“Oh,” I said, getting it. “Right, okay.” Then, because he looked too smug for my liking, I jabbed my finger into his ribs. “You are going to owe me so much sex for this.”
He just wagged his brows and winked.
Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath, did my best to extend my mental feelers out as far as it could go. My range isn’t incredible, but I can usually catch emotions from one end of a large house to another if I’m really trying. Focusing my attention on my empathy, I did my best to ignore my other senses. I breathed through my mouth, concentrating on only what I felt through my empathy rather that smells and sounds.
There were birds, small mammals of all types, a deer off in the distance—bringing up the unpleasant image Izzy had conjured earlier. I made a mental note to ask Owen about that later, though I could probably be certain he’d have no idea what I was talking about.
None of the normal forest dwellers seemed scared or nervous; none of them struck me as though they feared for their tiny lives. I couldn’t feel any creatures out there slavering over my organs or any people desperate for rescue. Something felt off near the river, but that was about it. Opening my eyes, I stared off into the distance where I’d felt one slimy jolt of surprise from a fish as it had swum into my psychic range.
“I’m getting something strange over there, but I can’t really tell what it is.”
“Let’s go, then.” Owen hooked an arm in mine and we started moving closer to the water. As we did, I caught traces of more fish feelings and a few frustrated squirrels. We stopped near the edge of the river and I looked up, trying to figure out what I’d found. Something breezed into my brain from above, but my eyes couldn’t see anything. In fact, I wasn’t even sure I was feeling anything strange at all.
“I may just be cold,” I admitted.
“You’re sure?”
“No,” I reconsidered, feeling pressured, second-guessing myself. I did my best to prod further into the leaves above, trying to dislodge any feeling, trying to make something nervous or curious enough to know for sure if there was anything there to make nervous at all.
“I don’t know. There could be something there, but … I don’t know, maybe it’s something but it’s just not feeling anything. Or maybe it’s nothing and I’m just hungry.”
“Hey!” Owen yelled suddenly, his booming voice making me jump.
“Jesus!” I snapped. “What—”
Then, looking back up into the trees, slightly to the left of where I’d been looking before, I got it. There was something up there and Owen had startled it, ever so briefly. Following my gaze, Owen stepped forward, keeping an eye on what appeared to just be leaves and silence.
“I don’t see anything,” I whispered, “but there was something there for a second.”
“Do you know what it was?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. Still, nothing appeared to us. “Just that you startled it for a second. Now I feel almost nothing again.”
“Hmm,” he said, still as stoic as ever.
“Did I do good?” I asked. He stayed in place, staring upward, foot just at the edge of the river.
“I’m going to need more than just you, I think,” he said, finally. Turning bodily toward me, he glanced around the forest again, his strong jaw locked as if he’d made a hard decision.
“We good?” I asked, bracing in case he yelled again. He gave it a beat before looking to me and smiling, the appearance of it genuine, even though there was nothing behind it. While I’d never felt honestly threatened by or worried about Owen, the smile reminded me how good he was at faking emotions out in the real world. As he slipped an arm around my shoulders and led me back the way we’d come, I looked up at his pretty face, wondering how much of his daily emotional displays were nothing but habit and how many were real. I wondered as we moved in silence what that must be like to have to hide yourself from the world around rather than risk your life being honest.
Chapter Eight
“You’re bringing me to a bar? You don’t drink.” Owen smiled at me, reached out to unbuckle my seatbelt.
“Bars are a great place to hear crazy stories. Plus, I think if I liquor you up, having sex with you might not hurt your ribs quite so much.”
I laughed, watched as he got out of the car. He probably had a point, though I usually avoid drinking in the presence of others because of how it so unpleasantly magnifies my empathy.
Not So Sober is a tidy sports bar tucked into a strip mall lot toward the edge of town. The building itself had been around much longer than the strip mall, though they kept the inside up well enough that you couldn’t really tell. It got business this early in the evening by serving hot wings and fries and, of course, copious amounts of beer. I reached the door as Owen pulled it open for me and stepped into a thick, slightly woozy emotion soup.
