Stories From the Shadowlands (21 page)

“It is time for you to stop. See to the girl while I secure these men.”

Bomani held out his hand and Jim gritted his teeth. But Bomani’s threat to tell Carlos about him echoed in his head, so he snatched the cuffs from his belt and handed them to his partner, who obviously didn’t trust him not to kill the prisoner.

Which, actually, was probably wise.

Aching with unspent energy, Jim stalked over to the girl, who was sitting up, clutching her side. He squatted next to her. “Hey. You all right?”

“You speak English,” she said, her voice raspy with tears.

“Yeah. Do you?”

Her lips quirked up. “Obviously.” She winced and clutched at her ribs, then raised her head. Damn. Another pretty one. Her blond hair was pin straight around her delicate face. Her smoky eyes searched his. “Are you a cop?”

“A cop… no. I’m a Guard.”

She snorted. “Same thing. Help me up?”

Jim put his arm around her and lifted her to her feet, enjoying the feel of her curves against his body. But he let her go quickly; she’d just been through something and he didn’t want to remind her of it. “What happened here?”

She gave him a wry look. “I took something from them and forgot to pay.”

“And they caught up with you.”

She nodded. “I didn’t like their chosen form of payment.”

He couldn’t blame her. “You have a safe place to go?”

Her fingers fluttered to the side of her face, where an angry red mark stood out against her pale skin. “Yeah. I have an apartment nearby.”

Jim had just opened his mouth to ask her exactly where when Bomani cleared his throat. “I am ready to transport these two.”

Jim rolled his eyes before turning around. “Excellent. Good going.” He hooked his thumb over his shoulder at the girl. “I was going to make sure she—”

Bomani shook his head. “She seems fine to me. And I need your help escorting them.” He inclined his head at the two bleeding, sullen-looking men sitting with their backs up against the wall, their hands cuffed behind them.

Jim drew a deep breath through his nose, wishing some of this tension in his muscles would evaporate before he did something stupid. Like punch his Guard partner. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Without a backward glance, Jim hoisted up one of the men and shoved him along the alleyway, following Bomani and his prisoner back out into the painfully bright city streets. The pretty lookout girl was long gone, which was smart of her, because they’d have to arrest her, too, for aiding and abetting these two losers, who they’d now have to escort all the way back to the Station for tagging and processing.

Jim sighed. For a minute, he’d thought maybe he’d be able to sneak off and take a little break with the blond girl. Now there was no chance of that.

Or maybe there was. As he stepped from the alley, slender fingers slid along his waist and tucked something into his back pocket. “Later, cop.” Her warm breath in his ear sent fire through his veins.

“Absolutely,” he breathed, and then focused on getting through the next few hours as the hunger unfurled in his belly, strong as ever.

Chapter Three

Jim sat on his bed, holding tightly to the mattress, the muscles of his arms trembling. He shouldn’t go. He
knew
he shouldn’t go. One look from the Captain told him he was on thin ice. Bomani had probably tattled on him as soon as they’d ended their patrol. If Jim disappeared from the Station and stayed out late again, someone would notice. Then he’d be tossed in the Quiet Chamber for sure, left to bang against the brittle walls of his own skull, left to smash himself to bits in the silence.

He shouldn’t go.

His stomach growled. His eyes darted over to the crumpled paper on his bedside table. Her name was Rebecca, or at least, that was what she’d written down. And she lived nearby. Only a few blocks away. He could go and be back long before breakfast. No one would know.

He stood up, his thigh muscles cramping with the need to move. All around him sat his treasures, the things he’d dragged back here since arriving in the Blinding City, the things he’d craved, the things that comforted. Objects, lots of them. Jewels and jars and books and sculptures. A few things he couldn’t even identify. He’d only known that he wanted them. Wanted them so badly that he was willing to pay. A lot. Everything. When he’d first gotten to the city, he hadn’t had any currency. He hadn’t figured out that real food was worth more than anything else. So he’d sold his body a few times, had gutted his way through it, thinking of these treasures, of all the things he could own and collect.

