Jekyll, an Urban Fantasy (34 page)

Mitch snatched it out of Landon’s hand. “Where is she, asshole?”

“Nice to talk to you too, Turner,” Carter said from the other end of the line. “I’m doing well, thanks.”

“I give about an atom of shit how you’re feeling. Maybe less. Yeah, less. Split that atom in half and right before the big boom,
that’s
how much I care. Where the fuck is she?”

“I’ll show you.”

He rocked back on his heels. “The Clinic? You’re going to just show me where The Clinic is? Just like that?”

“Well, sure,” Carter said, his tone cloyingly sweet. “Since you’ve always been so nice to me, I thought I’d help you out a little.”

Mitch paused, unsure what to say. Thanks? For what? It could all be part of their master plan—tell the boy scout to invite him to an ambush.

“Are you still there?”

“Yeah,” Mitch grumbled. With no one to trust, never knowing if anyone—and he meant
anyone
—was bullshitting, what’s a guy to do? He ran a hand over his face roughly. “What the hell do I have to lose?” His life was over. And if, in those very last moments, all he got to do was rip this little fucker’s head off, well,
that
would have to do.

“Look, she’s in some serious trouble. The Clinic wants to help, but they’re getting desperate. And by ‘desperate’, I mean they’re planning on doing something not-so-nice to her. I need your help. But not if you’re going to go in there like a bull in a china shop and ruin everything.”

“Unless someone is wearing red, I can probably control myself.”
For the first couple of minutes.
“Where are you?”

His sigh was long, drawn out as if his lungs didn’t want to let go of the air. “Bring Landon. He’s still sane, isn’t he?”

Mitch looked over to Landon, instantly suspicious. “Mostly. Why do you want me to bring him?”

“Because he was a cop. And he’ll protect me from being killed.”

“The Clinic wants to kill you?”

“Maybe,” he muttered. “But what I
meant
was that he’ll protect me from
you
.”

“Oh, sure. That makes sense. When and where?”

§ § §

“Can’t you drive any faster?” Mitch growled from the passenger seat. The fucking cop wouldn’t let him touch the wheel. Which, in a way, worked out better for Mitch—he’d be able to jump out as soon as he saw Carter, whether the car had come to a complete stop or not.

“We need him to
talk
, not bleed, so keep your hands to yourself.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

They’d set up a meeting point near the liquor store, but a bit less public. It seemed that not only gun-runners and drug dealers liked backstreet alleys—cops did too. Since the whole thing was ‘off the books’, the guy who’d found Carter wanted to keep the pass-over quiet. Mitch had no problem with that—the fewer people around, the less likely someone would complain about the screaming.

As soon as Landon turned the corner into the alley, Mitch saw them. A balding forty-something guy who looked like he’d spent a few-too-many years eating donuts stood right next to a terrified and oddly-postured Carter. The guy looked like he needed to be in a hospital bed…with the morgue on speed-dial.

Not my problem.
Just as he’d planned, he jumped out of the car before it stopped and swung around the opened door, his feet hitting the pavement at a run.

“Turner, stop!” Landon yelled.

All Mitch could see was the bastard who’d helped fuck up his life. Eden’s life. Probably a whole bunch of other people’s. Not through Hyde’s eyes though, which was something.

Landon’s buddy held out one hand, his other one moving to where his weapon would’ve been if he’d been in uniform. “Shit,” he said, stepping in front of Carter. But Mitch was moving as if he’d just been shot out of a cannon, and tubby-there wasn’t going to stop him.

Carter ran for it, hobbling down the alley. Mitch followed, easily doubling the speed Carter was limping at. What was the saying? ‘Don’t run unless someone is chasing you?’ Well, Carter was finally doing something right. Because Mitch was chasing him, and planned on bringing him down like a fucking gazelle.

He heard angry shouts from the cops behind him, but really, who gave a shit? This was ‘off the books’, so there was little they could do to him. He wanted to feel Carter’s jacket in his hand, feel Carter’s cheek against his fist. The desire was overwhelming.