Among others, there were a few drunks, a couple depressed layabouts, two men who were clearly there solely to get laid, and the waitresses who were sick of being hit on. It wasn’t overly busy for three o’clock, but there were enough people in the building that I knew I didn’t really want to be there. As we stepped in, Owen looked around, lifted a brow at the sign on the wall stating that the establishment refused to serve bears.
“What’s that about?” he asked. I shrugged a shoulder, put a hand to my temple as if I could shove the pain out if I pushed hard enough.
“Old story, not even sure if it’s true. Apparently when it first opened, a bear just wandered on in one afternoon, sat down at the bar.”
“Did it order anything?”
“If I had to guess, I’d say fish sticks.”
Owen put a hand around my back, settled his palm on my waist, and pushed me in toward a table near a window, pulling out my chair and scanning the people at the bar as if he were the Terminator. After a few seconds, he turned back to me, still close. I felt a bit of pity slide into his psyche and figured I must’ve looked like shit.
“What’s your poison?” he asked as the door to the bar creaked noisily open and shut.
“This place, I think,” I said, putting a hand to my forehead as I dropped into the offered chair. “I don’t really do bars.”
“I’ll try to make it quick.” He leaned down, gave me a quick kiss on the knuckles, stood, and then turned to go. Immediately, he was stopped by a brunette who smiling pleasantly at Owen as if they were old friends. Despite the expression, she was raring for a fight, her insides crackling and hissing like a cornered cat.
Owen slammed to a halt, surprise and annoyance arcing through him like electricity. Quick as a coiled snake, malice swiped, raking out of him like a lasso coated in razorblades. I felt myself shrink back from the pain of his emotions before my eyes flicked from the woman’s face to the side of his. If I hadn’t been an empath, I would have had no idea he was unhappy with her; his body language and expression were mild as he looked down at her.
“Veronica,” he said quietly. She continued to smile up at him, but tipped her head slightly.
“Who?” she asked. Slivers of annoyance crept out of her meant for him, but her mask was just as convincing as his. I considered her as they squared off, running my gaze from her sturdy but well-worn leather boots to her sensible, fitted jacket.
She was thick, but I could tell from the way her pants hugged her thighs that it was all muscle. She had dark brown eyes and deep brown hair shaved along the sides, left longer atop the middle. The tip of her short mohawk was the same shade of purple as my fresh bruises, barely brighter than the rest of her hair in the dim light. She wore almost no makeup, but had curved black eyeliner across her eyelids to curl at the corners. Her lips were parted just enough that I could see a slight gap between her two front teeth; it did nothing to detract from her looks and, in fact, made her face more interesting.
His smile grew, as if he could tell he’d gotten to her.
“Kincade,” he said after a moment. Her smirk sharpened and she lifted a hand to touch his arm. He let her but I
had the feeling he wouldn’t have if they’d met anywhere other than a public bar.
“How are you, Owen?” she asked, leaning up to kiss his cheek. Again, he let her, but it felt like she’d have been on her ass if she’d tried such a thing anywhere else. Squinting up at them, I wondered about their history. Stepping to the side, Owen deliberately pulled his arm away from her, turned so he could easily see us both at the same time.
“Gwen, this is Kincade.” His tone indicated he was bored, but the malice was still there under the calm surface.
“Hello,” she said, her eyes darting to me. She gave me the once over, eyes sliding across me with a slight look of disgust. I could tell she meant it to appear as if she was judging whether or not I was a threat to her socially, but that wasn’t it. She wasn’t worried I was going to steal her boyfriend or hit on her husband; her curiosity was selfishly motivated, maybe wondering how I might affect her conversation with Owen, or if I might offer her the same malice he was so easily hiding.
“You two friends?” I asked, knowing the answer. Kincade’s smile returned and she looked back up at Owen.
