The Sinner (Black Dagger Brotherhood), page 33
As she let her car roll to a stop, she knew—she knew—she had been here before. Done this before.
“I swear to God,” she muttered, “it’s like someone keeps getting into my brain and stealing things from me.”
“Park your car over there.”
“Where?”
“Behind that lean-to, and make sure you turn it around so it’s headed out. You never know.”
“Oh. Of course.”
As Jo did as he suggested, she decided there were distinct advantages to having a trained killer around.
When they got out of the Golf, she was further impressed by Syn’s direction. Her car wasn’t big, and the lean-to, which was a bus stop that had been Adirondack-ify’d, was the perfect cover for it. No one would know they were here—and he was right. If they needed to get gone in a hurry, all she had to do was put that sewing machine engine in drive and hit the gas.
“So Bill told me he was going to come and meet me here.” She winced and massaged the back of her neck as they started walking. “He was worried about me being all alone. But he never made it out. He said I called him on my way home and told him I hadn’t seen anything. So he turned around and went back to his own house.”
“Have you and he ever been together—”
Jo whipped her head around. “Oh, my God, never. He’s married. And even if he wasn’t, he’s not my type.”
Syn gave a grunt of satisfaction at that and Jo had to smile. Taking his hand, she bumped herself into him. “You’re jealous.”
“I am not.”
“Really?”
“Nah. I always want to tear people limb from limb. It’s exercise, you know.” He pounded his pec with his fist. “Develops the heart muscle, the arms. And plus the satisfaction of destroying an enemy is the best trophy there is.”
He looked down and winked at her.
“You are incorrigible,” she said.
“I don’t know what that word means—” As her boot nailed the lip of the concrete walkway, he easily caught her as she fell forward. “You okay?”
Jo laughed. For no other reason than they were together. “Yup. I am.”
Forcing herself to focus, she stepped over a chain and proceeded forward, looking into the darkened shops as they went down the promenade. Not much to see. Not much left behind. Not much that would have made her think to come for an after-dark visit.
God, her head was pounding.
At the end of the covered walkway, they stopped in front of the faded stencil of a cow holding an ice cream cone with his hoof. As the wind kicked up, blackened leaves chattered and rushed along the cracked sidewalk, congregating in the corner of an inset doorway with others of their kind.
Pivoting around, she shook her head and felt like a fool. “Bill said I’d gotten some kind of tip that I’d been vague about. I’d told him it was off my blog, but there’s nothing about this site anywhere on it—hey, there are stairs over here. Do you mind if we see where they take us?”
“Nope. Lead on, female.”
Jo smiled some more and led them down the concrete steps, spurred on by something in the center of her chest. At the base of the descent, she stopped and took in the sight of a vacant parking lot—
A gust of wind ruffled more winter-worn leaves across pavement that had potholes like it was Swiss cheese. And that was when she heard it. Creeeeak—slam. Creeeeeak—slam.
Over in the far corner of the lot, there was a building with sets of garage doors running down the front of it. A regular-sized door off to one side was loose on its hinges, and as the wind came up, it opened and closed on its own.
Wincing and weaving on her feet, she muttered, “Yes. Over there. I know the sound of that door.”
Without waiting for a response from Syn, she stumbled across the asphalt, blinded by pain, but hyper-focused by the sense that finally, the mystery was going to be solved. When she got to the door, her breath caught in her throat and her heart began to pound. With a trembling hand, she reached—
Syn put his arm out. “Let me go first.”
“I can do it.”
But he made the decision for her, stepping ahead, stepping inside. A moment later, a flashlight clicked on, and its beam made a slow circle . . . of an absolutely empty, windowless, concrete-floored maintenance facility.
“Shit,” she said as she joined him. “I could have sworn—”
The door slammed shut behind her, making her jump.
“Another wild-goose chase,” she muttered as she walked around, her footfalls echoing.
She was just about to suggest they leave and promise that she wouldn’t have any more bright ideas about nocturnal destinations . . .
. . . when the first of the cars pulled up just outside that slamming door.
“I swear to fucking God,” Butch said, “it was down here. The door was like something out of a dungeon . . . and she . . .”
As he let the words trail off, he walked back down the corridor, reading the little laminated headers that announced each corporate owner of each storage space behind each absolutely normal-looking fucking door.
“I’m beginning to think I’m crazy.” When V didn’t say anything, Butch glanced over at the guy—who was standing in front of what should have been the entrance to Mel’s apartment. “I swear—”
“I believe you.” V put his hand up. “Gimme a minute.”
Vishous closed his eyes and lowered his head, becoming so still, it was as if he were no longer a part of the living-and-breathing crew. Meanwhile, Butch found it impossible not to keep pacing.
None of this made any sense—
Well, actually, it did make sense. It was just Butch didn’t like where the connect-the-dots was taking him.
“What if she wasn’t who I thought she was,” he said. More to try the words out than anything else.
V lifted his head. “And you’re sure this is the building.”
“We can check the GPS on my phone, right? You record where all of us go every night—it’s how you found me here just now.” Butch got his Samsung and held it out to his roommate. “It should be in the log.”
