Jekyll, an Urban Fantasy (25 page)

She nodded. “I already gave them some.”

He grimaced, perhaps at the thought of what they’d taken from her. “Then there’s your proof. If you already gave them that stuff, then why’d they come after us? Why’d they bother to send those jackasses to bring
me
in too?”

She didn’t answer because she didn’t know.

“This isn’t about us. That’s the problem—we don’t know
why
. Well, the most obvious answer is power.” He cocked his head. “Okay, so I take it back. It’s
not
all about control. It’s all about control
and
power.”

She smiled and turned towards him. “Control and power? Is that it?” She took a step forward, and he matched it with one of his own, his eyes running down the length of her body.

“Maybe money too.” Another step forward.

“Money.” Another step. “What about sex?”

He inhaled, taking another step. “What
about
sex?”

“Is it all about sex too?” Another.

“Right now it’s about the only thing I can think of.”

She licked her lips, her gaze never leaving his face, but bouncing around it—mouth to eyes and back again. “Control, power, money and sex. Is that it?” Her next step left about six inches of air between them. It might have been a problem if she didn’t want to be there so badly.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

She stopped. “Even with my eyes this color?”

“It’s not—” His mouth moved, but no sound came out.

She let him off the hook by ducking her head. Unfortunately, he’d either accept who she was or he wouldn’t, and she had no choice in it at all. She’d been someone else, someone not quite real, for her entire life. Now that she was finally free, she wouldn’t hide again. And if it meant that Mitch didn’t want her, well… She’d chosen him. With all her heart and soul, she’d already chosen him. And now
he
had to choose.

His silence told her he still wasn’t ready. She wanted to make a joke, lighten up a conversation that hurt more and more the longer it went on. But she wasn’t in the mood for jokes.

“It’ll take whatever time it does,” she said, backing away, giving him more room. “There’s no rush.” Was that true? How much time did they really have? Before Hyde took their time away from them.

§ § §

Someone pounded on the door downstairs. Both of them turned, bodies rigid and ready to fight. When the knock became a rhythm, Eden moved first.

“It’s probably just Landon. I locked up after he left.”

“Are we absolutely
sure
we want to let him in?” Mitch stretched and followed her downstairs. Letting her out of his sight once had led to a tragic end. One he wouldn’t repeat. Doubt was constantly nagging at him, whispering in his ear,
‘You’re an idiot.’
Until he could knock the feeling out of his head, he wasn’t about to let his guard down. He’d do whatever was necessary to keep her safe.

He knew Eden felt guilt, shame, remorse, and empathy—all of those stupid human emotions that did nothing but get people in trouble. None of those were in Chastity’s vocabulary. Chastity wouldn’t give up, she wouldn’t take his ‘no’ for an answer. She’d keep pushing, manipulating, adjusting her plan of attack until she got her way. It wasn’t that Eden
would
give up—because she wouldn’t. But what Eden would give was time.
‘It’ll take whatever time it does.’
Her words bounced around his head, replaying themselves like a forced mantra.

The entire thing, the hold that she seemed to have over him, had
always
had over him, left him feeling weak. And Mitch didn’t do well with weak. Maybe it would be better to hand himself over to her, take everything she said as gospel, flop onto his back like a dog who needed a belly-rub. Just so he could stop being so confused about the whole-motherfucking-world and everything and everyone in it.

He pushed in front of her—very ungentlemanly-like. But it was better than letting something happen to her. If there was going to be a fight, the first shift was
his
. War was
easy
compared to this shit. Unless the other side had another Taser. In which case, he would be twitching and hurting the entire time he killed the bastard who zapped him.

Sadly, it was just Landon. “It’s me. Let me in, goddamn it!” he bitched as Mitch undid the locks. He stalked inside, slamming the door behind him. “You have no idea the shit I just saw. Without a frigging cop in sight. Not even a security guard.”

“They were probably off somewhere shooting up.” He shrugged at Landon’s glare. “Not helpful?”

“If the drug squad knew about all the smack in this neighborhood…” His words trailed off, leaving a sadness on his face. Perhaps remembering that part of his life was over. Maybe for a little longer. Maybe forever.