“What do you say, darling? Are we friends?”
“We’ve had sex, but it was never exactly friendly.”
“And I tried to kill you,” she said with a wink. “Don’t forget about that.” Owen shrugged, loosely.
“You were hardly threat enough to remember.”
She threw back her head and laughed, her other hand coming up to touch his arm again as if she found his comment so endearingly amusing she couldn’t help but flirting. Underneath it, anger boiled. I made a small groaning sound and brought my other hand to my head.
“Your girlfriend’s got a hangover, darling,” Kincade said. I ignored her, but Owen seemed to find her comment funny.
“Hair of the dog. What are you doing here?” he asked. I peered through my fingers and found that she’d shifted positions, hands loose at her sides. Her expression was still flirty and cocky, but she was annoyed with him again—or possibly still.
“Just in town visiting friends.”
“You don’t have friends. You on the job?”
I felt a bit of surprise blossom in Kincade and I watched her lift a brow, turn her attention fully to me as if she suddenly found me interesting.
“What does your friend here know about you exactly?” she asked. Owen shook his head, still looking as if she was no more interesting than an ant on his boot.
“Enough.”
“So she’s not on the job?” she asked. Owen snorted, shook his head. When he didn’t explain, Kincade glanced at him, then back to me. “Fuck buddy, then?”
I decided I wanted her to go away. Her frustration that she couldn’t get a rise out of Owen was beginning to make me feel ill. Pushing to my feet, I got as in her face as I could manage, grabbed her hand and pumped it up and down.
“Gwen Arthur, Fuck Buddy. Nice to meet you. Wonderful lay, isn’t he? Really sticks it to you good.”
Kincade’s emotions shifted slightly, leaving the burning landscape of passion and hate in favor the cooler, more temperate terrain of amusement and delight. I sighed a bit, dropping her hand as I turned back to Owen, giving him my full attention as if she no longer existed.
“I know your whole plan was to get me drunk, but really, I’ll fuck you sober. I mean look at you. I don’t have a quarter, but trust me: I could bounce it. Come on, sunshine. We can go back to my place and I’ll show you a good time.”
“I guess we’re leaving,” Owen said, nodding to Kincade curtly as he bumped her slightly so he could lead me toward the door. I didn’t look her way as we exited and neither did Owen, but it didn’t aggravate her as I’d expected it to.
“I’ll see you again soon, lover,” Kincade called as we hit the door. “You too, Owen.”
“Well that was incredibly unpleasant,” I said once we were in the car and driving back toward the hotel.
“Indeed,” Owen said. I turned to him and realized he wasn’t listening. I poked at his emotions and tried to discern what was going on in his brain. After a few minutes he turned to me as he pulled up to a red light. “Sorry, what?”
“I said that sucked.”
He smiled, turned his attention back toward the traffic ahead, and tapped his left foot. “What about it sucked for you?”
“She hates you,” I said. “Like a kid who hasn’t studied hates a pop quiz from their meanest teacher. No, worse. Like I hate being forced to eat a plate full of steamed broccoli.” Own laughed, but a small bubble of surprise burst inside him, splashing me lightly and making me absently rub at my skin.
“Really?”
“You didn’t know?”
“I know we don’t get along, that there’s a …” Hesitation covered up a slight river of dishonesty. “Professional rivalry, but I didn’t realize it was broccoli strong.”
“You don’t hate her?” I asked, laughing lightly at his term
“I want to punch her, but I don’t hate her.”
“Huh,” I said, my laughter died down as I wondered if I was really enlightened enough to be okay with Owen wanting to hit a woman. He seemed to sense my thought process.
“She’d hit me first if she had the chance. I promise you.”
“Hmm,” I grunted, refusing to agree or disagree.
“You’re not mad at me for saying I’d hit a woman, are you?”
“I’m not sure,” I admitted. He sighed, irked. “It’s just weird. I guess it makes sense; if she had different genitalia, it wouldn’t bother me. I’m not sure if that makes me sexist.”
