A Taste of Love and Evil

by Barbara Monajem

  Damn! She needed to get him away from the cart so Jack could get inside the van. “All right, then.” She led him around the back and opened the double doors, scanning the dress dummy and the plastic tubs of fabric, relieved that they concealed the rear of the entire bench seat. Quick, Jack, get inside! “Just put it there. I appreciate it.”

  Stevie was already way too turned on. He stowed the suitcase and said, “Gimme a thank-you kiss, baby.”

  “No way!” Rose made a show of rearranging bum rolls and a bundle of steel hoops to make room for the other suitcase. Not a sound came from the luggage cart except Jack’s soft, slow breathing. Why didn’t he get on with it?

  Meanwhile, Stevie was breathing down her neck. She elbowed him away. “I meant what I said. Beat it.”

  “Not till you give me what I want.” He pressed his firm body with its correspondingly firm erection against her butt.

  “Beat it, creep.” Rose shoved backward, but Stevie didn’t budge. Neither did Jack. Get in the van, you fool!

  The thug nuzzled her neck. “You’re so hot, baby.”

  “Stevie,” piped up the girl in the SUV, “my grandma won’t want to hear about this.”

  “Shut up, Juma.” The thug’s nasty mitt crawled toward Rose’s breast.

  Rose knocked it away and squirmed aside. “In a parking lot? You’re out of your mind.” He was, of course. That’s what her allure did to guys, but it was her own fault he’d gotten so hot so fast. She’d gradually become better at controlling her allure, but anger always made it stronger, and she was still way too pissed off at Jack.

  Stevie grabbed her arm. “Plenty of room in your van, if you don’t like an audience. Come on, honey, you know you want me. I’m irresistible.”

  No, I am. And the longer he stayed this close, the stronger his need would grow and the harder it would be to fight him off.

  “I’ll tell your mama on you, Stevie!” Juma yelled.

  Rose twisted her head to avoid the thug’s attempts to kiss her, barely keeping her fangs at bay. “Let me go, or you’ll regret it.”

  “I need you.” He’d reached the desperate stage, and because Rose was listening for Jack, her concentration was off, so before she got her knee anywhere near Stevie’s nuts, he had her plastered against the back of the van. “You can’t say no to me now.”

  Finally, finally she heard movement from the luggage cart, and then Juma, bless her, hit the horn in the SUV over and over and over again.

  “Shut the fuck up, Juma,” Stevie roared, his fly already open, ripping at Rose’s shorts.

  “I’m warning you,” Rose panted, writhing away from his groping hand. Her fangs slotted down. “Get off me, or I’ll tear you to pieces.”

  But Stevie was blinded by lust and didn’t hear, didn’t see what was coming next.

  Fortunately, Random Jack did. “Don’t,” he said to her. His fist connected right below Stevie’s ear. The tough landed with a thud on the tarmac.

  The girl in the SUV hooted and hollered. “Nice one, dude. Where’d you spring from?”

  “Thank you,” Rose said furiously, pulling her shorts together. “If you’d gotten into the van when you were supposed to, it wouldn’t have come to this.”

  “If you hadn’t insisted on wearing next to nothing,” Jack retorted, “he wouldn’t have attacked you.” He took hold of one of Stevie’s arms. Rose grabbed the other, and together they dragged Stevie’s unconscious body onto the grassy verge of the parking lot behind the SUV.

  “That is so unfair of you,” Rose said.

  Jack didn’t reply. He removed a small pistol from inside Stevie’s jacket, stuffed it into the waist of his jeans, and led the way to the open side of the van. He grabbed the smaller suitcase with his good arm and slung it into the van.

  “Hey!” Juma called. “What about me?”

  “I was distracting him to protect you,” Rose said. She hung the garment bag inside the van, then separated the bodice and skirt and hung them as well. “I would have fended him off just fine if you hadn’t waited and waited and waited until it was too late.”

  “Right.” Jack rolled his eyes. He tossed the tackle box into the van.

  “You are the rudest, most obnoxious, most ungrateful criminal I have ever met in my entire life.”

  “I’m not a criminal. You are.”

  Rose gaped. “I certainly am not!”

  Jack took the mantle off the cart. “What about this?” He hung it up and motioned to the gown. “And this?”