Mitch slapped him on the shoulder, rebooting his thoughts, knocking the memories out. “So’d you get it or not?”

Landon exhaled loudly, blinking. Then he held up a vial proudly.

“Lookie, lookie, who’s got the juicie!” He swiped it out of Landon’s hand, turning it to look for cloudiness, knowing that purity wasn’t the biggest issue. “Great. The kind of present everyone wants to have under the tree.” Mitch chuckled bitterly. It
did
kind of remind him of Christmas back at the hovel he grew up in. Good times with the whole family. His mom holding Shelly and him tightly under a blanket, cowering while his father terrorized them. Ah, what he would’ve given to find a prettily-wrapped box of narcotic that would’ve shut the bastard up. But Santa doesn’t always give you what you put on your list. Or maybe Mitch had already been part of the naughty line-up.

Landon rolled his eyes, smiling. “You’re such an idiot. And you have no idea how long it took me to stop the endless conveyer belt of E and coke until I finally found someone who had some morphine.”

“Why didn’t you bring some E back too?” Mitch joked until his eyes hit her. He saw the look of pain on her face. “It’s morphine, not heroin, Eden.”

§ § §

She nodded but her nausea didn’t go away. Remembering what had taken away her mother and her childhood wasn’t easy. And even though the drug in his hand had a different chemical make-up and name, it was
too
small a consolation. But she understood its necessity.

Mitch lowered his gaze to the black plastic bag Landon held in his other hand. “What’s that?”

Landon shrugged. “Snacks and drinks.”

“What kind of drinks?” Suspicion laced every syllable.

Eden watched the men glare at each other. Though she didn’t understand what was going on, she stepped forward, hoping her mere presence would break them out of it.

“What kind of drinks, cop?” Mitch asked again.

With a raised eyebrow, Landon slowly reached into the bag and pulled out a water bottle, tossing it to Mitch. Mitch caught it without looking, his stare resting solely on Landon’s face.

“Wasn’t sure what flavor you liked, so I got a few.” The cop smiled nervously as he handed her two bottles of Gatorade and a couple sandwiches wrapped in plastic.

“Thanks.”

“What else is in the bag, Landon?” Mitch asked.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

The silence hung there, stagnating the already-stagnant air.

“There’s no way I can sleep now,” Landon said loudly, filling up the space with inconsequential noise. “Anyone else?”

Mitch snagged the bag out of his hand, the plastic stretching between the men. “Give it to me.”

“It’s just a little bottle.” Landon’s eyes darted from Mitch to Eden and back again.

Oh no.
Another issue to stack on the pile.

“Yeah. Well, we’re about to have a motherfucking intervention.”

Landon finally threw up his hands, releasing the bag. “I just got you narcotics so you wouldn’t get all beastly, and
I’m
the one with the problem?”

“No. I got a far bigger and badder problem.” He took a step closer and kept his voice low. “But
you
deserve better. And I need one of us to be sober until this shit is over.
Please
.” It wasn’t a word he used often, so it held more meaning, more power.

Landon nodded.

Eden wanted to look away, ignore the addiction that had ruined her youth and was now screwing up her chance at a future.
All
of their futures. Each man was struggling with his own personal issues, but they couldn’t pretend they were alone. Everything involved all three of them. And until everyone was safe enough to walk away,
their
problems were hers. They could stay at the brothel until she figured out a way to convince Mitch that he needed The Clinic, just like
they
needed him. A business arrangement, negotiated by her. But before that, she had to think.

“Listen, I need some sleep,” she said. “Last night I barely got an hour. So I say we take a nap before we discuss what happens next. Then you guys can fight or hug or do whatever it is you want to do. But I really don’t want to stay in this shithole for any longer than necessary.”

The two men backed off, Mitch turning to head upstairs. Landon sighed and went to sit down in one of the god-awful chairs in the waiting room, where many-a-man had waited.

“Just in case you change your mind,
this
,” Mitch said to Landon, holding up the bag he’d just confiscated, “is going in the cage. If you can get past Hyde, it’s yours.” Then he took the stairs two at a time.

