Shifters After Dark Box Set

by S M Reine et al.

  A man who’d kissed me passionately the night my brother was killed.

  Chapter Three

  By ten o’clock that evening, we’d eaten pork chops, watched a movie, and I’d left the house with a bottle of Mom’s whiskey. It wasn’t a favorite drink of mine, but she never touched the stuff and I needed something to help me sleep through the night. My wine collection at home was reserved for good times, and I didn’t want to taint my favorite beverage with sorrow.

  This anniversary was never officially over until I was rip-roaring drunk.

  On the way home, I made an unplanned visit to the cemetery. It was closed, but no one ever locks up a cemetery so tight that you can’t get in; it’s the getting out part that proves the most difficult.

  Wes had a flat grave marker and I hated it. I tried to talk my mom into getting one of the raised ones to replace it, but she’d refused. Maybe that selfish part of me wanted something at eye-level to look at and talk to, or maybe even hug.

  “God, Wes. You should see how much Maze has grown,” I said, sitting Indian style over his grave. It was dark as sin, and the only light illuminating the grounds shone from a tall lamp near a marble statue of an angel. “She’s so sweet, not like me. I was a little terror and you,” I said, waving my unsteady finger at the ground, “should have never let me go out with Josh Holden when I was fifteen. What were you thinking?”

  I hiccupped and screwed the cap back on the bottle.

  “Just because he was on the football team, you thought he was cool and he passed whatever test you had for the guys who called me up. Josh thought he was going to score a touchdown that night.” I snorted. “That was the first time I’d ever been to second base and when he started to slide into third, I slapped his face and walked home. Josh works at the gas station now. But then, who am I to talk?” I yelled up at the trees. “I’m just a candy girl.”

  The grass met with my back and I gazed up at an infinite blanket of stars. Smog dimmed their usual brightness because I wasn’t far enough out of the city. Plus, I was three sheets to the wind.

  “Guess who I saw today, Wes? Your best friend.”

  I quietly lay there, thinking about how it made me feel.

  “And?” a voice asked.

  “And what? He pussied out and drove off in his tough-guy car.” My fingers yanked on the grass angrily and then it dawned on me—the voice I’d just heard wasn’t my imagination.

  I rolled over and saw Austin leaning on his left shoulder against an aging tree. Austin always liked to do an ankle-cross while scoping out his surroundings. I used to think it was sexy as hell when he wore his leather jacket and fingerless gloves.

  It took years before I realized that most girls probably had a crush on their brother’s best friend at some point in time. No big deal—just a childhood thing.

  But damn, that lean was hot.

  My eyes blinked a few times, as if I could make him disappear.

  “Only time I ever saw you drunk, Lexi Knight, was the time we drove to San Antonio to a concert. Not even old enough to order a drink. Do you remember?” Austin pushed off the tree and stepped forward a few paces, arms crossed. “Wes was pissed when he found out those guys were buying you beers and he pulled you out of their truck before they decided to take the party to a new location. Good thing we found you when we did.”

  “Oh? And where were you? I don’t even remember you being there.”

  I emphasized the last bit and by the look on his face, he got my meaning.

  “Kicking the shit out of every last man in that truck, that’s where I was. Got my nose broke in the process.”

  The air stilled.

  The only thing about that night I remembered was going to the concert, some guys giving me drinks from their cooler, and then hanging out in the parking lot cracking jokes. The next day, I woke up sick as a dog and Austin hadn’t returned to the hotel room. Wes drove my hung-over ass home and told our parents I had caught the flu. Since Austin had taken a separate car, I just assumed he left without us or was banging some girl all night.

  “That’s right,” he said, carefully watching my stunned expression with shadowy eyes I couldn’t see in the darkness. “Bruised my knuckles knocking out the third guy, but he deserved it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it was his lap you were sitting on,” he said in a low and dangerous voice.

  A muscle flexed in his jaw and he lifted the bottle of whiskey, taking a slow swallow as a lightning bug flashed beside his shoulder. Austin screwed the cap on and I closed my eyes. I could have slept right there, sitting up in a graveyard with a ghost of my past in front of me.

