“So that’s it? Give up the amulet and get killed? Or keep the amulet and get killed. Neither choice sounds all that appealing.”
“You’re not looking outside of the box.” I could tell his patience with me was wearing thin. “If you don’t think smart, I can’t help you. Think, Rhiannon. Use the brain God gave you. Stop making things difficult when they don’t have to be.”
“If you want to help me, then stop playing The Riddler. Come out and say it.”
“Did it ever occur to you that I can’t? That I’ve been forbidden to share too much with you?”
“No.” I sounded as dumbfounded as I felt. “Why would you be?”
“Because, my dear, sweet, and pain in the ass friend, you’re still thinking inside the box. If I can’t tell you something, there has to be a reason. I’m going to leave you to figure it out on your own. You’re smart enough. It will come to you eventually.”
He walked past me and I heard the door open.
“It’ll come to me eventually, huh?” I asked.
“For both our sakes, I truly hope so.”
The door closed, leaving me alone again. It wasn’t the hum of the decrepit heater that hardly worked that caused the chill in the air. It was the way Goose said he truly hoped so, as if everything was on the line if I couldn’t see what he couldn’t say.
I’m not sure how long I sat in the recliner, attempting to put the pieces together. I only knew that each time the amulet called to me, promising to put an end to all my problems, I remained in my spot and didn’t go to it.
If Goose was right, this was one mystery I had to solve on my own.
Chapter Nine
“Rhiannon!” Deena tore my attention from the brown box I’d retrieved from UPS. The club was in full swing, but I was having a hell of a time focusing on work.
At the moment Sucker was safe and sound under the bar along with my jacket—a jacket that just so happened to have Marigold’s amulet inside its inner pocket—and I didn’t want to move too far from my prizes. I’d listened to Goose for a change and hadn’t put the necklace back on. At first it had been liberating, but after I retrieved my package from the Men In Brown, I’d almost had a panic attack. Emotions were harder to deal with when they weren’t filtered, and there was nothing to block my fear or anxiety when I realized I was actually going to give Marius what he asked for.
If I lost the fucking thing, he’d probably kill me.
“Earth to Rhiannon!” Deena screamed. “Are you there?”
“Sorry,” I yelled back and gave a sidelong glance down the counter. “What do you need?”
Deena was busy as hell, pouring two shot glasses with vodka. Her skin tight, black leather outfit put the dancers to shame, showcasing her trim and fit physique. She didn’t look at me when she barked, “I need two Crown and Cokes, pronto.”
“You got it.”
Thankfully, the Crown was right behind me, so I didn’t have to move far from the station to do as she asked. When I finished, I rushed the drinks over and returned to my spot. It was almost midnight, which was when Deena and I usually chose opposing ends of the bar to work. This time around I was responsible for keeping the beer flowing, which was a hell of a lot easier than creating custom drinks for sloppy drunkards.
“I’ll take a Samuel Adams, tall.”
The order wasn’t unusual, but the way the man requested it caused me to frown. There was no loud, “Excuse me,” followed by someone leaning across the counter to invade my space or cop a feel. The man requesting a drink asked for his beverage of choice as though he was in an expensive restaurant instead of a tittie bar. When I lifted my gaze and got a look at him, I knew why.
He was huge, huge, and huge, forcing me to crane my neck to stare him in the eye. His sweater was expensive, probably cashmere, and since he was so hocking tall—his hips were level with the counter—I could see his dress slacks fit him like a glove. His blond hair brushed his massive shoulders, and his ice blue peepers seemed to shimmer and pop. He brought to mind models on billboards, flashing dazzling smiles guaranteed to make the ladies pull out their checkbooks. If I’d been on the prowl, he would have definitely fit the ticket.
“Samuel Adams, tall,” he repeated and cocked a brow.
“Oh right.” I cursed my reaction and rushed to get his order since I didn’t want him to think I was a larger dumbass than he likely assumed. I couldn’t tell what his reaction was, since I avoided eye contact as soon as I finished with his drink, placed the mug in front of him, and he handed over a ten dollar bill.
