Hearts of Darkness: A Valentine's Day Bully Romance Collection

by Joanna Mazurkiewicz

  “If they want us to change things up, fine,” Quinn said, straightening. His hands fell onto his thighs in loose fists. “Do national monuments. Prisons. Whatever. But a psychic? That goes against everything we’ve ever said and done.”

  “I know.” Tyler nodded sagely. “I guess that’s probably why they’re doing it.”

  His friend raised an eyebrow. “Come again?”

  “Conflict makes excitement, and excitement makes ratings. Remember how they wanted us to overreact to every piece of evidence in our pilot show? And remember how we didn’t want to, because we didn’t want to look like a bunch of cowards? This is sort of the same thing.”

  Quinn leveled a harsh glare at Tyler’s face. “I’m not afraid of psychics.”

  He sighed. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

  “Then what are you saying? Because you’re not making any sense.”

  “They wanted us to act like morons because they wanted something exciting for the show,” Tyler patiently explained. “This is the same thing. They want us to fight with her or have friction or whatever, just so people can tune in and watch the train wreck.”

  Quinn groaned. “But that ruins the entire premise. We’re supposed to be investigating. If we spend all of our time arguing, and if we bring that much negativity into a haunted space, we’re going to get jack shit for evidence. We’re going to be wasting our time and get laughed out of the community.”

  Tyler scratched his head. “The community already laughs at us. You know that. All of the other professional paranormal investigators dismiss us as kids, or worse.”

  “If I hear ‘pretty boy’ one more time, I’m gonna go postal,” Quinn complained.

  “Exactly. So don’t worry about what our competition thinks. They’re already jealous SOBs and I don’t care what they say.” He gestured vaguely toward the interior of the hotel, where they had left their party. “She might bring something of value to the team. You saw what she did in there.”

  “Yeah, and a lot of that information could have been looked up and fed to her ahead of time. They said they were going to plant information. Maybe they already have.”

  “Maybe... but maybe they didn’t.” His friend gave him a caustic look, and Tyler held up his hands. “I’m just saying it’s a possibility. And since she’s here, and since we don’t really have a choice in the matter... I think we should try to make it work, or at least try to be civil.”

  “Don’t lecture me.”

  “I’ll lecture you if I feel like it. You could use a good lecture now and again.” He grinned, and Quinn reluctantly smiled back. “Come on. Let’s at least eat. It’s on the network’s dime, and the food here has got to be better than whatever they’re serving in the cafeteria.”

  “Fine.” They abandoned their bench and headed back instead. “But we’re totally switching seats.”

  THEY RETURNED TO THE table, and this time Tyler sat beside Emma. He smiled at her, and she smiled back uncertainly. There was sorrow in her eyes, he thought, and he wondered what caused it.

  The food was delivered, and Henry prated on about the other shows he was producing. Avila and Talia aided and abetted his egotistical display, and Brent chimed in politely from time to time. Quinn held his sullen silence, and Professor Montcalm watched the proceedings thoughtfully. Tyler had never had such an uncomfortable dinner in his life.

  Emma and Quinn avoided speaking to one another for the duration of the evening, and the rest of them tried not to broach the subject of psychic phenomena. Avila was the one exception, unable to stop talking about the messages that Emma had relayed to her. Tyler watched as Avila’s rapt reiterations made the pretty medium squirm, and the more embarrassed she looked in the face of the praise, the more inclined he was to believe that she might be the real deal.

  Of the three of them, Tyler had the most open mind. Brent could be swayed by the strongest opinion in the room, which usually belonged to Quinn, and their lead investigator was stubborn to a fault when it came to things that he was certain were right. Tyler didn’t know the origin of Quinn’s hatred of all things psychic, but he knew that it went deep. His best friend refused to tell him the reasons for his loathing, which didn’t help the matter a bit.

