Sin City Goddess (19 page)

“Hey! What was that for?”

“Sorry. Instinct. It’s what I usually do when someone causes me pain.” The wound was throbbing. It wasn’t too deep. I didn’t think it would need sewing up.

Archer grabbed a vodka bottle. “This might sting.” He backed up. “Do not hit me.”

I nodded.

“You’re going to hit me, aren’t you?”

“I might.”

“Tell you what—squeeze my hand if it hurts.”

“All right.”

He gave me his left hand to hold. I held my breath as he poised the bottle.

“Don’t look,” he said.

I turned my head, he poured the vodka, and I squeezed his hand as hard as I could.

The vodka burned my flesh. “Ow, ow, ow!”

“Yow! Tisi, let go, let go!”

I did.

Archer was white. He shook out his hand and looked at it. “Jesus, I think you broke my finger.”

He wiggled his fingers. They didn’t appear broken. He grabbed the wet towel with his other hand and told me to hold it against the cut.

After he shook his hand out for a few moments, he said, “One down, one to go.” He grabbed another towel, wet it, and reached for the vodka.

I looked at my bloody leg. “Let’s just leave that one in there.”

Archer cocked his head. “You know, for a Fury, you’re acting like a total wuss.”

“I don’t know what that means, but I’m sure I don’t like it.” I shot him a hard stare.

“It means stop being a baby and take it like a goddess.”

I glared at him. “How dare you call me a baby? I’ll have you know I’ve punished more men than you could ever hope to meet. I’ve battled demons the likes of which would have you soiling your pants. I’ve chased monsters that would give you night terrors for all eternity, and I’ve banned souls to Tartarus so diseased that just one encounter would send you screaming into the night.”

Archer just stood there, smirking. “And yet you’re afraid of vodka.”

Oh, the man could exasperate me! “Just get on with it.”

He looked at my jeans. The feather was embedded high in my thigh. Nearly to my hip.

“Pull your pants down.”

“I will not.”

“Tisi, pull your goddamn pants down so we can get this over with and get on with the business of stopping bad guys.”

“Oh, all right!”

I unzipped my jeans and carefully slid them down, lifting them up and over the bird feather.

They fell to the floor, and I stepped out of them. Archer slid his eyes down my legs, pausing briefly on my lacy black panties, and back up again.

I put my hands on my hips. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

He shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a leg man. And I’ve never seen a pair that went on for quite so many miles.”

That tingling sensation filled me again. How could one person be so irritating yet so charming at the same time?

“I don’t know if I want to slap you or kiss you,” I said.

Archer froze in place. His face took on a color of surprise. “You want to kiss me?”

Damn. Did I say that out loud?

“No. It’s the vodka talking.”

“You didn’t drink any vodka.”

I waved my arm. “Doesn’t matter. It seeped into my blood through osmosis.”

He didn’t say anything more, just wore a cocky smile as he held the towel and the bottle and knelt down near my thigh. His face was practically at the level of my panties, and I could not control the pulsating going on beneath them.

I hoped he didn’t see it. Or hear it.

He pulled out the feather without warning, cleansed the wound, and held the towel to it. I yelped softly, but this time it didn’t hurt nearly as badly. My body was electrified, heated through and through. I glanced down at Archer. He looked up at me, still kneeling, his face still dangerously close to the most sensitive part of me.

Not only was this city draining my power, it was robbing me of good judgment.
Do not get involved with a mortal, Tisi. It can only lead to trouble.

At least, that’s what my head was saying.

My body, apparently, had not received the memo. My nipples hardened as Archer pressed the towel to my wound. He held it there, looking up at me as I gazed down at him. He was so frustratingly sexy. So tender and caring. I had never known a man or god like him.

His breathing grew a bit heavy, his eyes a bit darker, and I couldn’t stop staring into them. My lips parted slightly.

