Retribution Page 9

  “Leaving already?” Sten asked. “The night’s still young. So many possible futures to see.”

  “Lucien Christophe’s torturing Margaret in a lab somewhere,” Val said as she pulled her jeans on. “Find a reason to go to his house or business or wherever he’s keeping her and stop him.”

  “Is this Lucien guy rich and white, like his name suggests?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then no.”

  Val scowled at him. “You’re disgusting.”

  “Your fuck visions aren’t quite enough for a warrant, especially against a guy who can afford a fleet of lawyers, sorry.”

  Val slipped on her sneakers and threw her hair, still moist with sweat, into a ponytail. She felt incredibly dirty—in more ways than one—but there was no time for a shower. “Fine. Just lie there and be incompetent. Why stop now, right?” She grabbed her tote and walked toward the door.

  “Hey,” Sten said with a sharpness that made her pause. He rolled onto his side toward her and nodded at his cell phone on the nightstand. “Give me your phone number. Your real number, not the burner you called me with.”

  Val stared him down. She hadn’t agreed to any deal with him, though she sort of had agreed. If she needed to have sex with someone for the purpose of saving people’s lives, and wallow in some dirty pleasure to escape her shitty existence, it might as well be him. He did have a…special touch. She had no idea what he planned to ask of her later, but she knew she’d come to regret it. Too late now. She programmed her name and number into his phone, then let it drop next to his ashtray.

  “I am not your on-call whore.”

  He belly-laughed. “Last time I checked, you were the one using me for sex.”

  Val scowled at him, but couldn’t argue. What’s he using me for, then? She hurried out the door before he could proffer any more embarrassing truths.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Green Door Nightclub thumped with life. Black silhouettes gyrated around Val while wild rainbows lit up the ceiling and bathed half-naked dancers in suspended cages. Though Val wasn’t exactly dressed for the occasion, the bouncer let her through after she explained she was there to fetch her “fucked-up boyfriend.” Val pushed through the crowd until she reached a bar in the opposite corner. She flagged down the bartender.

  “My friend’s passed out somewhere,” she yelled over the music. “Is there something like a drunk tank in here?”

  “A what?” the bartender said, distracted by trio of intoxicated women screaming drink orders at him.

  “Fucked. Up. Boyfriend.”

  He pointed to a spot on the second floor, underneath a neon collage of foul words. Val nodded her thanks, then weaved through clubbers to where he’d motioned. A couple of bouncers blocked her path, standing guard over a set of VIP tables overlooking the dance floor.

  “Fucked-up boyfriend?” she said. They nodded to each other. Apparently “fucked-up boyfriend” was the code phrase for exclusive access in this place.

  One of the bodyguards led her to a sectioned-off area with a half-moon couch, sandwiched on both ends by cages holding a topless man and woman, respectively, covered in body paint and writhing to the music. Max slouched in the middle of the couch, eyes closed and arms and legs splayed like he’d passed out there. She rushed to him and knelt at his side.

  “Max?”

  He didn’t respond.

  “Max.” When he still didn’t move, she looked at the bodyguard. “How long has he been like this?”

  The bodyguard shrugged.

  “How did he get here?”

  He shrugged again, then walked away. Val couldn’t tell if he didn’t know or wouldn’t say; probably the latter.

  Val patted Max’s cheek. “Max, wake up.”

  His eyelids fluttered, then opened. She breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Val?” he said weakly.

  She smiled. “Yeah, it’s me.”

  He lifted his head off the couch. A slow grin spread across his face. “I thought you were a dream.”

  “No, I’m—”

  He slipped one hand behind her neck, pulled her to him, and kissed her. All at once the rest of the world fell away and there was only him, rough lips joined with hers, tongue sliding against hers. Heart on fire, she sucked in his hot breath like water into the cracked desert. It filled her lungs and diffused into her veins until she thought she might explode from want of him. She remembered they were meant to be together.