  Tyler was a scholar, and he believed in evidentiary proof. He would allow Emma to prove herself before he completely dismissed her as a fake. His friends would not be as kind, he knew.

  Over dessert, Professor Montcalm turned to Emma. “I know that being an enrolled student is part of the requirement for being on the Ghost U team. Is that all taken care of, and have you gotten your classes set up?”

  Emma smiled at their advisor. “Yes, actually. I’m a social work major with a psych minor, so I’ll be in your Intro to Criminal Psych class this term.”

  Quinn turned and gave her such a hateful glare that Tyler wondered if he would have to hold his friend back. “Great,” the angry young man ground out. “We’ll be in the same class.”

  Brent grinned at Quinn, and it was the look he wore when he was up to no good. “Maybe you can be study partners.”

  Quinn began, “That would be...”

  “... intolerable,” Emma finished.

  Henry burst out laughing. “I have to say, I wanted friction so we could get some good footage for the show, but this is better than I could have hoped.”

  Emma tilted her head slightly, her eyes cast down to the left. She smirked but stayed silent.

  “Glad we’re amusing you,” Quinn grumbled.

  “You are.” The producer paid the tab, then pushed his chair back and stood. “Quinn, ride with me. I’ll take you back to your apartment.”

  Brent frowned. “But, uh... what about us? We live together.”

  “I just need some alone time with our lead investigator,” Henry beamed. “Charlie can take you home.”

  Professor Montcalm, whom nobody had ever called ‘Charlie’ before, also stood up. “I’ll be happy to drive you, boys.”

  The women left together, and Henry and Quinn followed shortly after them. Professor Montcalm leaned back in his chair and heaved a deep sigh.

  “I agree,” Tyler said. “That was excruciating.”

  “Went better than I thought it would,” Brent shrugged.

  “That’s not saying much.” Their advisor took off his glasses and held them in one hand while he rubbed his eyes with the other. “I knew Quinn would hate this.”

  “Is the show really that boring?” Brent asked, sounding hurt. “I mean, our fans have never said anything about it being dull.”

  “No.” Professor Montcalm put his glasses back on. “It’s all about chasing demographics. They only group that the show isn’t scoring well with is young males, aged 18 through 35. So the network is adding a female for those viewers to watch.”

  Tyler crossed his arms, feeling defensive. “If she keeps dressing like she did tonight, they’ll have plenty to stare at. She’s not going to wear stuff like that during the investigations, is she?”

  “No.” The professor hesitated. “At least, I hope not.”

  Brent finished his water and stood up. “Let’s just go home. I have a rotten headache.”

  HENRY DROVE THROUGH Boston, purposely taking a long and circuitous route that went nowhere near Miller College’s student ghetto. Quinn slouched in the passenger seat, craving a cigarette like he hadn’t craved one in over a year.

  “You hate her,” the producer said.

  “Hell, yes, I hate her.” He glared out the window at the lights of the city. “Well, I don’t hate her. I hate what she does.”

  “That’s actually good.”

  Quinn nodded and waved his hand dismissively. “Yeah, I know. I heard. Ratings.”

  “Exactly. I, uh...” He stole a look at his passenger. “I wouldn’t actually mind if the other boys started fucking her. But I think you’d better hold off.”

  “I’m not interested in her.”

  “Good. Keep it that way.”

  They rode in
silence for a mile or so, then Quinn asked, “Why?”

  “Why can’t you sleep with her?”

  “Yeah. Assuming I even want to.”

  Henry grinned. “You’re the star of the show, kid, and most of your fans are teenagers and twenty-something chicks who don’t want to see their TV boyfriend with anybody else. Tyler and Brent? They don’t have the fanbase you do.”

  Quinn looked out the window. On one hand, he knew that he drew a lot of female attention. He always had. On the other hand, though, he suspected that Henry was sucking up to him, flattering him for some reason. With a sardonic smile, Quinn asked, “What do you want?”