“The only reason she didn’t kill me was that I got lucky,” he explained. I grinned.
“You bribed her not to shoot you by nailing her?”
He snorted, laughed a bit. “I didn’t mean it that way; we’d already slept together. I honestly mean that it was only luck that saved my life. She tried to blow me up.”
“No wonder you want to punch her.”
“She’s not that handy with explosives. Or, she wasn’t back then; she’s probably gotten better.”
“She looked pretty handy with other things, though,” I commented, thinking about her physique. “I’m surprised she didn’t take you out with those thighs, just suffocate you dead or break your neck.”
Owen laughed and his amusement rolled through me like a steam engine. By the time his voice settled, I had joined him, giggling despite the fact that I hadn’t found my own joke all that funny. As we pulled into the hotel parking lot, I asked the question knocking around in my head.
“Why’d she try to blow you up?” Owen backed into a spot, glanced out at the sprinkling rain starting to come down. After a few moments, his gaze fell to me and I gave a small smile, hoping to encourage his explanation rather than his habitual evasion.
“She was hired to.” He unbuckled my seatbelt again and I wondered if he thought I was too stupid to figure out such complicated puzzles as seatbelts or if he just often thought I took too long to get out of the damn car. As his hand went to his door latch, he smiled a bit. “Madeline hired her, actually.”
My brows shot up and Owen twisted to get out. I shoved out after him, slamming the door and yanking up the zipper on my jacket to my neck. Madeline was a friend of mine who had been recently suspected—by Owen—to be murdering random citizens of Seattle. She’d been innocent, which I’d been thankful for; the homely succubus owns my favorite café and keeps me in chocolate cake and donuts.
“Madeline? My Madeline?”
“Your Madeline? Has your relationship changed since I was last there?”
“You know what I mean,” I said as we hit the back door. Owen bounced his key into and out of the card reader, pulled open the door. When I didn’t go through, he gave a small smile, enjoying my confusion, and pressed a hand to my lower back. Shoving me into the warm stairwell, he stepped in after me, nudging me toward the stairs.
“Yes, your Madeline. I’m assuming she told you why.”
I t
hought about it for a second, trying to remember everything we’d talked about the few times we’d seen each other outside of The Internets. Halfway up to the second floor, I whirled on him, pointed accusingly.
“You killed her mother!” He nodded, rolled his eyes at my volume. I darted my gaze around the second floor landing when we got there, hoped no one had heard me. As if it would convince anyone I was kidding, I continued with, “In that video game you play. About the … zombies and stuff.”
Owen snorted out a laugh and shook his head, pushing me up another flight of stairs. I briefly wondered why, if he wanted to get laid, he was wearing me out by making me climb stairs. We went the rest of the way up to the fourth floor in silence, though I was huffing and puffing a bit toward the end. As he shut the door to his room, I went to the little sink in the bathroom, ducked down, and turned on the tap, slurping water. Owen waited silently for me, sitting on the edge of the bed. After I’d had my fill of water, I turned back to him, yanked the zipper down on my jacket. I spoke again as I pulled it off and tossed it vaguely toward the chairs by the table.
“What’d she do to deserve a bullet in the brain?”
“Do we have to talk about that now?” he asked, making a show of looking me over. I smiled at him, stepping close and running my fingers through his hair. It was soft and a little damp from the rain. Watching his eyes as he looked up at me, I moved my hand to cup the side of his face.
“Just tell me real quick.”
He rolled his eyes, but it too was a show. I felt his hands move up my hips to tuck under my shirt. I jolted when his cold thumbs hit my skin, which amused him. Determined to keep me from asking any more questions, he slid his hands further under my shirt, placing his icy palms on my skin. Giving in, I squealed, squeezed my eyes shut.
“Come on, no fair.”
“I’m just icing your bruises is all,” he said, feigned innocence softening his voice. I sighed and shook my head.
“Still looks like Harold and his crayon used my body as a canvas.”
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