Forsaken (10 page)

When I use the word
we,
I mean
I
.

Chapter 8

Mike hardly slowed his SUV to a crawl in front of his house for me to get out. He didn’t pull into his driveway, which was odd, and that curious asshole cat inside me clawed around to know why, but my pride kept the big hole in my face shut tight. My feet had been on the asphalt all of two seconds before he screeched away, fishtailing and spitting smoke from his tires.

It was all a show. He wanted me to know he was pissed. Experience told me he would eventually get over it, but my gut told me I was grasping at Dollar Store straws. With keys in hand, I fired up the old Geo. I hadn’t had the chance to think about why I was in front of Mike’s house in the first place. Surely, he thought I’d gotten drunk, inked, and passed out at his place for whatever reason he could make up. His not accepting facts for what they were, really tossed a big-ass wrench in things. For one, he’d left me with only Cyrus as an ally. Second, without Tatum, I had no one to bounce my own thoughts off of, so they flittered away the second I thought them. Without my net of people, I didn’t really know how I’d get by. At least I knew the living were still alive; that I could live with. Anything more would be a miracle.

“Ha. You really screwed the pooch on this one, dumbass.”

I shook my head at my own ridiculousness, popped the car into drive, and headed off to collect Lupe’s payment. Without the jar, which had once held pickles, I wasn’t one-hundred percent certain where I’d store the pint and a half of sloppy red stuff, but I didn’t dare look my mom in the face to go back home and retrieve it. It had been a miracle enough she hadn’t blown up my—technically her—phone after she’d talked to Mike. I’d carry it back in my left shoe if I had to. There was nothing that could have stopped me and my quest for salvation. Except perhaps a naked chick and her demon tagalong. I hoped it didn’t come to that.

Embrace always seemed sad in the light of day. Creepy and a little pathetic, like a week-old Christmas tree drying on the side of the road, one lowly ornament dangling from a brittle branch. The sign I’d watched them deliver the day before hung by only three corners, leaving one to dog-ear and flap in the minute breeze which Los Angelinos called fall. Big, bold red and black letters boasted the club was under new management. It hadn’t even been a full week since the previous management lost his ginger head and already things were turning around. Cyrus had what it seemed he’d always wanted. However he attained it would be left for the curious to figure out, but he benefitted nonetheless. Dominika never seemed to let anything affect her, ever. Somehow the two of them were near impervious, obviously capable of disappearing and thus skating past any police action. To make matters easier on them, their bastard boss man was dead. What the fuck did they have to worry about? What did scary shit have to be scared of? Me and my big, fat blabbermouth maybe.

I’d beaten myself up for days about something I literally had no control over. If there had been any way, if there had been anything I could have done to stop it, I would have. Those two otherworldly cock-smokes had willingly taken part in the slaughter of three people. Those people were the bad guys, and for whatever reason the cops didn’t even know they were dead, but they’d covered up the same crime I had. They were just as much at fault as I was. Just like Mike. The more I considered the situation, the more I realized I was the one taking on all the grief. I was the one who apparently stamped ‘Come and Get It’ on my fucking forehead. All I ever wanted was to live my dream. All I ever wanted was to exploit dead hookers and the vampires who killed them, drink beer, and wear stretchy pants during the day. Good God, did I want nothing more than to rewind my life and do it all differently.

I banged on the double doors, which seemed to have gotten a fresh coat of paint at some point in the last twenty-four hours. They rattled against the jamb. Cyrus hadn’t known I was coming and I didn’t really expect anyone to be there. I would never remember where the hell his tiny black and white apartment was. I’d either have to check out Macabre Saturnine or try to find Sween again, or wait for him to show up. Whatever I decided to do, I didn’t have time to dick the dog. I couldn’t fathom spending another night without the protection I prayed Lupe could give me. Her knowledge didn’t seem to do much.

When there was no answer for a long few minutes, I cruised around back to give the office door a shot. The alley was dirty and smelled like hobo piss. My sneakers pounded the metal steps, likely alerting anyone inside of my presence. The heavy metal door opened the moment my foot hit the top step.

