Scorpion's Kiss (The Accidental Zodiacs), page 1
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
About the Author
Also by Cherron Riser
Blurb
Follow the music. The case called to Serina like none of the others she had worked on. After ten years working at the Zodiac Enforcement Agency, going from a desk job to an agent, she had finally found the case that made her mind spin. Her target left few clues, other than the sound of music everyone remembered from the scene of his crimes. The songs told a story, and Serina had every intention of hearing the end.
Through time and space, Serina chased her Music Man. Each scene created more questions than answers until the case became an obsession— mystery she would do almost anything to solve. The attacks seemed like more than malice, and Serina wanted to know what the answer was. It might mean skirting a little closer to the forbidden edge, but she could handle it, and when she found him, he would taste her Scorpion’s Kiss.
It isn’t finished until it is sealed with a kiss.
—Serina
Copyright © 2023 by Cherron Riser
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the email address below.
Cherronriser@gmail.com
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing, August 10, 2023
www.facebook.com/cherronriser
Edited by Amanda Brown
Published by Celtic Hearts Press
Cover Design by Glowing Moon Design
To my friends, family, and those who support me. For every ounce of doubt I felt, you gave me double the confidence to keep moving forward.
Chapter
One
Another file slapped down onto my desk, adding to my ever-growing pile of cases. Being part of the Zodiac Enforcement Agency, or ZEA for short, was never without constant changes. We policed the Zodiacs who were using their powers to seriously screw up the world. In other words, “magic abuse.” I had known that from the time I started working here, and my goal was to make my world a better place. As cheesy as that sounded, it was the only thing that had ever mattered to me. Not that I wanted some sort of perfect utopia with everyone always perfectly behaved, but at some point, it was important to be safe. I had no idea it would be so much work.
I started at the agency in my early twenties in an attempt to keep myself on the path of the Sinless. Being young and impressionable, I was happy working behind the desk, doing the jobs no one else wanted, and my days were filled with completing reports and organizing files. I was such a nerd, but the longer I did it, the more I realized I wanted to be part of the action. My fingers would itch with ideas on how to handle cases. I couldn’t stop suggesting solutions or giving my opinion on who or where to find the answers. At first, it annoyed the crap out of my bosses. That was until they started to see I was right. It still annoyed some of them. From there I began to make the necessary steps to go from desk jockey to agent. The transition was the right fit for me even though others made it unnecessarily difficult.
I found that not only did I have the mental capacity for field work, but I also was far more athletic than anyone, including me, thought. With a hell of a lot of practice, I was able to hone my natural ability into precision and skill.
My Sifu went out of his way to kick my ass, I mean “train” me. Later he said it was because he knew I could handle it, and it would make me better. I’m still not sure if he was full of shit or not. I did, however, get a black belt in jujitsu in record time, as well as some Krav Maga. Still people did not take me seriously here, which was why I tended to get shit jobs no one wanted or seemed too difficult to solve. Part of me wondered if someone was waiting to see me fail, which was why I hadn’t.
“Got you another one, Serina,” Becky, the girl who had taken my place behind the desk, said as she plopped another file down, making the slightly lopsided stack quiver. Thankfully it didn’t topple over. She was in her early twenties, fresh out of college, just as I had been when getting started. However, she looked like a teenager. Her blonde hair was kept in a high ponytail, and her makeup was light and natural on her pale pink skin. She dressed in fifties-style dresses and cute little black-buckled shoes. I often wondered why Becky had chosen that as her style, but I could never deny the fact the girl was well put together.
I looked nothing like Becky. My hair was nearly black with soft wavy curls resting just at my shoulders. It complemented my dark eyes and deeply tan skin. I was tall and slender, though I had enough curves to allow for a couple of good handfuls if the right person managed to get ahold of me.
Not that anyone had gotten their hands on me in a while. With how much I worked, the only guys I really got to see were my coworkers. That meant they were either good boys who were married with 2.5 kids and a dog, or they were playing the field and taking home whichever Zodiac-obsessed girl they found at the bar. Besides, I wasn’t the type to mix pleasure and business.
“You love to keep me in work. Don’t you?” I sighed, grabbing the file.
“Well, at least these last two are related. They both seem to have something to do with music. I figured I would give you both of the cases, as they may be the same person. If anyone can figure it out, you can. Besides, I don’t keep you in work, the bad people do.” Becky popped her gum and gave one of those cute girl grins that only really sweet and innocent people can pull off.
That’s when Raul, my direct boss, came slithering over. I could never quite figure out Raul. Some days he looked sharp and ready for action, but other days he seemed a bit rough for wear. Maybe it was because he was a Gemini. He was of average height with a pot belly where his once rock-hard abs used to be. His brown hair, now peppered with silver, was pulled back and braided down between his shoulders. His beard was trimmed nice and neat today, though other days it was scraggly and puffed out. He wore a nice off-the-rack suit and freshly ironed shirt.
