Happily Never After

by Jeaniene Frost

  There was something in the purr of that single word that made Isa suddenly lose her appetite. Her appetite for food, to be more specific. Another appetite reared its long-neglected head and began screeching to be satisfied.

  Chance reached out, gently brushing her hair back from her face. His hand was cool against her cheek, like silk made into flesh. Isa drew in a breath, noting with curious detachment that it was uneven. Funny, the more she stared into Chance's eyes, the more she became convinced they were turning green.

  "Back away, Chance. We need to keep things professional between us."

  She made herself say it, because even if it wasn't true, it made sense to utter those words. Chance was practically a stranger, and a peculiar one at that. So what if she was drawn to him in ways she'd never felt before? So what if he fascinated her with his unusual mix of courtliness and utter disregard for the law? Getting Frazier back safely was her top priority, period. That meant canoodling with a local crime boss who thought she was going to marry him, not making out with an out-of-town hypnotist who might get killed with his next act.

  Chance leaned closer, so that the breath from his words fell directly on her lips.

  "You don't want to."

  Boy, was he right about that. Keep things professional? Hardly. All Isa wanted to do now was press her mouth against his and rake her tongue inside until she couldn't taste anything but him.

  Chance's nostrils flared. He closed his eyes and took in a deep, slow breath.

  Isa closed her eyes as well. If she tilted her head even the slightest way in either direction, his lips would brush hers. Chance was that close to her. Yet she couldn't do it, and she instinctively knew it was what he was waiting for.

  "Why are you fighting this so hard?" he whispered.

  The question startled Isa into opening her eyes and sitting back, putting a safer distance between them. She ran a trembling hand through the same part of her hair Chance had smoothed away moments before.

  "Because I want it too much."

  Her honesty surprised her more than his question had. Chance took in another deep breath, his eyes still closed, and then he leaned back as well. Now there were a few feet of distance between them. Isa couldn't help but feel disappointed, even though it was her own fault.

  Chance opened his eyes. They didn't look green-tinged anymore, and somehow that made Isa realize how serious he was.

  "After I get back from speaking with Robert, you and I need to talk. I've lived too long not to recognize what a rare thing this is between us, but there are certain things about me you need to know before we go further."

  "Are you married?" Isa asked at once, dread in her belly.

  A soft snort escaped him. "No."

  "A CIA agent? Illegal alien in search of a green card? Wanted criminal?"

  "Nothing like that. Stop guessing, trust me, you wouldn't pick it at random, and as I said, I'll tell you later. After I've discovered what's going on with your brother."

  Frazier's predicament did come first. Wasn't that why she'd stopped him earlier, when it looked like he'd been nanoseconds from kissing her? So why was she feeling, oh, bereft now?

  "I have a feeling I won't like whatever it is you're going to tell me."

  Chance gave her such a penetrating look, Isa wondered if mind reading was also part of his skills. It seemed like he was seeing into her fears and weighing them against whatever it was he intended to tell her.

  "Either way, you will hear it. And then you'll decide what you want to happen between us."

  If she was braver, she would have insisted on hearing it now. But Isa didn't think she could take her uncertainty over Frazier, her fears that her grandmother would be the next person Robert used against her, and whatever tidbit Chance would reveal about himself all at the same time. At least let her have closure on one of those things, then she'd handle the bad news Chance threw her way, because Isa doubted he had something as mundane as unpaid parking tickets to tell her about.

  "You're going to Robert's tonight?" was all she said.

  Chance nodded. "And afterward, I'll come see you with what I've discovered…and to talk."

  That clenching in her stomach returned, but Isa forced herself to ignore it.

  "Then I guess you'd better get prepared. You have a big day ahead of you."

  He slid off the stool, moving like his body was somehow absent of bones and made entirely of coiling muscles instead.

  "I'll see you later."

  Isa hoped so. She also hoped Frazier was with him. In fact, she couldn't remember when she'd hoped so hard for things she wasn't taking care of herself. Leaning on another person. It was so unlike her, yet it was what she was doing now.

  "I'm counting on that."

  Chapter 6

  Chance watched the men below him. The Salucci brothers seemed to be pretending to be Joe Pesci in Casino. All bada-boom, bada-bings, and just looking for ways to get insulted. Robert, surprisingly enough, conducted himself with more finesse, though he also seemed to be doing a bad acting job. Any moment now, Chance was sure Robert would lower his voice to a scratchy whisper and make the Salucci brothers an offer they couldn't refuse.

  Chance had been around enough genuinely frightening people to know all this bluster and showboating for the camouflage it was. When someone was truly deadly, human or otherwise, he or she didn't waste time trying to convince people about it. No, he or she just killed everyone around them who had a dissenting opinion. That's why you'll always be a bridesmaid and never a bride, Chance thought while looking at Robert. You think if you kill a few people, bribe a few cops, dress in Armani suits and have a cookie-cutter Italian wife, the real mafia will welcome you into their fold. But you're wrong. They can smell a poser almost as well as I can smell my next dinner.

