Expiez: Redeem Your Blood Lust (3 page)

Chapter Three

Clare woke to the sound of a power saw ripping through wood, followed by some banging and a loud crash. Blinking out of the sleep-drug haze, she trudged to the bathroom. The sound of things being torn apart was background music as she brushed her teeth, washed her face, and put in her contacts. Construction zone or war zone, it was hard to tell.

The bedroom and bathroom of her makeshift apartment faced the courtyard, so she was pretty sure whatever was going on was on Laroque property. Julia hadn't mentioned any construction besides the remodeling of the third story, but the noises were definitely coming from somewhere close.

They sounded like they were coming from the garage. Yanking open the side door, she stepped into the narrow garage and nearly got knocked out by a two-by-four.

"Whoa, watch out," Slade said as he shifted the bundle of boards balancing on his thick shoulders. He carried them to the front, where the garage door had been removed and the resulting gaping hole was being framed in.

The redhead from the night before was on a stepladder, mounting picture-hanging rails on the exposed brick. From Julia's description, Clare knew her name was Kate and she was Slade's new squeeze. She also knew that she'd recently endured some creepy shit at the hands of a guy named Lohr Varius. Really creepy shit, like being restrained and then cut up with a knife.

Since they hadn't been formally introduced, Clare did the honors. "So, what's going on?" she asked after all necessary pleasantries had been made.

"We're turning the garage into an art gallery." For a woman who had recently been tortured, Kate seemed pretty happy. Her full pout was spread across her pale face in a huge smile.

"Wow, really? What are Julia and Armand doing with their car?"

"I guess they're parking it in a share garage down the street." Kate drilled a screw into an anchor buried in the brick wall holding a silver mounting plate.

"I didn't realize Armand and Julia were into art. Who's going to run the gallery?"

"I am." Kate said the words like she couldn't believe they were true. "It's an amazing opportunity and has been my dream since getting out of college. I about peed myself when Armand suggested it."

"That's really cool. Art major I take it?" Kate nodded. "Me too. So, are you planning on featuring a particular artist, or will you have revolving artists?"

"Just one artist. For now anyway." Kate shot an adoring glance toward the front of the garage where Slade was driving nails into boards. Wearing a black wife-beater, his muscles twisted and contorted with every hammer blow. He was an impressive spectacle, but Clare was pretty sure that wasn't why Kate was beaming at him.

She quickly put two-and-two together. "No way!"

Kate grinned. "He's as amazing artist," she said as she climbed down the ladder. "I was shocked myself when I first found out." Moving the ladder over a few feet, she grabbed another rail and climbed back up the steps.

"I'd like to say I'm surprised, but somehow I'm not." This was why she liked
characters
so much. The moment she thought she knew them, she was bound to be surprised. She loved it when people shocked her. "What can I do to help?"

She spent the next several hours hammering, hauling, sweeping, cleaning, and sweating. About an hour in, Armand showed up in a rental truck loaded with construction supplies.

"I didn't think you got out of bed before three," she said as she helped maneuver the first Sheetrock panel out of the truck.

"Times are changing. You seem to be picking up the slack though."

"Someone in this family has to sleep past noon."

By the time they got the truck unloaded, Clare was drenched. It wasn't particularly warm, maybe seventy, but it was so humid, any excess body heat had nowhere to go. They'd just unloaded the last of the supplies when the skies opened up, and the biggest, heaviest raindrops she had ever seen began to saturate the city.

The work day wrapped up for the evening, Armand and Slade were about to screw in a piece of plywood over the gaping hole where the garage door had once been when a woman covered in ink and sporting a pixie walked through it. Slade set his end of the plywood sheet down and embraced her.

The woman shoved him away. "Jesus Christ, you reek."

"I've been telling him that all afternoon," Kate said. "He doesn't seem to believe me."

Slade sniffed his armpit. "Whatever. You know you love it. Pheromones."

Kate ignored him and wrapped her arms around the woman in an affectionate, if not slightly awkward, hug. "Thanks for coming by, Nikki."

"Any time."

Clare joined them, in awe of the artwork decorating the woman's body. "You have amazing ink."

"Nikki, this is Clare, Julia's sister," Kate introduced. "Clare, Nikki."

"Hey," Nikki said with a head nod. "And thanks. You look like you've got an interesting piece, too. Can I see it?"

With all the sweating, Clare had pulled off her sweater and now only wore a strappy tank that showed off the tips of the tattoo crawling from her lower stomach, over her hip, up her ribs, and ending at her shoulder blade. "Of course." She lifted her tank, not caring that half her bra was exposed in the process.

"Wow," Nikki said, leaning forward to get a better look. "That's even more impressive than it initially looks." Her fingers hovering inches above Clare's skin, she traced the lines of tattoo. "I love how the Persian miniature is incorporated into the pattern. Who did the work?"

"I designed it, but Troy at Skintasm in St. Louis handled the needle."

"You drew this?" Clare nodded. "You ever designed other tattoos?"

"All the time. I used to work there—at Skintasm."

"Really? You know, I've been looking for a new artist. I'd love to see your portfolio if you have one."

"Nikki owns the best tattoo studio in New Orleans," Slade interjected proudly.

"Judging by the amount of amazing ink in this room I don't doubt it," Clare replied with an enthusiastic smile directed mostly toward Nikki. "I can run and grab it if you like. It's in my car, but I'm just parked a block over."

"Please do. I have some business to take care of here, but I should be done by the time you get back." Slade and Armand had moved to stand behind her and loomed expectantly. Nikki glanced at them, they nodded in turn, and all three turned to leave.

