I place the beers down on the table and quickly manuver my body around the table, shoving one of the beefy looking dudes out of my way, and plaster myself to Livvies side whilst wrapping my arm around her shoulders protectively and maybe a little bit possessively, pulling her into my chest.
I cast each guy a look that quite clearly says ‘she’s mine, fuck off’ because my jealousy knows no bounds, as I’m now learning, but not one of them even flinches or moves along, seeing as though each of their eyes remain firmly planted on Livvie. With a glare at each of them, I ask “Can I help you guys?”
“No, but I’m sure Bolivia can,” remarks the guy directly in front of her, his intense eyes never straying from her face when he speaks.
With a face displaying nothing but shock, my head whips around to Livvie so fast that I’m surprised it doesn’t spin right off my shoulders. She sits on her stool, her eyes so large that I’d laugh if the situation were actually funny, her mouth hanging open wide enough to fit a truck. Hoping to hell and back that the answer is no, I ask, “Babe, do you know these guys?”
With her mouth still practically touching the floor and eyes larger than dinner plates, she shakes her head in the negative formation. Internally, I sigh with relief, relief that doesn’t last lost when a sinking feeling in my gut tells me that something is wrong, seeing as though this guy knows her full first name. Ignoring the uneasy feeling that’s slowly spreading through my body, I turn to face the guy who spoke.
“Well, that answers that. I don’t know who the fuck you are, where you came from, or how you know Livvie’s name, but you need to back away and leave her alone” I reply, deadly intent lacing my words, the thought of Livvie in danger putting me on the defensive.
“We’re not going anywhere, mate,” says the guy standing to the right of Livvie. A smirk stretches across his face as he speaks, his eyes glued to my girl, like he can’t look away from her, “seeing as though our little witch here is the one who summoned us.”
My entire body turns to stone. Summoned us? What the..
I take a closer look at our unwanted guests and dread fills me from head to toe.
Oh, no. Oh no, oh no, oh no.
My eyes widen the second it dawns on me who, or more likely what, I’m looking at. A shiver runs up my spine when I realise I currently stare at three full fledged demons. My head whips back around to face Livvie in shock. She summoned demons? The fuck is going on? Does she know what she is?
Livvie looks at me, her eyebrows drawn in confusion, and says, “I’ve no idea what the shit is going on right now.”
I look over her face carefully and her extremely expressive eyes confirm she’s telling the truth. She really is just as confused as I am right now. The demon I shoved out of my way breaks the tense silence.
“See, it seems our little Livvie here found a Grimoire..” he says with a grin as big as a cheshire cat, allowing his sentence to trail off.
With my eyes still firmly planted on Livvie’s face, I see exactly when a certain realisation hits her; her eyes widen more than they had before, and she slowly turns her head away from me tosurvey the men around us. She doesn’t say anything for a few minutes until she looks at me and whispers two simple words that cement the growing anxiety that she’s done something she probably shouldn’t have.
“No way..”
CHAPTER SIX
Livvie
This is a joke, right? Like a birthday prank? Surely me reading from some a janky old book can’t be that big of a deal. And summoning people, what’s that about? Seriously, are these guys on drugs or something? This might qualify as the lamest Halloween prank in the history of Halloween pranks. I mean, come on, these three incredibly hot weirdos just stride up to me, almost as if on a mission, and the only one to speak is the scariest of the bunch when he asks “you summoned us, little witch?” And then Rylan just happens to reach the table seconds later?
Suuuure. Okay.
I shake myself out of my stupor as my common sense returns and logic starts to sink in. I manufactured the events of last night in my head, my imagination going wild due to the copious amount alcohol I consumed. Books don’t glow, wind doesn’t just whoosh past people in an attic that has no way of creating a breeze. Nothing happened. They’re playing me. That’s the only possible explanation because it can’t be anything else. It simply can’t.
