Affinity for Pain, page 5
The drive back to Ciaran’s office was much slower than her previous trip. Hope listened to the sound of other cars flying by through her open window and hummed quietly to herself. Nothing like blaring her metal collection to draw attention to her car.
Hope could remember singing to pass the time but ever since the gunshot wound in her neck, she couldn’t do anything but hum. A piece of the bullet near her voice box kept her from completely healing.
Damn that job. She was just starting out and wasn’t completely prepared for all the things that could go wrong when you were trying to kill someone. The target had been a small-time businessman, who was, in actuality, an anti-demon radical planning an attack on a local demon-friendly homeless shelter. Talk about low.
The news must have gotten back to him that he was under a kill order because he’d been armed. Thankfully, she was faster and stronger than this particularly awful specimen of the weaker race. The tussle for the gun ending in her favor. It was lights out for that unlucky customer. The neck wound, however, was a reminder of why you should always do your homework, kids.
She considered having surgery to remove it, but that would require insurance and medical files, and personnel. yeah, no. She wished she could have managed to get it out when it happened, but she was half dead from the blood loss and more concerned with stopping the flow than maintaining her singing voice.
Yes, she sure was doing a fantastic job distracting herself. Ugh.
The air smelled like lilacs as she passed open fields of the country, but as she drove farther, the air changed to exhaust fumes, gasoline, and the stale metallic smell of wet building. She peeled through the rural district, the uptown hipster areas, and into the industrial area where Ciaran’s office sat. It was way off to the west, a mostly empty area with a few parks and a baseball field.
The old, brick building was smack dab in the middle of it all. To Hope, it still looked like the packaging plant it once was despite the ivy growing on it. Adding a new door and some offices couldn’t change that.
It waited quietly at the end of the street, ever so expectant for the business it desperately needed. By all accounts, the private security biz was not going well for Ciaran O’Connor, but he seemed to manage. Probably, because he made so much fucking dough fighting. Dante said he used to be one of his top fighters before he went traitor.
Hope’s heart pounded in her chest. She could feel the pull of omaeriku as she drew closer to the office, closer to her jabalv, as her people called him. But, like hell, if she was going to let some pathetic, pseudo-magical bond control her. If she could learn to control emotions and muscles, she could certainly learn to control her fucking hormones, magickally induced or not.
As she drove closer, she could feel her sort of pulse. The sensations were overwhelming. Hope mentally groped for her training. How she felt nothing after her mother’s departure. She’d made herself numb.
Every foot closer to the building, however, made it harder to fight the random images omaeriku was kicking up. Something about it made her want to be alone with Ciaran, but not to kill him. No, omaeriku wanted her alone with him in a different way and possibly without any clothes.
“Where the fuck did that come from?” Hope didn’t think about sex, ever. The concept was so alien to her. Chakals didn’t really sit their children down and talk about intimacy. Mostly, they waited until the female was ready for braednas and sent in a male to impregnate her as quickly as possible. Shut in the darkness so that they couldn’t tell which female they were with, the males would use their bodies to create a child and then leave. The females were sequestered until they gave birth with no contact from the outside world to risk omaeriku.
The thought of being close to someone just seemed like an invitation for pain, real physical pain. Hope could remember the women of her clan coming out of the braednas temple, blood on their gowns. How the fuck could something that left you bleeding be fun?
But none of what she knew explained why her subconscious was showing her images of throwing Ciaran down on a desk and ripping his shirt open.
Shedara-damn, useless hormones! How did humans, and other demons, for that matter, deal with them? This muffled thought, one she’d never had before, was pushing against the stone-etched will she’d spent her entire life developing.
There was no time for that. Hope had to put on her game face and woman the fuck up. She checked her make-up in the mirror, wiping a pinky finger under her eyes and around her lips. Satisfied, she went up to the building’s door. Her hands were shaky and sweat had apparently formed on her hands. This is fucking stupid.
Hope shook her head and relaxed her shoulders. With a practiced smile, she knocked firmly on the glass window. The signage rapped under her knuckles, and where Ciaran’s name was printed, she imagined beating the shit out of him, punishing him for putting her through this ridiculous omaeriku crap.
