Spirit Song Page 12

  His unease grew after he hung up and dove into the shower. He concentrated to no avail; she simply wasn’t acknowledging him. Granted, he hadn’t told her about their connection when he slipped from her bed. He hadn’t believed it would happen so fast, much less at all. Even when the ancient words tapped on the back of his skull as he was buried in her sweet core, he continued to resist. Happily Ever After wasn’t meant for him. His soul swam in the blood of both evil and not so evil, and hell would be his final reward when death at last claimed him.

  Clothes clung to his damp skin as he jammed his legs into a pair of black leathers, snatching a white button-down out of the walk-in closet before storming down the stairs. The steel-toed Harley boots were right where he’d kicked them off last night, next to the puddle of ebony ink that was his duster. Keys jangled in his hand as he stomped into his boots and scooped his jacket off the floor. His thoughts met with more silence as he yanked open the door and made his way to his car.

  The beast growled to life, and he threw it into reverse, his rush to be at her side making him a demon behind the wheel. Tires squealed as he hugged corner after corner until the early afternoon traffic on the I-55 surrounded him. He focused on her, channeled any energy not directed toward avoiding the other vehicles on the roadway and got only static. Giving a growl of his own, he pushed harder on the accelerator.

  Hang on, tesorina.

  Perhaps the fates were asleep, or maybe they found another sap to harass since the drive was blessedly short and uneventful. At last, the neon of Francciolli’s appeared around the bend and so did the same black Benz from last night. Answers and anger flooded his awareness, one wave crashing into the next. The steering wheel groaned, his death grip nearly warping the leather-wrapped steel as he took a safety lap around the block. Careful to keep his gaze forward, he passed the darkly tinted windows, taking note of the three distinctly male heartbeats.

  Yet only one human in the car.

  Well, maybe human was a stretch, but the other two passengers definitely marched to a much different drummer.

  He watched in the rear view reflection until the Mercedes disappeared around the corner. Torn between the urge to whip the car around or to take one more pass, he opted on neither, pulling into the first available spot on the street, masking his unique vehicle behind a bland tan pick-up. He got out and sent feelers ahead of his steps, the air heavy with lingering taint of charred electricity. The scent was so thick, he half expected it to cling to the bricks as he approached the inset entry.

  A wave of his hand and the locked door handle turned easily in his palm. Raised voices met his ears as he ascended the narrow stairwell. His angel was upset and he intended to remedy that. He clenched his jaw tight as he saw the door sitting askew in its frame. With control that bordered on saint-worthy, he pushed open the fragile barrier. He remained at the threshold, taking in the scene, both the current and past events.

  The strong resemblance between Miranda and the stunned, blue-eyed young man facing him pegged him as a brother, as well as a source of her aggravation. He picked up nothing more than the obvious, Slick Sal’s bodyguards erasing the truth like waves wiping away a lover’s message in the wet sand.

  Unsure if his words were clear through this angered growl, he restated his inquiry.

  “Who do I have to hurt?”

  The slow turn of his beautiful angel, coupled with her furrowed brow and jaw agape, spoke volumes to his unexpected arrival. He held her gaze, silently awaiting permission to enter. She had given him full access to her body only hours ago, but he knew that minds could, and did, change. Her surprised nod gave no hinted answer about her pleasure, or displeasure, at his sudden appearance.

  He managed one step inside when the other male finally found his courage, puffing out his chest in pathetic challenge.

  “Just who the hell do you think—” The child stepped into his space, reaching for his shoulder in an attempt to spin him away. Big mistake. As his hand grazed the leather-capped sleeve, Bastian swung his head around, pinning the youth with a deadly stare.

  “Move that hand or I will feed it to you.” The predatory growl did its job with ease, the brother’s cheeks paling in record time and his arm quaking like a branch in a hurricane.

  “Kyle, stop.” Her fatigued voice quickened his actions. Two strides later and he stood before her. With tender care, he pulled her close and tilted her chin up, peering deep into her eyes. Chills ran down his fingers, the frisson of lingering evil marching along his skin. One of those bastards had touched her.

