Read Hearts of Darkness Online
Authors: Kira Brady
Hearts of Darkness (3 page)
She glanced at Hart. “What key? Who is this guy?”
“Your sister never mentioned him?”
“No.” And it hurt. “Who is he?”
“The Raven Lord. A ruthless son of a bitch.”
“The
what
now?”
what
now?”
One edge of his mouth kicked up.
“What exactly is the Raven Lord? What would my sister be doing with some crackpot who makes up titles for himself?”
“You might not want to call him that.”
“What, Raven Lord?”
“Crackpot.”
“Whatever. Is this a friend of yours?” Hart shook his head, but he looked amused. Kayla couldn't tell if he was joking or not. She tried to veer back to the topic. “You think this guy had something to do with my sister's death?”
Hart began to stuff the clothes back in the bag and didn't look at her. “Lady, I think you should accept your sister died of a drug overdose and leave it at that.”
“As a nurse, I can tell you she didn't. Do I look like a chump?”
He thrust the bag at her, and they both held on for a moment. The pupils of his strange eyes were encircled by a thin band of violet. His gaze raked her body, head to toe and back again, taking extra time to visually fondle her chest. She resisted the urge to cover herself, proud she didn't back down. But when he took a step forward, she couldn't help a hasty step back. Her shoulders knocked against the cold metal wall.
“Naw.” He leered, towering over her. “You look smart. Are you smart, babe? 'Cause nothing you do can bring her back.” The half smile dropped like a mask. His pupils dilated until his eyes shone, two pools of violet-black, otherworldly and somehow inhuman. He bent down to whisper in her ear, breath hot on her sensitive neck. “Take some advice.” His lips brushed her ear. “The smartest thing you can do?”
She smelled musk and pine, thought of dark forests and the wild hunt. A shiver that had nothing to do with fear raced down her spine.
“Run.”
Chapter 2
Kayla licked dry lips. “Are you threatening me?”
Hart opened his mouth to answer, but the door crashed open. Men burst through. There were six of them, all hulking brutes with chiseled features and dark hair. The long black dusters swept out like wings as they moved. The black sunglasses were laughable against the dim indoor gaslight; the guns were not.
This was not her day.
“Too late, babe,” Hart said softly. “The cavalry has arrived. Another damsel saved from the big bad wolf.” He straightened and adopted a half smirk. “Ladies.”
Three men rushed to restrain him. They pulled him away from Kayla and yanked his arms roughly behind his back, one man on each side. The third man pressed a rifle barrel to his temple. Hart grinned, daring them to shoot him.
The leader of the band was a wiry, red-haired man with a goatee. He strolled forward, all lanky, oiled grace. “Hart. Getting sloppy, aren't you? Johnny, please.”
One of the younger menâearly twenties with crow-black hair pulled back in a ponytailâstepped up to Hart and smashed the butt of his rifle into Hart's head.
Kayla screamed.
Hart crumpled to the ground, blood running from his forehead, unconscious.
She rushed forward to help him, but steely arms caught her and swept her off the ground. She couldn't move.
The red-haired man made soothing noises in her ear. “Don't trouble yourself, Miss . . . Friday, is it?”
“He's hurt! I'm calling the police.” The arms around her squeezed, almost cutting off her air.
The man only laughed. “Let me introduce myself: Rudrick Todd. I'm part of the city's security force. I'm the guy the police call in situations like this.”
“I don't believe you.”
He shrugged.
“Please,” she begged. “Let me help him. I'm a nurse. Head wounds are serious. You don't want him to die.”
“Forget him,” Rudrick said. “Benard, be quick about it.”
The largest henchmanâa hulking brute with long brown hair and a monstrous unibrowâapproached the metal table. He yanked the sheet off Desi's body, exposing her naked limbs to the frosty air.
“Don't touch her!” Kayla's stomach rolled as she watched the man run his large hands from the top of Desi's head, over her breasts and distended belly, and down each leg. His movements were impersonal and cold, but he was still groping her sister.
“Stop. What are you doing?” she asked.
“Desiree was in possession of an artifact of immense value when she died,” Rudrick said.
“So I've heard.”
Rudrick scowled. “She was bringing it to me. The Drekar can't be trusted with itâ”
Benard whistled, cutting Rudrick off. “This could be trouble.” He held up Desi's hand to show the inside of her wrist, where a rough symbol had been carved into the flesh. “It's Norse.”
