Charissa Dufour - Misguided Allies (The Void Series Book 2)

by Unknown

  Sam continued on into Heywood’s house, barely giving Breena a nod of recognition as she continued her circle of thoughts. She hauled herself up the steps and into her room, collapsing on her bed to stare up at the ceiling. She turned the theories over in her mind again and again, ignoring the rumbling of her stomach as the hours ticked by. Sometime in the afternoon, she drifted off to sleep, the problem still unsolved.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sam woke to a rough shake. She blinked the crust and sleep from her eyes.

  “What time is it?” she croaked, feeling thoroughly disoriented.

  “Seven in the evening,” informed Heywood.

  Her days and nights were completely flip-flopped. Her stomach growled angrily, reminding her that it had suffering from her lack of a schedule. She ignored her stomach, ready to put on her most angry glare directed at her boss when Heywood spoke.

  “Why do you smell like blood?” he demanded, glancing down toward her feet.

  Sam looked down, realizing she had fallen asleep with her boots on. They were hanging off the bed, just as they had been when she had collapsed on the bed earlier in the day, and no doubt were stained with the blood from the slaughterhouse—both cow and fae.

  “There was another murder. A couple actually.”

  “A couple?” he repeated as he stepped back, giving her some space.

  “Four… five.”

  “Which is it? Four or five murders?” he demanded, his voice darkening with his annoyance.

  Sam blinked, her brain working slowly as she struggled to wake up. Her system was struggling without the normalcy of a job to steady her schedule.

  “There were at least four fae murdered at the slaughter house, but they weren’t sure exactly how many until they went through all the packages in the freezer. On top of that, the construction crew unearthed a decomposing body from within a concrete wall of a building that was constructed a year and a half ago. It was a busy day.”

  Heywood slumped back against her dresser, the movement jostling the few items she had on top until they tumbled over.

  “I guess so.”

  Sam just nodded before she ran her hands through her greasy hair. It really was getting too long. Much longer and she would be able to get it back into something like a ponytail—well, a pony-stub.

  “Any conclusions drawn from the murder scenes?”

  “Nothing from the construction site, other than that the corpse didn’t have a head. It was nowhere to be found. The body was so old that even the investigators couldn’t tell whether it was human or mystic. Until they ID the body, we won’t know anything, and we won’t know anything anyway ‘cause we won’t get that information. I can’t go back to Carl to dig that up. He’s cut me off.”

  “Interesting,” murmured Heywood, more to himself than to Sam.

  She ignored him.

  “The murders of the fae were much more enlightening.”

  “More vampire bite marks.”

  Sam nodded. “Yes, but I’m now almost positive it isn’t a vampire doing this, or at least not led by a fae. They may have one working for them or under their control, but it’s not a group of vampires doing this.”

  “Why do you say that?” he asked, crossing his arms over his faded black t-shirt.

  “You should have seen it,” Sam said, rubbing her eyes as fresh visions of the bodies hanging from the meat hooks invaded her senses.

  Once again she could smell the fresh corpses and feel her boots stick to the floor, even though she knew she was sitting safely on her bed. She bent down to unlace her boots and kick them off. She needed to shower. Sam glanced down at her body, suddenly realizing she had collapsed onto the bloody floor after taking the power of the fae mob and some of the blood had dried in her hair and along her shoulder. She could only imagine what she looked like.

  Sam felt her stomach prepare to heave. She clamped her lips shut and willed herself into composure. She didn’t have anything to throw up anyway.

  “The bodies were staged,” she finally said through clenched teeth. “Like cattle going through the processes. It was designed to get a response from the FMB.”

  “So we should expect some visitors.”

  No sooner were the words out of his mouth than they heard the front door bang open, followed by shouts. Sam and Heywood froze, waiting for their uninvited guests to reach them. Sam mentally berated herself for not showering the minute she returned from the crime scene. She would be spending a month of Sundays in Solitary, if she wasn’t accused of the murders that is.

  “I’m covered in gore,” she hissed at Heywood.

  “Idiot. Why didn’t you shower when you got home?” he demanded.

  Sam shrugged helpfully.

  “We gotta get you outta here.”

  Within seconds, the door to her room burst open to reveal a fed, once again pointing his gun in their faces. Heywood moved in a blur of motion, knocking the gun out of the feds hands. Sam ducked, keeping her movement mostly heading toward the door. A shot rang out and plaster dust rained down on their heads as the bullet traveled into the ceiling. Sam ducked again out of reflex, banging her knee into the metal frame of her bed.

  She hissed with the pain, but kept moving, hoping to slip past the struggling group of bodies. Two other vampires, their hands already zip-tied behind their backs, had joined the fray upon seeing their leader attack the humans. The zip-ties were of a higher grade than what the average human could buy at the store and kept the vampires at a disadvantage. All the same, their sharp teeth were doing plenty of damage to the feds.

  Sam did her best not to engage, even though she took the occasional elbow to the body. She reached the top of the stairs when a stray knee caught her in the backside. Sam screamed as she tumbled forward, each step tenderizing her flesh as she rolled down them.