  “Are you all right?”

  As he trailed his thumb along her full bottom lip, he forced down a possessive snarl. Someone else had dared to kiss her, and the kiss was not mutual. This knowledge stoked a fire in his blood that screamed for vengeance. Her timid smile added fuel of a different kind, her hand cupping his palm, and she nodded.

  “Thank you. But really, I’m fine,” she said. He arched an eyebrow, half a smile curling his lips at her less-than-convincing statement. His reward was a matching smirk as she shook her head and stepped out of his reach. “Just gotta get this fixed before I have to leave for work tonight.”

  The boy she called Kyle strode over, placing himself between Miranda and Bastian, glaring as best he could. “You know this guy, sis?”

  Bastian folded his arms across his chest, unfazed at his show of manly protection. Judging from the heavy sigh from Miranda, she was not impressed by his actions either.

  “Oh, NOW you decide to be a hero,” she grumbled under her breath, taking out her anger on an innocently displaced pillow. Dust danced in the filtered daylight as she punched the gray-striped square before tossing it back onto the couch. “And yes, Kyle. I do know him. I, um…I met him at the club.”

  Kyle’s jaw popped open and he spun to face her. “The club? Sal’s gonna freak if he sees this guy. Geez, sis. You trying to get yourself killed?”

  Bastian growled. Brother or not, he was about to get the ass kicking of legend. His fingers curled into a tight ball, but before he managed the first swing, Miranda took the initiative. She glared daggers at the boy, unshed tears sparkling in her troubled blue orbs.

  “No, Kyle. You don’t get to judge my life. Contrary to what you and Sal think, it is still my damned life.” Her anger became a palpable force, spilling out as silver trails dripped down her ivory cheeks. “I am not going to live in fear. I don’t deserve this. All I’ve tried to do is help you, never asking for anything for myself. Well, I’m done playing doormat. I want something just for me. Just this once. Aren’t I allowed? Don’t I get a chance to be happy too?”

  Bastian placed his hand on her shoulder, sending waves of sympathetic understanding to ease her stormy emotions. From the stunned expression on her brother’s face, he was unprepared for her loss of control. The sanctimonious wind crashed from his sails and he transformed into an apologetic teenager before his eyes. Having no real family beyond his dysfunctional parents, Bastian opted to watch this play out from his vantage point on the outside.

  “Andy, I’m—fuck.”

  Fucked is more like it, young one. Bastian shook his head as he finished the statement in his mind.

  She sighed, her narrow shoulders drooping as she wiped a sleeve across her eyes. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lost my temper.” Bastian stayed at her back as she offered a comforting hug to one who, by all rights, she should have tossed out on his ass. Hell, he would have held the door open for her. Instead, she patted him on the back, her shoulders still tense with carefully restrained emotions. The armor around Bastian’s heart eased a fraction, her selfless action warming his cold soul a degree or two.

  Bastian scanned the room, his gaze searching for something other than the familial bonding before him. In the light of day, he took in the meager and worn furnishings. With her voice, she should be earning much more than these Spartan surroundings indicated. He recalled the waitress telling of her indebtedness to Slick Sal, but her lack of lavish furnitur
e confused him. He groaned half to himself as the pieces fell into place in his mind. It was not her debt she was working off. It was her brother’s.

  At that moment, he didn’t know what he wanted to do first: kiss her or kill him.

  His growl caught her attention and she stepped back, offering a weak yet warm smile to him. “Sorry. Kyle? Sebastian. Sebastian, Kyle. Kyle’s my—”

  “Yes, I believe he did call you sister, Miranda.” Unable to extend more than his hand, a smile not forthcoming, he eyed the younger male version of his angel. But where she had been blessed with deep auburn waves, his hair was a dusty blonde, straight and spiky. The smile that touched his face was practiced but genuine. His firm handshake spun tales of lost wagers and many bad bets. There was a faint trace of the influence of his ancient enemy, but it was indirect, the consequence of his dangerous vice.

