Dead Sexy (12 page)

“Hell.” I thought about it for a minute. D.S. made a whole lot of sense. “Am I going to need any kind of special equipment?”

“Yeah.” He reached underneath the table. His rough callused fingers brushed against the bare flesh of my knee making me quiver and squirm in response. Oh, god. Was he really touching me? What else was he going to do? My breath started to come a little faster. My heart was pumping inside my chest. If I slid forward another inch then he’d be able to reach up under the hem of my shorts.

He’d be touching me.

D.S.’s thumb ghosted against my skin in an easy circle. His head tilted to the side. “Do you own any pants?”

I own pants, lots of pants. Of course, most of them had holes in the knees or bedazzling on the ass.

After breakfast, we made a quick stop at the Sinclair family homestead—a fake Tudor in Palmer Park, north of Downtown, north of Midtown, and north of Highland Park. So close to Ferndale it might as well not even be Detroit, but they still get me on the car insurance—and I stole a pair of tailored black slacks from my mother.

I added a quick swipe of mascara, a layer of lipstick, and a high ponytail to the look and glanced in the mirror. Between the long sleeved shirt and the high-wasted pants, I looked rational. Adult. Boring.

D.S. seemed to like it.
I think.
He couldn’t keep his eyes off of me on the drive back to town. It was enough to give a girl a complex.

“See something you like?” I waggled my eyes in his direction.

“Just wondering how I’m going to do my job
and
keep you out of trouble.”

“Don’t worry. I can take care of myself.”

“That’s what I’m worried about.” He reached down and snagged his DUA windbreaker from where he’d left it in the passenger foot well. “Here.” He handed it to me. “Wear this.”

“So I can look like a government issued stooge? No, thank you.”

17.

Ten minutes later I was standing in front of a room full of cops wearing the DUA jacket. It definitely wasn’t my best look. The most I could hope for was that no one would recognize me.

“Gemma.” My cousin Brody stepped up beside me, looking all spic and span in a Detroit Police Department uniform. “You’re looking mighty official.”

Okay, so my disguise wasn’t perfect.

“What’s going on?” he demanded.

“You sound grumpy.” I turned towards him.

Brody’s got the plastic-fantastic face of a fashion doll, with bright blonde hair and clear blue eyes. Cindy says he’s got a pretty fantastic ass too, not that I cared. Brody and I grew up together. He’s the closest thing I have to a sibling, and one of the few guys I trust completely.

At the moment, his handsome good looks were contorted into a dark scowl.

“Don’t screw with me, Gemma. Last time I checked, you weren’t exactly Conroy’s favorite person.”

“He’s not so bad—.”

“Uh huh, you stun gunned him. I figured we’d be pulling your body out of the river any day now.”

I blinked in surprise. “D.S. is a government agent. He’s not going to do anything illegal.”

“D.S.?” Brody raised an eyebrow. “You even know what that stands for?”

Dead Sexy. My teeth dug into my bottom lip. “Not exactly.”

“Me neither, but you should have seen the mess when we brought him in the other day. One-phone call, and suddenly we’re up to our ass in government officials. Not just the DUA either. The governor called my boss. Personally.” Brody paused. “Every cop in the city’s working on this thing. You need any more bodies; you’re going to need to call in the border patrol. Used to be a Biter with a gun got a quick bullet to the head, now we’re all bowing and scraping.”

I glanced across the police squad room to where D.S. was consulting with Brody’s boss. My gut clenched. I’d never felt bad about turning a rogue Biter over to the police before. Bad guys were bad guys. The government was literally the judge, jury, and executioner.

What if they’d killed D.S.? A bullet to the head and he never would have come back to introduce himself to me.

“I didn’t know you were a bigot.”

“White, black, gay, straight. I don’t care, but I figure a man’s got to draw a line somewhere between the living and the dead.” Brody crossed his arms in front of his chest. “There was a time when I thought you agreed with me.”

“He’s not so bad,” I said.

Brody snorted in disbelief. “I thought you’d be the last girl to fall for a pretty face.”

What can I say? I’m only human, even if D.S. isn’t.

The Biter’s head lifted slightly, like he could sense my sudden interest. He turned to meet my gaze across the busy room. The sides of his mouth twitched up into a soft smile. He was so damn good looking. Even now I could feel heat rushing through my body in response to his attention.

