Dark and Deadly: Eight Bad Boys of Paranormal Romance (110 page)

“That sounds a little creepy considering you’ve never even met me before,” she said.

He laughed, and the sound sent a trill down her spine. She didn’t know if he was flirting with her or toying with her. Maybe it didn’t matter. She was ill equipped to handle either one.

“You and your brother seem to be having a disagreement tonight,” he said, switching the subject so unexpectedly that she had to scramble to keep up.

“I can’t see how that’s any of your business,” she answered.

“Can’t you? Why don’t you have a seat? Let’s talk about my business.”

The eyes sparkled wickedly and the disquiet burrowing in the pit of her stomach spread its wings and became full-fledged anxiety. He’d been playing her, keeping her off balance so he could blindside her with his questions. Questions about Reece if she’d read the scenario correctly.

Reece? What did you do?

She needed to get back to the kitchen and find out what the hell was going on before the detective mind-melded her with another of those soul-searching looks and she said something stupid.
Stupider,
she corrected.

Roxanne pinned another fake smile in place and said, “Of course, Detective—”

“Santo. You can call me Santo.”

Oh, I think not.

“Let me just check on things in the kitchen first,” she said carefully. “We’re about to close up for the night.”

He glanced at his watch as if to confirm it and nodded. “By all means. Put your affairs in order.”

A really weird way of saying
do what you need to do
that pinged her inner alarms
.
She wanted to ask what he meant by that, but she glanced up again and all other thoughts vanished as she sucked in a stunned breath.

In the time she’d been talking to him, the stain had spread to the edges of the ceiling. She could see it moving like a wave rushing the shore. The idea that it was alive and with purpose took root in some sequestered part of her psyche and began to grow. She imagined she could even smell it. Dank and sulfurous.

The detective pushed away from the table, staring up at it with sudden anger that was almost as confounding as the speed with which the stain had spread.

As if from a distance, she heard her two regulars, Jim and Sal, talking. Jim muttered, “You smell that? Toilets backed up, you think?”

“Must be,” Sal agreed.

She jerked her gaze away and stared at the two men in shock. “Look,” she said, her voice squeaking. She jabbed a finger at the ceiling.

They did, both of them coming to their feet as they stared at the seeping blackness overhead. “What the fuck
is
that?” Sal demanded.

“I don’t know. It was just a spot earlier, but now—”

A loud buzzing spun them all around to face the front door and windows. The noise seemed to come from just outside. Droning and harsh, it grew in volume and intensity as they watched with mouths open and eyes wide.

Everyone except the detective.

He knew what was coming, knew what made that hideous, atonal sound. She could see it on his face. He scanned from the ceiling to the windows and back, eyes hard, brows pulled.

“What?” she breathed. “What is—”

The first of the bugs hit the window with a squelching pop, and Roxanne screamed, jumping back. Greenish-brown goo splattered out from the point of impact, but she barely had a moment to register it before more slammed into the glass. Hundreds of them peppered it like bullets, leaving behind a nauseating smear of guts and gore. Each impact sent her back another jerky step until she bumped into the bar.

“Why are they doing that?” she demanded to keep from screaming again. She wanted to cover her eyes and ears, but fear of
not
seeing kept her from doing either one.

“Fuck,” Sal yelled. “Look at the ceiling.”

She tore her gaze away only to see that the stain above had thickened into a slick black ooze. It looked like an upside-down oil spill on a choppy sea. Soon it would reach the bar and the kitchen. And the stench . . . Damp and foul. Rotten eggs in a steamy soup.

The blackness began to drip, and Roxanne fought down another scream.

“Reece! Reece, get out here!” she shouted instead, just as a loud crash came from the kitchen.

“
Reece!
”

Santo turned, his gaze unerringly finding hers. The look he gave her spoke volumes, but she couldn’t understand what it meant. She couldn’t understand what was happening. The bugs had completely obscured the windows, the live ones crawling over the splattered remains, trying to get in. She felt the blood drain from her face. Could they? Would they find a way?

It felt obscene and somehow biblical in a very not-okay way. Reece still hadn’t appeared, but a cry came from the kitchen, followed by a loud bang.

“That’s a gun,” Sal said, jumping.

A gun?

Roxanne shoved her fear aside and raced to the swinging door, calling out her brother’s name as she ran. She burst into the kitchen, aware of Santo a few steps behind.

What she saw brought her to a skidding stop as she grappled with what she saw. Santo took her hand and tried to pull her back, but when she refused to budge, he gave up and angled his body in front of hers. Even a man his size couldn’t block out the horror, though.

The oily tide coated the ceiling and lapped against the walls in the kitchen, stark against the stainless steel and new paint.

The back door stood wide open to the October night. The same back door that Reece and their older brother, Ryan, fought about constantly. Ryan insisted that it remained locked after five. Reece complained that Ryan was a control freak who needed to get a life.
“What the fuck does he care if the back door is open? For Christ sake, let the slaves have some fresh air.”

The shelving that held pots and pans had been knocked over, its contents scattered all around it. The dishwasher was sprawled beside the sink. She could only see his legs and feet, but she recognized the rolled-up jeans, bright yellow sneakers, and hem of his too-big Iron Man T-shirt bunched around his thighs. The black ooze splattered his inert form.

Flash, flash, flash.
The images bombarded her so fast that she could barely focus on one before moving to another.

