by J. E. Taylor
I froze on the tarmac. There were no more flights home this evening, but the prospect of stepping into the cabin now was even less desirable than being stuck in New York.
The pilot cleared his throat and glanced in my direction. “Ma’am?” He offered his hand to help me into the craft.
Unfortunately, I had to get home to pick up my kids, so I took the pilot’s hand and slid into the window seat on the same side of the helicopter as the woman but as far away from the two of them that I could possibly muster in the small space. The pilot gave me a quick nod and closed the door, leaving the three of us in the silent cabin.
The woman wouldn’t meet my gaze. She was still crimson and flustered, but Harry—he was altogether another story. His head tilted as he studied me.
“Harry Stone,” he said, extending his hand in my direction as the helicopter ascended, heading north. The corners of his mouth twitched into a hint of a smile.
I raised my eyebrows, meeting his direct blue eyes with a bark of a laugh. I wasn’t playing this game. I didn’t care if he was the flipping CEO; there was no way I was going to shake his hand, not when I knew where it had just been.
Harry slowly withdrew his hand, glancing at the woman across from him for a second before swiveling his gaze back in my direction. “What brings you to New York?”
“Business,” I replied. “You?” I did my damnedest to keep the smirk from my lips as I posed the question to him.
The smug smile returned, along with a quick glance at the woman. He waived in her direction. “My associate and I were here on business as well.”
“Ah,” I offered, locking gazes with him before focusing on the passing skyscrapers.
He leaned farther back in the seat, shifting uncomfortably and capturing my attention by clearing his throat. Less cocky and self-righteous now, he met my blatant stare. The wheels turned behind his intelligent eyes and he pursed his lips, scanning me again, sizing me up. Harry crossed his arms and tilted his head, letting the silence settle in the cabin.
I wasn’t going to break his stare. Uh-uh, no way, but when the pilot announced landing instructions, I broke his gaze, staring out the window as we touched down at the airport.
The woman gathered her things, uttering a muttered apology as she stepped off the helicopter.
The door closed behind her, leaving me alone with Harry Stone for the remainder of the flight. I was unprepared and the prospect of forty-five minutes alone with the man left my mouth dry. I reached for a Lifesaver stored in the door, popping one in my mouth as the rotor whine turned into the thunderous roar of take-off.
I uttered a small laugh, shaking my head as the airport shrunk in the window and we headed north once again. “You really are a piece of work.”
Harry was silent and I glanced in his direction. He was still studying me, and I shifted under the blatant stare.
“That poor girl didn’t even know who I was,” I shot at him.
This time his smile was genuine, forming dimples in his cheeks, and he shook his head. “No, I don’t believe she did.”
I knew why all the women in the office had the hots for the man, and I felt the same rush of heat encompass me, but I ignored it, glaring at him. “You son of a bitch, you planned this!”
He shrugged and stretched his legs out onto the seat across from him, raising a single eyebrow, slightly tilting his head. It was an unspoken invitation, one I had seen umpteen times before.
I laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding me?” I returned my attention to the sunset on the horizon, shifting my gaze between the window and my watch before turning back to him.
Harry leaned forward, clasping his hands in front of him and resting his elbows on his knees. His eyes twinkled as they scanned me. “Come on,” he prodded, and ran his fingers up my bare leg.
I slapped his hand away. The flash of anger in his eyes matched mine.
“I swear...” He pressed his lips together and glanced at my hands. The muscles in his jaw tightened.
I followed his gaze to my bare fingers; the white strip where my wedding rings once sat a blatant reminder of my newly single status. My eyes dropped to his hand and the gold band still gracing his ring finger. I slowly sat back in the seat and crossed my legs.
Harry inhaled, leaning back in his seat as well, and turned his attention out the window at the green hills peppered with houses. He licked his lips, glancing back in my direction.
“You thought this would change my mind?” I waved at the empty seat next to me.
“I wanted you to know what it felt like,” he snapped.
“Harry, you’ve been screwing around on me since the day we met.”
Harry opened his mouth to speak and clamped it shut. He studied his hands, twirling his wedding band. He inhaled and slowly nodded, owning up to what we both knew before raising his eyes to mine. “What do you want?”
“I want you to stop fucking around and give me a divorce.”
The End
Savior
Sam sat in the interrogation room, handcuffed to the desk with his head bowed. He caught his reflection in the two-way mirror, staring at the familiar blue-green irises surrounded by aging crow’s feet and his once dark hair now peppered with streaks of white. His shoulders slumped and he dropped his warbled gaze. Tears dripped off his eyelashes onto the fabric of his jeans.
The mangled remains of his wife and children played across his field of vision every time he closed his eyes. A hollow pain in the center of his chest grew with every tear, along with the paralyzing grief keeping him immobile and silent.
The door swung open and he stiffened, blinking the remaining tears from his eyes and regaining composure. He raised his gaze to the woman, the officer, sitting across from him.
“Tell me what happened, from the top,” Detective Howard requested.
He took a deep breath, shaking his head slowly. “I didn’t kill my family.” His vision misted with tears and he blinked them back, pushing the emotions down into the well of his soul.
