye. “Says he could have you if he wanted you.”

  Inca laughed. “Hunter … he and I are seeing each other. He knows it’s not serious.”

  Hunter’s voice was small. “I don’t think so.”

  Inca didn’t know what to say. “I’m sure you’re wrong, Hunter. He doesn’t mean any harm. He’s a nice guy.”

  Boomer started barking again and Hunter was up. He yanked the door open, keeping Boomer from running out. He passed the dog to Inca and ran out.

  “Keep him in; lock the door. Don’t open it again, even for me.”

  Inca did as she was told and went to the window. Hunter’s torch bobbed into the darkness and disappeared. She sat at the kitchen table, waiting for some news or for Hunter to call through the door. Just before midnight, she couldn’t keep her eyes open and crawled into bed. She glanced at her phone just as she saw Hunter text her to say all was well. Inca smiled, hugged Boomer to her, and fell asleep.

  At home, Olly showered quickly and dressed. He’d enjoyed his run that morning with the fresh cold Washington air in his lungs. His smile soon faded when the familiar scene of police tape and CSI officers filled the screen. Another murder. This time in her home.

  “Jesus Christ.” He tried to think back over the serial killings in the US over the last few years - The Milwaukee North Side Stranglings between ’86 and’04; Anthony Kirkland’s campaign in Cincinnati in the late 00’s; the California Bride Murders in 2014. Something about that last one snagged at something in his memory. He flicked on his laptop and waited for the browser to load. He turned the television up as he waited.

  “Victim was stabbed repeatedly in the abdomen and, reports say, disemboweled.”

  Olly felt the usual nausea rise in his throat. He tapped Bride Murders in California into the search engine and hit return. A sense of familiarity made the hairs on his neck stand up.

  How the hell had he not seen this before?

  The victims, all stabbed to death, almost eviscerated. Over three days in San Francisco, Bakersfield, and Fresno, the killings had been famous not only for their savagery but for the killer’s audaciousness. All three women were killed whilst trying on wedding dresses—in the dressing rooms of the boutiques. No-one saw anything. Olly gave a choked laugh.

  How is that even possible?

  But it wasn’t even that which made him shake his head and wonder just what the hell kind of monster they were looking for. The women. The dead women. Their pictures would haunt him. The beautiful faces of Kelly Cho, Zyang Mha, and Melissa Tang stared out at him from the screen, every one of them reminding him of his tiny brunette ex-girlfriend.

  “How’s things going, missy?” Tyler smiled down at her. And how is the boyfriend?”

  Inca saw Tommaso look up, his interest piqued. They were all gathered in Levi’s restaurant for his partner’s birthday and Inca had invited Tommaso as her plus one. So far, she’d introduced him to her father, Tyler, her friends, and now he was chatting with Scarlett. Olly joined Tyler and Inca, casting suspicious glances at Tommaso. Inca ignored him and turned to Tyler.

  “It’s good. I mean, we’re all just getting to know each other. It takes time. Sometimes it can be rocky but … we’re getting there.”

  There was a long silence. Inca sighed.

  “Just say what you want to, guys,” she said, shooting a glance over to Tommaso at the bar. “But keep your voices down.”

  Tyler grimaced slightly. “I don’t know about that one,” he said, his deep, soulful voice low. “Seems to me, you need to watch him. There’s something … off.”

  Olly raised his glass slightly. “Exactly what I think.” Inca looked back and forth between them. Both were people she would trust with her life.

  “Listen,” she said softly, “I agree he’s not like us—how could he be? But I get the feeling … oh, I don’t know, that there’s more to his story than he’s told me. I don’t think he had an easy time of it.” Inca rolled her shoulders, suddenly tense.

  “People deserve second chances,” she said quietly. Her eyes glistened and she felt suddenly very weary. Tyler put his arm around her shoulders.

  “You always try and see the best in people, Inca, honey, and I love that about you. I just hope, in the end, your faith is served. I would hate to see you disappointed … or hurt.”

  She leaned into him gratefully, wishing for the millionth time that Tyler was her real father. He was the nearest thing she’d ever had. Olly’s face was set and thoughtful. He leaned over to her.

  “Inca, not now, but we need to have a talk. Please. For my peace of mind.”

  “It’s not your job to protect me,” she whispered back. “As much as I’m grateful for you trying.”

  He grinned. “Actually, it is my job. Just a chat. Nothing heavy, I promise’

  “Come by the Sakura next week.”

  “Just let me know when.” She nodded and he gave her a reassuring smile. She picked up her glass and looked over at Tommaso. He caught her eye and she smiled back, trying to see in his expression any spite, any malice.

  There was none. Instead his eyes were full of concern, of truth. She rubbed her hand over eyes.