In the back of his mind, he was aware his instincts were going haywire—and it was a little late for that, wasn’t it. If he’d been played by something . . . otherworldly . . . whatever it was was no longer here.
“I can get your trail on mine,” V murmured.
As the brother went into his own phone, Butch crossed his arms and thought about the strange thing that had happened when he’d started walking away from Mel’s the night before. He’d just closed her door and taken one, maybe two steps . . . when that massive locking mechanism with the bifurcated iron bars had slid back into place quietly behind him.
There was no way the woman could have gotten herself out of that tub, across the breadth of that open area, and locked herself in. Even if she hadn’t been injured.
And that was the other thing. When he’d found her outside of the garage, she’d been bleeding in a lot of places, bruised and beaten. But when he’d helped her with the bustier? When she’d stared at him from the tub? There had been nothing marring the porcelain skin of her face.
At the time, he’d been too busy making sure he didn’t look anywhere he shouldn’t to really notice. But now? He knew that kind of healing was flat-out impossible—
“This is fucked-up.”
Butch glanced over. “So I wasn’t here?”
“No, you were, but last night, there was a helluva misread on your location.” V turned his phone around. “This is the map of Caldwell. This is you. Here we go.”
V tapped something, and like some old-school Pac-Man shit, a little blinking dot moved through the block maze of streets.
“This is Trade here.” V’s finger went vertically across the screen. “And now you’re on Thirteenth. And . . . here we are, one block from this address.”
The dot disappeared.
“Fast-forward about fifteen, twenty minutes at the most,” V said. “And . . . here you are again.”
All at once, the dot reappeared and moved away from the dead zone. Which seemed to take up the entire block that the building was on.
“What the fuck,” Butch muttered. “And who the hell was I talking to?”
Not just one car. Many.
As what sounded like a goddamn flotilla pulled up to the groundskeeping facility, Syn put his body between Jo and the door they’d come through. Getting out his gun, he cursed himself as he flicked off his flashlight. There had been no cover that he’d seen as he’d looked around the interior space. Nothing but support beams, the roof overhead, and the oil-stained, concrete floor.
He was getting out his gun when the situation went from bad to deadly.
At first, as the scent of the enemy reached his nose, he tried to tell himself he was imagining it. What the hell would lessers be doing out—
“That smell,” Jo hissed. “It was on the train coming back from Philadelphia today. And I swear I’ve sm—”
“Shh.”
As she fell silent, he listened hard, threading through the wind and the slamming of that door, waiting for voices. Although what was that really going to tell him?
Grabbing her hand, he took her further into the darkness. Totally no cover. Absolutely no escape. And here he was with a limited amount of weapons and ammo, a half-breed who didn’t know what she was, and God only knew how many lessers.
Voices just outside the flimsy building now. A congregation. Three? Four of them? It was hard to get a bead on multiple scents this far back.
A blowtorch. What he needed was a blowtorch so he could burn a hole through the metal walling for Jo to squeeze through. But like he could have thought that far ahead? The only other option he had was to leave her in the back here, totally undefended, essentially unarmed, while he went on a blitz offensive, shooting up whatever the fuck was out there. Not appealing. Not by a long shot—or a hundred of the point-blank variety.
What other choice did he have, though? He couldn’t call the Brotherhood or the other fighters. If he thought he had problems with the proverbial management already, it was nothing compared to what would happen if he were caught with a half-breed, pretrans female, out in the dark, all by their lonesome.
Besides, she was his. Not theirs.
“Take this,” he said as he unholstered the backup forty he kept on his calf. “It’s heavier than you’re used to, but it’ll blow a hole in—”
He froze. And then twisted around to the corrugated metal wall behind them.
Yes, he thought. That may work.
“On three, I’m going to start shooting at the wall,” he said as he palmed up the other Smith & Wesson on his hip. “They’ll take cover, but not for long, so I need you to be ready to run. After we’ve busted out, we go straight for the wood line. All you have to do is keep up, okay?”
“Who are they?”
“No questions. And no, we’re not calling the police. They cannot help us. You have to trust me.”
There was a pause. “Okay.”
Syn closed his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“What for.”
Without answering, he put up both of his autoloaders and pulled the triggers—and got the opposite result he’d been hoping for. The barrage of bullets went haywire, sparks flying as lead slugs ricocheted back at them instead of penetrating through the panels.
He had to stop shooting. If he could keep going, he might be able to sieve shit up enough for him to bust through with his shoulder, but it was too risky. He was going to fill Jo and him full of fucking holes first.
“Damn it,” he bit out.
And of course, now those lessers outside knew that there was somebody on the property who was armed.
As much as he hated everything in this moment, as much as he dreaded what he had to do, Jo’s life was more important than absolutely everything.
Including whatever future he had secretly been deluding himself into believing they might have.
Syn sent out a distress call to all the fighters on duty.