She leaned forward on the table. “Then who the hell did?”
He ground his teeth together before he spoke. “I don’t know.”
She took a deep breath and the tense muscles in her jaw line relaxed. “Tell me what you do for a living.”
He knew the drill and recognized her change of tactics, but her frustration still reflected in her eyes. “I’m a hunter.”
“What exactly do you hunt?” she asked. The tape recorder spun, picking up every word of the interrogation.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Bitterness crept into his skin and he offered a smile relaying the sentiment. The flash of aggravation in her eyes manifested and his smile disappeared. He narrowed his eyes, scanning her, looking for a sign, anything, but she was just a hick town cop. He exhaled the air locked in his chest, his muscles relaxing a fraction, even though his intuition prickled with danger.
SHE STARED AT HIM, scanning his sculpted frame and his handsome face. This man had aged well and he stirred something deep inside her—a completely inappropriate protective instinct considering the circumstances. She had caught him with his family’s blood on his hands and his prints on the knife used to carve them up. Yet she still had her doubts. “Try me.” She leaned forward on the interrogation desk.
Sam glanced at the mirrored wall. “He knows.” He nodded toward the glass. “Why don’t you ask him?” He returned his gaze to her.
Detective Howard turned toward the mirror. “No one’s in there,” she said. At least there hadn’t been anyone there when she entered the room.
The laugh that escaped from Sam’s chest was low and menacing, producing goose bumps on her thin, graceful arms. He tilted his head to the side, moving his gaze from her to the glass and a crevice of concentration appeared between his eyes.
The sharp echo of cracking glass filled the room and Detective Howard pushed her chair back. Shock raked over her skin like a mini electric shock, raising the hair on her arms a
nd neck and perpetuating the shiver that his laugh had started. A crack spindled out from the center of the mirror like a spider web and she was sure this man was causing the glass to crumble. Her gaze shot to Sam.
With the handcuffs no longer clasped on his right wrist, he extended his arm, his hand reaching toward the glass. Sam dipped his head further, glaring out from behind his bangs, focused.
The glass imploded, turning to dust, and she gasped at both the display of mental power and the vision of an officer standing rigid in the space behind the defunct mirror. The officer’s head tilted back, his eyes rolled, showing only whites, and his mouth open in a silent scream choked off by a stream of black smoke.
Sam mumbled incoherent commands, each verse causing more black smoke to release from the officer. Sweat broke out on Sam’s forehead, and dark circles surfaced under his eyes, yet he continued reciting the familiar chant.
A stream of smoke exploded from the mouth of the officer, billowing up into the ceiling, leaving a large black spot like someone took a blowtorch and scorched the material in a perfect sphere.
The officer fell to the floor, unconscious.
Sam lowered his arm, leaning back as the shackle holding his bound hand released. He mopped his face with his sleeve before returning his focus to the detective. “I didn’t kill my family.” He resumed the conversation as if nothing had happened.
Detective Howard’s eyes darted between Sam and the observation room, where the officer was coming to. “Wha—” She couldn’t form words and reached for the glass next to the recorder. Droplets of water jumped from the glass as her shaking hand brought it to her lips and she forced the cool liquid down her dry throat. A tingle in her shoulder morphed into a wild itch and she ignored it, setting the cup on the table with a steadier hand. “What exactly do you hunt?”
“Evil things.”
“Was your family evil? Is that why you killed them?” she asked, scratching her shoulder.
Sam shook his head. “I didn’t kill my family. I think my brother did.”
“Your brother died twenty years ago. How is that possible?” Her eyes darted to the confused officer now sitting up and glancing around the observation room.
Sam offered a shrug. “Sometimes they come back.” He rubbed his face. “And what returns isn’t the same.” His eyelids drooped as he met her gaze, deflating before her eyes as the exhaustion took hold. “It’s my job to hunt them down.”
Detective Howard’s eyebrows raised high. “Hunt what down?”
He pointed toward the observation room. “Demons. Like the one that possessed him. It’s my job to send them back.”
“Are you saying a demon killed your family?”
Sam nodded, wiping tears from his haunted eyes. “So, unless you want to see what Armageddon looks like, you better let me do my job.” He stood and walked out of the interrogation room.
She made no attempt to stop him. “He’s not our guy,” she said to the questioning stare of the officer. The itch in her shoulder morphed into a burning sensation and she rubbed it to quell the irritation. Picking up the tape recorder, she returned to her office and closed the door.
Heat from her skin radiated through her shirt and she pulled up her sleeve, revealing the glowing insignia embedded in her flesh.
“That’s impossible.” Only one person on Earth could activate the emblem and save her soul.
He would save all their souls.
Detective Howard looked at her wide-eyed reflection and down at the cassette in her hand. Slowly, she began to pull the tape out.
The End
The Understudy
There’s a dirty word for you.
That’s what it says next to my name on the casting sheet. No mistake. I’ve blinked my eyes a dozen times waiting for the text to correct itself, but no such luck. Understudy for the lead, which kindly put, means I’m not quite good enough.
Damn it.