“Damn, you have a lot on your plate. Becky let’s get these other files delegated out. I want Serina working full time on this.” Raul growled in a voice that always sounded like he was crunching gravel in his throat. He picked up the two new files and set them down directly in front of me.
“You are taking my cases?” I was offended but did my best to hide how I really felt. It was a talent. Instead, I let my voice hold the question without any extra inflection.
“Something about this music man needs more attention. I want you on it full time. Something tells me it isn’t going to stop here,” Raul said, turning to head back toward his office.
“Well, I guess that works. I was about to head out on this one, but it isn’t anything big deal.” I handed Becky the other file I had been looking at, and she bounced off in the most bubble-gum happy way possible. It made me sad to think I could never pull off being so chipper. I mean, I could, but I would probably look like a drunk stumbling downstairs. Before my time in the agency, I might could have pulled it off, but not anymore. The work left me a little more jaded than I wanted to admit.
It was peculiar how Raul had decided to take so much work off of me, but the idea of having to hunt down someone he was worried about thrilled me. The cogs in my head started to churn, ticking away at how to approach the case. First, I needed to figure out exactly what the case was.
I opened up the first file and started going through the information. Timothy “Hopper” Santini was a member of the mafia. He had been sliced up in several places, all of the gashes cauterized upon contact as if being sliced by some sort of fire. Was the attacker using a lightsaber? No, that was silly. But they must have been using some sort of enchanted weapon. Either that or they enjoyed walking around with a plasma cutter. That didn’t seem very plausible, especially if the case had ended up on my desk.
Okay, so the suspect killed a known criminal with a bad rap sheet longer than my leg. That was certainly something to file away. Pulling out a notebook, I began to jot down any relevant information I could. No witnesses were listed other than someone who claimed to hear music coming from the alley. The body had been found outside of a club, The Brass Umbrella. I had never been there, but I had heard rumors of it. Most of the time the sultry jazz and flowing liquor was a cover for criminal groups and mafia figures doing business. Again, not the type of criminals I usually hunted.
After adding a few more notes to my book, I opened the second file. Once again, the victim was some sort of known criminal. Lamar “Swift” McCall. Most of the information on the man was about small-time crimes like dealing drugs and moving shipments of things between different bosses. He was still young enough that his rap sheet was relatively short.
However, once again, the victim was found dead with the cause of death listed as cauterized lacerations. At least one witness, Misha Collins, claimed to hear someone singing before she found the body. Swift didn’t seem to have mafia connections, but there was no telling if he had worked for someone who also worked for someone. It was worth taking a deeper dive into.
The file contained contact information for Misha Collins, which I also listed in my notebook. It wasn’t like I was going to carry the files around with me to start investigating. I would make a stop by the first crime scene and then head over to get a statement from Misha. Packing the files up, I grabbed my motorcycle jacket and headed to the elevator.
Summer in Atlanta was hot and often lasted for nine months of the year. Nearly every afternoon we would get a decent thunderstorm, lasting anywhere from fifteen minutes to an hour. The roads were slick, but already the blistering heat had the puddles evaporating like steam. It was hard to breathe through the humidity, but after a while, it just became normal. I had met people who didn’t grow up in the Southeast, and they always had a difficult time dealing with the heat and drowning humidity. Of course, water in the air never had an effect on me. Being a Scorpio gave me some dominion over water.
I slung my leg over the seat of my bike and placed my helmet on my head. Slapping down the visor, I cranked up the beast before I took a deep breath and sped on down the road. Spray from some of the leftover puddles kicked up behind me in a brilliant arch as I raced south toward the club.
It took about thirty minutes to get there, weaving through some of the darker neighborhoods before the blinking red neon sign of The Brass Umbrella came into view. Despite its location, the club had a line of people waiting to get inside, and I could hear music seeping out from inside the building. With a deep sigh I managed to get parked in a relatively decent spot.
I walked toward the door with purpose, my hips swaying and drawing the attention of everyone waiting to get inside. Not bothering to get into the line, I took off my jacket and lowered the neckline of my shirt a bit, allowing my cleavage to draw in the eyes of the man at the door. No one batted an eye as I walked straight up to the towering man who ensured no one entered who was not supposed to be there.
At first, the man tried to scoff at me, letting out an unamused grunt as he peered down at me. He had a face that made me think of what would happen if a grumpy old man and a bulldog had a baby. His body shared that same sentiment as he was tall and bulky, which enabled him to block most of the doorway. Though he was dressed in a nice suit, it wasn’t specifically made for him, causing it to bunch in certain areas and stretch tightly in others.