  “You are a gambler.”

  Stunned, Kyle gaped as he stared in awe. “Yeah?” When the young man pulled away, he tightened his grip, holding him in place.

  “This path leads down a road you will regret. Stop while you still can.” He released Kyle abruptly, turning to face his angel while the young man regained his feet. “Tell me how I can help you, Miranda.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Miranda didn’t think her jaw could drop any further and still be attached to her skull. Well, if Kyle had actually stood up for her in front of Sal instead of acting like a rabid Chihuahua now, that would have iced the screwed-up cupcake that was her life at the moment. But it was a start.

  She blinked, testing her eyes and discovered the same surreal image as before. Bastian’s massive body dwarfed everything in her apartment, including her brother. As mad at Kyle as she was, she knew in her heart his warning was right. Sal would kill her new lover if he learned of their tryst last night. Her heart skipped a beat, terrified at the mere thought of not spending another moment with the man who reminded her of what it meant to be a woman. Those topaz eyes burned with feral passion even as his face remained an unreadable mask. If not for the shifting air of his soft breathing, she would have sworn he was a statue or a ghostly figment of her overactive imagination.

  “Miranda?”

  Her fingers curled into her palm as his voice caressed her skin. She forced back a needy sigh, afraid of her brother’s response if she started fawning over tall, dark, and deadly in her living room. All she wanted to do was fall into his arms, play the damsel in distress and demand for him to carry her away. But weakness was never her strong suit.

  “I can handle this. But thank you for stopping by.” Her voice was hollow, that same tone she used when she recited her all her memorized speeches. Would he buy her rehearsed words?

  The eyebrow arching over his whiskey-shaded orbs answered her query, arms folding across his broad chest adding the punctuation to his unvoiced sentence.

  Great, another man trying to tell her how to live her life. Just what she needed. She tilted her chin up, leveling her fierce gaze with his and strode across the room to stand toe to toe with him.

  “I said I can—”

  Her tongue came to an abrupt halt as his knuckles lightly brushed along her jaw line. She didn’t even see him move, but his touch was undeniable. It was soothing, yet tentative, his fingers rough but cautious. Her knees knocked and only sheer willpower, plus her hand on his chest, kept her feet steady beneath her.

  “I don’t doubt you, tesorina.” Shivers danced along her spine, the glow of the afternoon sun warming the depths of his liquid amber eyes. “I believe there is nothing you cannot handle. I don’t want you to feel that you have do things on your own.”

  Her eyelids fluttered down as her brain processed his words. She swallowed hard, quelling her excitedly bouncing heart. She so desperately wanted to place her troubles at someone else’s feet for a change she could almost taste it. Maybe letting her guard down for a moment wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

  “You wouldn’t happen to have three grand, do you? I’ve got a line on sure thing in—”

  Miranda groaned, glaring daggers at her oblivious baby brother. “Kyle.”

  His impish grin betrayed no shame. “Hey, you don’t know til you ask, right?”

  Moment officially shattered, she stalked over to Kyle and popped him on the shoulder. “I can’t believe I even bother with you. You’re impossible, you know that?” Embarrassment sent her pacing angrily back to retrieve her arctic coffee in the kitchen. She cringed as the bitter cold taste, but the jolt of caffeine did its eye-opening job. She was on her own, she would handle this on her own and she would somehow not fall any more head over heels than she was currently in jeopardy of going.

  Her gaze stayed fixed on the tiny window opening out onto the neighboring rooftop, but she knew she wasn’t alone. It had to be him, since Kyle couldn’t be quiet if his life depended on it. She took another face-crinkling swig and counted the cracked bricks across the alley way.

  “If money is an issue, I might—”

  She waved off the rest of his statement, shaking her head. “No, please. Thank you, but I don’t want to…”

  To what? To have someone else steal a little piece of her soul? To owe more money that she would ever be able to pay back unless she won the lottery?