No, I’m telling you the bruises weren’t there.” Butch felt like he was pleading in front of a jury. Except given V’s nodding head, the brother at least agreed with the version of events being described. “I just didn’t notice it at the time—”
“Because you were trying not to notice—”
“So many other things—”
As Butch’s phone started to vibrate in his pocket, he jumped and then went on a hand dive to get the thing—while V did likewise without the jerk of alarm. When they both read the same message, they looked at each other.
“The outlet mall,” Butch said as he started texting fast.
“Where the induction we cleaned up was.”
“What the fuck is Syn doing out there?” Butch grabbed V’s arm. “And you’re not going on this call. No fucking way—”
“There are slayers. So it’s time for you and me to go to work—”
All at once, Lassiter appeared, a milkshake in one hand, a TV remote in the other. As he finished sucking the bottom of the old-school soda fountain glass, the slurping noise was loud as—well, Vishous dropping seven f-bombs in a row.
“You rang?” the fallen angel said in a pleasant tone.
“No.” V punched at Butch’s pecs. “You did not text him.”
“He did.” Lassiter gave the straw another suck. Then he metronomed his head back and forth, his blond and black hair swinging. “He did, he did, he did.”
To the tune of Hocus Pocus’s “amuck, amuck, amuck.”
Vishous jabbed a finger in the angel’s face. “I’m not going back with you, asshole.”
“Okay, that is really hurtful.” More with the sucking. “I mean, what’d I ever do to you?”
“Your presence is enough.” V confronted Butch. “And you are a traitor.”
Butch shook his head and put his phone away. “No, I’m making sure you stick to the plan we agreed to.”
“Fuck you both—”
Just as V went to dematerialize, Lassiter closed his eyes and nodded like I Dream of Jeannie. All at once, a containment barrier formed around V’s entire body, the translucent prison the kind of thing that cut off his yelling and levitated him a good six inches off the floor.
For a moment, all Butch could do was stare at the spectacle of Vishous, son of the Bloodletter, blooded borne son of the Scribe Virgin . . . pounding mutely on the inside walls of his floating mini-prison.
“He looks like a bumblebee caught under a glass,” Lassiter remarked.
Butch glanced over at the angel. “I know you’re immortal and shit, but you better run like a motherfucker when you let him out.”
“You know, I’m inclined to agree with you.” Suddenly, the angel’s odd-colored eyes got really fucking serious. “You let me know if you need him, though. And be careful. Things are so close to the end, and that’s always when the parachute fails.”
With a nod, Butch said, “I will be. But can you tell me anything? About where we’re at? What’s going to happen next?”
Lassiter seemed distraught as he shook his head. “I’m sorry. I can’t. It’s not my place—and even I have rules I need to follow if I want to stay in the game.”
Butch studied those handsome features, usually so lighthearted and laughing. “So it’s going to get really bad, huh.”
The angel ignored that happy little comment and focused on V. “Come on, Sparky. I’m taking you home.” With his open hand, he summoned the V-bubble, and it came forward like it was on a leash. “Should I try and dribble him?”
Butch shook his head as he got a load of the furious flush on his roommate’s goateed mug. Plus, hello, there was all that hopping around that was still happening.
“I realllllly wouldn’t go there,” Butch murmured.
“Yeah, you’re probably right. Drive safe.”
Justlikethat, both the fallen angel, who was #1 on pretty much everybody’s beat-down list, and the Wilson edition of Vishous, up and disappeared.
Butch spoke into his shoulder communicator as to his ETA and then he jogged off down the corridor. He’d gone about ten feet when he realized . . . he had no clue how the fuck to get out of the goddamn building. Lock-and-key expert Vishous was gone.
And with that pissed-off genius, went the exit Butch needed.
As Jo stood behind Syn and gripped the heavy gun he’d given her, she grunted through the pain between her temples. Something was rising within her consciousness, a memory that was inexorable even against the barrier that was blocking it. Parting her lips, she breathed in a shallow way, her pounding heart and tingling limbs, the present danger in front of her, everything including even Syn, giving way to a desperate need to know just one thing.
One fucking thing—
Like spring rain bubbling up through the crack in the foundation of a basement, all at once a sliver of memory broke free and made itself present.
She saw herself at the security chain in front of the mall’s barren promenade. And she recalled being convinced that things were going to change forever if she continued forward.
Then she remembered lifting her running shoe up and over the links. And moving forward with a heart that beat as fast as hers was now.
“I was right,” she mumbled as she had to let the recollection go because of the pain.
Giving up her hold on the image, the thought, the piece of her past, the semi-answer that explained nothing sank below the impassable void that seemed to be consuming events and emotions, the black hole disappearing so much of what was so vitally important.
“Get behind me,” Syn said. “And be prepared to shoot if they come through that door.”
“I’m ready.” Liar. She was shitting her pants.
As they stood together, him in front, both of them poised to use their weapons, she remembered running from the police helicopter with him. That had been the warm-up for this showdown—and none of this should have made sense, but it did. Somehow, this was where she had been heading these last months.
As much as her brain didn’t understand anything, her instincts got it all—
The gunfire was not like it was in the movies. It was not some grand explosion.