I didn’t let him intimidate me. While I was a Zodiac and knew I could force him to just let me in, I preferred to use my powers only when needed. After all, I had seen firsthand exactly how losing your powers could impact your sanity. Because of that, I chose to not allow my powers to rule my life. That didn’t mean I didn’t use some of my natural charms to get my way. Men like the one before me had never intimidated me, and I wasn’t going to start letting that happen now.
“Where do you think you’re going, girly?” the man asked, looking down on me as if I were nothing more than the trash littering the street.
“Well, I wanted to get into the club tonight. Is that going to be a problem?” I pushed up my breasts, drawing his attention a little more. He may not have meant for me to see it, but he licked his lips as he thought of what to say next.
The door behind him opened and a much smaller man poked his head out. “Boris, we should have more people coming in by now. Get to it.”
Quick as he came, the smaller man left. The distraction made Boris a little flustered, and instead of turning me away, he stepped to the side and allowed me through the door. While the music had seeped through to the outside slightly, the sound was still not overwhelming once inside the doors.
The Brass Umbrella was exactly what I expected. Upon entering, I saw a coat check as well as a couple of bathrooms. From there, I walked through a set of curtains into a much larger room. A stage sat directly across from the door with a band playing boisterous jazz music to the crowded room. In front of the stage was a circular floor, scattered with tables, and a small but prominent dance floor. A raised halo of more private seating outlined the rest of the floor. Above the entire room, a balcony lined with gold jutted out, indicating a VIP-style lounge. The tables had red linens, and the chairs were upholstered with high-end black leather. Waitresses dressed in little black sequin dresses wove in and out of the tables, taking orders and serving drinks. All in all, the club dripped with glamor and money, uncommon for this part of town.
I walked into the room, feeling a little underdressed as most people were in suits and formal dresses, but I wasn’t here to have a good time. I was here to find out why Timothy “Hopper” Santini was dead.
Chapter
Two
Working for the agency kept me out of a lot of human politics and mundane investigations. What I did know was Carmen Conti was in charge. He had moved down from New York a couple of decades ago in order to put a foothold in the southern states for his family. His father was still head of one of the crime families in New York, and Carmen was told to prove his worth by building an empire in a state that had always been difficult to take hold of.
He stood at the railing of the VIP lounge watching the floor with a critical eye. Though he was concentrating, his face was not wrinkled, showing off the fact he was still relatively young. He wore a classic black suit with a white undershirt. His tie was a brilliant green and clasped with a diamond studded tie pin. A large serpent-shaped ring, with dazzling emerald eyes, rested on the pinky of his right hand.
Without trying, Carmen exuded confidence and control, even though he was not much older than forty. His pensive gaze swept over the crowd as if trying to read every detail of the room. I knew the moment his attention landed on me. He narrowed his eyes a bit and one eyebrow shot up, giving his face a questioning look. I returned that look with a wicked smile.
We stayed that way, eyes locked, for several moments before he leaned back and spoke to someone I could not see. I could have tried to spy on him. After all, I had a way with being extra observant, but I realized what it was about the moment someone came down the stairs and started to walk toward me.
The man was dressed in a nice suit tailor made to fit his tall slender body. He was not broad of shoulder, but that didn’t take away from the fact he looked strong. His hair was slicked back with some sort of oil he had obviously used too much of. However, unlike Carmen, he didn’t have the extra jewelry and flare of his boss. The man walked up to me directly, not wavering from the path to speak with anyone else along the way. “My boss would like to speak to you.”
“Oh, he would? Why is that? Is he not used to seeing someone as pretty as me stroll in?” I asked, doing my best to not give away the fact I knew exactly why he wanted to talk to me.
“If you could please come with me,” the man said, not amused with my line of ridiculous banter. I did, however, head toward the stairs that lead up to the VIP section. The goon followed close behind, and I could sense him staring at me. I didn’t get the feeling that it was sexual. It was more he was good at his job.
The VIP lounge continued with the club’s theme of gold and red. Instead of standard tables, this area boasted couches and plush chairs. A private bar stood in the corner manned by someone who had to be a goon and not an actual bartender. A couple of ladies were sitting on the couches, drinks in hand and legs crossed, while some of the men who obviously worked for Carmen told stories to impress them.
Carmen, however, stayed at his post by the railing as if waiting for something to happen. Maybe he knew danger was on the way, or maybe he just preferred to be on top of things. He certainly didn’t look at me when he spoke. “I’ve never seen you in my club before.”
“Do you always invite newcomers up to introduce yourself?” I asked, moving up next to him. I didn’t particularly like talking to someone’s back.
Carmen turned toward me, and a slick smile spread over his lips. “No, but I get the feeling you aren’t just a normal someone new in my club. So, tell me, who are you and why are you here?”