I wonder if she’s sleeping with the director.
She’s standing over there, her hands fluttering at her lips, her eyes all shiny with tears, chattering away with the other leads. Her black hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall, beautiful and silky, and I hated it.
Bitch.
I’m so much better than she could ever be.
Understudy. What a slap in the face.
I turned away from the board, frustration raking over me like a deluge hitting the shore during a hurricane. Facing the rest of the cast right now would not be prudent, not with the building storm in my blood, so I headed toward the stairway, climbing into the rafters and taking a seat on the cold metal walkway above the stage.
Being in the dark, silent theater didn’t alleviate the burning in my soul, so when the walkway creaked behind me, I stiffened, but didn’t turn.
“You deserved that part.” His voice settled over me like a warm blanket, quelling some of the fury. I glanced over my shoulder at his barely visible form just hanging in the dark like a macabre marionette.
He stepped closer, his shape more solid than shadow now, and I found myself standing, drawn to him. His dark eyes held promise, so when he reached for me, I didn’t back away like I had a million times before.
The moment his hand connected with my skin, a rush of heat enveloped me, bringing to the surface the rumbling anger that had been stuck in the pit of my stomach.
“How could you,” I whispered, just before his lips silenced me. His kiss was sinuous and sly, burning and ice cold, a litany of contradictions and it blackened my soul, leaving me breathless and desolate.
When the kiss broke, I glimpsed the brimstone in his eyes and within a blink they were shrouded in gray again. He had promised I would get the lead, had made an arrangement with the director, or so he told me one night over some tequila shots.
“You tricked me,” I said, but the tremor in my voice made me sound like a petulant child and I clamped my teeth together against the rest of my scathing thoughts.
He pat my cheek with a gentleness meant to disarm and said, “You asked to be famous and I assure you, you will be.” His smooth voice lulled me, making me grasp onto the belief that he would make it happen somehow, even though the cast list said otherwise.
“How?” I started, but he maneuvered me farther down the scaffolding until my back hit the solid wall.
When he smiled, his teeth gleamed in the darkness and I shivered. I knew he wanted me, but now that I had been delegated to understudy, the idea of a tawdry screw in the rafters left me dizzy with wrath and I struggled under his grip.
He pressed his weight into me, pinning me against the wall.
“This was part of the deal,” he hissed in my ear. “Save that fury for later, for those celebrating your downfall.”
Something in his chiding tone set me on fire and I stopped struggling, meeting his hungry gaze. “What do you want?” I asked in a hushed whisper, giving in.
“I want you to worship me,” he said, purring the words before his lips caught the underside of my chin, sliding over my skin like satin knives. His body pressed into me, promising the release I needed. Release from fury, from passion, from the dead-end life I led and into the world of fame.
All I had to do was honor my end of the bargain when he decided to cash in. And from the feel of him, he was calling in his chips right now.
My soul cried for me to run, to shun him, but the lower his lips went, the more foggy that warning cry became. I was lost in his seductive touch, even though it burned with the hot flame of lust; he engulfed me, reveling in my muffled moans.
“Kneel,” he whispered and I obeyed. The cold metal bit into my knees as the sound of his zipper filled my world. He was hard, all right, and he took a handful of my coarse hair and plunged through my open lips. His rhythm was that of desperation, like he had fantasized about this for months and couldn’t quite get enough.
He took me every way possible until my knees were scraped bloody on the metal and my muscles clenched with soreness from his relentless
pounding. He used his magnificent body in ways I never imagined, bringing me to heights I never dreamed I could reach, draining what little energy I had and leaving me spent on the hard metal of the catwalk.
His breath tickled my ear and he shifted. “Now, as far as fame is concerned...” he whispered and I felt a small prick in my neck.
My gaze snapped to his before falling to the empty needle in his hand. His smile turned feral before the curtain closed and I tumbled into a black well of nothingness.
MY EYES FLUTTERED OPEN to shadows dancing on the ceiling and I tilted my head toward the belly of the theater. Every seat was occupied and my brain stalled, trying to find the missing hours between our torrid affair and the current moment.
Music filtered from the orchestra pit and I dropped my gaze to the stage, recognizing they were near the end of the play. My vision blurred and then cleared, focusing on the fluid movement of the cast until it honed in on one person.
There he was.
The devil incarnate, capturing the attention of the entire theater. His empty promises of fame reverberating across the air like his charmed voice. I should be next to him on the stage; instead I was...
I was...
Where the hell was I?
I blinked and tried to move, but restraints held me in place. A dull pain pounded between my shoulder blades and the stench of kerosene filtered into my nostrils. My gaze snapped to my right, where the prop for the finale leaned on the catwalk, discarded, delegated to witness the pending horror.
My heart flooded with shock, filtering through the rest of my being, creating a flush that crushed the breath in my chest.
I tried to move, but only my head seemed to be responding to the commands sent by my brain. The rest of my body hung on the metal chains, numb from whatever he stuck me with. I stared at the chains and craned my head back to see the tops of the giant wings attached to my back. The wires holding me in place were driven by a control box backstage and would lower the flaming angel into view at the right moment.