“Just a minute, please.” The voice she heard behind the door didn’t sound like she expected. It was a little higher and there was no trace of an Irish accent. Didn’t he have one last night?
As Hope straightened her dress, a shorter, red-haired man opened the door. She thought back to the first time she saw Ciaran, he was sitting at a desk, and maybe he was shorter than she thought? But his profile said he was six-foot-four and at her five-nine, the man approaching her just made it past her head.
“Hello. I’m Dimitri, how can I help you, ma’am?”
Hope released a breath she wasn’t aware she’d been holding.
“Well, for starters, don’t call me ma’am. And secondly, where can a parched girl like me get something to drink?” She smiled coyly and slinked her way inside. She let her hips sway more than normal and could practically feel the tiny, horndog’s green stare all over her ass. Piece of cake.
“I’m sorry, force of habit. I can get you some coffee or water?” The thick Brooklyn accent was grumbly and well ingrained.
“Anything stronger, cutie?” Hope winked and bit her lip ever so slightly. She could read this little fuck like a picture book and guessed that he would respond rather well to the sweet damsel in distress meets total whore persona.
“Yeah, I can do that.”
Dimitri walked to the main office and offered her a chair. She walked past it and sat on the edge of the desk instead. He sat behind it and pulled out a pair of glasses. She swiveled her legs in front of him and crossed one slowly over the other. Hope leaned back on one arm and watched Dimitri pour the brown liquor. Eat your heart out, Basic Instinct.
As Dimitri looked up and handed her a glass, she smiled and sipped. It was whiskey and not cheap stuff, either. Ciaran had good taste.
“Umm, so what can I help you with, other than the drink?” Dimitri sat in the boss’s chair and looked ridiculous.
“Well, Dimitri, right?” Hope said, with a coy grin.
“Uh huh. That’s right. Miss?” Hope could hear the desire in his voice, and he probably had the physical reaction to match.
“Turner. And, you see, Dimitri, I’m afraid that I’m being stalked. I’m so afraid to go outside alone, and I need your company’s help protecting myself.” Hope leaned down close to Dimitri’s face and let the deep V in her dress stretch tightly around her breasts. As she got close enough to Dimitri’s face to kiss him, she reached her hand around her leg to the small holster she had strapped to her thigh. Holding the small gun out of sight, Hope thought about how ridiculous she must look, throwing herself at this guy and practically falling out of her top.
Hope blinked and suddenly her mind was filled with the memory of one of the many men she’d killed. A contract kill for only him, his wife had jumped in the line of fire and died trying to protect him. She failed, not standing a chance against an automatic weapon, and both of them wound up shot to death in a manner of seconds.
Hope could picture leaving the scene and being dumbfounded by the woman’s actions, she still was. Why would a person willingly die for another when the opportunity to escape had been right there? The smart killer could use that as leverage. Two birds, one stone equals lovely dead birds. People were fools, especially humans, hell, especially her own fucking clan. Getting sucked in by omaeriku and made a plaything to its whims. Or hiding in fear instead of controlling it, dominating it with your will. Idiots.
The sound of Dimitri’s Brooklyn accent snapped Hope back to reality. “Oh, well, you see, my boss, Mr. O’Connor, usually handles that type of situation, personally. I mostly just file paperwork. He’s the trained bodyguard, after all.”
“I see. Do you know when he’ll be available to speak with me?”
“He should be arriving any moment, actually. He had to drop off the electricity payment to the landlord.”
“You two don’t own the building?”
“Yeah, no. We rent. Mr. O’Connor and I live outside the city.”
“Oh, really? Country boys, huh?” Hope leaned a little closer and cocked the gun quietly.
“O’Connor maybe, but not me. He’s way out there. Off Route 33.”
Hope smiled to herself. Pumping Dimitri for info certainly wasn’t hard. And she had almost all the info she needed. “You’re so helpful, Dimitri. Getting your boss to help me with my... problem. You boys must be doing quite well for yourselves. Helping scared women like me.”
