Unfortunately for the guy swinging the bat, I didn’t need weapons in a fight. I am a weapon.
I rushed him and caught hold of his arm with my left, unringed hand. Stepped in close. “This is not your lucky day.”
I squeezed his arm, my fingers curled over the veins beneath fabric, beneath skin. Easy to find that pulse, easy to drink that life.
Counted his heartbeat. Fast. Terrified.
Fear made it taste better. I hated it, hated that I wanted it. Hated even more that I liked it that way.
But the man was going beat me with a baseball bat. He had it coming.
I inhaled. Easy as breathing, I drew on his life.
He groaned and tried to pull away.
But I’d only had one little mouthful, barely a taste. I wanted more. Hell, I wanted his life, his buddy’s life, and maybe the lives of all the people on this side of the river.
I licked my lips and then gave him a smile. “You will never cross my path again—understand me?”
His eyes went wide and he was sweating hard. He dropped the bat and it clattered against the street. He made a sound that never quite formed a word, but I took it as yes, he understood I’d kill him if he ever bothered me again.
Just to make sure, I drank down a little more of his days.
He slumped to his knees. Passed out.
A slap of ice punched my face. I blinked. I’d gone on my knees next to the guy. Couldn’t seem to let go of his arm. Couldn’t seem to let go of this meal I hadn’t finished.
Like a goddamn brainless leech.
Eleanor was next to me, her hand cocked back in a fist. She was ranting off a list of filthy swearwords I could make out even without sound. Angry ghost.
I owed her for that. For being angry enough she had pulled me back from the brink. Again.
I rocked up onto my feet. Stood. The guy wasn’t dead. But he’d feel like shit for a few days.
Okay, probably a few months.
I was feeling much, much better.
“What the hell did you do to him?” Driver yelled.
I bent, picked up the baseball bat. “What you need to know,” I said, “is that I could have killed him, and I didn’t. Just like I could have killed your friend in the alley this morning, and”—I lifted the bat, adjusted my grip on it— “I could kill you too. But I’m not going to. And you know why?”
I didn’t wait for his answer. “Because I want you to scrape that piece of shit off the sidewalk.” I pointed the bat at his friend. “And I want you to go back to whoever you work for and explain to them that I am not a person with whom to fuck. Understand?”
He nodded.
“Good. Now give me your keys.”
He reached in his coat pocket and tossed them at me.
Huh. I’d expected him to argue over that one.
Cool. Free car.
I caught the keys and stepped over his friend on the way to the Vette. Kept the bat.
Got in, checked the rearview mirror to make sure Driver hadn’t suffered a sudden case of bravery. Nope. He was crouched next to his friend, making sure he was breathing.
Me? Doing shit like that did one of two things: threw me into a self-hating bender, or bright-siding it, made me feel pretty damn good about not killing someone.
I was a man with a monster in my bones. And this time the monster had not won.
So, yeah, I felt pretty pleased with myself at the moment.
The car? Damn sweet ride.
I adjusted mirrors and seat and rolled out into traffic.
I’d lost my job, but I hated it anyway. I’d lost my grip on my hunger—twice. But I hadn’t killed anyone today yet.
It was a low bar, but it felt good to hit it.
Also, now there was a definite chance I was going to beat Terric to the office. What wasn’t to like about that?
Chapter 5
Okay, a small detour.
The Corvette’s navigation system was too tempting to ignore. Since it stored locations where those punks had been lately, I decided to give it a look.
I pulled down a side road, parked, and scrolled through the list: a couple out-of-state addresses, a few trips to the east and west side of the state. Then an address I knew very well.
Terric’s house.
They knew where he lived. Which meant they either knew him or were keeping an eye on him. I didn’t like either idea. A couple other addresses showed up on the list: someplace out in the West Hills, Allie and Zay’s house, and the inn.
So those dicks who liked to settle arguments with a baseball bat were keeping an eye on all of us Soul Complements. Who were they working for?
Terric said the ox, Hamilton, might be involved with the girl killed by magic found up in Forest Park. If these guys were his friends, were they magic users? Murderers?
Probably would have been smart of me to ask Terric a few more details about the whole thing. Maybe then I’d understand why they were stalking members of the Authority.
What did they, or their boss, want?
I forwarded the last-visited addresses to my phone, which was back in my room, and did a quick search of the car for anything else that might tell me something about these guys. Nothing in the glove compartment, nothing in the trunk. I did find a black crow feather tucked beneath the visor. Not exactly useful.
Then I rubbed my fingerprints off the dashboard and everywhere else I’d been snooping. Time to hand this thing over to someone who might get some information out of it.
In under five minutes, I was strolling into the police department and wishing the cool, clean air from outside reached more than three feet into the stale funk of the place. But it didn’t. It never did.
Detective Stott’s real office was somewhere downstairs, but I didn’t want to stay that long or get that cozy. Walked up to the first workstation at the end of the hall, knocked on the top of the desk. Waved at the security camera. Didn’t have to wait long for a cop to show up.
“You still breathing, Flynn?” Cop was a huge dude from Hawaii, name of Mackanie Love. We’d met back in my petty crime days. He’d never cut me slack. But then, I hadn’t deserved any.
“Once or twice a day, whether I need it or not. I have something for you.” I held out my hand, the car keys hanging from my fingers, the baseball bat in the other.
He eased his bulk down into the chair and nodded at the keys. “What’s that all about?”
I placed them on the desk. “Car about halfway down the block. Black Vette. It belongs to some people you might want to keep an eye on.”
“Did you steal a car?”
“Please.” I pressed my fingers against my chest. “You think I’d steal a car and just walk in here to turn myself in? I’d make you work for it, mate. You know that.”
“So what’s that really?” This time he pointed at the keys.
“Detective Stotts was pretty interested in a guy Terric tipped him off to this morning. Name of Hamilton. And those”—I nodded toward the keys—“belong to two other guys who didn’t like Terric and me getting in the middle of their friend’s business.”
“Tell me you didn’t steal a car from the Black Crane Syndicate.”