  Finally, she reached the bottom. Sam lay panting, unable to move as she worked to assess the damage. She didn’t think anything was broken, but each portion of her body throbbed with the beat of her heart so that she couldn’t think beyond the pulse of the blood coursing through every inch of her body.

  A whimper escaped her lips when a foot connected with her stomach. Through the red haze, Sam watched an armor-clad fed collapsed just as a vampire made a flying leap from the second story. The agile vampire landed lightly on his feet, his arms still trapped behind his back. He bent forward, ready to clamp his teeth down on the human’s neck.

  Sam blinked, clearing the blood from her eyes.

  “Jeffery,” she said, though the split in her lip burned with the movement. “Don’t kill him.”

  The vampire glared at her for a second before taking in her state.

  “Get Heywood,” she added when she realized she wouldn’t be making a run for it—besides, where did she have to run?

  “Heywood!” Jeffery called before charging up the steps, knocking aside human and vampire alike.

  Gingerly, Sam pushed herself up onto her knees. Her breath caught in her chest as a stabbing pain made itself known. A broken rib, maybe two. Maybe even the same ribs that had been broken by the vampires in the courtyard. Sam tried to roll her shoulders to ease the tension, but stopped as another fiery pain alerted her to the fact her shoulder had been dislocated, again.

  “Sam,” Heywood said as he landed beside her, having jumped from the second story, much like Jeffery had done.

  Heywood didn’t hesitate as he grabbed her arm and jerked her shoulder back into place. Sam screamed, effectively drawing the attention of the fighters. Heywood used the moment to signal his men.

  “That’s enough,” he said. “We submit.”

  The feds drew their guns or collected them from the ground, a few of them giving the vampires one final knock to the head before lining them up and filing them out of the battered house.

  “On your feet,” ordered one FMB officer as he approached them, gun trained on Heywood’s head.

  Heywood raised his arms slowly. The officer motioned for another fed to
cuff him.

  “She’s hurt. She’s not a vamp,” Heywood said softly.

  “Then she shouldn’t have run,” grumbled the human, his own head trickling blood.

  Sam sighed. He was right, and she wouldn’t be receiving any special treatment. Sam reached up for the railing and carefully pulled herself to her feet, her breath catching again as the stabbing pain returned.

  “That’s not all fresh blood,” pointed out one fed. “Let me see your hands.”

  Sam cried out again as he jerked her arms behind her back.

  “We got one with blood,” said the fed from his position behind her as he strapped zip-ties around her wrist, speaking softly enough that she realized he must have some form of fancy walkie-talkie.

  “Who is it?” came a recognizable voice from the doorway.

  Sam flinched, as her stomach turned to stone. She knew what she was going to have to do. Heywood eyed her expectantly. She had the power keep them out of Solitary, if she chose to use it; if she chose to protect her friends and family from the information Heywood had on them. Sam squeezed her eyes shut.

  “Captain Reynolds,” she called, disgusted at the way her voice shook.

  “Is that Sam?” he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Is that you under all that muck?”

  Sam tried to tilt her head to look at him, but between the pain in her shoulder and the swelling in one eye, she couldn’t get a good look at him.

  “I’ve been trying to find you all day,” she lied.

  “Really?” he asked, one eyebrow rising above the other.

  Sam nodded, a headache forming with the movement.

  “My answer is yes,” she said, nearly gagging on the words and the fresh blood filling her mouth from the split in her lip.

  Sam spat it out on the floor. Why couldn’t she have at least been attractive at this moment?

  He stepped up to her, flicking a piece of matted hair out of her eyes. “That’s convenient. Want to tell me what all this is about?”

  “I was part of the group that found the scene at the slaughter house. They can all attest to me being there. But it upset me. I even fainted, so they let me go when they went to notify you guys.”

  “Really?” he said with a smirk, sounding as though he didn’t believe a word of it.

  “Yes.”

  “And the… um… damage?”

  Sam swallowed. “I panicked.”

  “It’s my fault,” said Heywood. “I attacked first.”

  Slowly, Reynolds nodded. He pointed at Heywood.

  “I’ll deal with you later. The girl’s not part of this. And I’ll investigate her alibi for the blood. Take ‘em out with the rest. No further action is to be taken out on them for what happened here. Do you all understand?” he asked, directing the last of his short speech toward the other humans.

  Thankfully, they nodded, fully prepared to obey Reynolds.

  Sam groaned as they nudged her out the door, pulling on the shoulder that had recently been dislocated. They made their way down to the lower level and out the door. The other vampires from the reservation were crowded into the narrow walkway, slowly being herded out of the neighborhood. Sam joined the vampires, even though she wasn’t one. They hobbled westward toward the courtyard, where they were able to spread out a little. The courtyard was lined with more feds than she had ever seen in one place.

  She looked around, trying to spot Reynolds, but he had already slipped away. A frown creased her brow. She had assumed he wouldn’t be able to wait to avail himself of his new toy. A flood of relief washed over her, kindled with a new fear. What if he didn’t want her anymore, and therefore he wasn’t willing to verify her alibi? She could take the blame for the murders. After all, he had seen her at the murder scene down by the docks, and if they searched hard enough they might find her DNA at all the scenes thanks to her prying.