I couldn’t decide what I wanted to do more: kiss him or smack him around until he told me exactly what was going on.

D.S.’s soft smile dropped into a bright grin. Between his high cheekbones, square jaw, and emerald eyes, he was every girl’s idea of Prince Charming. Knowing what kind of  guns he was hiding underneath his soft cotton shirt didn’t hurt matters either.

“Some Biters have gone missing,” I filled Brody in on the basics, leaving out my attempt to jump D.S.’s bones the night before. “We figure if they care enough to send a pack of Biters after us then maybe they’re hiding something even bigger.”

“Maybe it’s nothing.” Brody shrugged. “Biter on Biter violence is up all over the city. They might just have been going after your zombie friend.”

“It’s still a crime.”

“Maybe, but it’s not a big deal.”

It took everything I had not to reach up and skim my fingers over the wound on my shoulder. Would Brody be saying the same thing about me if I’d died the night before? Would he be standing over my body waiting for me to wake up? Or, would he be standing over my body with a loaded gun? It happened sometimes.

Family members couldn’t handle the thought  their loved ones might come back… different. They put a bullet through the brain before the person could wake up then called it into the police as a suicide. No one ever bothered to do a follow up. No one cared. One less Biter was one less Biter.

I shrugged.

I wanted to keep talking to Brody, but the captain was calling everybody to order. A few minutes later the entire squad had been divided up into teams of two to six. Some of them were meeting up with DUA agents up from Toledo and others were going out on their own. They all wore hard expressions on their faces, charged stun guns, and orders to—if necessary—shoot to kill.

D.S. and I went downtown. We hit bars, office buildings, and the occasional tumble down home that turned out to be full of drug dealers and their customers. Most of them had Biters working as bar backs, and hard headed muscle who didn’t feel pain or remorse.

We checked their ID’s and had a few quick words on labor relations. No one seemed to notice or care. Maybe they’d think about it. Maybe in a couple of hours they’d ask their bosses for a raise—or the back pay they had coming for twelve years of overtime—maybe not.

Getting real change in the workplace requires motivated workers—Biters and human beings—coming together to make their voices heard. If what we did helped create that kind of movement then it was worth the effort.

Around five o’clock, we stopped at Riley’s. It was a small bar north of Michigan and south of Trumbull. D.S. parked in the street and slid a laminated piece of paper onto the dashboard to keep the truck from being ticketed or towed. It was boiling out. The summer sun was still high overhead and the humidity rolling off the nearby river didn’t help. I left my borrowed jacket on the truck’s bench seat and hustled after the government agent.

D.S. was first through the bar’s door. I was a step behind him.

The bar was dusky and quiet. The floors were chipped linoleum and the ceilings were covered in pressed tin. The gnarled guy behind the counter looked up in surprise. “Evening.” His gaze flicked back and forth between the two of us. “We’re running a couple’s special upstairs. Two for the price of one.”

I bit my lip to suppress a shudder. Whatever he was talking about, I wasn’t interested. “That’s not necessary—.”

“Let the man speak, sweetheart.” D.S. reached out and put a hand on my hip. Hugging me close like we were two sweet young things out for a night on the town. Not likely. I gave a sharp tug, trying to pull away. No such luck. The man had a grip like a vise. “Upstairs.” He nodded towards the doorway behind the bar. “That way?”

The bartender nodded in my direction. “You sure she’s interested? Girl looks like she’s about to head for the hills.”

“Don’t worry,” D.S. said. “She does what she’s told.”

“You let me watch…” The bartender’s yellow teeth flashed against his callused skin. His expression was enough to make my blood curdle in my veins. “We can open up a bottle of whiskey right now. On the house.”

“Maybe next time,” D.S. growled. He led the way over to the door, never letting go of my arm. The entire way through the bar, he kept his body solidly between the creepy bartender and me. His motion seemed instinctive.
Protective.

A few moments later we  headed up a narrow staircase. Peeling wallpaper rustled as we walked. “Do you know what this place is?” I asked.

D.S. shrugged. “I just know it was on the list at the station.”

Great. Just great. All day long we’d been running into illegal establishments. None of them had given me the creeps like this.

We hit the top of the stairs and turned—

The lounge area was exquisitely appointed. Thick sapphire rugs, couches upholstered in creamy velvet, and mirrors with golden frames. The best of the Rat Pack was being piped in through hidden speakers. There was another bar upstairs—smaller than the one below—with a female Biter standing behind the counter.