Kayla had missed that. It brought to mind cults and satanic rituals, but that was even crazier than Desi using drugs.
“Copy it down and move on,” Rudrick ordered. “The girl was too smart by half.”
Benard checked Desi's body cavities next. He opened her jaw and felt the inside of her mouth. He stuck his thick, ugly hands between her thighs.
Kayla looked away. “Let me go. I don't know anything about the necklace.”
“Let me put this in simple terms your little human brain can comprehend: Hart works for a man who would suck out your soul and leave you to die in a heartbeat. I'm one of the good guys. So I'm going to ask you one more time: Where is the necklace?”
“I don't know.”
“She's clean,” Benard said. He bent and picked up Emory Corbette's business card from the floor. “Take a look, Red.” He handed it to Rudrick, who read the message on the back.
“I see.” Rudrick's fingers tightened on her arms. “You're holding out on me, Miss Friday.”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Perhaps.” He searched her face. “Perhaps not.”
On the floor Hart groaned. He was coming around. Two men picked him up by the arms. Hart was a big man, but they dragged him between them like a rag doll.
“Let's take this outside.” Rudrick hooked Kayla's elbow and escorted her toward the door. “Take care of the body,” he ordered over his shoulder.
“Whatâ” Kayla tried to turn back to her sister, but Rudrick wouldn't let her.
Benard whipped out a flask and poured it over Desi's body.
She knew what was about to happen, even before he lit the match. Fire erupted, greedily consuming the accelerant, spreading across her sister's poor corpse.
Kayla froze, a scream caught in her throat. She would have run to beat out those terrible flames, but Rudrick grabbed her shaking shoulders and dragged her out of the room. She fought, uselessly. Shock set in. Her vision blurred.
Her last sight was the pyre. The smell of burning flesh followed them down the hallway and into the wet dusk outside. The rain had slowed to a light mist. Clouds still obscured the sky, but the air seemed bright after the dark of the morgue. The cold wind slapped her wet cheeks. The pavement was littered with dead crows.
“Why?” she screamed. “How could you? You . . . monster!”
“Shut up, human.” Rudrick shook her.
“Human? What are you talking about? You're crazy. All of you.” Pain thickened her voice. “You can't do that to her. She's my sister! My baby sister.”
“It's what she would have wanted,” Hart said from behind her. His tone was soothing, but his words made no sense. “You don't want her to come back that way.”
Come back? There was no return from death.
Rudrick's goons didn't relax. They formed a loose circle in the street, guns ready. More crows than she'd ever seen were perched on the telephone lines above. Their grating calls seemed tinged with laughter.
“Right, then.” Rudrick released her arm abruptly, and she staggered.
She wrapped her arms around herself, looking to Hart for guidance, but he had his own problems. Rudrick ordered the two men to release him, and they shoved him into the center of the circle. He quickly caught his balance and brushed off his arms, smirking at the men surrounding him, insolent and cocky despite his bruises.
She had to admire his bravado.
He turned toward her and their eyes locked. His strange violet-ringed pupils held danger and desire. The connection burned hot and fast. Her breath caught. She wanted to run to him. A stranger. A dangerous, unpredictable man.
Surprise flickered across his face, and she knew he felt it too. He looked away, unable to hold that vulnerable connection.
“Our lord and master,” Rudrick told Hart, “still harbors this delusion that you will rejoin the fold.”
Hart spat on the ground.
“Funny, I had the same response,” Rudrick said. “The rest of us don't want your filth. The moon madness is a blight on our sacred bloodline. It doesn't excuse your behavior.” His lip curled. “A traitor to your own kind.”
Moon madness? Sacred bloodline? What the hell was he talking about?
“I work for whatever fucker pays me,” Hart said. “You want something done? I'll work for you too. I don't discriminate.”
“How you could be so stupid as to voluntarily enslave yourself, I can't imagine. I should put you out of your misery.”
“I'll be there to welcome you on the other side. Cross my heart.” Hart drew an X over his left breast.
Were these people for real? Kayla searched the street and crumbling buildings on either side, half expecting a movie camera to pop out of the shadows. Nothing. She decided shock must be messing with her hearing. When everyone around you seemed delusional, it might just be you.
“Fortunate for us that you heal quickly. The necklace, dog.” Rudrick motioned for his men to tighten ranks around Hart. “Tell us what you know. Johnny?”