  Still, at least this grandiose dick-measuring contest between the Salucci brothers and Robert afforded Chance an easier way of grabbing him. Robert had even picked the Penn station docks along the Delaware River at midnight for their powwow. The clichés were so thick, Chance was almost choking on them.

  "You're makin' a mistake," the older Salucci brother told Robert before he turned with a dramatic swirl of his trench coat. He stalked off, his younger brother and bodyguard in tow. They got into the black Bentley that had been running the entire time, and the driver peeled off with a squeal of tires.

  "Finally," Chance muttered. He gave Paul's jugular a caressing glance. Paul had eaten about a dozen doughnuts before this meeting, Chance knew, because the heavy smell of fried sugary goodness wafted up to him even from his light pole perch. Chance licked his lips. Mmm, dinner and dessert, all at the same time.

  Chance dropped down from the tall broken streetlight. It never ceased to amaze him how some humans could be so oblivious to their environment—especially ones who prided themselves on being cunning. If Robert, Paul, or Ritchie had even once looked up, they would have noted that the south street light was significantly taller than the ones around it. They might not have been able to see what—or who—was perched on it in the darkness, but they could have realized that something was there.

  Instead, they just gaped at him when he appeared behind them with nothing more than a faint rush of wind to announce him.

  "Nice night, isn't it?" Chance remarked.

  Robert was the first to recover. His hand slid inside his jacket and he pulled out his gun.

  "Yeah, it is. Paul, Ritchie? You gonna stand there, or are you gonna pull your pieces and maybe point them at this asshole?"

  Chance watched with amusement as they scrambled to obey, replacing their formerly amazed expressions with tough ones.

  "You just don't fucking learn," Paul breathed. "We do, though. Ritchie, pat down this joker and make sure he's not hiding any more bulletproof vests. Or wires."

  Chance spread his arms out obligingly as Ritchie came closer. The other man was wary, no doubt remembering how Chance easily had dodged his attempts to pummel him before. Don't worry, Chance thought coolly as
Ritchie gave him several quick, thorough pats. If I wanted you dead, your blood would already be warming my stomach.

  "He's clean," Ritchie announced.

  Chance wrinkled his nose with mild distaste. "Can't say the same about you. Really, man, soap is nothing to fear."

  Ritchie reared back like he was going to punch him, but Robert grabbed his arm.

  "Did I tell you to hit him?" he asked in a dangerous undertone.

  Ritchie gave Chance a hateful glare before facing his boss. "No. Sorry."

  Robert clapped him on the shoulder. "All right." Then he turned his attention to Chance. "They told me you had a smart mouth. Okay, smart mouth, we're going to take a walk. And then we're going to take a ride. You got a problem with that?"

  "If I did, I suppose Bowling Ball and Smelly would just shoot me again," Chance drawled.

  Robert shook his head. "Not them. You know what they say. When you want something done right, you gotta do it yourself."

  Chance let out a bark of amusement. "My thoughts exactly."

  They led him at gunpoint to the far end of one of the finger piers where a boat was moored. Robert waved, and a man on board waved back, powering the craft to life.

  Chance was rather impressed that Robert had arranged to have another getaway from the docks. The Salucci brothers hadn't had that foresight. They seemed more brute muscle than operative brains. In a straight physical fight they might win, but if it was a matter of strategic planning, Robert would prevail. Not that Chance cared. The lot of them could drop dead and society would be far better off. In fact, he'd probably be helping society very soon when it came to that. Just not before he had his questions answered.

  Chance went aboard the boat, surmising that this was an excellent opportunity to get Robert to himself and dispose of Paul's body, if he did decide to indulge and eat him. When the four of them were clustered around the back of the boat, the driver sped off without much consideration for the waterway's "no wake" zone.

  Ritchie and Paul gestured with their guns for Chance to sit on the aft bench, which he did, stretching his legs before settling down comfortably.

  After about twenty minutes of glaring at him while the boat navigated the waterway, Robert spoke.

  "So, what's your name?"

  "Chance."

  Robert grunted. "Bullshit. What's your real name?"

  "Ask your men. Didn't they find any identification when they rummaged through my pockets the other night?"

  "You know fucking well you didn't have a scrap of ID on you that night. Plus, Paul and Ritchie tell me you must've been wearing Kevlar, on account of you bein' here instead of resting in plastic under six feet of dirt. What I want to know is, what kind of a man walks around with no ID while wearing Kevlar? Seems pretty paranoid to me."

  Chance shrugged. "If you say so."

  Paul leaned in and shouted in Chance's face. "Answer the question, asshole!"

  "Quit pissing me off," Robert said in a more mild tone. "In my current mood, I have no intention of letting you off this boat alive, so you're gonna need to work to change my mind."

  That was meant to scare Chance, but he found it ironic instead.

  "I can personally guarantee that I won't be getting off this boat alive," he replied.