My heart beat slows down to a normal beat now that I’m convinced this is a prank and nothing more. I turn to look at the three strangers who still surround me. Each one is pretty darn good looking, I must admit. I’m talking panty dropping, perspiration inducing, fanny flutters kind of hot. Damn, where did Ry find these guys?
The scary one that stood in front of me, his hair looked as dark as night, and he had eyes to match. When the strobe light hits his face just right, I can tell his eyes are actually the colour of dark chocolate. As I examine him, I become ensnared in his gaze, those intense eyes captivate me, and I struggle to release myself from his spell. He has a sharp, chiseled jaw, a slightly crooked nose and the fullest lips that capture my focus for a little longer than appropriate. He’s tall, like, super tall, so much so that my neck strains looking at him, even though the stool I’m sat on actually gives me a little more height than my small five foot five frame. The tight black t-shirt he wears highlights the defined muscles beneath it, and sleeves of tattoos decorate both of his arms, snaking up under his tee.
The guy to my left wears his auburn hair in a trendy style: shaved on the sides, and I’m assuming the back, and remains long on the top, brushed back and held out of his face with the help of gel. He seems to carry a little less muscle mass than Buff Dude in front of me, but he’s still super toned with an athlete’s body. His grey long sleeved, tight fitted, button down shirt shows off the muscles in his arms, and I’m certain I see very defined abs through the body hugging shirt. He pale green eyes seem to twinkle with mischief and perhaps a hint of provocation. His cheekbones are high enough to make a woman weep, and a smattering of freckles covers the bridge of a nose that sports a gold hooped piercing in his right nostril. His lips form a natural pout with his lower lip fuller than his top, though they’re currently shaping into a knowing, flirty smirk. Embarrassment brings a flush to my cheeks when I realize that smirk is directed at me because he caught me staring.. again.
The third hot specimen of a man on my right of me is no less handsome than the other two. He has a mop of ashy blonde hair that has the disheveled but sexy ‘woke up like this’ look that only certain guys can pull off. His smile is blinding, rows of perfectly straight teeth gleaming when he grins. He embodies the boy next door vibe down to perfection, a plain white shirt covering what looks to be another set of impressive muscles and dark denim jeans. A scar marrs his right eyebrow that does nothing to take away from his appeal. Long, black lashes frame stunning sky blue eyes, light enough they almost look grey. The way he leans on the table right next to me brings attention to the half sleeve tattoo on his left arm that runs from his wrist to his elbow.
These men are nothing short of sexy as sin. Ry really pulled out all the stops with this one. Alas, though I’m not the smartest person in the world, I’m not missing quite that many marbles, so all in all, I personally think I’m pretty quick to catch on to what’s going on here.
I swivel in my chair to turn and look at Rylan with the most unimpressed look I can muster, telling him, “This has got to be your worst joke yet, Muffin.”
I ignore the stunned look that covers his face and twirl my chair back around to face the hotties that privy to this joke.
“How much is he paying you for this prank?” I ask them, letting them know they’re not fooling me and can quit with the act now. All three look at one another with what looks to be confusion. Whether it’s genuine or not beats me, but they’re putting on a damn good show, that’s for sure.
“Liv, this isn’t my doing,” Rylan whispers in my ear once he’s apparently over the shock of me catching on to his joke.
After a few moments of silence, other than the thumping music blasting from the speakers at the back of the club, I spin back around. Low and behold, the hotties still stand exactly where I left them. My eyes are questioning when I see they haven’t moved, not even an inch away from where they’d first crowded me. If anything, it looks as though Buff Dude has moved somewhat closer.
Rylan shuffles a little closer to me, leans down and whispers, “Buttercup, this isn’t a joke. This is pretty serious stuff.”
I look at his face, not finding a single drop of humor his expression. My resolve wavers. It has to be a joke. This doesn’t make sense anymore. I start to question myself when his face remains a lot more serious than I’ve ever seen him before.
