Relentless Flame (Hell to Pay)

by David, Jillian

  Everything.

  Damn his square jaw and glacier-blue eyes; no man had the right to look that savory. Even his firm lips, meant for sin, which pressed together in frustration when she didn’t give in to his obvious pass—those lips made her wonder what she’d been missing all these years.

  She had watched several female customers—and one male—sidle past Dante with a touch on his massive arm, a whisper, or a press of paper into his hand. A wink, accidentally brushing into him, licked lips, tossed hair—he had politely ignored all of the advances.

  But then he had looked at her with what appeared to be male interest. In her twenty-four years on this Earth, she’d never encountered someone this handsome and persistent.

  Seriously?

  She examined her shapeless but neat thrift-store clothing—appropriate for work but no one would accuse her of being a fashionista. Heck, no bumps or curves pushed the fabric in any enticing pattern. Her clothes went straight from her shoulders to the floor.

  Guys like Dante did not go for her.

  No guys went for her. For the past four years, she’d rejected the few men who had showed even the slightest interest. She refused to allow anyone to come close. Not with her stepfather, Ray, still out there. Not with what he’d done and what she had to hide.

  Even now, she jumped at shadows and sounds, paralyzed stupid by fear. But her fear was warranted. One day, if she relaxed her vigilance, Ray would again find her and her brother, Scott. It didn’t matter that she’d changed their names. Jess—no, Hannah, damn it. Flustered as she was by Dante, she had to make a conscious effort to maintain her identity, even in her own mind. In truth, the woman that stared back at her in the mirror was no longer Jessica Miller. Jessica had disappeared four years ago in Philly, never to be seen again.

  Didn’t matter that she and Scott had fled from Philly to Portland. Ray was out of jail. And he was pissed.

  She reached down to rub the ridge of scar and misshapen bones on her right foot. The sole remained numb, and the top of the foot still ached when the weather changed. Even with surgery, the damage remained. At least bones could be pinned and skin stitched together. Other injuries weren’t as obvious.

  Geez. Snap out of the pity party already.

  But she couldn’t help herself. She peered into the mirror, trying to imagine what Dante had seen. Brown eyes behind rectangular glasses looked back at her. Freckles splattered across her pale face. Her dull clothing. The weight she’d lost when ... everything happened had never returned to her frame. Four years of fear, of waiting for him to return. She never relaxed her vigilance.

  Had it really been four years since she and Scott ran away? How long would it take to have a normal life?

  At this rate? Never.

  Damn Ray to hell.

  Damn her for not being able to move on with her life.

  Would she ever have a normal relationship with a man? Logically, she acknowledged that there were good guys out there who could be trusted. Maybe Dante was one of them. Beyond the swagger, she could see ... more. And oddly enough, he didn’t scare her, which was a first. He made her laugh with his attempts at flirting, but for all his massive bulk and impressive height, her reaction to him wasn’t fear. It was interest.

  Interest. Now there was a new and terrifying emotion.

  What about trusting herself? Problematic. The minefield of her physical wreckage paled in comparison with the emotional damage. Maybe one day she’d get over it, but that wasn’t likely to happen anytime soon.

  Past traumas aside, how would she explain her fake last name, attempted murder, and larceny? How would she explain withholding her strange power?

  She shook her head. She’d never open up that piece of her life to anyone, would never tell what she and Scott had done to get away from Ray. Better to avoid a serious relationship rather than risk rejection or, even worse, discovery.

  Oh yeah, I’ll be going steady with Mr. Gold’s Gym Meets an Archangel by week’s end.

  Why try to change her life now? Jobs, a few college courses—she and her brother were finally getting back on track, thanks to their hard work and the ability to keep secrets. Slowly and surely, they were clawing their way back toward a normal life. She had no time to spare on a certain tall, handsome man with ice-blue eyes that danced with humor and suggestiveness and made her heart flutter.

  Smoothing her hair and running her hands over her cheeks, she nodded, satisfied that the traitorous blush had finally subsided. She blew out another big breath and let the tension in her shoulders relax. This random encounter with Dante was simply an aberration in her otherwise bland life.