He was gaining.
Finally
, the years of running on that goddamned treadmill-to-nowhere, trying to expel all his pent-up energy, were paying off. And in such a poetic manner. He reached out just as Carter turned the corner. As soon as he felt the fabric of Carter’s jacket with his fingertips, he yanked backwards. Carter stumbled, his momentum tacking hard, like he’d just plowed into a brick wall. But the wall was
next
to him, and he hadn’t hit it yet. Ironically, Mitch was there to catch him—literally and literally. He shoved his arm between Carter and the brick, so his wrist buffered the impact of Carter’s head. Mitch cringed at the pain, yanking his hand back out of reflex, sending Carter in the other direction. Carter pitched sideways and fell onto the concrete, not moving quickly enough to stop himself from landing face-first.

Fuck.
Mitch couldn’t have the kid unconscious or dead.
That would delay the fun of beating information out of him.
Mitch shook off the thought.
Think, asshole. Think.

Landon had been right—Mitch shouldn’t have come. He was going to just fuck things up, accidentally beating the
only
guy with any information about The Clinic so badly, he wouldn’t be able to speak.

He leaned over Carter’s body. “Shit, are you okay? I—”

Carter flipped over and kicked Mitch right in the balls. Mitch’s teeth slammed together. But even
that
wasn’t enough to stop the motherfucking-girlie-ass wail from squeezing through. He was going down. There was no way to stop it. So instead of fighting it, he made sure he landed right on the asshole who’d probably just made him sterile. He
also
made sure he landed with his fist in Carter’s side.

“Let me go, you bastard! I
told
you I was going to help, for God’s sake!” Carter struggled underneath Mitch’s larger mass. But Mitch had him pinned so well, he really deserved a WWF Smackdown belt.

The pain in his balls was receding slightly, enough to actually bring things into focus. He
liked
pain, craved it. He even might’ve asked for
more
, if he didn’t know it would be another shot below the belt. There was pain, and then there was PAIN. It wasn’t all created equally.

“That wasn’t nice, Carter.” From his knees, he rocked backwards and then stood, bringing Carter up with him, his fist wrapped tightly in the guy’s shirt.

“Nice?” he said, gasping for air. “You just chased me down an alley and tackled me! And
I’m
the one who’s not nice?”

“True, but
I’ve
never claimed to be a decent guy—
you
have. Repeatedly.” Mitch grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and dragged him towards the footsteps thundering down the alley.

Landon skidded to a stop, as breathless as Mitch and Carter were. A few seconds later, his buddy caught up, completely red-faced and wheezing.

“Damn it, Turner! I’m
so
tired of this shit!”

“Yeah, but look what I found. Can I keep him?” Mitch squished up his mouth and looked at the kid he held. His forehead and lip were bleeding. “You know, once I clean him up a little.” Mitch leaned down and dusted him off.

Carter shoved Mitch away weakly. “Keep him away from me. I’ll help, but only if you can control him.”

“Wow,” Mitch said sarcastically. “Face facts, Carter. You’re not a boy scout anymore. They’ve stripped you of all your patches and yanked off that sash so fucking hard, you’re probably bleeding internally. If not, I’ll make sure you are soon.”

“Leave him alone.” Landon pushed Mitch backwards with a shove to his chest, creating distance between him and Carter. But seriously, he’d need to create about a mile and a half of distance to keep him safe from Mitch. “He’s right—he said he would help. Now don’t you think it’s a good idea to let him tell us
why
?”

Mitch cocked his head to the side. “I wasn’t going to hurt him.”
Too badly.

Carter ran his tongue over his lip and then wiped it with his hand, pulling it away to look at the blood. “Yeah, well… Try harder next time.”

“Give me your hands, Turner,” Landon said.

Mitch sneered, holding his hands out. “Now you want to hold my hand, Landon? I thought you didn’t want anyone knowing about our love.” Then he saw the cuffs come out. “Oh, come on! I was just kidding.”

“I’m done with the games. I’m done with the jokes. You’re gonna get someone killed. And, unfortunately, it probably won’t be
you
. Shit, it’ll probably be
me
. So give me your goddamn hands before I shoot you and put us
all
out of our misery.”

Mitch looked at the three men. Two of them feared him for sure, maybe three. And all three
definitely
hated him. Could he take all three down? Yeah. While in cuffs? Hmm… maybe not. But Landon’s expression didn’t change.