  “Olly, Tommaso is not dangerous. You have nothing to be worried about, although I thank you for your concern. I’m a grown woman. I decide what’s good for me.” She felt bad for her snippiness then. “Truly. You cannot imagine how happy I am that you are in my life. So thankful. But Tommaso and I are having fun getting to know each other. Please, find it in your heart to be happy for me.”

  Olly kissed her cheek. “I would never try to stop any happiness of yours, Ink. I meant it when I said you’ll always be my best friend.”

  “You too, buddy.”

  Raffaelo had fallen into a routine. He would rise at five a.m., take a run along the town’s roads and beaches, shower, shave, and dress. At a quarter of noon, he would drive down to Main Street, sliding his rental car into one of the few spots outside the Sakura. Then he would take up his spot at the counter of the teahouse and talk with his brother’s girl. He liked the routine; it was clean, reassuring, controlled. Inca didn’t seem to mind his regular appearance and even, it seemed to him, made an effort to make him feel … welcome. There was that word again,
so very alien to him. Welcome. No-one screaming at him, no-one banishing him.

  And, to his utter astonishment, he liked Inca too. For a woman, she was bright, funny, and a good conversationalist without being … chatty, gossipy. When the conversation fell silent, she didn’t rush to fill it, at least, not anymore, now that she’d become more comfortable in his presence. And he took pleasure in watching her, her slim yet softly rounded body, that glorious honeyed skin. On her sweet face, even now at twenty-eight, vestiges of puppy fat remained, making her look at least five years younger.

  He kept most of his visits from Tommaso. He didn’t want his brother to think he was making a move on his girl. They’d had that particular problem before, back in Italy, with Perdita. Raffaelo felt the familiar pain flash through him. Perdita had been his girlfriend, his one true love before she’d cheated on him with Tommaso. Tommaso had been guilt-ridden, begging Raff for forgiveness which he had given to him—finally. But Perdita was lost to him; he never saw her again.

  So now he trod carefully. He never wanted Tommaso to feel that pain, not from him. And Inca was special; Raffaelo could tell. She was different. Tommaso had always been the playboy, the man-whore—despite what their respective reputations said—but now Raff saw a real change in his brother. He was falling in love with Inca.

  Raffaelo would do anything to protect that. Anything.

  “Well, why not?”

  Tommaso’s question, abrupt, irritated, took her aback. The expression on his face was something else. Anger.

  Inca swallowed, remembering Hunter’s warning. “I’m sorry, Tommaso. I need to do some paperwork and I need some time alone. I did tell you I was busy until tomorrow.”

  She turned away from him, reaching for the coffee pot. When she turned, he was standing right beside her. She started, and the pot smashed to the floor.

  “Jesus, Tommaso!’

  He held his hands up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you, I was just coming to help.”

  “Lift a coffee pot?” She was aware her tone was snippy. She crouched down and started to pick the pieces of glass up. He didn’t bend to help, nor did he move. As she stood to put the glass into the trash, she was aware of the closeness of his body, and that he was watching her. Her skin prickled, and she didn’t bother to hide her discomfort. Even in the soft warmth of the teahouse, she shivered.

  “Are you okay?”

  She didn’t answer him.

  “I’ve offended you.” His tone was amused.

  Inca wasn’t impressed.

  “No, Tommaso, you just startled me. It’s fine.”

  “Well, clearly not. I’ll leave you alone.”

  He stalked out, leaving Inca to gape after him. Had that actually just happened? Where was the fun-loving, good-time man she had spent last night with? It was like he’d been body-swapped with someone else.

  She was still upset later when Olly came to see her and asked her to sit down with him. She closed the teahouse for a while and braced herself.

  “We have the DNA results, sweetheart. I’m afraid my hunch was correct. The murder victim was your biological mother.”

  Emotions she didn’t understand rushed through her and she gave a little moan of distress. Tears came then, and Olly held her while she cried. “I’m so sorry, Inca.”

  “I don’t know why I’m crying,” she said eventually, wiping her eyes, “I never knew her. But even so, I hate to think this happened to her. God.”

  Olly nodded, his eyes serious. “And, sweetheart, it makes it more likely that the murders are tied to you in some way. Inca, listen, whatever you tell me now is strictly, and I mean, completely, between you and me. I won’t tell a soul, but I get the feeling you’re hiding something.”

  Inca stared at him for a long moment, then closed her eyes. Olly took her hand.

  “Inca … is there anyone who might want to cause you harm? Anyone?”

  Slowly, Inca nodded. God, she really didn’t want to have this conversation.

  Please, God, don’t let it be him …

  “Yes. There is, Olly. There’s someone who would want to kill me … but I don’t know how the hell he found me. I don’t know how …”

  Olly leaned forward, his face almost contorted with fear. “God, Inca, who? Who is it?”

  Tears began to pour down her face again. “Olly, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry …”

  “Who? Who is it?”