“Keep the change.”
I waited until he spun away from the bar to watch him and allowed my gaze to travel down to his shoes. It had been like this all night. I met a random patron, I inspected him, and I assumed he was the killer. From what I could tell, the leather adorning Mr. Enormous’s feet were pricey. Sadly, I wouldn’t know Prada from Payless. Otherwise he fit the description, aside from the blond hair.
Large, muscular, and intimidating. Could he be the asshole killing off strippers?
I couldn’t tell.
He sat down with a group of men at a table—all of whom had equally large bodies and were dressed in spiffy attire. They started laughing and cutting up with each other, having a gay old time. If any of them were murderers, they sure were happy about it. It didn’t seem to fit, which made me more suspicious. Sometimes we had random businessmen who came together to get their T and A on, but they weren’t as relaxed with each other. If the men were friends, they made sure to go all out with their clothing and overall style. Perhaps it was the man version of Sex and the City, but I didn’t think so.
I wanted to continue watching them, but Deena interrupted me again, asking for a pitcher of Sam and two mugs. I quickly filled the order, ran it over to Deena and returned to my place. When the resident fat ass of the joint plopped into an empty seat on my side of the bar, I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes.
“Bartender!” Lonnie blared, the sound almost as loud as an elephant call.
Wonderful. My night just kept getting better and better.
“I’m not deaf, Lonnie.” I got a warning look from Deena and toned it down. “What can I get you?”
“You always ask that.”
I was ready to say, “One Crown and Coke, coming right up,” when I realized that Lonnie was actually talking to me. Yes, he’d made requests. He’d ordered me around and made a total ass of himself in the process. He had never, however, attempted to do more treat me like a subservient employee who was hired to cater to his every whim.
My night just kept getting weirder and weirder.
“I suppose I do.” I looked at him—really looked at him—and was impressed that his standard white T-shirt was free of any stains. “Crown and Coke?”
He met my gaze and shocked me even further by saying, “Surprise me.”
It was official. The world was coming to an end. I didn’t need the dagger after all. Hell had just frozen over.
Maybe it was a test, another way to prove my fail scale could indeed go higher. I was tempted to turn to Deena for advice, but she had her own shit to handle. After mulling it over for a second I went to the back of the bar, grabbed a glass, poured in some crown and walked to the station to pour in the Coke and toss in the ice.
“Here you go,” I said as I placed the drink in front of him.
“Good choice.” He slipped me a ten and waved me off. I knew what that meant. I couldn’t fucking believe it.
Lonnie—the bastard of all shitty tipping bastards—didn't want his change back.
Once I would have been thrilled. Getting on Lonnie’s good side? Are you kidding? Working the bar was bad enough without making enemies of the regulars. Now it felt like a bad omen, like something awful was about to happen.
“Rhiannon!” Deena screamed. “I need another pitcher of Sam with four glasses!”
So much for bad omens. No man waited for his alcohol when good tits and ass were on display. Thus was the
life of a bartender in a strip club.
I didn’t have time to think about deadly daggers, gorgeous men who might be killers, or Lonnie who continued to treat me with a level of respect I didn’t understand. Saturday nights were always slammed. This one wasn’t any different. When Deena got backed up, I ran drinks back and forth. I shook, poured, and stirred, taking requests that kept me on my toes. We had to have two tipsy and violent men removed from the club, but otherwise it was a normal night. Within two hours, the bar was doing last rounds, and I was covered in alcohol from a drunk who tripped on the bar and tossed his whiskey sour all over me. Not the worst night of work, but definitely not the best.
“Rhiannon.” Deena sounded exhausted as she closed the register for the evening. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”
“Sure.” I glanced around, studying the counter. The only person who remained was Lonnie, who was still as amiable as ever. Even if he did try to snatch my box beneath the counter and make a dash for it, I was certain I could catch him.
“I’d like to get out of here early. Can you handle the bar?”
