Obey Me (3 page)

Mr. Edmunston’s? The mark had a connection…and owner. I played a hunch. “But I, uh, really need to see him. He’s here, right?”

“Of course.” Suspicion clouded his face.

“I’ll be in and out before you know it,” I said quickly, hoping to forestall any loss of credibility the mark had won me.

The guy shook his head then went eerily still.
Seriously
. I wasn’t sure he was even breathing.

“Pleeeease.” I batted my eyes shamelessly, playing on my feminine wiles. Apparently, feminine wiles are one of those things if you don’t use, you lose. The guy didn’t even look in my direction. Nothing. He just leaned there staring.

Right. Time to cheat.

I sucked a deep breath, focusing, calling my power until I felt the light buzzing at the back of my head, and the fine hairs on my neck tingled with energy. “Why don’t you just let me in for a quick peek?”

The guy blinked, glanced my way his brow furrowing again. He shook his head then went completely still.

Oh shit
. It didn’t work. That’d never happened before. I’d never met anyone I couldn’t suggest into doing what I wanted. I tried harder, pulling enough power that a dull throb started behind my eyes. “You should open that door and let me inside—right—now.”

This time the guy jerked to his feet like he’d been pulled by strings. He paused for a second, blinking at me, then stepped one foot toward the door and reached out to the seal where door meets wall.

The nails on his hand were long and thick and pointed.
Gross
. I hadn’t noticed before. His nails hooked the edge of the door, and he pulled. My shoulders bunched, ready for a loud moaning creak, but the rusty metal door swung open, smooth and silent.

I glanced at him before I slipped through. He still looked grumpy, but now there was a tinge of confused annoyance in the mix. His creepy black eyes stayed locked on me, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think he was fighting the suggestion even as he obeyed me. I didn’t wait to find out. I turned my back to him and disappeared inside.

Pay dirt.
Il Piccolo Morso. How’d I know? A neon sign hung eight feet tall on the wall as soon as I entered—a glowing red tube that spelled out the words in beautiful scrawling letters. Just like the cocktail napkins.

The sign stood out against the soft, blue-lit walls, like blood on white roses. Speaking of white roses, they were everywhere. Crystal vases with tall long-stemmed roses decorated every table. More filled sconces along the walls between endless spills of white silk cascading from ceiling to floor. It took a minute for my eyes to adjust well enough to see clearly, but the place was big. No surprise. It was a warehouse, though you’d never know it by the looks of things from the inside.

My gaze gravitated to the largest source of light at the center of the cavernous space. An enormous oval bar centered overtop a glowing bluish-white floor, lit from beneath like the bar top itself and stretching ten feet around on all sides. Even the middle island inside the bar, where the sinks and electric mixers and such were kept, glowed soft blue light from between white flowers and green leafy accents that overflowed the sides and ends of a long planter running the length of the island.

I took a step and my boots sank into plush carpet. It was too dark to see the color, and the round tables with their semicircle white-cushioned benches left only a walking path between them up to the glowing dance floor. Semicircles seemed the theme at Il Piccolo Morso, where in each corner huge half-circle couches softened the angles, and long curtains of silk canopied the sides, making the large gathering spots seem intimate.

Music blared from six speakers twice as tall as me, hanging from the ceilings, and when I glanced up, I noticed the high windowed room at the top of the far wall. The two people inside were in silhouette. One bopped to the beat of the music, a hand to the headset over one ear, the other hand on a dimly flashing DJ control panel. The other figure, I assumed, was the mysterious Mr. Edmunston standing watch over his domain.

I navigated my way to the bar, sidestepping tables of amorous couples and even more swaying together on the glowing dance floor. It wasn’t wall-to-wall people, but enough to make it difficult to pass without bumping shoulders. I snagged a freshly vacated stool, and my spine deflated, relieved I’d found a port to dock myself in the sea of nightclub goers. I am so not a club person, but I really wanted to talk with Mr. Edmunston to figure out his connection to the mark tattooed on the victims. And through him, make a connection between the victims themselves.

With my forearms resting on the warm bar top, waiting for the bartender to make his way around to me, I couldn’t help my gaze from swinging up to the DJ booth. There was a light toward the back of the booth that looked like it could be a doorway or maybe a hall. I traced down the wall with my gaze until I noticed a door on the main floor next to the corner couch and canopy on the left. It must lead up to the booth, maybe his office too. No guards stood watch, not that one could stop me. I swung my legs around.