  They stood out in the cold, just waiting. Unlike last time, they didn’t ask the vampires to line up or get inspected in any way. They simply waited.

  “What are they doing?” Sam asked.

  “Searching our residences,” Heywood said as though it should have been obvious.

  Sam began to shiver. Slowly, Heywood’s men began to sidle up to her, though Heywood himself ignored her need. The vampires themselves didn’t provide any heat, being dead and without a heartbeat, but they did block some of the wind. Sam gave them a sad, tired smile of appreciation. Of course, none of this helped her frozen feet. Socks provided only so much protection against the frozen pavement.

  Why did she have to take off her boots before they came bursting into Heywood’s house?

  She tried to adjust her arms as a deeper ache set in. The shoulder that had taken the brunt of her damage hurt as the muscles tightened and cramped. Breathing became increasingly difficult between her cramped muscles, frozen body, and broken ribs. Eventually, her various cuts stopped bleeding and the blood froze to her skin. Her fingers were just beginning to grow numb from the tight zip-ties when Reynolds appeared.

  “You there,” Reynolds called to her, elbowing his way past her wind barriers.

  She gave them a nod and the vampires backed off.

  “Come with me,” he ordered, grabbing her aching, frozen arm and dragging her toward the western edge of the courtyard.

  Reynolds pushed and shoved his way through the masses, most of the vampires growling and cursing at him until they realized he was a fed. Sam tried not to wince at his grip on her arm, but she was certain she would be bruised by morning. The awkward position of having her wrists tied behind her back didn’t help any. They reached the perimeter and stopped at the wall of armed guards.

  “She’s with me,” Reynolds said, his voice sounding strained even to her own ears.

  Sam kept her eyes on the ground. She didn’t know what Reynolds had in mind, but she was certain it wasn’t going to be to let her go or to put her somewhere warm. Tears were beginning to escape her eyelids, and she didn’t want the other guards to see them roll down her cheeks where they were likely to freeze, even if they already knew what was about to happen between her and the captain.

  Reynolds dragged her across the street to where the various federal buildings sat. These buildings were used for things such as token distribution—tokens were the reservation’s form of money—as well as food, clothing, and blood distribution. Each building was separate from the others as a form of security, with a narrow alley in between the brick structures. Reynolds slipped between two of the buildings, dragging her with him.

  Sam flinched as he pushed her up against the brick wall, the rough surface scraping her bare arms.

  “Please. Not here,” she said before she could stop herself, her split lip reopening with the sudden movement.

  Fresh, warm blood oozed out and trickled down her chin.

  “You said ‘yes’,” he sneered. “You change your mind?”

  “No. Just… It’s cold. I’m hurt. My hands are tied.”

  “Are you mine or aren’t you?”

  Sam pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling—the blood spreading across them like lipstick—though she couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down her frozen cheeks. Reynold’s eyes glanced at her wet cheeks and the seeping blood, taking in every detail of her defeat. His lips curled up into a disgusting snarl. He liked her pain, drinking it in like a fine wine. The more she winced, the more she quivered, the happier he was.

  Another tear spilled out over her lid. He was her father, only he didn’t hide behind habit or cultural expectations. How many times had she bowed to the strike of her father’s hand, unable to stand up to him, not because she didn’t have the power, but because no fae girl told her father to stop? And here she was again, allowing a man to hurt her, not because she didn’t have the power to stop him, but because she had been told to allow him to hurt her for the good of everyone else.

  Sam called to her mind the pictures of those she would be saving. The father who hated her, despised her. The
family she would never marry into. The friends who didn’t want her anymore. They would never know what she did for them. They would never know the power she had and refused to use. Sam held those pictures close to her heart as she swallowed the lump forming in her throat and willed herself to relax. She nodded before turning her gaze away.

  “Go ahead,” she whispered.

  He scrambled for her clothing, making surprisingly loud noises as his hand slipped up her thin shirt and groped her breast. At least his fingers weren’t cold. His other hand reached down and fumbled with her pants zipper. She left him to struggle. After all, her hands were still tied.

  Reynolds pressed against her, hurting her shoulder and her ribs. She bit down on her bottom lip, tasting her own blood, to keep herself silent. His hand shifted from her clothing long enough to undo his own pants, which quickly slipped down to his ankles.

  Absently, she wondered how he could keep it up in the cold, biting wind. Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks as she felt his hot hands grab the waistband of her jeans and prepare to pull.

  “Who’s there?” came a recognizable voice from the street.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Oh no,” whimpered Sam turning her head to hide her shame.

  She couldn’t decide which was worse: having sex with Reynolds in an alley with her hands zip-tied behind her back, or being saved from it by Roman.

  Reynolds lunged for his pants, dragging them up and hastily buttoning them. Though she was technically consenting, he didn’t seem to cherish the idea of being caught having sex with a mystic who appeared to be bound. Especially by an assistant to the executive of a high level contractor in the Reservation.

  Roman stepped into the dim light provided by the full moon. His quick eyes took in the full scene—Sam, splattered in blood, her body battered, her hands tied, and her pants unzipped; Reynolds quickly dressing himself.