Reece stood in the doorway to the small office that was tucked between the walk-in refrigerator and the far wall, facing away from her. Through the big window that allowed an unobstructed view from the desk into the kitchen, she saw a man in front of the opened safe.

“You shot him. You fucking shot Manny,” Reece shouted.

The man glanced over his shoulder at Reece, and Roxanne felt all the air leave her lungs. He wore a ski mask pulled down to hide his features, with black paint rimming his eyes. Only the whites and the pale blue irises could be seen. He’d sewn the mouth-hole closed with fat, ugly stitches so that not even his lips showed. He glanced past Reece to where Roxanne and the others now stood. Reece turned, too, and in the dread she saw on his face, Roxanne read so much more.

Reece knew this masked man. More than that, her brother had let him in.

Disbelief pierced her as the man spoke. His words came disembodied from behind the stitched mask and all the more terrifying for those frigid eyes in their obsidian setting.

“Trust me, Reece.”

He shot her twin brother before she could grasp what he meant to do. Roxanne screamed again, but fear had closed her throat and all that emerged was a strangled cry. The echo of the gunfire reverberated through the kitchen, and her brother fell to the hard, tiled floor, his blood spilling from a fist-sized wound in his chest. Then the man with the ghastly mask spun and she looked into the pale eyes and knew that what lurked behind that frozen blue was not human.

Not human by any measure.

As if invited by the blood spilling from her brother’s wound and the black gunk pooling on the floor, others began to pour in through the back door like roaches from a drain. Others. Not people but . . . She stared numbly, trying and failing to label what she saw. Whatever
they
were, they didn’t wear masks. They didn’t need to. Their appearance was hunched and gnarled, their skin so colorless it looked like paste. And their eyes . . . white except for the pinpoint of the pupil. White lanterns in the most gruesome faces she’d ever seen.

Santo jerked her away just as the man with the mask pulled the trigger two times in rapid succession and Sal and Jim hit the floor.

“No!” she cried as blood splattered her skin in a hot spray. Santo was dragging her through the swinging doors when something slammed into her from behind and she stumbled. Excruciating pain exploded through her, and Santo was all that kept her from falling.

He shouted something, but she couldn’t make out the words through the screeching agony. The pain became an entity that owned her.

She looked down to see that blood covered her pink Love’sT-shirt and bubbled when she tried to suck in a breath. She’d been shot. Just like Reece . . . Her thoughts blurred and her knees gave.

Santo swept her into his arms as he raced across the dining room, charging into the bug-infested night. Roxanne felt herself slipping,
hurtling
toward a black unknown that felt ominously familiar. They’d met before, Roxanne and death, and she knew that in the darkness, she’d find someone waiting. He always waited, that nameless, faceless presence that welcomed and terrified her at once.

Santo called her name, and for a moment she was back with him, looking into his eyes, trying to read what she saw there. What did he have to do with all of this? In a sliver of lucidity, her mind connected a dot she didn’t understand. Before she could decipher the hidden meaning, it was gone again.

She thought of her older brother and sister and began to cry. Her eyes squeezed tight against the pain that throbbed from inside out.

She released one last wheezing breath.

And then, for the fourth time in her life, Roxanne Love died.

To keep reading, buy The Five Deaths of Roxanne Love at your local or online retailer.

Roxanne Love can’t conceal her ability to defy death—not from the world, not from the darkest creatures of the Beyond and not from the Reaper who wants her. Now Roxanne is on the run, her only ally a compelling, dangerous detective with secrets of his own. Against her will, she’s drawn to his quiet strength and heated touch. But can she trust him?

Incognito as guilt-ridden cop, Santo Castillo, the Reaper’s intends to get close to Roxanne Love, find out how she’s cheated death so many times, and a put a stop to it. Yet with this borrowed body come emotions the Reaper hadn’t expected. Now nothing is clear but his conflicted desire to protect the woman he came to kill. As destiny forces them to face an enemy hell-bent on using Roxanne to wipe out all of mankind, she and Santo must choose between love...and salvation.

Erin Quinn is an award winning author who writes romance for the thinking reader. Her books have been called “riveting,” “brilliantly plotted” and “beautifully written” and have won, placed or showed in the Booksellers Best, WILLA Award for Historical fiction, the Orange Rose, Readers Crown, Golden Quill, Best Books, and Award of Excellence.

Find out more about Erin at:

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http://www.ErinQuinnBooks.com

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The Five Deaths of Roxanne Love, Beyond Book 1 (available now)

The Forbidden Life of Alex Moore, Beyond Novella

The Three Fates of Ryan Love, Beyond Book 2 (September 2014)

The Seven Sins of Ruby Love, Beyond, Book 3 (2015)

Haunting Beauty, Mists of Ireland Book 1

Haunting Warrior, Mists of Ireland Book 2

Haunting Desire, Mists of Ireland Book 3

Haunting Embrace, Mists of Ireland Book 4

Werewolf Kara Mitchell fled with her brother Aiden to Montana after their alpha father punished her for kissing sexy omega werewolf Ryder Carrington. Left scarred by her father’s cruelty, Kara believes no one can love her. After killing his alpha to save the pack, Ryder now rules, but needs a mate. His blood runs hot for Kara. Ryder will do anything to claim her, even risk an all-out pack war that could cost them everything…

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

The Mating Rite - Preview Chapter

About the Author