“What’ll ya have?”

Frozen mid-slide on the stool, I glanced back to see one hottie bartender waiting for my drink order. He was tall, though not as tall as Mr. Personality out front and not muscle bound the same way either, though he was clearly built. He was solid, like a baseball player, with hair to match. Light brown with sun-streaks, his hair had that tousled windblown look athletes get, longer on top, clipped close on the sides, over his ears and in back. He looked twenty-five or so and every bit the all-American boy, with bright blue eyes, dimpled cheeks and a knockout white-toothed smile.
Yum
.

“Right. I’ll have a glass of wine. Red, please.” A quick glance to the booth to check Mr. Edmunston hadn’t snuck away on me and I swung my legs back around.

“Lookin’ for someone?” the bartender asked, already filling my wine glass.

That was scary fast.
I debated my answer for about half a second before opting for the truth. With a nod toward the DJ booth I said, “Yeah. Actually, I was hoping to speak with Mr. Edmunston.”

The bright-eyed bartender followed my gesture then looked back to me, his smile broadening. “You don’t say. Why’s that?”

I shrugged. “Wanted to put in an application.” So much for the truth.

“You wanna work here? As what, a waitress, a bartender, what?” His voice held a ripple of laughter, but I wasn’t sure why. What business doesn’t take applications?

Whatever. “Why? Nervous about job security?”

This time he did laugh. Loud and from deep in his belly, so hard and sudden he stumbled back a step.

Wasn’t that funny
. “What?”

The too-cutesy guy collected himself, corking the wine bottle, shaking his head as though dismissing his reaction. “Nothing.” He sat the bottle under the bar, still smiling and fighting his laughter. “How’d you get in here?”

Busted
. I knew that invitation thing would bite me in the ass. “Same as everyone.”

“No you didn’t.” His good humor was waning. He gave me a nod. “Tell me your name.”

“Tell me yours, first.”
What am I, seven?

“Alex.” He braced his hands wide on the edge of the bar. His white shirt gaped where he’d left the first three buttons undone and the rolled sleeves slipped down to just below his elbows. He was wearing black slacks, I think. There was a short black apron hiding them around his waist.

“I’m Sophie. Sophie Merlo.” I glanced back to the DJ booth, seeing my chances of interviewing Mr. Edmunston slipping away.

Like I’d slammed my arm in a car door, crushing pain ripped up through my shoulder so fast it stole my breath. The stab of sensation screamed through my brain. My body jerked halfway up and onto the bar against my will. I snapped my head around to see Alex’s all-American baby face twisted ugly with rage. He held my arm, and with one hand had pulled me up off my stool.

“Who sent you?” His voice rumbled low through tightly clenched teeth.

“Get off. That hurts.” I squirmed, tried to jerk my arm free but it was caught, like it’d been sealed in cement. Panicking, I called up my power fast and hard, my head swam with the rush of energy but fear and pain kept me focused. “You should
really
let me go. Now.”

Alex’s pretty blue eyes narrowed to slits. The color had paled so dramatically the pupils looked like black pinpricks in a sea of white. He wasn’t blinking, wasn’t obeying my suggestion.

There’s only a certain amount of power my mind can take before I simply can’t call it to the forefront again without resting first. After using so much on the guard out front, I was tapped out. My spine iced, instinct tingling down my back. Fear and pain triggered flight instincts, the need to run an almost debilitating urge.

He shook his head, pushing off my suggestion. “What was that? What’re you trying to pull?”

I squirmed again, harder, more frantic like a bird with its wing caught under a cat’s paw. Something in my shoulder wrenched and sent a fresh jolt of pain slamming through my system. I gasped—stilled.

“Nothing. I’m not doing anything. Just…just let me go.” My head throbbed and a steady ache pulsed from my shoulder with each beat of my heart. My ability had never failed me. Never. What was going on?

Alex yanked me closer, bringing me farther onto the bar, so the edge pressed into my groin. He gripped my jaw so hard I’m sure he left red fingerprints on either side of my face, and jerked my head to the left. I stayed the way he posed me while he licked the fat part of his thumb. Before I could think to stop him, he rubbed the mark I’d made on my neck and brought his thumb back smeared with black eyeliner. He let me go and I stumbled back two steps before I caught myself.