“Well, and here I thought I’d meet my death at the top of these stairs.” Cyrus smiled, his head poked out from the crack in the open door. “Low and behold, Dylan Hart in the lovely flesh.” His smile was the one I remembered. It was the one I really liked. His confident-yet-goofy demeanor was the thing that had attracted me to him in the first place. Looks are looks and a hot dude is a hot dude, but very rarely do you find a hot dude who doesn’t tend to take himself too seriously. It was nice seeing the lighter side of him again. Regardless of why, I reveled in that memory for as long as I was allowed.

“Can I come in?” I felt like I’d said the first polite, normal thing all day.

He pushed open the door, exposing the rest of his body. The tanned torso I’d seen posted on a billboard a few blocks from my house was just as naked, but his bottom half bore more than just a pair of skivvies. My already jacked-up brain was having a hard time ignoring the mild nakedness of a guy I’d thought about having sex with hourly until he watched me murder my best friend and behead the woman who made me do it.

He’d changed the office. In a matter of days, the space had turned from misogynistic leather and metal to what I could only describe as Moroccan. Brightly colored rugs covered what I remembered to be hardwood. The heavy wooden desk had been replaced by a wall-to-wall, pillow-covered chaise, complete with tassel-trimmed throw blankets.

“Wow,” was the only response I could come up with.

He put his hands on his hips where the band of his pants clung for dear life. “You like it?” His head nodded as he looked around his pad.

“That was…fast.” I was having a difficult time understanding when he had time to make the change. I had a hard enough time making sure I changed my underwear in the last week.

“Well, eh.” He tilted his head to one side and shrugged. A sign of a no-big-deal outlook.

“It
is
an improvement. And I’m thankful the ‘Dark Shadows’ look didn’t bleed over into other aspects of your promotion.”

After his brocade getup, I was thankful he hadn’t taken everything so seriously. The space was small, even smaller with the huge bed-type thing in it. There were no other places to sit other than that oversized-pillow-covered space. No television, no radio, and I didn’t even see a phone at first. Whatever his goal was, it was lost on me. Regardless, it was a vast improvement from Ginger Spice’s interior design. Not really wanting to lounge, I wasn’t sure where to plunk my ass. I jammed my hands into my pockets and rocked back on my heels.

“I’m certain you’re not here to discuss my design choices.”

“Not really.” Other than needing his blood, I didn’t really have any use for him at that moment. Eventually I’d want the rest of the answers he promised me, but in light of the newfound scary thing invading my hallucinations, those types of things could wait.

“Let’s sit.” His bare feet padded softly over the ornate rug, separating us from the gigantic bed thing. He fell back and smiled when he sank into the piles of cushions. “Come, you’ll love it.” A week ago, those words would have brought an innuendo-induced blush to my cheeks. In that moment, I wished it was a week ago.

He patted the space next to him, and I rolled my tired eyes and complied. Sitting gently on the edge, I didn’t get the same effect he had. Without a thing but my car keys, I didn’t really know how I’d get the blood I needed and honestly kicked myself in the ass for being such a spaz and not making a plan before clomping up his noisy steps. One of the many venti cups in my backseat would’ve done the trick. Though, I was fairly certain Lupe didn’t want a side of jitters with her beastie blood.

“Comfy,” I said with a tight smile.

“You can stop now.” I gave him a questioning look. “Stop bullshitting me. That may work on your Mike,”—he said it like Mike was a pet I kept in the yard—“and maybe even your mother, but I won’t buy that nonsense. I’ve had too long to learn how to know better.” I let out a heavy breath and let my shoulders slump. “Now, we are alone, so there is not one reason not to be candid. Let’s use this time to try and make some of this right.”

“I’ll warn you my brain capacity is lacking lately, but I have to agree that this is a prime moment to hash out what has been shoved to the back burner for too damn long.”