Fuck a duck. I was actually going to ask her the same thing. I wasn’t thrilled about giving Marius the dagger, but I wasn’t comfortable about keeping it in plain sight either. Since she’d let me slide on my inability to stock the bar—although she’d noticed and I’d received a deserved reprimand—I figured staying and taking care of clean up was the least I could do.
“No problem.”
She smiled, gave me a quick hug, retrieved her purse from under the bar and rushed off. I sighed, shook my head, and looked at Lonnie. The poor bastard was absolutely crestfallen, and I wasn’t sure why. When he saw me staring at him, he finished off his drink and slammed his glass on the counter.
“Fuck it,” he said and swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Just fuck it.”
“You okay, Lonnie?”
“I’m fine. Just fed up. I don’t even know why I bother. I’ve been coming here for years. I don’t know why I thought things would ever change.”
“I’m not sure I follow.” I stepped over to the counter and leaned against it. “Want to talk about it?”
“Her.” He waved at the curtains Deena had disappeared behind on the stage.
“Deena?” At his nod I asked, “What about her?”
“It’s hopeless. She’s beautiful, smart, and can have any man she wants. When you pit me against the suits that come in here, I’ll come in last every single time.”
There was a vital piece of the puzzle I was missing, but I wasn’t sure where it was. Yes, I had a vague notion Lonnie was interested in Deena. Anyone with eyes could see the affection he had for her. But he’d never said a thing about it until now.
“Why did you sit at my end of the bar?”
He shrugged. “I wanted to see if she’d take the time to come over and say hello.”
Oddly enough, I felt bad for Lonnie. The dating game really sucked unless you were the bachelor chosen and given the winning rose. He might not be the best looking man in the bar, but he was stable. Big and dependable men needed love too. He showed up each night like clockwork, ordered the same thing, and he didn’t care much for throwing bills at the dancers. I suppose in a way the BP was his own place to hide, to feel comfortable among strangers.
“It was a busy night. She didn’t really have a chance to socialize.” Partially true, but partially a lie. If Deena wanted to make time, she would have made it. And I hadn’t seen her speak to Lonnie all night.
“She had plenty of time to socialize, just not with me.” His face started turning red and his tenor deepened. “She didn’t have a problem with blondie chatting her up while she worked.”
The air around me thickened, prickles tickled the skin on my neck. “Blondie?”
“The big guy who kept ordering Samuel Adams from her instead of coming to you. Seemed like he was asking for one every fifteen minutes.” Lonnie scrubbed the back of his neck with his palm. “I guess when you’re young you can consume more alcohol than an old man like me.”
“Are you talking about the walking billboard for good looks?”
Damn the filter between my brain and mouth, it was the wrong thing to say. The hurt my words caused was irreversible, and I wished I could take them back.
“Does it make you feel better to point it out?”
“I’m sorry,” I said and meant it. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It doesn’t matter. Forget it. I’m out of here.”
I was frowning at Lonnie’s back when his words computed. I hadn’t asked Deena why she wanted to leave early, but I knew the score. She didn’t get her freak on inside the club, and she rarely allowed patrons to pick her up, but she had been known to break the rules from time to time. The blond man with the large guns and perfect body would be something she couldn’t say no to.
“Cletus!” I roared and rushed from behind the counter. “I’ll be right back! Watch the register!”
Normally I’d have waited for confirmation. I didn’t have that luxury now. A couple of the dancers gave me the mandatory, “Fucking bitch,” comment as I pushed them aside and stormed for the back of the building. I’d noticed the big blond and kept him on my radar. There was a reason I listened to my gut. If something inside me sounded my inner alarm, I listened.
“Deena!” I gazed around wildly when I reached the dressing area. The dancers in the back were getting ready to go home, putting away their stage clothing and rearranging their vanities. “Deena!”
“She’s already left,” Destiny interrupted my outburst, shrugging out of her robe. “She has a date.”