  No, we’re meant to have a child together—a child that will be stolen.

  With all the mental strength she had, Val pulled away. “I can’t,” she said, still breathless from his kiss. No matter what she wanted, he wasn’t in his right mind.

  “Don’t…don’t…” His hand slipped off her neck and his head fell backward. “Don’t leave me again, red raven,” he muttered.

  Val took a deep breath and gave her head a little shake, trying to push his incredible taste out of her mind. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” She threw his arm around her shoulders and urged him to stand.

  He pushed himself up on wobbly legs and walked with her, unsteady but able to support his own weight, thank God. Slowly they pushed their way through the crush of clubbers toward the exit until Max froze in the middle of the club. He pointed at the ceiling.

  “Fire!” Max grabbed Val’s arm and tried to run back the way they’d come, but the thick crowd blocked his egress. They stumbled to the ground together. He sat upright, then put his head between his legs. Val kneeled next to him, a canopy of writhing bodies above them.

  “They’re all on fire,” he said, voice trembling.

  She pulled on his arm. “Max, get up. There’s no fire.”

  He wouldn’t budge. What the hell kind of drug was he on? Val put her hand on his head, ran a finger along the outside of his ear. He lifted his head and met her gaze with terrified eyes.

  Val pressed her cheek to his. “Come with me, please. I won’t leave you again.” She nuzzled his earlobe, relishing the whiff she caught of his mountain spring shower gel. An image popped into her head of him wet and naked in the shower, lathering it on his neck.

  Reluctantly she pulled away, the corner of her mouth brushing against his. Staring hard at her lips in the way he had that melted her from the inside, he finally allowed her to help him stand. Val swallowed back a nervous lump. She didn’t think she could resist again if he kissed her. Before he could test her resolve once more, she grabbed his arm and pulled him to the exit.

  They stumbled through the parking lot and reached her car without another freak-out. Unsure where to take him, Val decided on her place. She didn’t know where he lived, or if he’d want Abigail to see him in this state; her guess was no. If she took him to the hospital, there’d be media attention for sure, especially when they realized who she was in relation to him. Val knew he wouldn’t want that, either. Her place was as good as any until whatever he was on wore off. Then he could decide on his own where to go next.

  On the ride to her house, Max clenched his eyes shut and mumbled nonsense to himself, sometimes in different foreign languages. About halfway through the drive, he pointed to a state lottery sign and rattled off a string of digits. Val almost laughed; she was sure he’d just given her the winning numbers. Too bad she’d never remember what he’d said. But how could he see that now, while awake, and not in the trance of a vision? Maybe he wasn’t as awake as he seemed.

  When she got home, Stacey’s car was gone and the house was dark. Val’s roommate probably decided to stay the night at one of her girlfriends’ houses. Good—Val didn’t want to explain what the hell was going on. She eased Max through the door and up the dark staircase to her bedroom. If she left him on the couch, he might try to run away again, or get sick and have no one to help him. She eased Max onto her bed, then unthreaded his sport coat from his arms and popped off his shoes. He rolled onto his stomach, an arm and a leg hanging off the side, and seemed to pass out once more.

  He lo
oked in a safe configuration, at least for the moment, so she took a quick shower, glad to finally wash Sten off her body. Feeling clean again, she stood naked in her bathroom doorway and toweled her hair dry, watching Max sleep. She almost wished he’d open his eyes and look at her, take in every part of her like the first time they’d made love. No matter how her body responded to Sten or anybody else, her heart belonged to Max. It would always belong to him. Just like they wanted.

  Pushing back tears, Val pulled on pajamas and slipped into bed next to Max. She only half slept through the rest of the night, hyperaware of him just a few inches away, the urge to touch him nearly overwhelming. She dreamt of holding his hand and jumping off a cliff into a pool of turquoise water. They broke the surface, surrounded by a tropical paradise, and kissed. “I love you,” he whispered against her lips. “I love you—”

  As the first rays of dawn peeked through her window curtains, Val jolted awake when Max sat straight up in bed, gasping as if he were about to scream. He froze for a moment, then swiveled his head around until his bloodshot eyes settled on her.