“Get out.” He didn’t even look at me. His brow tightly wrinkled, he just stared at his thumb rubbing his fingers against it then pinched them clean on his apron.

I wiped at the spit he’d left on my neck even as my heart struggled for a steady beat. “What? No. Why? I didn’t do anything.”

Seconds were ticking by, but I couldn’t seem to calm myself. Why? With the two-foot-wide bar between us and a couple feet of open space, I was pretty sure I’d have time to dodge him if he came at me again. So why was my brain still scrambled like puzzle pieces and my breaths still shaking through my chest? In fact, it seemed to be getting worse.

With a hard swallow I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts, focus. “I want to speak with Mr. Edmunston.”

I could feel where Alex’s thumb had pressed against my neck. The skin tingled there, warmed as though his body heat continued to mingle with mine. My hand went to the spot, cupped my neck, and I closed my eyes.

“Mr. Edmunston doesn’t want to speak with you,” he said.

“Uhm…you…you don’t know…that.” I rolled my head, like a lazy cat stretching after a long sleep. Heat radiated from the spot on my neck spreading throughout my body. It felt…good, like a shot of brandy warming down my throat, buzzing my mind just enough to be fun without making me stupid. My skin tingled all over. I licked my lips feeling the tickle along my tongue. I couldn’t stop the dizzy smile that took hold.

“Get her out of here,” I heard Alex say, right before two people grabbed my arms. “Send Bruno in while you’re out there.”

I opened my eyes, my head snapping left and right. Two guys, both taller than me, both dressed in suits and all kinds of muscle, nearly lifted me off my feet. “Wait. Hey.”

Even with my weight thrown back and my toes digging against the carpet, I couldn’t stop our progression. I searched for help among the couples cuddling around the crush of tables before the door. Vacant unaffected eyes met mine, though most only glanced and turned back to their partner or fluttered closed as if in bliss. My mouth gaped, my heart squeezing in my chest. I couldn’t believe the apathy.

“What kinda place is this?” I bucked and jerked in the bouncers’ steel grip. “Where’s Mr. Edmunston? Does he know how you’re treating perfectly good customers? Mr. Edmunston. Mr. Edmunston!”

I spied a foot sticking out into the aisle. Nothing else registered, not the size, not the shoe, nothing. I kicked it. “Hey, you. You know Mr. Edmunston? Tell him Sophie Merlo wants to talk. Tell ’im I want to register a complaint. Tell him—”

My words choked at the back of my throat when pale, almost white eyes met mine. It was his foot I’d kicked, this guy with lips so red they looked black and moist enough they glistened in the dim light. He’d been cuddling with the woman beside him. She had the same vacant, blissful expression I’d seen on so many others. Then my gaze dropped to her neck where the man held back her hair and saw two tiny spots of blood beading, trickling, as I stared.

“Wha…what’re you doing?” My heart roared in my ears, drowning out the music. This wasn’t real, wasn’t happening. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t look away.

The woman shifted in the bench seat beside him, her hand coming up to cup the side of his face. She turned him back to her, guiding him to the crook of her neck. Her mouth opened on a moan as he nestled against her. She writhed in his embrace, rolling her hips, fisting his hair, holding him to her.

The bouncers kept me moving and as I passed, I glanced back at their laps, at the man’s hand between her legs, at how she’d spread her knees, how his arm pumped rhythmically under her hiked dress. What kind of place was this?

I stopped fighting my escorts. They couldn’t get me out fast enough.

Chapter Three

I locked my apartment door behind me—all three locks—and hooked my keys on the kitty key holder I’d bought at a yard sale. And then I exhaled. Finally. “That was totally whacked,” I said, laughing to myself. “What kind of freaky drugs and kinky sex games were those people into?”

Shaking my head, trying hard to rationalize, I walked two steps and turned the corner into my living room.

“You didn’t tell me you were a reporter, Sophie.”

My scream was loud and long and left my throat raw. Alex didn’t even flinch.

He sat on the other side of the room with one ankle crossed over his knee, his arms stretched to either side on the back of my couch. He waited until I’d finished and said, “Tell me what you did to my doorman.”