Quinn’s departure was the end of the grocery store brawl, his body one among several littering the tile. None of the bodies were left intact though, including his, which meant whoever happened upon the mess was in for the shock of their lives soon. The sleepy town would discover their lone grocery store full of corpses. If not today, then tomorrow.
Frank’s need for discretion would definitely be violated, which meant the incubus was going to be pissed. Hopefully, he took it out on Nero.
I glowered at the store one last time before slipping into the passenger seat of Vee’s Audi. Did the consequences of today ultimately mean much to Frank? The incubus clearly had some pockets of law enforcement under his influence. They could lie all day long, and the world would never know about necromancers and their undead cohorts. Even if someone did say something, would anyone believe them?
Doubtful.
It wasn’t until we drove out of the parking lot that I realized how quickly everything had happened. Less than ten minutes. We didn’t pass a single cop car for at least a mile, something that likely stemmed from the presence of the officer on the scene.
Well, the dead officer. We weren’t sure who killed him, but someone planted a knife in his back. Actually, the longer I thought about it, it was probably the officer who got the alarm canceled.
“Your arm okay?” Samson asked, rubbing underneath his nose with one hand and steering with the other. Blood stained his face. Human blood. He apparently killed the necromancer with the face tattoos while Vee took on the purple-haired woman. She didn’t live either. Or at least those bodies didn’t. Who knew if they crammed their souls somewhere else prior to the brawl?
I grimaced and pressed harder on the wound with the hem of my shirt. My jacket was the last nice thing I had. No way would I use that to clot the bleeding. “I won’t turn into a zombie or anything, right?”
He laughed, but there was no joy in it. The light I’d seen in his eyes was gone now, replaced with something entirely more ominous. “No. That’s a movie thing. But when we stop here in a minute, I’ll get some bandages out of the trunk. I have some in my bag.”
Thank God.
After a brief stop at a rest area to bandage our wounds, we drove straight to a motel outside Shreveport in Bossier City, unwilling to linger on the road in daylight. Again, I was the one with the least amount of blood on them, so again I had to force myself in front of a reception desk, hoping they wouldn’t see the terror lurking behind my eyes. The rust-colored nail beds. The stains left behind by dead flesh smearing against my palms.
And again, I got a key without protest. Not even a question.
Cold air brushed along my cheeks as I opened the lobby door, scanning the parking lot for Vee’s car. How common were my circumstances that no one ever asked about the obvious? The blood on my skin. The panicked waver in my voice. How many times had I looked someone in the eye after they’d committed a crime?
My jacket had hidden my arm and bloody shirt from the attendant, but how could they not see what I’d done?
I’d fought a zombie and chopped his head off. Stepped over body parts in the middle of a supermarket. Watched Samson and Vee saw off the heads of humans and undead alike. And no one could see it?
Growing up, I’d always worried what everyone thought of me. Honestly, until the whole kill contract business, I still had. I knew that eventually my father and everyone else would see me for a fraud. A woman terrified of making mistakes because if she made mistakes, no one would let her forget it. When I’d told Gerard about that fear, he’d given me some good advice. People don’t think about you near as much as you think they do.
Maybe he was right. In this instance, I was glad. Last thing I needed was people paying attention and seeing me for what I really was now.
A murderer.
I bit my lip. I’d have to call Gerard soon. Hopefully I could keep it together.
The Audi idled on the curb. Samson and Vee stared at me expectantly when I popped the door open and slid into the back seat. “We’re room 21B.”
Vee turned around, perched over the console. “No questions?”
“No.”
“Good.” Vee smacked Samson on the arm with the back of her hand. “Drive over to the room. When we park, I need to change my plates again. You get our shit. Ashby, go straight to the room and unlock the door. We don’t need to be stuck outside longer than we need to be.”
I nodded as Samson muttered, “Got it.”
The three of us moved with purpose when Vee opened her door. I only had eyes for the stairs, hoping we’d get inside without running into anyone. My hands, skin dry and frozen, trembled, reflecting the panic roiling inside.
How could Samson and Vee live like this?
Could I leave my comfortable life in Manhattan and live like this forever?
The question intent to pull me in half would have to wait yet again. I jogged up the steps, the metal steps clanging beneath my feet, shaking beneath my furious movement. Find the room. Open the door. Get inside.
Room 21B was, thankfully, the second room after the stairs. The motel, much like the others, was nowhere I’d stay if I had the choice. The two-story block of rooms faced the freeway, the view from the door only marred by a waist-high metal rail. In the distance, lights and skyscrapers flooded the horizon, bright blots against a dark sky.
I rammed the key into the lock and turned, and the door gave without protest.
Following Vee’s instructions, I shut the door behind me and kept close to the wall. The window directly to my left overlooked the parking lot, giving me a good vantage point to watch Samson and Vee move efficiently through their practiced protocols. Vee had told me that bad guys liked to take advantage of the moments someone walked into their motel rooms, especially if they were tailing a woman. I wasn’t about to turn my nose up at her lessons.
I could breathe again when Samson slipped through the door and flipped on the light. Dried blood stained his face, trapped in the creases around his nose and mouth. Trails of blood ran down his neck and beneath the collar of his T-shirt, coating the fabric and crusting his nail beds. The only clean thing on him was his jacket since he’d taken it off before the fight, and that was only if I used the term clean in the loosest sense.
“Shower,” I said, lifting a pointed finger to the bathroom. A pastel-pink sink could be seen from my place at the window, so I wasn’t optimistic that I would like the rest of it.
He shook his head and huffed. “Vee called dibs.”