  She didn’t need any man. All she wanted was for Ray, or the specter of Ray, to leave her alone forever and let her rebuild her new, safe existence here in Portland. At some point, she’d have to learn to trust herself again and even figure out how to open herself up to others. Not now, but maybe one day.

  • • •

  Hannah limped along the sidewalk to her dumpy rental at nine that evening. What kind of brother would she see tonight? The younger brother who had driven her across the country to get away from Ray, the brother who faked sinus infections and foot sprains at urgent care clinics to get antibiotics and braces for her ankle—he’d been replaced by a different person. He’d become more braggadocio here recently, more into hanging out with the guys, more demands for money, more erratic behavior. She wanted her quiet, supportive Scott back. Not this jerk.

  The deafening roar of a bus rolling by made her long to be on board. Her foot ached even more as she stumbled on the sidewalk when her foot dragged. No bus rides for her, though. She had to save every penny for college. Besides, exercise had to be good for her foot, right? She wiggled her toes. Still numb. Damn Ray. God, she hated him. She normally didn’t wish bad things on people, but she made an exception for her nasty stepfather. Even the thought of him made her neck prickle, and she couldn’t help but dart glances over her shoulders, still expecting to see the seething mass of cruelty that was Ray.

  Ah yes, the low rent district. While Portland wasn’t known for its slums, she and Scott had gotten close when they used their new, fake Social Security numbers and rented a dilapidated house in this borderline neighborhood. The last block or so to their house always gave her the creeps, and the neighbors looked out for no one.

  When she wearily turned off the sidewalk toward the front door of her run-down rental, the squeal of tires and pounding bass stopped her. A tricked-out orange Civic’s back door opened, and Scott jumped out.

  Like Hannah, he had their mother’s strawberry blond hair and brown eyes. But unlike Hannah’s petite stature, Scott’s lanky frame made him look gangly, even in his early twenties.

  His friends shouted from the car, “Hey, Hannah! Jump in.”

  Brandon, the ginger in the front seat with spiked hair and acne, flicked his tongue out in a lewd gesture. “Come on, honey! Just once around the block, huh?”

  His soulless stare never failed to creep her out. What Scott found pleasant enough about Brandon to hang out together, she’d never understand.

  The other two guys laughed and high-fived each other. Adjusting her glasses, she ducked her head. When these idiots talked to her, she wanted to scrub her skin with bleach. At least with Scott here, she was relatively safe if not disgusted by these guys.

  “Back off my sis. Rules, assholes,” Scott said from the sidewalk.

  “Catch ya later, my man!” Brandon yelled.

  Brandon flicked his wrist for the driver to pull out, which was done with a dramatic spinning of wheels as they peeled off down the street.

  At the disapproving glare of an older lady peeking through her windows next door, Hannah ducked her head. “Let’s go inside and have some dinner.”

  “I already ate, sis, no worries.”

  The aroma of cheap beer hung in a stale cloud around him.

  “Come on, Scott, eating out costs too much. Drinking out, too.”

  “I need to live
a little, sis.” When he smiled endearingly like that, she witnessed a flash of her kid brother from Philly. Then he staggered to one side, and the illusion was gone.

  She jiggled the door handle until the key settled in the rusty lock. Entering the house, the vision of the living room, devoid of any furniture, weighed on her like a heavy hand on her shoulder. But for right now, they didn’t have a choice. Living here allowed her to stay with Scott. Up until Scott started going out with his newfound friends, it was more economical to live under one roof.

  Of course, he wasn’t the teen who fled with her from Philly, but she still felt some responsibility to watch out for him, and one day things would change. Maybe it was nearing time for each of them to move on. If only she could get him away from his so-called friends.

  Smiling, she sighed and indulged in a vision of her future. She’d have her degree, a job helping people cope with their lives, and a nice house decorated with new matching furniture, like from Ikea. One day.

  What about a partner? A family?

  The only vision that came to her had a chiseled chin and a twinkling blue gaze.

  Yeah, right.