She looked like a princess out of a children’s story, absolutely spectacular. Her skin was smooth and chocolatey. Her dark curls spilled down her backs in rich waves. A small heart had been tattooed on her arm. A red and gold striped corset was buckled over her long torso. A pair of black hot pants clung to her legs, and velvety cherry lipstick was spread like frosting on her mouth.

“Welcome. To. Riley’s,” she said. “A. Drink. Before. You. Get. Started?”

D.S. smiled. “We’re more interested in the two for one special.”

“Of. Course.” She tottered out from behind the bar in a pair of sky-high heels. “Make. Yourself. At. Home.” She disappeared behind a white velvet curtain.

D.S. and I waited a beat before following her. The music disappeared as we entered a narrow hallway, only to be replaced by other sounds. Primal. Vicious. Men and women moaned and groaned as they lost themselves in each other. There were several doors leading off the hallway. Each door had a small window set in it. I pushed myself up onto my tiptoes to look into the first room as we passed.

There was a couple inside having sex.

The woman was gorgeous. Her hair was a luxurious chestnut color. Her cheeks were coated in blush. Her lips were painted a soft pink. There was a tattoo of a heart on her arm—like the Biter bartender outside—and a piercing in her lip. I blinked in surprise when I saw that both of her nipples were pierced too.

The man was in his mid-forties but fit for an older guy with a strong chest and muscular biceps. He kissed the woman hard. Tasting her. Drawing her lip into his mouth as he pounded away inside of her.

Watching the couple was so damn hypnotic. My skin prickled. My body felt tight in unexpected places.

“Faster,” the woman said. “Harder.”

The man reached up and wrapped his broad hands around the woman’s delicate neck. He squeezed tight, and he didn’t let go.

“D.S.!” I jerked away from the window. “Come here!”

“Easy.” D.S. crossed over to me in two quick steps. “It’s okay.”

Had D.S. seen what I’d seen? “Someone’s being strangled in there. We’ve got to help her!”

“Easy.” His arms wrapped around my waist. He pulled me tight against his chest. “Easy,” he murmured in my ear as I fought against him. “Listen to her.”

“Harder,” the woman was still saying. “Faster. Harder. Tighter.”

She was a Biter? I blinked in surprise. “What the hell is going on?”

“I. Might. Ask. The. Same. Thing,” a woman interrupted.

18.

The Biter who’d interrupted us was tall and statuesque, a regal woman with long black hair and violet eyes. She was wearing a golden gown that stopped just short of her knees and displayed a long valley of cleavage. Her makeup was perfectly applied and tasteful, with only a hint of seductress. She smelled like lavender heaven. She stuck out a hand. “I’m. Riley. Follow. Me.”

D.S. released me from his grip as Riley turned and led us back down the hall. For a Biter, she moved with a considerable amount of grace. Her steps were slinky, sultry. Her high heels clicked against the wooden floor. In the lounge area, she settled herself onto a velvet-clad couch and dismissed the bartender with a glance. “You. Are. Police.”

“Not quite.” I glanced around nervously. “What is this place?”

“A. Biter. Brothel.” Riley’s tongue ghosted over her lip in a practiced gesture. “Men. Come. Here. To. Do. Things. Living. Women. Might… Object. To.”

Oh, my god. My stomach churned. I felt like I was going to throw up. “Like strangling someone?”

“Biters. Don’t. Need. Air.” The woman shrugged. “Strangling. Beating. We. Don’t. Feel. Pain.”

“I thought Biters didn’t… Biters don’t.” My arms crossed nervously in front of my chest. I struggled to keep my gaze locked in a straight line, ignoring D.S. at my side. “Biters can’t have sex.”

“Biters can do a lot of things,” D.S. said. “Want me to prove it?”

“No. Pain. Means. No. Pleasure,” Riley explained slowly. “But. Women. Don’t. Have. To. Enjoy. Sex. Not. If. They’ve. Got. Plenty. Of. Lubricant.” Her head cocked to the side. She sniffed. “You. Understand.”

I’d heard rumors to that effect, but the idea still gave me the creeps.

D.S. didn’t appear quite so put off. He pulled his badge from his pocket and held it out for Riley to get a good look. “I’m from the DUA. We’re looking for some missing Biters here in the city. Their paperwork didn’t go through.”