  Rose flushed. “I—It’s none of your business. If you’re not a criminal, why are those thugs after you?” She slid the side door shut.

  “Hey!” Juma pounded the horn in the SUV. “Come back here! Help! Help!”

  “I don’t know.” Jack slammed the back doors as well and sent the luggage cart along the curb. “What the hell is wrong with that girl?”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?” Rose said, but Jack was already at the SUV.

  “Stop screeching,” he told Juma, and then said softly, “Jesus Christ.”

  Juma yanked on the handcuffs that attached her to the steering wheel.

  “Don’t do that!” The tall, redheaded woman looked over the guy’s shoulder. She had a kind face. “You’re bleeding.”

  “Where are the keys?” the guy asked.

  Juma told him. “In the pocket of Stevie’s jeans.”

  The guy went around the back of the car.

  “Thanks for all the honking and hollering,” the woman said. “I’m Rose, by the way. Was he saving you for later?”

  Juma shuddered. “Stevie and me? God, no. He just didn’t want me to get away.”

  “No kidding. What does he want with you, then?”

  “He’s taking me home. Back to hairdressing hell,” Juma said. Oh, crap. Why had she blurted out the truth? They’d never go for anything so lame.

  The guy returned, jangling the keys, and opened the car door. “How old are you?”

  “Eighteen.” Reflex; it was what she always said. Another mistake.

  The guy had harsh eyes. Nothing else about him jumped out at you, but those eyes were like weapons. “No, you’re not,” he said flatly.

  No point bullshitting this dude, especially since he had the handcuff keys. “Oh, all right, I’m sixteen. What difference does it make? I can leave home if I want.”

  He unlocked the cuffs. “Just don’t lie to me.” Then he and Rose said in unison, “You’d better come with me.” They stared at one another for a long, weird second or two, and then Rose took Juma’s suitcase and backpack while the guy ripped a cable and a couple of belts out from under the hood and locked the keys inside the SUV.

  “Where are you going?” Juma asked.

  “Bayou Gavotte,” Rose said. “Does that work for you?”

  “Sure,” Juma said. “That’s great. Thanks.” It couldn’t possibly be that simple, but she’d take what she could get. She settled into the passenger seat of the van, a tacky yellow piece of junk she’d normally never be seen dead in. Never mind that Stevie lived in Bayou Gavotte now; he wouldn’t expect her to be there, and anything was better than being dragged back home to the boonies. She took the tissue Rose held out and cleaned the blood off her wrist.

  “You’re going to leave Stevie lying on the ground?” Rose said.

  “Why not?” The guy sounded slow now, as if he were drunk or on drugs.

  “Jack, lie down on the bench seat.” Rose stuffed the reddish gold embroidered cloak and the fabulous costume with the snake on the sleeve inside a big canvas bag to make room for him. “You need to rest, and you’re probably dehydrated.” She gave him a bottle of apple juice and a pillow, slammed the side door shut again, and came around to the driver’s door.

  “Does he have the flu or something?” Juma asked.

  “Or something.” Rose backed the van out and took off through the parking lot just as an elderly couple trundled out the side door with their suitcases, headed for the white Lincoln. Her eyes
flicked to the rearview mirror as she wheeled the van hard right toward the exit. “Shit.”

  Immediately, Jack sat up. “What?”

  “Lie down,” Rose said again. “You’ll be useless if you don’t rest. I can take care of things.”

  “I need to know what things you’re taking care of,” Jack said.

  Rose huffed. “The white car a few spaces from the SUV is parked nose out. When the people who own it go around the back to open the trunk, they’ll see Stevie. People notice bright yellow vans. If they saw me driving away, they might connect us with him.” She blew out a breath. “I hope they get him medical care.”

  Juma couldn’t believe it. “Even though he tried to rape you?”

  Rose hunched a shoulder. “He didn’t succeed.”

  “That doesn’t make it right,” Juma said. “Plus, he handcuffed me to the steering wheel.”

  “That burns me up a lot more than him messing with me.” Rose accelerated along the on-ramp and hit the interstate. “It’s too cold to leave someone lying unconscious on the ground.”

  “He deserves it,” Jack said, and lay back down with the pillow over his head.