“I don’t understand. If you’re embarrassed that your joke didn’t go to plan, you don’t need to be. It was a good effort,” I contend with a laugh that borders on hysterical.
“Babe, I swear to you, this is not a joke. I’ll even pinky swear if it will get you to believe me,” he replies, moving his fisted hand towards me with his pinky stuck out, waiting for me to return the gesture. It’s not until I do that a sick feeling unfurls in my stomach, and a cold chill runs down my back.
I twist my chair around, my pinky finger still entwined with Rylan’s, putting me in an awkward position with my left arm braced across my chest. I look at each of the guys in front of me before I ask, “So.. who in the fresh hell are you guys?”
“Funny choice of words, sweetheart, because we just so happen to be the demons you summoned last night,” says Buff Dude, leaning ever so slightly closer to me so I can hear him over the pounding bass that thrums all around us.
I stare at him in stunned silence. Did he actually believe that? Demons don’t exist. They can’t exist. Right? And last night? Nooo. That’s not what I did.. Right?
I look at Rylan again, noting that it feels like I’m watching an intense game of tennis with the way my head keeps shifting back and forth to look between Ry and the hotties. His features twist, a variety of emotions playing out over his face, but it seems panic and worry remain the most prominent. It’s his expression that finally penetrates through my denial and causes a knot to form in the pit of my gut as uncertainty rises within me. My breathing begins to quicken in pace, and my heart pounds a little harder.
“Demons are real?” I whisper, but the hottie to my right somehow hears me and replies.
“As real as the hair on your head, honey,” he responds with an easy smile.
“And this isn’t a joke? Like, there’s no cameras or some shit placed strategically around the club?” My denial truly knows no bounds. I’m dragging this out a little longer, wanting, nay, hoping to high heaven that this isn’t real.
“This is real, love. No one is playing a joke on you here,” says the copper headed hottie, the smirk sliding off his face, hopefully coming to realize that this entire situation is totally not smirk worthy.
It’s then that I finally accept that the events last night really happened. Everything that went down in the attic was real. The glowing book, the random gust of wind, the book’s glow changing colour. It was all real.
Oh shit.
It was all real.
My eyes widen, and I slap a hand across my mouth to muffle the squeak I’m hoping no one heard. My slow on the uptake brain coming to realize that this existed outside of my head head, and I’ve done something really bad.
I screwed up. Like, not a minor fuck up. It’s not like locking my keys in my car and having to get Rylan to let me back in my house. Ooooh no, I might have fucked up in true Livvie style. I’m talking King Kong level botch up, right here. This is a fuck up of epic proportions.
Based on the look Rylan’s shooting me, I’m going to take that affirmation of me the magnitude of said screw up. An accidental one, might I add.
“Bolivia, what the hell have you done?” Rylan worries, his face looking a little a little ashen. Him using my full name serves as an even bigger indicator of the seriousness of our situation, and it really shakes me, considering he hasn’t used it since the first day we met, and I break out in a cold sweat.
I sit gaping at Rylan with wide eyes and an open mouth, shell-shocked at the thought of these buff, mighty fine looking guys are actually demons I summoned. I try to speak, but find I’m still incapable of forming words at the moment
“Babe, you need to snap out of it and tell me exactly what you did,” Rylan demands, panic starting to infiltrate his words.
“I think I need air,” I mutter, jumping off my stool and shoving my way past Buff Dude and Guy Next Door. I battle my way through the throngs of people that now crowd the club, all dancing and having a great time, clueless to the fact my world view was just drastically altered. I begin to shove people aside in my desperate bid to get outside, to the fresh air to fill my constricting lungs.
I make it outside in record time, briskly walking to the alley that’s next to the club. I inhale a lungful of air but before I even get the chance to exhale, I’m shoved none too gently against the grimy brick wall of the club.
My breath leaves me with an ‘oomph’, and my head knocks against the wall with a sickening thud. My eyesight becomes blurry, bright spots flashing like rave lights in my vision. A high pitched ringing sounds in my ears, and my head is nothing but a fuzzy mess, a painful throb pulsing where my head connected with the concrete wall.