Behind Rudrick, the younger man who'd hit Hart with the rifle stepped into the circle. He took a pair of leather gloves from his coat pocket and made a big show of pulling them on.
Hart didn't seem worried, though blood still trickled down his forehead. His powerful shoulders cocked back. Amusement played along the crooked line of his lips. “How does Corbette feel about the girl dying under your watch? One human life for a sentimental trinket.”
Rudrick showed a mouthful of pointy white teeth. “Sentimental? Hardly. Don't tell me you don't know what it does?” Laughing, he stepped back into the circle. “Single combat. No weapons.”
Kayla felt sick. What was thisâ
Mortal Kombat
? What kind of people had her sister been involved with? “You can't do this,” she protested. “It can't be legal.”
Mortal Kombat
? What kind of people had her sister been involved with? “You can't do this,” she protested. “It can't be legal.”
No one paid her any attention.
Hart began unloading weapons. The rifle strapped to his back went first. The broadsword at his hip, next. Beneath the jacket he wore a holster with two pistols. Out of his pants pockets he pulled a strange brass spyglass, throwing stars, and small knives. She'd never seen such an arsenal except in the movies. He stacked them, lovingly, on his jacket at the edge of the circle.
Hart and Johnny stripped to the waist. Andâoh!âif she hadn't been so anxious she might have admired all that fine muscle and shimmering copper flesh. Both men were ripped. Johnny was younger by about ten years, his sleek body unmarred by battle and time. Black geometric tattoos covered his back and shoulders. Inked feathers twisted up his spine.
Hart was larger, but battered. Purple blotches decorated his ribs. He looked about thirty, but his body had seen a lifetime of fights. Where Johnny was tattooed, Hart bore old white scars that crisscrossed like lace over his tanned skin. Gold bands with runic marks circled his impressive biceps. A silver disk on a leather thong hung from his neck. Both men were exotic and mysterious, but Kayla couldn't keep her eyes off Hart.
The two contenders circled each other, dancing lightly on their toes. Quick as a whip, Hart lashed out, not with his fist but with his fingers, as if swiping with claws. Johnny managed to dodge back by a hairbreadth.
“No shifting,” Rudrick growled. “Or I'll let the Thunderbird at you. It's in your favor, dog.”
Shifting how? They couldn't fight if they didn't move from foot to foot. That couldn't be what he meant. Was Thunderbird some sort of gang caste?
Hart shrugged as if to say, “Who the hell cares?”
After that, the action went so fast it was all Kayla could do to keep track of the combatants. They lunged and dove in sync, partners in some impressively coordinated dance. The movements were a strange mix of martial arts and barroom brawlâanything goes, yet smooth and efficient. Each punch was a close shave away from serious damage.
Their shadows blurred, until Kayla could swear she saw not two men fighting, but two animalsâa giant bird and a wolf, snatching at each other with tooth, claw, and razor-sharp beak. It was the oddest sight. First her hearing, now her vision. She was losing it inch by inch.
The gunmen watched the fight hungrily. Out of the corner of her eye, their cheekbones seemed to widen and their eyes glowed.
She tried to laugh it off, but couldn't shake the feeling. She couldn't watch. Couldn't drag her eyes away. Two gladiators locked in combat, sweat and rain-slicked muscles glistening. Sleek and graceful. Vicious and wild.
Hart was tiring, and no wonder, given his recent head injury. His reaction time slowed, so that she could actually see the movements of his hands and legs.
Johnny swiped out with his fist and Hart brought his arm up seconds too late. The fist connected with his nose and Hart crashed to the ground. Johnny followed him down. Punching. Kicking.
Wetness splattered the concrete, and Kayla realized it was blood.
Blood.
Johnny was going to kill Hart while these lunatics watched and did nothing.
Shock might be wearing on her system, but she couldn't let that one go. She refused to stand idly by while murder was committed in front of her. How would she live with herself? “Leave him alone!” she shouted. “Stop hurting him!”
Johnny didn't stop. Running forward, she threw herself on top of Hart and shielded him with her body. He was so much bigger than her; it was laughable that she would try to protect him with her small frame. But she had to do something.
Johnny's foot came an inch from connecting with her head. She cringed. Stupid move, running into danger like that. She'd never been an act-first, think-later sort of personâthat had been Desi's suitâbut adrenaline made her reckless. “Stop hurting him,” she repeated. The jagged asphalt cut into her knees. “Please stop.”
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