  “I agree,” Juma said. “You’re way too softhearted.” And therefore easier to suck up to. “But thank you so much for rescuing me. I really mean it.”

  “Sure.” After a pause, Rose said brightly, “Tell me about hairdressing hell.”

  Me and my big mouth. But Rose seemed safe enough, and nice, apart from her grooming. Juma could forgive her unpolished nails, but as for the way she’d yanked her ponytail back into place…Ugh. Split ends, too, and her clothes were classic Wal-Mart. Still, something about Rose felt reassuring.

  “It’s boring.” Juma grimaced. “Tell me about that amazing costume in the back.”

  Rose started, frowning. “What about it?”

  “It’s gorgeous, like out of Shakespeare in Love. The snake on the sleeve is awesome!”

  Rose had an absolutely lovely smile. “It’s a replica of one worn by Elizabeth the First.”

  “The Rainbow Portrait,” Jack said.

  Rose glanced at him over her shoulder, a tiny crease between her eyebrows, then faced the road again. “That’s right.”

  “Elizabeth as Astraea, the celestial virgin, aka Lady Justice,” Jack said. “The serpent represents wisdom.”

  Rose said nothing.

  “Are you going to make the headdress, too?” he went on. “And the wings?”

  “Yes,” Rose said, her tone clipped.

  Juma gaped. “You made it? Whoa!”

  “I make period costumes for a living,” Rose said. “I’m delivering it to a customer in Bayou Gavotte.”

  “How fabulous,” Juma said. “I love history.” My big mouth again. But Rose was cool, eyes on the road, and in spite of the hair and clothing, she didn’t look like she thought education was a waste of time. Jack must have loved school, to remember such obscure stuff.

  Juma leaned back, wondering what she would do when they reached Bayou Gavotte. Stevie had found her a week after she’d run away to New Orleans, a month ago. He’d found her at a friend’s place in Baton Rouge at three o’clock this morning after only one day away from home. Sooner or later he would find her again. When he did, he’d be more pissed off than ever. Not that she was all that worried about Stevie. He might tattle, but he wouldn’t hurt her, because he was more scared of Grandma than she was.

  Juma slid her hand into her jacket pocket and caressed the book of poetry her dad had given her for her birthday. Dad slipped her the coolest books, and Grandma hadn’t found this one yet. Time to start memorizing it, because…

  No. She would not let Grandma find her. She’d get to keep her books from now on.

  “About hairdressing hell. Besides boring.” Rose showed nothing but kindly interest, but so did a lot of adults—and then they betrayed you.

  Still, Juma had to tell her something. “My grandmother wants me to go to beauty school and be a hairdresser like her. I refuse. End of story.”

  “She sent a hit man to bring you home because you won’t be a hairdresser?”

  With a truth freak in the back, Juma couldn’t risk a lie, but if she told the whole truth, they wouldn’t believe it. Nobody ever did. It was much easier for people to peg Juma as the delinquent child of druggies, and Grandma as the feisty old lady doing her best to help her poor, screwed-up granddaughter. Fortunately, Stevie’s behavior today made part of the truth credible.

  “Grandma will do whatever it takes to get me back. Ste-vie wants to get in good with Biff, so—”

  “Hold on a sec,” Rose said. “Who’s Biff?”

  “The man with the silver Caddy. He called Stevie this morning and had him detour to steal a Jeep at that hotel.”

  Jack cussed and swung upright again. “That was my Jeep! Where is it?” His eyes drilled into Juma.

  “I don’t know. Jeez, don’t look at me like that! I didn’t steal it. He left me in the SUV.”

  “Shall we go look for the Jeep?” Rose sounded eager. “It won’t take long. There’s an exit less than a mile away.”

  Panic filled Juma’s gorge. “No! It’ll take forever to get away again. Stevie drove the Jeep into a ditch.”

  Wrong move. Even without looking at him, Juma felt Jack seeing right through her. “Didn’t I tell you not to lie?” he said.

  “I don’t want to go back there!” Juma cried. “You said you’d take me to Bayou Gavotte. What if Stevie gets me again?”

  “Can’t you see she’s upset?” Rose said. “She doesn’t know whom to trust!”