  “Val?” he said with significantly more lucidity than the night before, though he still seemed uncertain if he could believe his eyes.

  “It’s me.”

  He pawed at his clothes as if to assure himself they were still on. “Did—did we…”

  “No,” she said, trying—and failing—not to sound disappointed. Was he disappointed? She couldn’t tell; he looked confused more than anything else.

  “How did I get here?”

  “I picked you up from the Green Door.”

  “The what?”

  “The Green Door—a nightclub downtown. Weren’t you there for a…bachelor party or something?”

  “No.” He rubbed the back of his head and winced. “Ah, goddamn. She must have knocked me out and taken me there.”

  “Who?”

  “Kitty—I think. I don’t know.” He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. “Can I have a drink of water, please?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  She walked down to the kitchen and poured a glass from the tap. Before she could bring it up to him, he appeared at the foot of the stairs, disheveled clothes hanging off his perfect body, dark circles set in his handsome face—the very definition of a hot mess. He looked around for a moment—he’d never been in her house, she realized—then walked to a bookshelf and picked up a framed picture of Robby, the only one she still displayed. Max stared at the picture of his half brother for a long time. Then he put it back, shuffled to the dining room table, and collapsed into a chair. She spread peanut butter on a piece of bread—a simple breakfast she knew he ate often—and placed the food and drink in front of him.

  “Thank you,” he muttered, eyes downcast. He took a long drink of water and a small bite of the bread.

  Val sat across from him and folded her arms. “So?” she asked, as proxy for a million questions.

  He swallowed, then said, “I went to a Blue Serpent party.”

  A million completely different questions flooded her mind. “I thought you weren’t going to help me with that.”

  “Well, I did,” he snapped. “I did it for you—I mean, because you told me someone was going to die if I didn’t.”

  “I didn’t mean for you to go alone—”

  “You don’t mean for a lot of things to happen, Val, but they happen anyway!”

  Flinching, she looked away. He was right; she didn’t mean to hurt him, but she kept doing it anyway. She should’ve stayed away from him. But…she couldn’t. She’d tried, she really did. The thought of never seeing him again made her nauseous. She wished she weren’t so selfish, but there it was.

  When she looked at him again, she found him staring at her, the anger on his face replaced by what looked like shame at his outburst, and something else—desire. He still wanted her, despite himself…or did he? She felt her cheeks heat up as the inferno he kept within himself, the one he struggled to control, crept out of him and into her.

  We could make love right here, right now, on the kitchen table, she thought, but before the fire could engulf them both, he looked away. He crossed his arms over his chest—the shield again—and took a deep breath.

  “There were pills at the party,” he said after a moment, staring at the floor. “Probably made by Lucien, though he denied it. He said the blue one ‘created the dream,’ which I think means it’s a hallucinogenic of some sort, and the red one was supposed to be an aphrodisiac—”

  “Wait—you just took some random party pills? With no idea what they were?”

  He looked at her and frowned. “Yeah.”

  “You could have died.”

  “So?”

  Val knew he’d been heavy into drugs at one point in his life, but popping mystery pills at a party thrown by a cult seemed reckless, even for him. Maybe his new life wasn’t as fabulous as it seemed.

  He sighed and relaxed a bit, then fingered the rim of his glass. “The blue one was great. I thought I was swimming in a grotto, and I could breathe underwater. Then you were there, and Abby, and Kitty. All of it felt so real; I have to tell myself it wasn’t real, that’s how convincing the hallucination was. The red one didn’t work right with me. At least, I don’t see how Lucien could sustain a customer base if his clients normally had hallucinations of fire and destruction. It was almost like I was seeing the aftermath of the nuclear explosion you described when…when you were with me.”