Archer kept his eyes focused on mine, his hand still holding the towel to my wound. He grazed his other hand across the outside of my panties, and my heart pounded in my chest. I groaned softly. He cupped my backside, still holding my gaze. When I didn’t object, he kissed my inner thigh, one and then the other. He moved to my outer thighs, still holding the towel to my injury. He hesitated, glancing at me again, and I closed my eyes, tilted my head back. Slowly, he kissed his way up the curvature of my body, leaving no crevice untouched. His lips traced my hips, stomach, ribs, until he finally (finally!) reached my breasts.

His hand was still pressed against my thigh, so close to my panties, I felt certain he could hear my body hum.

Without saying a word, Archer curled his other hand through my hair and pressed his lips to mine.

A thousand tiny explosions erupted all over my body as I felt the firm sweetness of his mouth, his lips, his tongue. I didn’t want him stop, didn’t want him to pull away; I just wanted to feel his body pressed to mine, his skin on my skin. I wanted to feel him inside and out. He could have taken me right there, right on the counter, in the shower, on the marble floor, even, and I wouldn’t have protested.

I dropped the towel I was holding to my shoulder, and my arms found their way to his shirt and ripped it open. He moaned softly as I traced the muscles of his chest, his stomach, his hips. I wrapped my good leg around his waist, and I felt the cold barrel of his gun there, but I didn’t care. He dropped the towel he was pressing against my thigh and lifted my other leg, careful not to touch the cut. I expanded my wings and cupped them around us like a cocoon. He groaned, louder this time, and pushed me against the wall, kissing and sucking my neck, my breasts, my shoulders, every inch of me that he could reach.

I wanted him. I was more than ready for him to fill me, to feel him inside me. I needed to put out the fire that had been building ever since we’d met.

And just when I thought we were going to, there was a knock at the door.

Chapter 32

Archer whispered, “Damn.”

“What?”

“I forgot. Sam had to postpone our little meeting. That’s probably him.”

“Damn.”

He smiled at me and set me down, his chest heaving. He put his hands flat against the wall on either side of my head and said, “I’m not done with you. Not by a long shot.”

“Well maybe this was a one-time-only offer.”

“Oh, no, I don’t think so, Sassy.”

Another knock.

Archer sighed. “Better go answer the door.”

I nodded at him. He kissed me one last time, sighed, and left the room.

Frustrated, I folded my wings away and took a quick, cold shower. Rummaging around in the bathroom, I found some bandages and patched up my cuts, making a mental note to ask Archer to tape my feather later.

There was a pair of shorts and a baggy T-shirt in the wardrobe, so I threw those on and joined the men in the common room. I had forgotten all about Indigo until I saw her. I picked her up and tucked her behind the sofa, out of Sam’s line of view.

The men were sitting at the large table, a notebook between them. There was also a large jar filled with blue liquid.

“Is this all of it?” Archer asked.

“Yes, yes, sir,” said Sam.

Archer was wearing his cop face. I had first noticed it when he was talking to Jeremy in the tunnel. He wore it well, and Sam must have thought so too, judging from the nervous way he kept licking his lips.

I pulled up a chair to join them.

Sam smiled weakly at me. “Hi.”

“Hello.”

Archer was examining the liquid. “And you don’t know what’s in it?”

“No. It’s some huge secret. The guy I get it from, Greg, he never told me.”

“Does Greg have a last name?” Archer grabbed a pen.

“I don’t know his last name or where he lives, but I can give you his number.”

Archer handed Sam the pen, and he scribbled on the pad of paper.

Archer went over to the laptop and turned on the large screen. He pulled up the photographs of the missing women, including Alecto.

Sam flinched.

“You remember these women we talked about, Sam? Remember what I asked you?”

“You asked me if I had served them.”

“And what did you say?” Archer’s voice was sharp.

“I said I couldn’t remember.” Sam licked his lips.

I enjoyed watching him squirm.

“You want to revise that statement?”

“N-no, sir. I never saw them.”