"Sounds good…" As she watched the trio abruptly leave, Clare tried to keep the
"what the hell"
from her expression. She waited until they'd disappeared into the courtyard before turning to Kate. "What was that weirdness about?"

"Nikki is—was—is Slade's Donor."

"I'm not going to lie. I'm not any less confused."

"I'd be happy to take care of his blood needs,
but with everything that happened…" Kate leveled her light blue gaze on her. "I assume you heard—about Lohr."

"I have." Clare felt a little ashamed admitting it since it was none of her business. She was a very open person, but she wasn't sure she'd want the whole world to know about
her
recent drama. And she'd only been smacked around, not tortured by some creep.

"Well, Slade doesn't want to overburden me with them. I told him I was fine, in fact with him I love it, but well, he's stubborn." The words were said with nothing but affection.

"Gotcha."

"It won't take them that long, you know. You probably should grab your portfolio. Slade wasn't lying. Nikki's shop is the best in town."

"Shit, you're right. I'd better hurry."

Clare loved working in a tattoo shop. She definitely needed a job and Nikki's place sounded like a great opportunity.

It was still drizzling when she hit the streets. Puddles of standing water dotted the sidewalks and roadways like a hundred Michigan lakes. Dusk had settled over the city, making the gray skies seem even grayer. With the rain, the streets were eerily quiet.

She found herself hurrying for a multitude of reasons: the rain, she was anxious to show Nikki her portfolio, and most importantly, she had a serious case of the creeps. It felt like someone was watching her, stalking her from some unseen vantage point. Like a building roof.

She immediately looked up, and then laughed out loud. Not only because the thought was ridiculous, but the only person who would possibly be stalking her was Chris. And he neither had the balls or the gumption, or even the initiative, to hole up on some rooftop with binoculars and a sniper rifle.

Okay, ridiculous or not, by the time she rounded the corner her beater was parked on, she was no longer hustling, but jogging.

The feeling of being watched didn't go away as she rummaged through her car. Sifting through the bags of clothes, knickknacks and various miscellaneous pieces of her broken life, she had this irrational fear that while her back was turned, while she was unguarded, Chris was going to grab her and drag her back to St. Louis and she'd be stuck in that tiny apartment with him while he dictated her every move, hacked her email account, followed her to work and then sat outside and watched her like a detective on a stake-out…

By the time she uncovered the box containing her personal documents, some sentimental sketches she'd drawn in high school, and the tiny amount of family photos she'd managed to save, she was on the verge of having a panic attack.

Pushing aside the photos haphazardly scattered in the box, she paused when she came across the last family photo taken before her mom died. Unable to resist, she picked it up. The picture was taken Christmas break her senior year. Julia was back from college. It was their first reunion since she'd gone away and Clare had been overjoyed to see her. Everyone had.

They all looked so damn happy in that picture. Who knew only one month later everything would change. Looking at the picture, it was hard to believe what a tool her dad would turn out to be.

After their mom died and their dad responded by removing himself entirely from the situation, Clare wanted to believe it was because he couldn't deal with the death. That he was so in love with her he couldn't bear to be in the house they'd shared for twenty-five years. But knowing the reality now—how he had two young kids, a new wife, and a strong aversion to his older children—she was pretty sure he'd been a dick hiding in awesome dad clothing all along.

Tossing the photo into the box, she dug to the bottom, grabbed her portfolio, shoved her things back into the car, locked the doors, and made a bee-line back to the garage/soon to be art gallery.

Nikki oohed and ahhed over Clare's illustrations, which was a great ego boost. Chris' constant barrage of insults had given her confidence a work out.

"Well I love your work," Nikki said, sliding Clare's portfolio back to her. "And if you want a job..."

"Yes. Definitely."

"Great." Nikki rose. "Come in Monday and we'll work out the details."

A job. It looked like she had a job. Packing her stuff and driving to New Orleans had been the first step to making the city her new home, getting a job would make it even more real.

A celebration was in order. After dinner and a little plotting with Julia, Clare changed into something worthy of a night out and made her way down to
Luxure
.

She joined Kate sitting at the bar. "Are you working tonight?"

"Not unless it gets really busy. Why?"

"Julia and I are going out. You should join us."

Kate glanced at Slade. "Don't look at me," he said. "I'm not getting in on that vagina party."

"Don't worry, you aren't invited," she told him. "I was only looking at you to see if you thought you'd need me."

He placed both hands over his heart. "Only to fill the empty holes in my soul."

Kate rolled her eyes and turned back to Clare. "Where are you headed?"

"Just Bourbon Street. I need the type of drunken debauchery only Bourbon can offer."

"I'm not much of a drinker."

"That's okay. I'll drink enough for both of us."

"Well…"

The door opening interrupted her. It was a bar, not a living room, so it wasn't like people coming in was some big surprise. Clare turned to see whose entrance would make Kate stop talking.

It was Angel. On the arm of a very good-looking, very masculine, very
normal
looking guy. He looked nothing like the men Clare had seen decorating Angel's arms the last time she met her. Broad-shouldered in a button-up shirt and jeans, he had tousled brown hair that looked like it belonged to a 1980s movie jock—the kind that stood up on its own without an ounce of product—and bright blue eyes that did a sweep of the bar like he was looking for snipers. Clare did not care for the way he looked at her, like she might be the enemy.

"Sorry, Miss Miller," he said to Kate. "No word on Lohr yet."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Detective."

"Trust me, I hate having to tell it to you."

"Hey Copper," Slade said. "I got those papers for you to sign. Want to come back to the office?"