“Are you kidding? No, we’re small beans here. Mr. O’Connor could buy this whole block if he wanted, but he says he just isn’t that type. Likes to lay low, keep to himself. I, personally, like going out. I could probably show you the time of your life instead of sitting in the dark.” Dimitri eyed her up and down.
She bit her lip, as she looked down at him and let her head fall back in a fake laugh. “I bet you could. And it’s only you here, all alone in this big office?”
“Yeah, just me, no other employees to worry about.” Dimitri grinned as the possibilities ran through his head.
“Wow, no one. Well... Dimitri, that leaves just one thing.” Hope pulled Dimitri close and kissed him. It caught him off guard and as soon as he was fully invested, tongue roaming, she lifted her gun and pressed the barrel to his temple. His eyes shot open, and he went slack-jawed. Hope let herself smile wide and real. “Oh, what’s the matter, Dimitri? Not what you had in mind? Oh, well. Goodbye, Dimitri.”
FIVE
The sound of his fists hitting the punching bag echoed in the empty room. The pain in Ciaran’s knuckles ran through his fists, into his wrists, and up his arms, resting in his shoulders. He’d been at this for about an hour, and it was beginning to get annoying. But his brain was churning away. He barely slept and woke up shortly after his self-medication to find that he was antsy as fuck. The restless leg syndrome was rearing its ugly head, and he wanted to kick everything off him and run a marathon. Not a fabulous idea when you have a reputation and a massive hard on.
So, when he heard his alarm at four, he figured it was okay to stop staring at the ceiling and go work out. He’d hobbled out in the dark to his homemade gym. It was nice to have a place to just focus on training.
Now, as he finished beating the shit out of his lifeless opponent, he checked his watch and saw that it was a little after five a.m.
“Shit, I should have left for the office.” Ciaran ran down to his room, literally jumped into the shower and scrubbed himself down with soap. Not concentrating, he accidentally brushed himself and cursed as he got hard.
“Ahh, not fucking now. don’t you ever get fucking tired?” As if in response, his mind flashed to the dream woman with the white streak in her hair. “No fucking way. I have to work.” Ciaran rinsed off, threw on black pants, t-shirt, and boots, and was out the door.
“Sorry. Running late.” Ciaran swung open the door to his office and found Dimitri sleeping in his chair. “Fucker.”
Ciaran walked over, careful not to stomp in his Docs, and slammed his hands down on the desk.
“Holy fucking shit!” Dimitri shot up in his chair and Ciaran wondered if he’d pissed himself. “Fuck, bro. What’d you do that for?”
“‘Cause, you have a house you can sleep at, not me fucking leather office chair.”
“Lay off, you may get up at the crack of ass, but I need a little motivation. And you’re just not that cute,” Dimitri yawned.
“Dimitri, do you think you can manage to stay awake long enough to watch the office while I run this payment downtown?” Ciaran had a ton of errands, and he didn’t really trust Dimitri with them. Well, trust that he wouldn’t be recognized, anyway.
“Sure. But, if you don’t start the coffee on your way out, my nap is your fucking fault.” Dimitri leaned back in the chair and stretched his body out to its full length.
“Get out of me chair and consider filing those invoices from last month. I know it’s not as fun as putting fifty-grand down on a horse named Rosie and losing, but do it.” Ciaran smiled smugly and escorted Dimitri out of his office.
“I don’t understand why you don’t just buy this place. No more costly rent payments or drives to the landlord’s ghetto ass house.” Dimitri stared at Ciaran and shrugged his shoulders as he left.
Ciaran let his body fall into his chair and held his head in his hands. Buy the office? Well, that would put me name on the lease. No, thank you. It’s hard enough to stay under the radar, without adding me name to the bank’s list of customers.
Ciaran sighed and reached into the top drawer of his desk for the cash rent payment. God, it would be nice never having to see the landlord again, but times were hard, and this was the only suitable location for his business. Being in personal security was tricky. Most people didn’t know they needed a bodyguard, and the people who did usually went to private firms.