  "He's insane," Ritchie said in wonder. "Look at him. Thinks he can smart-mouth his way out of anything."

  Paul held up a length of chain. "See this?" he asked, rattling it for effect before he began to wrap it around Chance. "We bought this in case things went south with the Salucci brothers. This is fifty pounds of steel. I'm going to tie you up with it and then lock it around you."

  Chance glanced down at the chains as Paul began carrying out his threat. If it made them feel more secure…and the more time they wasted trussing him up, the further along the river they were getting. How convenient. He wouldn't have to worry about anyone overhearing screams.

  "You're tryin' my patience," Robert growled. "Now, I'm gonna ask you again, and you'd better cut the shit. What's your name? Your real name?"

  Chance did have another name, of course. The one he'd been born with well over a hundred years ago, but even though it would be of no use to Robert, he still refused to utter it.

  "Chance is the only name you're getting out of me."

  Robert jerked his head at Ritchie, who left his position looming over Chance to go around the side of the boat. When he came back minutes later, he was wheeling a large bucket on a dolly filled with something gray and grainy.

  Chance closed his eyes, but only so the others didn't see him roll them with annoyance. Couldn't they do anything original?

  "Cement," Robert supplied, though Chance already knew that. "You keep it up with your smart mouth and that bucket's gonna be your new pair of shoes. There's no getting out of this one. You talk, or I'm gonna shove your chained, cemented ass off this boat. Hell, I'll even let Paul shoot you in the head first, 'cause I know he's itchin' to."

  Chance winced. Head shots hurt like hell, silver or no silver. He knew he'd have a terrific headache for about ten minutes while everything knit back into place. Damned melodramatic mobsters, he thought irritably. He was eating every last one of them before this whole mess was finished!

  But first things first.

  Robert watched him with an inscrutable expression. "There's only one thing that'll stop all this unpleasantness from becoming a reality." He leaned forward until his nose was almost touching Chance's. "Tell me where Frazier is, and I'll let you live."

  Chance's eyebrows went up. Well. He hadn't been expecting that.

  "You're the one using Frazier to blackmail Isabella into marrying you, and yet you're telling me you don't know where he is?"

  Robert whipped him across the head with the butt of his gun. Chance's fangs nearly popped out on their own accord with the desire to bury themselves into Robert's oh-so-deliciously close jugular, but he controlled himself. As soon as he got off this boat, he'd find a nice tasty person to score a pint off of. Hell, maybe even two nice tasty persons. After all, he'd owe himself a treat after getting his brains rearranged.

  "Don't fuck with me," Robert said in a menacing tone. "Right after Frazier went missing, you showed up in town shadowing Isa. No one knows you, you don't have no record, no ID, no nothing. It's like you're a fucking ghost. But I don't believe in ghosts, so you know what I think? I think you're some kind of loose-cannon mercenary the Salucci brothers hired to break Frazier out. Isa's a bit shy, so she needed a little persuading to agree to marry me. But if her brother's on the loose, it's a potential issue for me. Makes me look bad, which then means the Saluccis get the syndicate support, and I don't."

  "That's an interesting theory," Chance noted. "Go on. I'll tell you if you're getting warmer."

  Robert glared at him but continued. "I figure you got greedy. Began playing both sides, since if the Salucci brothers had Frazier, they would have taunted me with it every time they'd been around me. Guess you thought you could drive up whatever price they'd agreed to pay you, because you thought you was holding all the cards. Well, guess what? I call your hand, and you got nothing. In fact, you're about five seconds away from a horrible death, and the only thing that's gonna save you is if you tell me where Frazier is. Otherwise, I'm gonna to let Paul shoot you in the head, and then we're gonna throw your dead ass off this boat. You'll spend the rest of eternity rotting on the bottom of this river, understand? So what's it gonna be? Life or death?"

  Chance met his gaze with absolute coldness. "Even if I knew where Frazier Spaga was, I would never tell you, so you may as well have your man shoot me and stop wasting my time."

  Robert straightened. "You stupid fuck. Those were just your last words."

  Chance let a smirking Paul finish wrapping the chains around him before securing them, as promised, with a solid lock. Then he let them press his feet into the cement, piling the gray substance up until it encased his lower calves. He let them lead him to the edge of the boat, the three of them supporting hi
m, since he couldn't very well walk with his feet immobilized in the bucket.

  "One last chance," Robert said, pointing at the churning dark water before them. "You talkin' or what?"

  Chance smiled icily. "I'll talk the next time I see you, and that'll be sooner than you think."

  "Stupid mook," Robert muttered. Then he nodded to Paul, who grinned as he placed his gun to the side of Chance's temple.

  "Fuck you," Paul said, and pulled the trigger.

  The resulting explosion made Chance unaware of the exact moment when they shoved him in the water. He came to with his feet—still in that bucket, of course—on the river's bottom with his head hurting just as much as he knew it would.

  Oh yes. He was going to eat every last one of them and use their veins as dental floss!