  Henry pulled into a parking lot and stopped the car. He turned in the seat to look at him, and the young man was instantly on his guard.

  “I want you to leave Ghost U and start a new series.”

  His jaw dropped. “What?”

  “You heard me.” Henry grinned. “You’ve got more people following you on Twitter than the other guys have on all the socials. Your Instagram is mobbed. These other guys were good for getting you started, but they’re holding you back.”

  Anger flashed hot and unwelcome up the back of his head, and Quinn could feel his face turning red. “Those guys are my best friends. We started doing this years ago, before there was a show. Before there was even a network. They’re like brothers to me, and I’m not going to desert them.”

  “You know they’ll falter and fail without you.”

  “We’re a team.”

  “How much are you making per episode, Quinn?”

  The young man groaned. “You know perfectly well how much. You sign my fucking paychecks.”

  “How much?”

  “Twenty K.”

  “Come with me and it’ll be fifty thousand per.” He gestured wildly, sold on his own excitement. “You’ll be the headliner. You’ll be the undisputed star. International locations, special events...”

  “Henry...”

  “I can promise you that every hotel you go to will have at least one woman waiting there, according to your personal taste, to help ease the strain of the ghosts.” He grinned.

  “Henry...” Quinn shook his head, turning his face away. “I can’t believe you.”

  “At least think about it. Can you promise me that much?”

  He wanted to tell him where he could put his offer, but a more rational, pragmatic side of him prodded Quinn to hold off and see what he could work out for the rest of the guys on the show.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Great.” The producer turned around in the car seat and started driving again. “If you really hate this chick, then she can take the blame for breaking up the band. She can be Ghost U’s Yoko Ono.”

  “Yo who?”

  Henry laughed. “Never mind.”

  Quinn looked out the window again as the car turned around and headed back toward the city center. After a long few minutes, he asked, “Is she the real deal, do you think?”

  “Who cares? She was hired for her looks. Tits and ass, my boy. And anyway, we’ll be giving her information on each place you investigate, so it really doesn’t matter. We might even make her wear a hidden wire where we can feed things to her during each walk-through.”

  Quinn clenched his teeth but tried to keep his agitation under control. The things that the producer was proposing would gut the credibility of his team and the evidence they gathered, and it would turn their show into a laughingstock. It was one thing to be laughed at by the skeptics, but when other ghost hunters dismissed you? It was the worst. He had seen more than one group go down in flames for faking their evidence for the camera. He didn’t want that.

  He had come to ghost hunting the natural way - following the scars left by experiences he couldn’t explain. Tyler and Brent had been his buddies in school, and they had heard his stories and even had some of their own. It had been natural for him to include them in his investigations.

  They made a YouTube channel to share the evidence they caught, and someone at the network had seen it. Quinn’s face had sold the show, and he knew it. Of the three of them, he was the athlete and the one with the pretty face. He had done what he needed to do to get the showoff the ground, including shaking what needed shaking with the higher-ups at the college. Miller College had agreed to sponsor the show and his team, on the condition that they were enrolled with the school and had a faculty advisor. Professor Montcalm had a personal interest in the unexplained, and he had a certain camera-ready handsomeness, too, which had been a boon. They were a good team.

  Solid. Capable. Complete.

  Now Henry was screwing with their formula, bringing a woman onto the show and undercutting their reputation for seriousness and integrity. He resented the hell out of Henry for even bringing it up, and now that he’d met her, he resented Emma Ray, too.

  Psychics. In his opinion they were little better than parasites who capitalized on the weaknesses of the grieving and vulnerable. They told them what they wanted to hear and sold pretty lies at a huge profit. It was all bullshit. He had two goals in life where the paranormal was concerned. First, to catch a ghost on camera and prove to the skeptics once and for all that there really was life after death. Second, he wanted to reveal psychics as the frauds and cheats that they were.

  He wanted to destroy them, to out them, to ruin their reputations. If Emma Ray wanted to be the first one to get that treatment, that was all right with him.