  “—know of someone who’s looking to hire, if your brother is in need of more gainful employment.”

  Her eyebrows pulled together as she spun to face the rumbling voice at her back. The frown added to her growing headache, but his eyes held no guile, no hidden motive.

  “A real job?” She struggled to keep her voice from cracking, but the prospect of honest labor, and an honest income, was too tempting.

  The stone expression softened, the hint of a smile tugged at the harsh line of his firm lips. Her blood warmed, picking up its pace from her extremities to settle low in her gut.

  “Would that help?”

  Kyle stepped in, his head bouncing so vigorously, she half expected it to fly off his shoulders.

  “Are you kidding? But what kind of work? I mean, I don’t want to do anything illegal or anything.”

  Miranda tossed her hands toward the sky. “Yeah, because NOW you’re gonna grow a conscience.” She rested a fisted hand on her cocked hip. “Or are you afraid a day job will cut into your betting time?”

  A vibrating buzz cut into the easing tensions, and Bastian fished his phone out of his jacket. His expression darkened and he excused himself, moving to the living room and speaking in hushed whispers to the party on the end of the line. Kyle jostled her shoulder, dragging her attentions back to kitchen.

  “Did you hear that, sis? Is this guy for real?”

  Her gaze returned to the giant now pacing around her apartment like a caged panther. She remembered the crisscrossing scars that marred his body, the erotic dichotomy of softness and savagery as he explored every inch of her last night. Heat blossomed on her cheeks as tactile memories flashed in her mind. Was he for real? I sure hope so.

  She strained to overhear, curiosity second to the simple desire to hear his voice, its rough texture tantalized like mink rubbed against her skin. His gaze shifted over his shoulder, his devilish smirk curling his lips as he winked at her attempted eavesdrop.

  The blush hit her face like a slap, her cheeks bright red in the blink of an eye. She ducked her head and spun about, dumping out the cold coffee in the sink if only for something to busy her hands. Kyle continued to prattle on about something, but her mind refused to focus on him. She wanted to pin her hopes on this chance for a life worth living, wanted it so much it made her mouth water.

  Did she dare?

  Bastian growled into the receiver once again. His brief smile gifted from his angel was sadly short-lived given the ration of bad news Viktor had just delivered onto his doorstep.

  “Fuck me sideways. How many body parts did they find?” He stepped deeper into the narrow hall, whispering in anger at the piss-poor timing of life.

  “Enough to build three men. Well, I’m not su
re about the men part since not all the pieces were located, but you get the idea.”

  He ran his fingers through his hair, giving it a centering tug as he shook his head. “What the fuck is Pieter thinking? Does he really want this kind of exposure?”

  “I do have to give him props this time, though. If not for the trails, it did look like a meth lab explosion. So that bullet did get dodged, but I’m not sure how much longer ‘random violence’ is going to fly as a legitimate motive.”

  The lingering taste of Miranda’s earlier visitors was too much like the tracks left at the train yards. Somehow, Slick Sal Francciolli was tied to this, and it was more than his club being a safe spot for the scumbags to meet. If he could determine what the bastard was going to gain from this wretched alliance, he would have a better chance to stopping him.

  And of keeping his angel safe.

  He ground his teeth, hoping the crunching would put the brakes on that impossible dream. His Guardian duties were to keep everyone safe, not just one beautiful singer. But there was nothing in the rules about if pulling off a couple miracles to keep her out of danger.

  “What have you discovered about Francciolli?”

  Viktor scoffed over the line. “You mean aside from being a class-A slimeball who deals in petty larceny and sins of the flesh? Yeah, he’s a low life, but I couldn’t find anything deeper than standard drug, gambling, and loan sharking. You think there’s more, don’t you?”

  Bastian nodded as his eyes were drawn back to the pair in the kitchen. Her brother was naïve and full of wishful dreams of easy money, but those were his only crimes. Miranda? She was pure and innocent. Her only fault was caring too much for what had to be her only link to family. She did not deserve the cruel twist that life had taken.