“What about her?” Archer pointed to Alecto.

Sam looked at the photograph of Alex standing by the three-Graces statue.

Sam knew he couldn’t deny it. Alex had danced at the Shadow Bar.

“I think she danced once or twice.”

Archer nodded. “Better.” He pointed to the photograph of Cicely Barnes. “What about her?”

“No. Never saw her before.”

Archer slammed his palm into the table. Even I jumped. I wondered if that was an act for Sam’s benefit, sexual frustration, or a combination of the two.

“You expect me to believe that?”

“It’s the truth. Look, the juice is strong stuff, man. Some people can’t handle it. Maybe she overdosed or something.”

Archer put both hands on the desk and looked down. He had a new expression on his face when he stood back up. I wasn’t familiar with it. He looked at me. “You know, I never thought of that. Maybe they all overdosed. Maybe they just ran away.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Sam said, warming up to the idea.

Archer positioned his body in front of Sam’s. He crouched down. “Yeah, that could explain everything.” In a fit of rage that I didn’t see coming, Archer grabbed Sam by the shirt and lifted him out of the chair with one hand. “Except she was murdered last night!” He threw Sam back into the chair.

Sam’s cheeks lost all color.

“That’s right, you son of a bitch. Her body was found in a Dumpster; she was cut up into little tiny pieces.”

That couldn’t be true. Archer would have mentioned it to me if the police had found her body, but the tactic worked.

Sam shook his head. “I didn’t sign up for this, man. No one was supposed to get hurt.”

I leaned forward at this. “What do you mean, no one was supposed to get hurt?”

I glanced at Archer. He pulled a chair over. “You better talk to me, Sam. Because right now you’re the only suspect I’ve got. You know what they do to pretty boys like you in prison?”

“Okay, okay, there is no Greg. I’ll tell you everything I know.”

Sam started to sweat. Archer grabbed the notepad and the pen.

“A few months ago, when I first started, a guy came into the bar. Said he was looking for some girls. He had a side business, he said.”

Archer asked, “What kind of business?”

“Escort service. He said he had a high-end client that paid very well for long-term dates. His job was to find the girls, and if they were interested, he would set up a meeting to introduce them to his client. Said it was a sweet deal for everyone. The client was some super-rich dude. He’d pay for their schooling, clothes, even let them live in his mansion if they wanted.” Sam looked at me. “Who wouldn’t want that, right?”

I resisted the urge to kick him in the head.

“Uh, anyway.” Sam turned back to Archer. “He offered me a finder’s fee. A thousand bucks for each girl. Cash. He even paid cash for the drinks. The guy had a real specific type. Black hair, tall, thin. I called him whenever a girl like that would come into the bar. That’s when he gave me the loose juice. Said it loosened them up to the idea.”

“But you served it to other guests. Even Jessica,” I said.

Sam looked at me. “Jessica has an iron liver. Nothing affects that girl.” Then he turned to Archer. “The other guests—that was never my idea. When Clyde saw the jar
behind the bar, I told him it was a cocktail for a specific customer. It was his idea to spread it around to people who asked for something special. We set a limit, though. One per guest per night.”

“And the guy? How much would you give him?” Archer asked.

“As much as he wanted.”

Archer sat back and shook his head.

Sam said, “I didn’t think it would hurt anyone, I swear.”

“So when I came to you, told you the girls went missing, why did you lie to me?”

Sam shrugged. “People come to Vegas to get lost all the time. I thought the rich dude was like a Hugh Hefner or something. Thought he was building a
Playboy
mansion. I thought… I thought the girls wanted to disappear.”

“I should kill you just for being stupid,” Archer said.

Sam put his head down, then lifted it up. “You don’t think they’re all dead, do you?”

“For your sake, you better hope not.”

Sam swallowed hard.

“What’s this man’s real name?” I asked.

“I don’t know, I swear to God. All I have is his number. He wouldn’t tell me his name.”