  His gaze flicked to hers for half a second before he looked away again, awkward silence falling between them. He was likely recalling memories of their intimate time together—as she was. His touch, his kiss, his laugh, his sarcasm, his nerdy references, his whispers in her ear…She wanted it all back. Val traced the contours of his sharp cheekbones with her eyes, almost crying with the bone-deep need to use her fingers instead and feel his warm skin—to feel all of him again.

  Max took a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again, he looked at her with a cool, controlled gaze and continued. “I also started seeing things before they happened, like people walking by and saying things to me in exactly the same way twice, and you were pr—” He cut himself off, swallowing words he didn’t want to get out for whatever reason. Maybe he’d seen a future version of her, but why wouldn’t he give her details? “The point is, I think it triggered whatever gives us our visions. Some of it was a hallucination caused by the blue pill, but the red pill brought on what looked like flashes of future events, all in a random jumble. Like before I learned to see numbers instead. It was…disturbing. The best and worst trip I’ve ever had. It’s also possible the drugs interfered with the—um, a different medication I take.”

  What other medication? she almost asked, but it wasn’t any of her business. When she’d first met him, he’d been on all sorts of pills for depression, anxiety, migraines, and insomnia, thanks to his nightmare childhood. It’d been naïve of her to assume all it took was the love of a good, stable woman like Abigail to make those things go away.

  “Are you okay?” She balled her hand in a fist to keep it from reaching out for his.

  “I feel normal now—as normal as it gets for us.” He gave her a tiny smile that quickly faded.

  “Was Lucien there?”

  Max nodded. “Also a bunch of escorts dressed as mermaids. That might’ve been how he got access to the missing woman you’re looking for, if escorts are a regular fixture of the parties.”

  “You didn’t see a laboratory anywhere, did you?”

  “No, but I was out of it most of the time. He wanted to take me somewhere, but I was…uh…distracted. The house was a rental anyway. I doubt he’d keep kidnap victims there.”

  “He’s going to do awful experiments on Margaret. We need to get to her before it happens.”

  He eyed her with a roil of emotions—anger, uncertainty, frustration…hope? She’d said we. Oops. “You saw that in a new vision?” he asked.

  She nodded, bu
t didn’t offer any more details. He didn’t need to know where the visions came from. Hopefully, he never would.

  Max looked away and frowned, but said nothing. He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “That’s all I know about Blue Serpent. You got what you wanted. Can you take me home now?”

  No, she still didn’t have what she really wanted—to be free of Northwalk and Delilah, and wrapped in his arms again. The best she could do was get through the day.

  Val threw on some regular clothes and drove Max to the luxury condo he shared with Abby, in the Lower Queen Anne district of Seattle. He told her to stop at a curb in front of a wrought iron gate, an intercom and keypad affixed to a pedestrian entrance. They sat in silence for a moment, neither meeting the other’s gaze.

  Val spoke first. “Thank you for helping me. You didn’t have to, but you did. After what I did to you…I owe you one.” She smiled. “I’m one of those people who owes you a favor. Good to have, right?”

  He met her gaze and smiled back, a real smile, his warm hazel eyes with their emerald starbursts looking into her, in the old way. “You don’t owe me anything.”

  She wanted to kiss him so badly her lips burned.

  He cleared his throat. “Well, uh, Abby’s probably wondering where the hell I am, and if Ginger made it back in one piece—”

  “Did you say Ginger?” Val sat up in her seat. “A redheaded man named Ginger?”

  “He’s Abby’s brother. That’s his nickname. He was with me last night, but I have no idea where he went after I lost touch with reality.”

  “He’s working with Lucien! He’s also the last person that people saw Margaret with before she disappeared.”

  Max let out a long, exasperated sigh. “Shit.”

  “Take me to him. Now.”

  “No!”

  “He knows where Margaret is.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Sure enough.”

  He scoffed. “You cannot rough up Abby’s brother on a circumstantial connection. He’s going to be my brother-in-law, for God’s sake. Holidays will be awkward.”