“Ugh, I really don’t want to see that bastard.” Ciaran’s entire body stiffened. The bloated, sunburnt man always seemed to look at him like a piece of meat, and even with the physical odds stacked against him, Ciaran couldn’t really do much. Hilariously, Frankie had his own personal security.
Ciaran walked out to the main door. “I’m going to run this downtown. I’ll be back in like an hour. Hopefully, I won’t have to stay any longer than I have to.”
Dimitri poured himself a cup of coffee, fresh from the twelve-dollar coffee maker, and sat down on the edge of the couch in the waiting area. “Okay, cool. I’ll make sure the office doesn’t scamper off like a bad little room.”
“Ha. Look, just take care of any clients, and try not to burn the building down.’”
“I fall asleep with a smoke in my hands once, and now I can’t be trusted?”
“No. Ugh, I’ll be back as soon as I can. I fucking hate going, so I shouldn’t be long.” Ciaran rubbed the back of his neck like he could feel the bastard’s halitosis crawling up his skin.
“Sure, boss, whatever you say. I think he just likes you.” Dimitri winked.
“That’s the problem.”
“Are you serious? No fucking way that guy wants you. Right?” Dimitri’s eyes were huge, like green saucers in his face.
“It’s like the fucking Inferno all over again.” Ciaran’s shoulders pinched and a light sweat broke out on his forehead.
“Well, fuck that guy. You can take him, even with his so-called bodyguards. After all, you’re the Laoch Dubh.”
Ciaran glared. “Don’t call me that.”
“Sorry.”
“I’m going to drop this off.”
“Hopefully you return with your balls intact.” Dimitri smiled and shrugged as if to say he couldn’t help himself. And try as he might, Ciaran couldn’t help but smile.
Frankie’s “office” smelled like cat pee, pot, and a hint of spilled beer. Cheap-ass beer, too. Ciaran walked to the door and after knocking, heard the usual, “Yeah, what d’ya want?”
He told him he was there to pay rent.
Behind the closed door, Frankie perked up and yelled, “Oh, Ciaran, well, son, why don’t ya come in?”
Inside the apartment, Ciaran tried not to touch anything and kept a watchful eye on the two thugs near the back. Burney was sloppily eating a sandwich and Roy was sitting in the corner picking at the underside of his nails with a butter knife. After peering around, he saw Frankie lounging on a pea soup green couch, his beer gut hanging out and a glass pipe in his hand.
“Frankie. Here’s the payments. Electricity and rent. I’ll be going, now.” Ciaran tossed the envelope down on the sticky coffee table and turned to leave. Frankie cleared his throat and before Ciaran could turn around, a sweat-slick grip was around his neck. Roy smiled at him and waited for orders like a good boy.
“Now, now, Ciaran, why don’t you stay? Besides, I was just telling Roy here how you neglected to visit me and that your payment is a whole day late.”
Roy pulled Ciaran’s head around and his body followed. Roy’s fat, dirty hands pointed his face at Frankie. The slovenly man walked in front of him.
“Mm. Electricity and rent, huh? Well, maybe, is not all I want. I’ve heard some rumors. Nasty deets that you were an employee of the bombed Inferno Club.” Frankie planted his feet, waiting for a response.
Ciaran’s first instinct was to say nothing, wait until he got bored and let him go, but Roy’s hand squeezed tighter.
Ciaran grunted. “Ugh. yes. I got out of that business, and you know I’m in private security.” Ciaran shifted his neck in Roy’s grip and looked sidelong at Burney, still occupying himself with the sandwich. “Isn’t something I discuss. So, there’s your payment. I’ll be on me way.”
Frankie gripped the belt that held up his corduroy pants. Adjusting himself in front of Ciaran, he rolled his eyes and shook his head. “No fucking way. How lucky am I, Roy? I’ve got one of Dentry’s whipping boys right here in my house. You know, Dentry and I, well, we have a few things in common. One of those things? We like our money on time.”
The back of Ciaran’s neck moistened with sweat and bile crept up this throat. He thought about his last night in the Inferno. He tried to forget that place but faced with a familiar threat, the memories bled into his consciousness.