He reached out and took my hand. His green eyes found mine, looking at the floor. “You’re hiding something.” He’d pinpointed a fact that Mike either hadn’t noticed or hadn’t bothered to make an issue. I turned my head to look away from his perfect gaze, and he let out a breath. “Where did this come from?” He jerked on my arm to pull it closer to his eyes.

I turned to see him inspecting the new tattoo I’d forgotten was even there. “I…I really couldn’t tell you.”

“You couldn’t tell me because it’s a secret or because you really don’t know?”

“Oh, it’s a secret all right, even to me.” I shrugged.

He grabbed my chin with one hand and turned my face toward his. “Tell me everything.” The look he held was fear. Even in the face of death, he’d never had an expression like that. In fact, aside from his ominous warnings and cryptic fact skirting, he had a tendency to be just as flippant about danger as I could be.

“Ha. I tried that already today and all it got me was a ticket to the funny farm.”

“I am not Mike. I know better than he does. You don’t have to convince me. I already believe everything you’re about to tell me. I can because I’ve been where you are. I’ve been where Mike is. I was a human who knew nothing of the world that lurked in the shadows and crept around corners when we weren’t looking.” He hadn’t ever talked about himself in that sense before. In that one sentence, he told me more about himself than he ever had before.

“Something followed me home.” Those words which came from my own mouth sent a chill up my spine and lodged a lump dead in the center of my throat. “Something I can’t even begin to explain or put a name to.”

“Fuck,” he said and dropped his head into his other hand. He didn’t drop the F-bomb often, but I’d come to learn that when he did, he meant it. “What have you done?”

Say what?
“What the hell do you mean what have
I
done? You seem to consistently be blaming
me
for all of this horseshit. Where’s
your
retribution? You’ve sinned just as I have. You’ve spilled blood the same as me.”

“You’ve done something, haven’t you?” He rephrased the same question to sound a little less accusatory. Regardless of how he said it, his question was valid, even if I didn’t want to admit it at the time.

“I asked Lupe for help,” I reluctantly confessed.

“You
what
?” He dropped my hand and stood up. “What
exactly
did she do for you?”

“I asked her to help keep me safe. I knew I needed protecting; I felt it in my gut. I knew I couldn’t protect my mom and Mike without some kind of help. After all, I
am
just a human.”
And obviously some kind of bad-shit target.

“What made you think that woman could help you? What made you think what she did was
help
? Do you know what she is?”

“I don’t care!” I jumped up to try and match his height, not even coming close. “I don’t know what
you
are, but I’m supposed to trust you.”

He was quiet for a minute. Unlike Mike, Cyrus seemed to have a sense of maturity not really seen in men his apparent age. His composure was damn near impenetrable at times, in fact. “You’re right.” He also had the ability to say two words I doubted Mike even knew existed. “You don’t know me. Why should you trust me? I’ve not been honest with you. I’ve put you in situations that caused your explicit mistrust. I have given you very little reason to call me an ally. Yet, I get the feeling that’s how you see me. Thank you. I don’t deserve that.”

I didn’t know how to react. I’d never been validated so wholeheartedly. “Um, you’re welcome.” I felt taken off-guard by his honesty, like Jake from State Farm. We’d slipped from heated to awkward in record time.

“I’d like to make that up to you, if you’ll let me.” I nodded and looked away from his eyes. “Your life is in shambles and you came to me of all people. That tells me you’ve not let your mother know what you know or what you’ve done. It also says you and Mike are not seeing eye-to-eye.” He grabbed my arms. “I know your relationship is a complicated one, and I respect his love for you and your love for him. I’m no monster. I’ve known what love truly looks like. It’s messy and ugly. It has been known to kill more than it has saved. But it’s not something you can buy or steal; it is earned. I will never attempt to break what you two have, regardless of what you feel at the time.” I swallowed hard and tried not to cry. He was the sexiest he’d ever been, and all he was doing was telling me how wrong I’d been all along. “Besides,” his tone lightened, “love triangles are highly-overrated.”