  “I’ll work with her,” Quinn finally told Henry as they pulled into the driveway of his apartment complex. “But if I can disprove her, I will.”

  The produced pulled into an open space in front of his building and turned a megawatt grin toward him.

  “Sounds perfect, Quinn. Absolutely perfect. But hold off until we can get it on camera, right?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, I know. It’s always the rule. Whatever happens - if we get hurt, if we get sick, if we get scared - it’s all gotta be on camera.” He got out of the car but leaned back in before he closed the door. “Trust me, when I show the world the truth about her, the camera will definitely be rolling.”

  Henry said, “That’s all I’m asking, kiddo.”

  Quinn shut the door and walked into the apartment building, thinking, No. You’re asking for a hell of a lot more.

  Chapter Four

  The next few weeks were occupied with getting set up for the fall term, which involved all of the usual college rigamarole. Emma bought her books and supplies, located all of her classrooms, and managed to avoid everyone involved with Ghost U.

  Her fortunate streak ended on the first day of classes. She knew that Quinn Riley was in her Intro to Criminal Psychology class, the one that was taught by Professor Montcalm. When she arrived, he was already in the room, sitting in the front seat all the way to the left side, his head down as he tapped away on his phone. She sat down in the back of the room, hoping to avoid his notice. Quinn never looked up, which was a relief, but then Professor Montcalm came in and ruined everything.

  “Emma, don’t sit all the way in the back like that. It’s a small class, so come up toward the front, please.”

  Quinn looked over his shoulder at her, and his face turned dark with resentment. He turned away again.

  She gathered up her book bag and came to the front of the room. “I thought an intro class would be pretty full,” she said softly.

  Professor Montcalm smiled. “Not this one. It’s a very special sort of class, so we keep enrollment to a minimum. We turned away a lot of students.”

  “How lucky for you that you got in,” Quinn said icily.

  “Yes,” she agreed. “How lucky for us both.”

  A cold draft blasted through the room, and all three of them fell silent. Emma leaned her elbow on the desk and covered her face in her hand. Professor Montcalm and Quinn looked at one another.

  “Did you feel that?” Quinn asked.

  The professor nodded, and the young investigator reached into his book bag. He
retrieved a hand-held device, gray and oblong like a TV remote, but with an array of colored lights on the end ranging from green to red. He stood and walked toward the center of the room, where the cold was deepest. The lights on the object he was holding lit in order until all of them were shining.

  Professor Montcalm turned to Emma. “Is there someone here?”

  She had hoped this wouldn’t happen. In a city as old as Boston, though, she supposed it was inevitable. “Yes.”

  “Do you know who?”

  Emma shook her head. “He’s not giving me his name.”

  “So it’s male,” the professor confirmed. “Old? Young?”

  “Young-ish. Mid-30s. Dark hair and eyes, about 6 feet tall. He’s a policeman.” She listened and repeated what she heard. “He’s not talking to me, but I’m hearing a woman’s voice, like over a radio. She’s saying, ‘shots fired at Book and Main.’”

  Quinn froze.

  Emma turned and looked at the spirit who was standing in the middle of the room, his vaporous form occupying the same space as a student desk. He was staring at the young man with the device in his hand, and the look on his face was cavernous with grief.

  “He’s sad. So very sad,” she sighed.

  Quinn rounded on her, his face ferocious. “Shut the fuck up.”

  “Mr. Riley...”

  He turned and pointed at the professor. “You put her up to this!”

  Montcalm pulled himself up to his full height. “I most certainly did not.”

  Quinn tossed his meter into his bag before he grabbed it and headed for the door. Emma watched as the spirit turned in place, staring after the young man’s exit.

  -Shit.- It was Craig’s voice. She looked around, but she didn’t see him. -That boy is on my last nerve.-

  Can you help this officer find his way to the other side? she asked.