  She opened her eyes to ripped linoleum and bare, cracked windows. “Please be careful how much money you’re spending.”

  “I gotta hang with my posse,” he said, hiccupping. “You keeping me from my friends?” He swayed, his bloodshot stare unfocused.

  “Of course not.”

  “It’s my life, Hannah. You can’t tell me what to do.”

  He stumbled against the spool they used for a table, a lucky salvage from a construction site. But as the main furniture in the living space, it was a pitiful reminder of the shell of their lives.

  “I’m not your mother. You make your own decisions,” she said.

  “You got that right. Besides, I got us out of that crap back in Philly. You owe me. I saved your life.”

  “We both went through hell, and yes, I might not be alive if you hadn’t helped me.”

  He leaned against the makeshift table and fingered a new gold chain around his neck. “I hope Ray dies and rots.”

  “Me too. I never want to see him again.”

  “What that sicko did to you ...”

  “We’re not talking about it.” Her foot throbbed like it did the night Ray had thrown her down the basement stairs. Amazing what lengths a maniac would go to exact his warped sense of revenge.

  “Our tracks are covered. Only my friend in Philly knows where we live.”

  Not good enough. “For how long are the tracks covered?”

  “As long as we keep looking out for each other, Ray won’t be able to hurt us. If he does, I’ll call my crew.”

  She sighed. Back to the stupid crew. A group of boozed up guys with too much testosterone and not enough brains.

  “I’ll always appreciate what you did, Scott.”

  She couldn’t remember large chunks of their journey from the East Coast to the West. Scott had probably saved her life. Maybe now he was growing up, coming into his own self. The twinge in her chest reminded her that he was all the family she had left.

  “Damn straight. We’re a team here.” He belched.

  Hannah sighed.

  “Sis, that reminds me, you got some extra bucks? I’m light.”

  She groaned. “No, I haven’t gotten paid yet.” Glancing at his new name-brand shoes and jeans, she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from commenting.

  “Quit holding out on me.”

  “I’m not. I don’t get paid until later this week, remember?”

  “You’re hoarding money! I need cash to ... to put gas in the truck. How’m I s’posed to make a living if you won’t help me?”

  “Good grief. Here’s all I have left.” She dug in her ratty purse and pulled out six dollars. “This’ll take care of gas tomorrow.”

  “That’s all you have? Where’s the rest of it?” He leaned toward her but staggered again.

  “I gave you everything else last week after I got groceries. There won’t be any more until Thursday. Make it last.”

  “You’re a piece of shit ...,” he slurred again.

  “We were a ‘team’ a few minutes ago.”

  “Until you refused to give me gas money.”

  The usual pattern for his drunk nights. Shame. She shook her head. There was no arguing with him. So much for both of them trying to build their lives. So much for escaping all the drama with Ray and his insanity. But as frustrating as Scott’s behavior had become, at least he’d never been physically abusive. He spouted off insults when he was drunk, sure, but his behavior paled in comparison to the hell they’d endured at Ray’s hands back in Philly.

  And then there was her attempt to use her gift to heal others, as Ray had demanded. Her gut clenched. That altruism had nearly killed her when Ray snapped. She wouldn’t talk about that disaster, either. Hannah had been crucified the one time she wouldn’t—couldn’t—use her power, and she’d paid for the lapse ever since. Actually, Aunt Linda, God rest her gentle soul, had paid the greater price.

  She sighed. “I’ll see what I can do tomorrow about an advance.”

  “’Bout time you did somethin’ useful. Shit. My life sucks.”

  He pocketed the cash and leaned against the wall.

  “Good grief, let’s get you to bed.” She held out hope that Scott would come around and improve, but damn it, she wasn’t a doormat. She nudged him toward the only room with a bed on a frame. “Good night, Scott.”

  He dropped, fully clothed, onto the messy blankets, completely out.

  She sighed, closed his bedroom door, and trudged into the kitchen. Her ramen noodle dinner tasted like cardboard.