“Night, Landon,” she said.

“It’s almost morning.”

“Okay, well then…morning.” She paused on the stairs. “You going to try to sleep a bit?”

“In a little while,” he said without looking up.

“What the fuck, Landon?” came barreling down the stairs.

Landon’s head whipped up, a big smile on his face.

“What was
that
about?” Eden asked him.

“He just found out what else was in the bag.”

Eden waited for an explanation.

“I got some condoms.” His smile faltered, probably a reaction to the grimace on her face. “Not for
me
! For you two.”

“We’re not—”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, disbelief arching his brows and curling his lips. “Well, use them or don’t use them.”

“We’re a
long
way from that happening.” Unless it was angry sex. Or…
God, I’d really love some great make-up sex right about now.
And the best part wouldn’t even be feeling him inside of her—it would be knowing he’d accepted who she was. Unless he didn’t care
who
he was screwing.

“Whatever you say,” Landon mumbled.

She found the box of condoms in the hallway where Mitch had probably hurled them. With only an ounce of hope left in her heart, she picked it up and brought it to her room. She hoped to God the king-sized futon wasn’t sticky. Because that would bust the damn open. Everything that had happened since she woke up—not understanding who she’d become, not knowing who to trust, not being recognizable to the
one
person she wanted to lean on—would breech her walls and come flooding out. And she’d
never
be able to sleep if she was sobbing.

Damn it. He couldn’t sleep. Not with her face stuck in his mind like an annoyingly catchy song, driving him crazy. The syringe rested on the throne just outside the cage. Along with the lock-pick Eden had figured out. That girl was full of handy skills now.

He didn’t want drugs, he wanted
out
. He reached through the bars and grabbed the key, trying not to drop it or make enough noise to wake everyone up. He didn’t know what he would do—take another tour of the playrooms? Get a snack at the convenience store on the corner?

Who was he kidding? He wanted to see
her
.

It was a really fucking bad idea to get close. His mind was too conflicted. But when they’d argued earlier, he’d recognized her. Not in the words she said, but in the passion she said them with. That part of Eden still existed. And even if she was wrong about everything, he still trusted
that
. And it made him want to believe. And it made him want
her
.

He opened the door to her ‘Geisha Suite’ and peeked inside. In
all
the times he’d imagined her sprawled out on a bed, he’d never been able to
truly
capture her beauty. And seeing her curled up on one side of the bare king-sized futon was better than anything he could dream up. When he’d dreamt of a normal life with her.

But dreaming was for other people. Mitch couldn’t afford it. No. Dreams, hopes, and anything beyond right now were things he couldn’t afford to think about. So, wanting to enjoy this moment for as long as he could, he crept inside the room and leaned against the wall to watch her.

Okay, this is only slightly psychotic
. What would he do if she woke up?

As if she’d heard his thought, she opened her eyes. Eyes that represented someone he still wasn’t sure he could accept.

He jerked back.

“Don’t leave,” she said, sitting up.

He stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “I just…needed to use the bathroom. Picked the wrong door. Didn’t mean to wake you.”
So very smooth, asshole. It’s amazing that you’re still standing.

“Does
anyone
believe you when you lie? Because you’re really bad at it.”

“So I’ve been told,” he mumbled, not turning towards her. He heard her get up, the slight shuffling of footsteps on the cheap faux-bamboo floor. He should leave. Get out while he still could. Instead he stood absolutely still.
Yeah, playing possum will totally work.
He felt her hand on his back. Suppressed a shiver. One touch and he was lost.
Big, tough motherfucking possum.

“Why did you come here?” she asked.

“I’ll tell you if you move your hand.” He needed her to release him. He’d do
anything
if she would just release him.

“Like this?” she asked, moving her hand in exactly the wrong way.
Wrong
because it wasn’t
off
. Instead she caressed his back lightly, tracing his spine.

“No,” he whispered. He couldn’t even call what he was doing possum-like anymore. Now he was acting like a stray dog at the first sign of affection. Any minute he’d be panting. God, he hoped he he could stop before humping her leg.