  “I’ll take you home.”

  “No.”

  “I’m not letting you drive in this condition.”

  “What are you even doing here?” I finally snapped my eyes open. “Seven years, not a word, and you just show up and think everything is okay? Get away from me, and get off Wes’s grave.”

  He flicked his eyes down and stepped to the side, shoving his fingers through his hair in a frustrated manner. “I think you’ve had too much to drink.”

  I fell back and curled to my side, mumbling myself to sleep. “I don’t care what you think anymore. Leave me and Wes alone.”

  ~ ~ ~

  When I opened my eyes, it was morning. I was asleep in the back seat of my Toyota with one leg stretched between the front seats and the other pressed against the glass.

  “Shit,” I murmured, rubbing the crud from my eyes. My long hair was all over the place. Thank God I was still at the cemetery because I was wearing a dress and lying in a position a gynecologist would endorse.

  Then I sat up and found myself staring at a neighborhood, or more accurately, my mom’s front yard. Nope, I wasn’t at the cemetery.

  A curse flew past my lips and I quickly glanced around and made sure the neighbors weren’t out mowing their lawns or calling the police. The last thing I needed was my mom waking up and wondering why the hell I was giving the neighborhood a peep show in the back of my Toyota.

  I leapt into the front seat and headed home.

  During the drive, I gave myself a lecture, mostly going over the stupidity of driving drunk, even though I couldn’t remember a thing. What was I thinking? Even worse, my stomach was churning like one of those hand-cranked ice cream mixers and if I didn’t get to a bathroom soon, I was going to be sick in my car.

  After arriving at my apartment, I dragged my feet up the second flight of stairs, stumbling twice.

  “That good, was it?”

  I glanced at my neighbor, Naya, and she caught the irritated look in my eyes. Naya threw world-famous parties in her apartment and invited everyone in the complex. She did it to give them fair warning there would be loud music, probably a few broken bottles, maybe a fight, and a drunk playing Urinator in the pool. Naya worked as a stripper and once came into the candy shop looking for an oversized pinwheel lollipop. She invited me to a party and that’s when I found out what she did for a living. But off the clock she dressed like everyone else, and we hit it off as friends even though we had little in common.

  We recently ended up living next door to each other when I needed a place to live after my breakup with Beckett. I wondered if she’d paid off her neighbor to break his lease, because the timing was impeccable.

  Naya didn’t have a man, at least not a permanent one. She was a huntress and hung out with some wealthy and dangerous men she’d met at work. Trouble usually came with money, but Naya said she’d paid her dues and wanted a better life.

  My dues were about to wind up all over the landing if I didn’t get my ass inside.

  “Later, Naya.”

  I slammed the door and made a World Series slide to home plate in the bathroom, regretting every second of the previous night as I retched. After my humiliating porcelain moment of the day, I stripped out of my dress and debated whether or not I wanted to take an unsavory nap on the bathroom floor. Instead, I hopped in the shower and wa
shed pieces of grass out of my hair. It felt delicious to stand beneath the spray of hot water, and after towel drying my hair, I snuggled up in my favorite pink robe.

  I hadn’t been that drunk in a long time and wondered why I never learned my lesson. The only thing on my mind after that was coffee, so I headed into the kitchen to brew a pot of Italian roast. That’s when I saw Naya sitting at my bar playing solitaire. My wet hair squeaked when I pulled it around my shoulder and ran my hand down the long length of it.

  “Don’t you knock?” I said grumpily, staring at a pot of already-brewed coffee.

  “Don’t you lock?” she countered. “We don’t live in Bel Air, missy. You don’t think there are a few thugs in this complex that wouldn’t love to find an unlocked door and rob you blind?”

  “Oh God, you’re right,” I muttered, sliding my feet across the cold tile. “I don’t think I could live without my nineteen-inch television or the transistor radio I bought at a garage sale.”