He paused as he walked by some of his possessions, blinking in the light. Sometimes his vision didn’t work quite right. Sometimes, all his beautiful things glimmered and faded, turning to junk before his eyes. But every time, if he clamped his eyes shut and wished the ugliness away, it was gone when he opened his eyes. This time was no different. He ran his fingers over his hoard. Before he’d come here, he’d never owned anything. He’d never had the chance to have anything for himself. And here, he could pretty much have anything he wanted, as long as he paid for it. Or became a cleverer thief. He’d nearly been caught several times. If the other Guards knew—especially Bomani—Jim would be punished severely.
Thou shalt not kill, thou shalt not steal, thou shalt not covet
... too many rules, as far as he was concerned.

His fists clenched. Too many rules. Without stopping to second guess himself again, he grabbed the paper from the table, shoved it in his pocket, and headed for the door. Instead of the main exit, though, he walked toward the kitchens. It was late enough that they would be empty, the workers having disappeared for the night. Jim crept along the brightly lit hall, trying to be quiet but also trying to look like he was headed somewhere official.

He edged the door to the cafeteria open and slipped inside, then skirted around the jumble of tables and hopped over the buffet that separated the kitchen from the eating space. He landed silently, then crawled along, plucking a loaf of bread from a cabinet, then opening the ice box and grabbing a package of meat. He tucked both into a canvas sack and then scooted through the kitchen, all the way to the back entrance. In less than a second, he was breathing the humid air of the alley behind the Station. Easy.

Jim slung the bag over his shoulder and strode along the alleyway, stopping when he got to the street to get his bearings. Rebecca’s apartment was in one of the endlessly tall mirrored high-rises that jutted up every few buildings, nestled closely against the caves of neon and echoing sound, the places people could lose themselves in whatever escape they pleased. Whatever poison they craved. He knew exactly how that felt. Like rocketing out of the ground and kissing heaven before falling back to earth and shattering on the jagged rocks of the real.

The fall was never worth it, always hurt more than he imagined it would… but it was easy to forget that when he was flying. And tonight, he would fly. He was practically jogging by the time he arrived at her building. He paid a quarter of the meat for a bag of white powder the dealer swore would take him to paradise, and traded a few slices of bread for some tequila sold by the guy sitting right next to the elevator. A few minutes later, he was rising to her apartment, which turned out to be the very top floor. A penthouse. Oh, this was going to be good. He had the best feeling about it. After this, he wouldn’t need anything else. This would be enough.

The elevator doors slid open, revealing the most elegant and posh apartment he’d ever seen. Intricately woven tapestries hung on the walls, depicting lovers entwined. Thick rugs covered the floors, silencing his footfalls as he stepped off the elevator. “Rebecca?”

“Cop?” she called playfully. She leaned out of a room near the sliding door to the balcony. Her blond hair was loose and flowing, and he was dying to sink his fingers into it and hold on tight as he crushed his lips to hers.

He held up his gifts to her, the bottle and the baggy. “I take it you were expecting me.”

“Smart boy.” She leaned against the doorframe, revealing miles of leg and an amazing body encased in the tightest of dresses. Jim almost groaned aloud.

Her gaze lasered in on his canvas satchel. “What else do you have?”

He looked down at it. “Just some bread and—”

She had crossed the room a second later and was tugging at the bag. “Bread? Serious?”

“Yeaaaah,” he said, watching her claw at the bag. She ripped it open, snatched three slices of bread, then sank to her knees as she stuffed it into her mouth, moaning with pleasure.

“It’s real, isn’t it?” she mumbled between bites, crumbs falling from her lips. “Oh, God, it’s real.”

“Sure. I have more, too. I can get more…” His voice faded to a whisper as she raked him with a hungry glare, like she was about to eat him next.

He sincerely hoped that was exactly what she had planned.

“You can get more whenever you want?” she asked as soon as she swallowed the last bite.

“Of course,” he said, stepping closer to her. The way she was looking at him was worth a week of rations.

She smiled, licking her lips as she stood up, brushing crumbs from her dress. “I’m so glad I met you. What’s your name, cop?”

“Jim.”

She smirked. “Cute. You’re so All-American, Jim. Anyone ever tell you that?”

He frowned. “No. What does that mean?”

She stood on her tiptoes. “It doesn’t matter.”

And it didn’t. She took the tequila from his hands, unscrewed the cap, and pressed it to his lips. He took a long drink, then watched in a daze as she did the same. Then her lips were on his and he was exactly where he wanted to be. The gnawing in his gut disappeared completely as he took her in his arms. He pulled her close and let it all go, already soaring high, ready to forget his own name and everything else. Everything except sensation.