“Yes, I did,” the aforementioned empath said as she entered the room, holding a pair of license plates in her hands. We’d bandaged her shoulder in the car, but the zombie bite had proved too deep for gauze. We’d had to stop and stitch her up in front of a Walmart, and the blood on her chest and neck showcased that fact. “Sammy was trying to be a gentleman by letting you have the first shower, Ashby. But not today.”
Samson muttered something under his breath and peeled off his jacket. Whatever he said definitely wasn’t nice. “Any idea where Cliff is?”
“No. He knows we’re coming. I imagine he’ll find us when he’s ready.” Vee dropped the plates on the queen bed closest to the door. She had two murder backpacks, and she held one out to me. “There’s some clothes in there. They aren’t designer, so don’t get your hopes up.”
“Is someone called Gemma with him?” I asked, ignoring her comment about the clothes. She already thought I was a spoiled brat. Best not to entertain it.
Vee stalked past me and Samson, eyes on the bathroom. “He didn’t mention anyone else.”
I didn’t get a chance to respond before she shut the door.
Thankfully, she didn’t take long to shower. Neither did Samson. Everyone seemed to have one thing in mind: sleep. Fighting necromancers apparently took a lot out of a person, even superpowered ones.
When I got out of the shower, Vee was asleep. Samson had volunteered to take the first watch, guns resting on the nightstand beside him. After he bandaged my arm again, I collapsed on the mattress, mind swimming.
I hadn’t told Samson and Vee about Quinn’s proposition. We’d either been too worried about evading police or sleeping at odd intervals in the car. Then there was the whole thing where I’d hacked a reanimated corpse into pieces and gotten magically violated by a necromancer again. Wanting to relive that so soon after it had happened wasn’t appealing.
But I needed to tell him.
Samson pulled me close, his body warm where mine was cold. The effects of the day weighed on me, shoving me deep into the mattress but not letting me rest.
“I’m sorry.”
I opened my eyes and twisted in his arms, unsurprised to find Samson staring at me. “What are you sorry for?”
“That you’ve been dragged into all this.” He ran his fingers along my arm, stopping short of the bandage wound over my bite. “I’m sorry you had to fight a fucking zombie in a supermarket when you should be making spreadsheets and dealing with all those assholes at your work instead.”
“It’s okay.” Even though it was dark, the moonlight coming through the window highlighted his wrinkled brow. “Well, I mean it’s not okay. I’d rather not be doing it. But I would rather be here trying to help you than neck deep in spreadsheets.”
“But Quinn—” Samson stopped suddenly and propped himself up on his elbow, wet hair stuck up at odd angles. “I’m not sure why everyone keeps getting in your business. First, it was Zephyr. Still not sure what the fuck you did to that douche.”
“Honestly, I’m not sure how I convinced him.” The fae still baffled me. His mirror, now tucked safely away in my very own murder backpack, ensured I’d never forget him either. “We have some things in common though, and I think that appealed to him.”
“You have nothing in common—”
I poked Samson in the stomach. “We do. You should be thankful. It’s the only reason you’re out of there.”
“I’m not complaining. I just hate Zephyr, and I don’t hate you.” Samson shifted, resting his chin on the top of my head and curling his fingers along my waist.
I’d thought about being here, with him, for so long I still couldn’t believe it had finally happened. No one had ever held me like this. Like I meant something. If only we were alone.
Samson made a low, rumbly noise, clearly annoyed. “I also hate Quinn, but that dick ran away like a coward. I had serious plans to hack him apart piece by piece after I saw him touching you like that.”
Despite the day being the literal worst, I laughed. My thoughts and his words did not go together at all. “I know.”
“He used his magic on you, didn’t he?”
“Yeah.”
Samson tensed, his fingers on my hip tightening.
Since I suspected he wanted more information, I continued, “He’s done it before. I’m not sure what he’s doing exactly, but it’s like he grabs my heart with his magic and squeezes. It’s uncomfortable.”
“Uncomfortable?” A growl shook his chest. Way too demonic for my taste. “He could’ve squished your heart like a goddamn grape—”
“But he didn’t.” The last thing I needed was for him to not listen to Quinn’s proposition. “Actually, he told me to tell you something.”
“He could’ve done that without doing that to you.”
“True, but I also had a machete.” I reached up and pressed my hand to his jaw. “Quinn wants you to let him live in the end. If you do, he’ll tell us where all of Nero’s bodies are.”
He pulled back and looked at me, gaze occasionally flickering to my lips. Yep. That was incredibly sexy. “Not happening.”
“I think—”
“He’s a dead man.” Samson stared at me, unrepentant. “We can figure out how to kill Nero without that asshole’s help.”
“He harassed me, not you.” I ran my hand along the nape of his neck. “I think it’s worth at least thinking about. Can you think about it?”
He closed his eyes and leaned into my palm. “You are the only person who makes me think that killing someone is a bad idea.”
It struck me suddenly that he enjoyed this. He enjoyed talking and snuggling with me. The thought brought a smile to my lips.
“Well, generally, it is a bad idea, so I’m glad I make you think twice at the very least.”
“You make me think of a lot of things, Tilly.” He leaned away from my hand and closer to my face, his nose brushing mine. “Lots of crazy things.”
Desire pooled in my stomach. I wanted nothing more than to show him how much he meant to me.
If the hard length against my thigh were any indication, he had the same idea.
“One of these days,” he said against my lips before pressing a slow, languid kiss to them.
Given our circumstance, I hoped we’d live long enough for him to be right.