  I poured a steaming cup and sat on the wood cabinet inside the kitchen, facing Naya who was on the other side of the sink. I was being facetious because I did own a laptop and some small electronic toys, but I wasn’t exactly living large and a thief wouldn’t make off with much.

  Her broad mouth twisted as she placed a card on the bar. “Someone’s in a funk.”

  Naya had a curvy figure like a young Salma Hayek in one of those old movies where she’s dancing seductively on tables. She had glossy black hair in beautiful curls and exotic eyes. Naya once tried to teach me how to dance at one of her parties. It got out of control when two idiots thought they were getting a free show with a personal lap dance to follow.

  I went home five minutes later.

  “Rough day at work?” she asked with a smile. That was an inside joke because my rough days consisted of screaming kids while hers ended up in fistfights between horny customers and the bouncers.

  I never brought up Wes with anyone, so I shrugged. “Just felt like cutting loose for a change.”

  Naya had a way of staring me down to the very fraction of a lie I just told, and the moment my eyes darted away, a smug look of satisfaction crossed her face.

  “Everyone is entitled to a night out,” I continued, sprinkling a little sugar in my cup before taking a sip.

  “Glad to hear you’re alive and kicking. That means you’ll be coming to my party on Tuesday.”

  “Don’t people have to work?”

  “Not the people I hang out with, darling. You know that. Tuesdays are my Saturday, and I know for a fact you don’t work every other Wednesday. There’s going to be a great crowd—lots of fat wallets and alcohol.”

  “It’s not the size of a man’s wallet that counts, Naya.”

  Her ruby lips turned up in a carnivorous smile. “Hon, that’s the only bulge in the pants that really counts in the long run.”

  We both laughed, although deep down I had a feeling she wasn’t joking. As sexual as Naya was, she didn’t seem to care about a guy fulfilling her physical needs. She wanted stability—a man who could offer her a better way of life. She equated security with money. Some women just liked being taken care of; I was not one of those women.

  “I’ll come,” I agreed. “But no dancing. And don’t do your thing.”

  “What thing?” She laid down a queen and the tip of the card made a snapping sound against the bar.

  “You know to which thing I refer.” I took another slow sip of my beverage. “The match game. Don’t do it. If my destiny is at the party and I can’t find him myself, then clearly I should go home without a parting gift. It’s embarrassing.”

  She lifted two fingers. “Promise.” Naya glanced at her watch. “Ooo, I’ve got to run. Will you feed Misha? I’m working a double shift tonight.”

  I groaned and padded into the living room. “I don’t know why dry food is such a big no-no. It’s a cat, Naya.”

  She swung the door open and glanced over her shoulder. “You’re the only person I’ve ever known who didn’t like my pussy.”

  I snorted and didn’t bother to respond. I had a love-hate relationship with her cat. I loved to hate it.

  “The wet food is by the fridge—”

  “I know. Go on, I’ll take care of little Misha.”

  Naya blew a kiss and slammed the door.

  “Lock it!” She yelled from the outside.

  I turned the bolt, set my coffee on an end table, and collapsed on the sofa. All I could think about was Austin. Did I really see him at the cemetery? Maybe I dreamed it. I never could hold my liquor and it didn’t take much to get me drunk, not to mention I was one of those people who blacked out if I drank too much. Not passed out, but conscious and sometimes belting out old rock songs. At least, that’s what Naya told me, as did a girl I used to party with when I was younger. That’s why I avoided binge drinking.

  No one needed to hear my rendition of “Feel Like Makin’ Love.”

  Still, the conversation had seemed so real.

  I was angry and kept hitting the stupid rewind button in my brain, causing me to replay the scene at Dairy Queen. Except in episode two, I got up and cussed him out. By episode three, I told my mom to take Maizy outside and I tore him a new one for walking out of our lives. By four, I managed to get information on where he’d been all this time before slapping him. Somewhere around episode twelve, I started making out with him, and by eighteen, we were having sex all over the hood of his Dodge Challenger.

  That’s when I got up and took another shower.