I didn’t just rush then, I ran, footing it down the hallway to the door at the end. If I made a total idiot of myself, fine. I’d rather look a fool than to be right and find a dead friend waiting for me in the alley when I finished up and left for home.
The metal door made the ear churning sound I detested when I threw it open. I ignored that, listening to my ragged inhales, the heavy stomping of my feet. Anyone within a close proximity would hear me, which was precisely what I wanted. I rounded the corner and came to the side of another building when I heard a muffled squeal.
Deena.
I hate, hate, hated being right sometimes.
I followed the sounds, running toward an alley a few buildings over. When I made it to my destination, I found who I was looking for.
The big blond bastard from the club had Deena pressed against the wall of the alley, a dark gloved hand holding a silvery blade that shined wickedly in the moonlight. I took a step forward, combat mode kicking into high gear. I knew the fucker heard me. He knew I was watching but he didn’t seem to care.
I knew why when I was pummeled across the back of the head.
The concrete didn’t give way to my knees, causing me to cry out. I had to use my hands to keep from eating dirty asphalt. The ground was cold, but I was burning hot. Anger rose, and this time it was my own. There was no amulet to feed it, nothing to increase the throbbing in my ears or the pounding in my chest. This was just me, trying to be as strong on my own as Goose believed I was.
I hoped the faith he placed in me wasn’t misguided.
“Wrong place at the wrong time, girlie.” A large, ungloved hand pushed on the back of my neck, trying to force me to the ground.
The dumb fucker had just messed with the wrong woman. “You can say that again.”
It was his turn to cry out when I snatched his wrist with my free hand and squeezed. I wasn’t strong enough to break bone, but it would leave one hell of a bruise. When cool air caressed my neck, informing me his hand was gone, I was on my feet. I should have been surprised when two men joined the third that’d knocked me down. An average person would have. Someone like me, understandably, found it incredibly ironic.
The one who’d sent me to my knees was tall, with dark hair that fell to his shoulders. A quick glance at the ground and I saw his shoes. I didn’t know if they were Prada, but the width
and length seemed about right. The other two were blond, their hair much shorter. The bravado I felt without the amulet ebbed. They were huge and they were strong. I could defend myself, and I’d recently drank Disco’s blood which gave me additional strength. But one woman against the three of them? The odds weren’t stacked in my favor.
Then something else came to me, a realization that made my skin crawl. I remembered the crime scenes and my curiosity about how the killer had managed to flee covered in blood. Now I knew how he pulled it off, how he managed to kill someone and vanish into thin air. He had an entourage waiting to drive him away, to make sure no one saw anything.
“You’re all in on it.”
I wish I could have taken the words back when they homed their gazes on me. What greeted me was something I knew from years of childhood neglect: predators staring down their prey, looking for weaknesses they could exploit. I wasn’t sure if they’d created some macabre killing club for kicks, if they were out of their minds, or they were curious about death, rape, and other horrifying things.
“Rhiannon—”
Whatever Deena wanted to say was cut short. No more wasting time. I decided to go for the asshole who had her pined, since he could very well kill her while I tried to fight off his friends. The men in front of me cursed in chorus as I spun around and ran at the man who’d already stabbed Deena at least once. Blood bloomed at her side, spreading in a crimson stain.
Shit.
I went directly for the asshole’s kneecap. Standing at his side meant that when I landed the blow the joint would give, break, and fuck him up for the rest of his life. As expected, when the heel of my boot made contact and pushed through, his knee bent inward, causing his leg to curve at an awkward angle. Pain—being the motivator I’d come to love—made sure he dropped the woman trapped against the wall. The need to see if Deena was all right was so hard to deny, but deny it I did. One rapist and killer was at my feet, but the other three quickly rushed my back.
I went to the cold, hard cement as they tackled me. I was stronger because of the vampire blood, but I wasn’t Superman. As their combined weight smashed me into the ground, I struggled and thrashed. As anticipated, I felt my muscles throb as fear became something I could use to break away, fight or flight was a wonderful thing.