“I won’t let anything happen to you, Turner,” Landon said quietly. “Remember that list.” The list. Landon was promising on the lives of his family. Although, it was a moot point if Mitch was already dead.

“I’m not talking until he’s wearing those,” Carter said, nodding towards the cuffs.

Fuck
. If he had the kid alone, it wouldn’t be an issue. But the city’s not-quite-finest were waiting. Impatiently. Did he have a choice here?

His mind flashed over the past few weeks, then a brief, condensed version of the last fifteen years. When the hell had he
ever
had a choice? He stewed in that realization, the discovery of the fucking century, until he realized something else. He was still alive, still fighting. Without ever having the chance to rule his own miserable life, he was still kicking. So what did one more decision made by someone else matter? If he
had
to, he would take down the entire world wearing two shiny, metal bracelets.

“I need your hands.” Landon’s voice was subdued, quiet, borderline-regretful.

Without any other option, Mitch stuck out his hands, his jaw clenched tightly. Positive that at
least
he could take out Carter before he was killed—if that’s what he’d just signed up for by allowing his hands to be bound. A second later, two matching bracelets were attached to his wrists.

“It’s about time,” Carter said.

Landon glared at him then flicked his head. “Let’s go back to the cars to talk.” The other cop and Carter walked ahead of them, despite the fact that handcuffs could hardly hold Mitch back. In fact, the short chain connecting them would fit perfectly around someone’s neck.

Landon yanked him forward, bringing them closer together. “Don’t say anything,” he mumbled.

Mitch turned to him. “What?”

“Shut up.” He held the key to the cuffs in his palm, covering the other men’s views with his fingers.

“Don’t tease me, cop.”

He tucked the key into Mitch’s hand. “You can put it in your own goddamned pocket, asshole. I’m not putting my hand anywhere
near
your pants.”

Mitch stifled his chuckle, closing his fist around the key and turning away before shoving it into the pocket of his jeans. It would take him at least a few seconds to get it out, but at least he wouldn’t be defenseless. Not now. Not ever.

“Thanks,” he said gruffly, walking next to the only man in the world who might actually deserve his trust. “I’m glad I didn’t kill you.”

“Oh,
please
. It would never happen. I’d have come back and beaten your ass.”

“You think so, huh? You fight like a girl.”

“You mean like the girl who saved your ass a few days ago?
That
kind of girl?”

“Nah. You fight like a girl being tickled by her boyfriend.”

Landon coughed into his hand. “Hate to break it to you, Turner. But you’re
not
my boyfriend.”

“So you keep saying. But you’re making a big mistake—I’m a hell of a lay.”

“I know you’re lying, but thank god I’ll never know for sure.”

Back at the cars, Mitch wondered if the other men noticed the smile on Landon’s face. It was small to be sure, but it was there.

“Stay right here, Turner, and do
not
do anything stupid.” Landon pulled his buddy a step away to have a whispered conversation.

Carter was leaning up against the car, rubbing his shoulder. He glared at Mitch and Mitch glared back. But that got old quick, so Mitch turned his attention to Landon and his friend. The chubby cop couldn’t keep his eyes off Mitch. Then he shook his head broadly enough to make Mitch wonder if the jiggle of his cheeks was creating its own momentum.

Landon smacked the guy on the back. “Thanks a lot, man. I’ll call you later.”

They all watched him get into his unmarked police car and back out of the alley.

“Okay then,” Landon said. “Where were we?”

“Carter was about to tell us where he finished his recovery. You
are
recovered, aren’t you, kid?”

“I
was
,” he grumbled. That was hard to believe. He looked about four breaths away from death.

“You should be more careful—alleys have notoriously bad footing.”

Carter shook his head. “I’ll tell you where she is because I want what’s best for her. I always have.”

Mitch snorted.

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?” Landon barked at him. “Say another word and I’m putting you in the car.”

Then it was Carter’s turn to snort. Mitch opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it again, biting down on his tongue in the process. The metallic taste of blood brought a sense of justice with it. Maybe it was about blood too. Control, power, blood, and lo— He shut his eyes to be rid of the word. But all
that
did was bring the image of her to the forefront of his mind, making it clearer and more painful.

“How often is he losing it now, detective? A lot? How much time does he spend in his cage?”