  Chapter Four

  The next day at work, we were slammed with orders. I don’t know if there were a lot of cheating husbands or sick grandmas or what, but Sweet Treats was hopping. Aside from selling candy, we customized gift items. You could choose from a number of candy combinations and have them packaged for different occasions in the container or basket of your choice. It wasn’t just a store for kids—we also sold expensive chocolates and gourmet popcorn. I’d sampled them to death over the years and officially murdered my love for sugar.

  If a guy ever gave me a box of candy (not that one ever would, all Beckett ever gave me was a box of Victoria’s Secret lingerie), that would be the equivalent of giving me a box of anchovies. It’s not that I hated candy, but the magic was gone. A man should be more original than a bouquet of roses and a box of chocolates. Flowers die and sugar sticks to your hips like a permanent record to a criminal.

  However, all superheroes have a kryptonite. I had one weakness.

  Lollipops.

  Our store only sold the cheap flat ones for the kids and those pinwheel multicolored novelty items. But my favorites were the large round suckers that came in various flavors, including gourmet. We tried carrying them but they never sold. Kids always wanted the chocolate bars or some of the newer candy based on their favorite cartoons or movies. Older generations wanted the hard-to-find items from their childhood or gourmet products. So things like lollipops, peppermints, and butterscotch just didn’t sell.

  The only person who knew how much I loved them was Wes. It’s how he used to bribe me to stay quiet whenever he was going to sneak out of the house or if I caught him in a lie. I was a sucker for suckers, and bribery came at a very reasonable price for him. Our parents never bought junk food unless we went to the movies. Only in recent years had Mom let go of the reins when it came to sugar and offered Maizy an occasional treat.

  April bounced into the room holding a beautifully wrapped basket with a yellow ribbon. “Here you are, Mrs. Lee.”

  “Oh, that’s just gorgeous! Ellie’s going to love it,” the older lady gushed. “She hasn’t tasted some of these candies since she was a little girl.” Mrs. Lee took a moment to admire the packaging before heading out the door.

  “Come by and see us again,” April said with a wave. “Thanks for stopping in, and be sure to tell all your friends to visit Sweet Treats!”

  The bell jingled and I glared at her from behind the display of gumballs. “That’s a bit much.”<
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  So were the cherry earrings she was wearing and the matching pin clipped in her bright blond hair.

  April tilted her head and the earrings swiveled. “You could learn something from me, Alexia. It’s not just about sales, but returning customers. You want them to tell their friends about us and feel like they need to come back here again for more. Charlie doesn’t offer coupons and we don’t do any marketing, so word of mouth is all we have. Relationship building is important for an independently run business.”

  “We sell crack, April.”

  A kid went jumping by as if there were invisible hopscotch lines on the floor. I nodded at him to illustrate my point.

  “You don’t think this place could ever go out of business?”

  I shrugged. “If the movie theater or pizza shop closes, then yeah. But this street is a freeway of hyperactive kids between the ages of Winnie-the-Pooh diapers and high school saggy pants. Not to mention the fact we offer pick-up through the Internet.”

  “Not everyone likes picking up when they can have it delivered to their house by another company,” she pointed out, refilling a display of Ring Pops.

  It was near closing time and I sanitized the counter, wiping away all the grimy little fingerprints and germs.

  After hours when we closed the shop and turned on the dim accent lights, it became pure magic. Long canisters lined the walls and we had several short aisles with packaged candy and other items. We didn’t have any fancy neon sign—just a pink board that ran over the doorway with the store name painted in black. We were open from ten to ten—at least those were the advertised hours. Everyone on this side of town knew we’d stay open as long as there were customers. Night owls loved it because the colorful displays in the window would catch their eye and draw them in for a late night snack before or even after their movie. I mentioned to Charlie once or twice that he should consider making us a hybrid business—perhaps buy the space next door to open a coffee shop and offer sweet treats for the adults, with a door connecting the shops. “Pipe dreams,” he would say. Charlie might have gone for it, but he probably didn’t have the money.