  Inca took a deep breath in and looked at him, her dark eyes full of misery. “My husband. It’s my husband who wants to kill me …”

  To Be Continued!

  This Story will be published around mid-Janauary. Thank you for reading

  End of Part One.

  To Be Continued

  JEALOUSY (A Bad Boy Romance Thriller)

  Bonus Story

  By Michelle Love

  New love is found, and so is a jealousy that threatens to destroy it.

  I left my tiny hometown and all its trappings behind me. Then a familiar face entered the bar I work in and dragged me right back to where I’d began…

  Eternal bachelorhood was my plan. Love the women, then leave them wanting more.

  Rainy Matthews, my kid sister’s childhood friend, wasn’t a part of the plan at all.

  From the moment I laid eyes on her, my body and mind were in constant conflict. My mind told me she was off limits, not to be hurt by my philandering ways. My body told me I wanted her. I wanted her moaning as she surrendered herself to the mercy of my cock.

  But someone else was set on making sure Rainy was a short-lived fling and nothing more than that. Jealousy intervened, and I had no idea if either of us would survive …

  Bastien Breden was a bad boy from my hometown. I’d been warned to steer clear of the man who was a love ’em and leave ’em kind of person …

  Only problem was, my will was waning where he was concerned. I wanted to feel him dominating and devouring me, and I could tell he was fighting a battle within himself over the same thing.

  When we both stopped playing and things got real, something blossomed in us both.

  Something someone sought to extinguish, leaving us with no idea of which would win out in the end, love or jealousy …

  Sebastien

  Zigzagging through early evening traffic, I test my new car, an electric blue Rezvani Beast Alpha, to see what she can do. She’s the first expensive thing I’ve bought myself since I took on this job as a bouncer in a prestigious nightclub in Los Angeles a year ago.

  Most bouncers don’t make the kind of cash I do. Then again, most bouncers don’t work for the mafia and can keep their mouths shut about the things that go down in the club aptly named The Fortress.

  Just last week, ten thousand dollars was placed in my palm when I shook the hand of a man who’d tossed another guy into the trunk of his car just as I stepped out the back door to grab a breath of fresh air. I didn’t say a word, and neither did he. It was business, and none of it was mine.

  Turning my head proved to be a hell of a lot easier than I ever imagined it’d be.

  With the Pacific Ocean to my left, I can see the last remnants of the sun as it melts into the dark waves. The view on my way to work never gets old. I don’t see this job or town growing stagnant the way my old job and hometown did.

  One can only be a grease monkey for just so long in the one-horse town of Greensburg, Indiana, I come from. I ran through the few dozen women in the town, and the money was getting me nowhere. I lived in a dump down the street from my family. They’re the only things I miss about home.

  Not a damn thing else!

  One night I packed all my clothes in an old duffle bag, got into my 1989 Ford truck, and headed west. I didn’t know where I was going, but I was getting the hell out of that go-nowhere town.

  The fifteen hundred bucks that was all I had in my wallet when I left was about to run out when I came into Los Angeles, California. As luck would have it, my first stop was at a lit up nightclub with its name blaz
ing in purple letters, beckoning me to go inside and have a drink.

  Just as I walked inside the double doors, a man was making some trouble for the bartender. Not one to butt in, I took a seat at the bar and waited for the guys to finish their argument before I troubled the bartender with my order.

  But things changed in a flash of silver when the guy, not two feet away from me, pulled a knife and was about to send it flying through the air, right at the bartender’s head. Well, I couldn’t have that at all. I did need a drink, and there didn’t seem to be anyone around who was trying to help the poor guy.

  So I grabbed the asshole who was between me and a cold beer. Quickly, I took the knife away and led him to the door by the scruff of his steroid-swollen neck, then tossed him out with a warning not to come back or I’d hand his ass to him.

  Well, the gent had to try me, so I did what I said I’d do, and was hired on the spot as a bouncer when I came back to the bar and ordered my then much-needed ice cold brew.

  It was a little while before I realized the mafia owned the bar and kept themselves out of the public eye in a secret room in the back. When I was moved up in rank, I took on shifts back there too, keeping the elite group of men, their families, and esteemed guests safe from harm and becoming a staple in the nightclub.

  Not many people are here, I can see, as I pull into the large parking lot. The place gets packed on weekend nights. It’s Friday, and I expect a rowdy crowd as they blow off steam from a long week of work, school, or whatever has them needing to get out of their heads for a while.

  Parking in the back, I see a few of the regular chicks are inside. The men who own the club would rather their families come here other than anywhere else. To them all, it’s much safer to stay where people can protect their families.

  Locking up my car, I head to the back door and find Rosalita Pena stepping out of it. She’s a friend of one of the mafia giants who own the club. A secret friend that his wife knows nothing about. “Hey, girl.”