  • • •

  In the dimly lit club, strobe lights pulsed in time with a pounding techno beat as oiled female bodies writhed in cages and on countertops. In a velvet-upholstered alcove, Dante sipped tepid beer and cringed. Sure, it was alcohol, but this swill paled in comparison with brånnvin. His kin called it “burn wine,” and the fire that seared the gullet lived up to its name. This watered-down American beer would do for now.

  At least luscious flickor, women, hadn’t changed through the ages. He flexed his chest, feeling the heavy bond business card in his pocket. Why hadn’t he called that magnificent and leggy woman from the restaurant last night? Totally out of character to pass up an opportunity with a woman like that.

  He’d come to this club instead, hoping that something else would pique his interest. When he lifted one finger, he commanded the attention of two bare-breasted dancers. Good. He was the sun. The heavenly bodies of these women? Helpless to resist his pull.

  What would it be like to have a woman want him without his magnetism? Notice the nuances of his character? Not care about who or what he was? Fill the hollowness that these brief interludes never quite satisfied? Perhaps a good woman could retrieve the humanity that had been driven from his soul.

  Shaking his head to clear the uncharacteristic melancholy, he concentrated on the women standing at the ready. The dancers practically vibrated, their bodies quivering in anticipation of his slightest touch.

  He projected his voice over the thumping bass beat. “Ladies.”

  Something of a misnomer, but the lie didn’t matter. When he brushed his thumb against his upper teeth, the dusky dancer licked her full lips in response. One down.

  “Oh, honey.” The cocoa-colored woman ran a hand over his torso. “Your abs are so hard I could chop coleslaw on them.”

  He crooked his finger at the other woman, pleased when her pale breasts bobbed in quicker rhythm with her breathing.

  He imagined their nimble fingers roving over every inch of his body.

  Nothing moved inside of him.

  Nothing?

  His typical lust didn’t rise; his groin didn’t tighten in anticipation of the impending ménage à trois. Even imaging all their limbs tangled around each other, satiating his desire—none of it moved him. Literally.

  Vad i he
lvete?

  Since when ...?

  Kristus.

  Since this mission. Since meeting a mousy woman who remained immune to his charms. A woman who was nothing like the flickor who typically drew his attention.

  He pushed up from the table and shrugged off the women’s hands. Even their pouts of disappointment didn’t sway him. He strode, alone, into the fall night.

  Was it the challenge or the woman?

  Didn’t care. He needed to see her again and deliver his message.

  Chapter 3

  The next morning, Hannah left Scott at home sleeping off his bender. Hopefully, he’d make it to work today. They couldn’t afford for him to lose another job. Despite her working full time at the bookstore, the money only went so far. If he continued to contribute to their joint efforts, with any luck, she’d have her degree in another three semesters and be one step closer to realizing her dream of becoming a psychologist.

  When she took a deep breath, the cool morning air gave her a boost, and she pushed her uneasiness about Scott aside. Even her messed up foot didn’t slow her down as much today, and she reached the store a few minutes early to open up shop.

  Her long skirt swished over the top of her foot with each step. Broomstick skirts were more rustic than her usual, conservative style, but she’d discovered that the skirts hid her deformed foot and minimized the appearance of her limp.

  When she unlocked the front door of the bookstore, she stood in the front room and enjoyed a few minutes of peace. As she warmed up the espresso machine, the scent of coffee made her mouth water. It was too expensive a treat, though, and she wouldn’t steal, even a cup of coffee.

  The door chimed behind her, and the air pressure in the bookstore changed. A light scent of spicy aftershave drifted past as goose bumps rose on her arms.

  She whirled, her tan cotton skirt rasping against silk slacks, as she buried her nose into a massive chest. Standing eye to eye with the sheen of fine fabric stretching across a broad torso, she gulped in a whiff of warm, masculine essence. When she stumbled backward on her weak foot, the espresso cup dropped from her nerveless fingers.

  In one continuous blur of movement, Dante plucked the cup out of the air and presented it to her. His confident, sardonic lift of the corner of his mouth hadn’t changed. Electric-blue eyes glowed as he smiled down at her, and the curve of his sensual lips commanded her attention.