It takes me longer than I care to admit to realise I’m being held against the wall by an unknown assailant. A thick arm presses me hard up against the wall, braced under my chin so that my toes only skim the ground.
My vision remains blurry from the blow to my head, making my life incredibly difficult right now, and I’m unable to see anything more than the black, shadowy figure of my attacker. He stands far too close for comfort, the smell of dirt and rot wafting off him in waves. The stench and the bastard pushing harder on my already wounded windpipe causes me to gag painfully. The bright lights in my vision quickly morph to black dots the more pressure the perpetrator continues to put on my throat. Dizziness starts to creep in and unconsciousness beckons when easily inhaling oxygen becomes a thing of the past.
“Where is it, little witch?” the gravelly voice of the stranger demands, making it clear that I’m being attacked by a very nasty smelling male. His voice grates on my pounding skull, and his foul breath bathes my face and fills my nostrils. My gagging gets worse as the smell of death and decay becomes stronger the closer the thing moves closer to my face. What the stranger fails to realise is that I can’t very well answer or ask him what the actual fuck he’s talking about with his arm restricting air flow and limiting my ability to speak.
Seeming to clue into my dilemma, he eases the pressure on my throat by pulling back a little and asks again, “Where is it?”
“Where’s what, you fucking psycho?” I croak through coughs and gasps for the breaths I’ve been denied.
“You know good and well what I’m talking about, you little bitch. I want it, and I want it now. Tell me where it is,” he growls through heavy breathes, not aiding me in my quest to prevent any vomit surging up from the bellows of my stomach with stench that comes from his mouth.
Swallowing down the bile that rose despite my efforts, I choke out, “Look, I’ve no idea what you’re talking ab-”
My sentence is cut off abruptly when the dick pushes hard against my neck again, cutting off my blessed oxygen supply for a second time tonight. Before I completely lose my grasp on my consciousness, the arm that’s pinning me to the wall moves, and in a blink I’m thrown on to the grubby cement floor, water seeping through my costume thanks to the puddles left after the rain.
My attacker is fucking fast, a fact I realise when I don’t get the chance to ev
en attempt to run from him before he’s straddling my waist with his bony hands circling my neck. His skeletal like fingers squeeze tight, repeating the process of choking me once again.
“You’re going to give it to me, little witch” he growls, his voice gravelly enough that it grates my senses and makes me flinch awkwardly in his grasp. His unyielding hold grows tighter if possible, and the black spots make their appearance quicker than before, the flimsy hold on my consciousness slipping through my fingers faster and faster.
Before the bastard can literally choke the life out of me, he’s sailing through the air before crashing into the wall at the end of the alley. He lands in a heap of mangled limbs on the ground, an arm sticking out of the pile at an angle no arm should bend.
My rescuer runs towards me, noticing my coughing, spluttering, and general inability to catch my breath depite the sudden burst of oxygen that hit my lungs after my attacker went soaring to his doom. He starts rubbing my back when my coughing drones on for a moment longer.
I realise it’s Rylan who saved me from Shit Breath when his soothing voice penetrates the fog in my head, muttering soothing platitudes, “It’s okay, babe. You’re alright.”
“What the fuck was that?” I manage to rasp through my coughing fit, my throat feeling like I’ve swallowed sandpaper.
“We’ll talk about it when we’re home, Liv, I promise. We need to get you out of here, though” he assures me, his voice calm but with a hint of urgency I’m sure he’s trying to hide.
Before I can even form a response, someone picks me up bridal style and rushes over to a sleek looking Range Rover Sport. I’m deposited into the backseat where the blonde headed hottie from the club sits next to me. I’m gently scooted to the middle of the seat, and I turn my head to see the copper headed hottie climbing up next to me before closing the car door. So he’s the one that manhandled me.
Wicked Tales Anthology Page 28