“Beck, save some for me.”

Jim jerked his head up to see the dark-haired lookout from the alleyway stroll out of Rebecca’s bedroom, wearing… almost nothing. Her filmy, sheer dress floated around her thighs as she sauntered over to him. Oh, hell.

Rebecca’s hand was curled around the back of Jim’s neck, still holding him close. “When I’m done, Amy,” she said sharply.

Amy rolled her eyes. “You’re so traditional.”

Jim stepped back, his training as a Guard slowly snapping back into place amidst the haze of alcohol and horniness. “You ladies know each other.” They looked at him like he truly was an idiot, and he dimly realized they might not be wrong. “What’s going on?”

“Sit down, Jim. We have a proposal for you.”

He took a step backward toward the door. “I saved you,” he said, pointing at Rebecca. “You were in trouble.”

“In a manner of speaking,” she said, putting a hand to her stomach as it growled.

Jim blinked, then squinted at the floor. A moment ago, he could have sworn it looked like cracked and dirty cement, but now it was plushly carpeted again. “The guys in the alley, they—”

“Work for me,” said Amy cheerfully. “Lots of people do. And now you can, too. I’ve been needing a Guard. You have access to things I want.”

Jim rubbed his eyes and looked at Amy’s face. Cream skin, red lips. But for a fraction of a second he could have sworn…

“Do you need to sit down, baby?” Rebecca asked, snaking her arm around his waist. “You look like you need another drink.”

She tilted the bottle for him again, and he closed his eyes and drank out of sheer need, out of raw hunger. Because he didn’t really want to think about things right now. And he certainly didn’t want to see the things he was seeing. Just now, Amy had looked at him with yellowed, bloodshot eyes, the solid black irises like twin portals into hell.

As his ears started to ring, he heard Amy laughing. “My God, look at him. He looks like he never made it out of high school. Poor baby died so young! They must have been desperate when they made
him
a Guard.”

He sank onto the couch, promising himself he’d sit here only until his head cleared. He took another drink, even though that probably wouldn’t help. At least it was familiar.

“He’s a good fighter,” Rebecca argued. “He kicked Kyle’s ass earlier.”

Amy’s hands closed over his shoulders, and he flinched away as her dirty, jagged nails scraped against his shirt. But when he looked again, they were neatly painted, a vibrant red. He shot to his feet. “I need to get back.”

With surprising strength, Amy pulled back, causing him to fall onto the couch. Rebecca straddled him a moment later. “You can’t leave,” she said. “We need you.”

She kissed him again, but this time her mouth was sour and rank, and he turned his head to get away from her. Her fingers curled into his hair, and she pressed her mouth to his ear. “What would your partner say if he saw you here? I think you’d be in trouble.”

Jim froze.

Rebecca’s warm tongue slid around the shell of his ear, drawing his muscles painfully tight, even as the alarm bells were sounding in his head. “He seemed like he was walking the straight and narrow. I’ve seen the type. He’d report you in a second. What do they do to Guards who break the rules, Jimmy?”

She drew back and took his face in her hands. “Mmm. You are just. So. Cute. I could eat you.”

The whole idea sounded a lot less appealing than it had earlier.

Above him, Amy gave him a triumphant look. “I thought you might be the one for us. As soon as I saw you. We’ve been looking for an in with The Guard for a while now. All we need from you is information, kiddo.”

“And bread,” Rebecca added.

Amy sighed. “And bread, I guess.”

“Information,” Jim said quietly.

“Yeah. Patrol schedules and routes. Nothing big.”

Through the boozy fog in his head, Jim searched for his words, his reason.
Nothing big
... but if they had patrol schedules and routes, they’d be able to avoid the Guards easily, or hide from them. Or pick them off, one by one. “I can’t—”

Rebecca’s hands became hard, pulling at his hair painfully. “You can. And you will.”

With a rough shove, he sent Rebecca tumbling backwards off his lap. She hit the carpet much harder than he would have thought, and screamed in pain. His eyes flew wide as the plush carpet beneath her flickered and faded, showing him that cracked, chipped concrete again. His gaze darted around the room as the tapestries bled, becoming splotches on the wall. “No, no, I have to leave.”