  “Stevie’s sick of coming to get me. He’s really mad at me this time.” And Grandma will be even worse. Juma squeezed her fists tight and held her breath. Please!

  “I can’t afford to waste my time on liars,” Jack said.

  “I can’t afford to waste my time on jerks,” Rose said. “Sometimes there’s no choice.”

  “There’s always a choice,” Jack said.

  Idiots, bickering about philosophy while her life was at stake. Juma sucked in another desperate lungful of hope. “What if those old people saw us drive away and called the cops? What if the bad guys find us?”

  Jack said nothing. Rose slowed the van. “Juma, I won’t let Stevie get you. We’re almost at the exit, Jack. Make up your mind.”

  “No,” Jack said. “Too risky, and I think he’s disabled the Jeep. The solenoid wire lying on the rear seat of his SUV must have been mine.”

  Juma let her breath out with a whoosh. “Yeah, Stevie threw it in there.”

  “See,” Jack said in a patronizing voice, “you didn’t need to lie. I’ll get the Jeep later.”

  Rose gunned the van back up to speed, and Juma relaxed.

  Not for long. “Tell me what you know about Biff,” Jack ordered.

  Juma put on a cooperative face. “He’s somebody important in Bayou Gavotte. Stevie’s a bouncer at the Threshold.”

  Jack cussed under his breath.

  Juma smiled to herself. Stevie would never take her near the Threshold, but Jack didn’t need to know that. “Stevie says Biff is his ticket to big things in the underworld.” She snickered. “Not if Biff has any brains.”

  Rose slewed her head around. “Underworld?”

  “The organization that controls the clubs in Bayou Gavotte,” Jack said. “Go on, Juma.”

  “I’ve heard of those clubs.” Rose winked at Juma. “Kinky stuff, right? And vampire clubs, like Blood and Velvet.”

  Juma grinned. “It’s the coolest vampire club in the world!”

  “You’ve been to Blood and Velvet?” Jack’s voice dripped disapproval. What a party pooper.

  “Of course not,” Juma said in her best Sunday-school voice. “I’m underage. A guy I know had his canine teeth filed to points so he could work the bar, and one of my girlfriends swears she’ll go there the second she’s eighteen to look for a real vampire. Her absolute favorite fantasy is doing it with a vamp.” Before Jack had a chance to bu
tt in, she said, “Grandma says it’s a good thing they’re just superstition, because if they were real they’d be evil—but I think vampires would be cool!”

  “Definitely cool,” Rose said. Juma waited for Jack to start sermonizing, but he said nothing, and then Rose said, “Who makes up the underworld? The local mob?”

  “No,” Jack said irritably. “They’re a group of vigilantes who make sure their rules are followed and the clubs prosper.”

  “Sounds to me like the mob,” Rose said.

  “They’re not the mob,” Jack retorted. “There is no mob in Bayou Gavotte. The underworld punishes people who don’t follow the rules, even makes them disappear sometimes, but they don’t profit from it except in a general way, in that they keep the town safe for tourists and clubbers in general.”

  For a truth freak, this seemed a lot like splitting hairs. Not that Juma had any objection to Bayou Gavotte, her favorite place in the world.

  “What do the cops think of the underworld?” Rose asked.

  “As long as the underworld works quietly, the cops are grateful for their existence,” Jack said. “Ten years ago the place was chaos. Underage kids got into the clubs and got hurt, tourists weren’t safe in the streets, and enrollment at Hellebore University had fallen catastrophically. Now the club owners do their damnedest to keep the kids out, the crime rate is spectacularly low, consenting adults can experiment with bizarre sex in whatever degree of safety—or danger—they choose, and Bayou Gavotte is known as a center of the arts.”

  Yes! And I’ll go to college there if it kills me.

  “All because the underworld can do what the cops, strapped by legalities, can’t.” Jack shrugged. “Is it right? I don’t know. But it’s effective. What else, Juma?”

  “Nothing, except Biff was mad because Stevie made him miss his hit. Wait, was that you?” She swiveled. “You don’t look hurt.”

  “The bullet barely touched me,” Jack said. After a pause: “Rose patched me up. Where did Biff go?”

  “Back inside the hotel to look for you once the cops were gone. They took his Caddy, but he didn’t seem to care. I bet it was stolen. Why are they after you?”