The Taste of Night (31 page)

I raised my brows. It was impatient, and slightly rude, and so was the way I scanned the room over his shoulder. “Ian?”

His optimistic expression wobbled a little. “Uh…wanna dance?”

I thought about it. It would be a normal thing to do. Besides, I could survey the room from the dance floor, rotating him along, as Ian didn’t exactly look like the leading man type. “Sure.” I shrugged and followed him to an elevated platform centered in the room. Dozens of other couples were spazzing out to what must have been the music in their heads…because it wasn’t to the music that was blaring out of the surrounding speakers. Ian joined them immediately. Watching him made my eyes ache. Had the reputation of white computer geeks not preceded him, I would’ve called 911.

“So, how are you?” he asked, jerking his head to the right.

“Fine, Ian. Just fine.” Other than all the near-death experiences. I angled over to my right, forcing him to follow.
Still no sign of Joaquin.

“Yeah, me too. Busy, of course. Lots of programs to…program.”

“Mmm-hmm,” I said, pivoting to my left.

“But busy is good, right?” He paused, waiting for my nod, before slapping his knee. “Yeah, busy is good.”

We kept at this masochist little bob and weave for a few minutes longer.

“So, I know Suzanne has mentioned me, probably talked me up quite a bit,” Ian said, huffing slightly. His breath was like warmed milk, but soured with nerves. “And of course I know all about you. Who doesn’t, right?”

He laughed self-consciously, and I angled him so he wouldn’t crash into the guy in back of him. “Your point?”

“Well, I think we have a lot in common,” he said, bumping the guy anyway. I shifted again. “And when Suzanne told me that you read the Zodiac series of comics as well…well, I knew this was going to be a great date. I subscribe.”

Uh-oh. “Do you?” I said, keeping my voice light. He nodded, banging into another dancer. She grabbed his butt in return, which sent him into a whole new set of spasms.

“Anyway, it’s the strangest thing. I saw this girl…you know, the Archer? She, uh, looks like you,” he said, even that coming out sounding like a question. “I bet that’s where you got the idea.”

“The idea?”

“You know, for your costume. You’re dressed as a superhero, right?”

A figure pulled up behind Ian, swaying slowly to the frantic beat, and I nearly froze in place. Oblivious, Ian continued dancing, inches away from Joaquin’s leering, attentive face.

“Let’s not talk about it now, okay?” I told him, backing up, hoping he’d follow my lead. He did, but so did Joaquin, eyes locked on mine like Scud missiles. Fuck.

“Okay, but I just wanted to tell you I think it’s cool. Lots
of people diss comic books as being, you know…” He stuck his finger down his throat, miming being sick, always an attractive gesture, and I managed a half smile. Behind him, Joaquin mimicked the move. Homicidal smartass. “Anyway, it takes the pressure off a bit. I can just be myself, just Ian Hanson going out with Olivia Archer, on a regular ol’ date.”

I nearly deflated as a smile bloomed on Joaquin’s face. He mouthed the words
Olivia Archer
…then he left.

I fumbled at my bag, grasped my conduit, pushing by Ian, who started apologizing immediately, but Joaquin had disappeared. I caught a whiff of metallic rot—his excitement at learning my identity—and followed it. Ian stepped in front of me. I was getting supremely tired of men doing that. I flashed him a hard smile.

“Wait, was it something I said? Olivia, I’m sorry, it’s just—”

“It’s all right,” I said impatiently. “I’ll be right back. Just stay here.”

“But—”

“Stay,” I repeated, like I was reprimanding a bad dog, and Ian stayed.

A quick scan of the main ballroom showed me nothing I hadn’t seen before. Joaquin wouldn’t have left, not yet, not with so much destruction left to cause…or with my identity still fresh upon his lips. I swallowed hard and turned toward the common room, not even needing my sense of smell to guide me through the heavily curtained area. I heard my name called out behind me, Cher or Suzanne still sitting at the table where I’d left them, but ignored it, and pushed aside layer after layer of silver gauze and black velvet until I reached the inside.

Here the music was muted. Sensuous. The lights burned low, though still bright enough to highlight the voyeuristic activity. Large velvet-covered beanbags vied for floor space with leather beds, their centers piled with pillows, slim drink stands perched to the side of each arrangement…just
in case one hand wasn’t enough. I wove through the splayed bodies without looking, without stopping, Joaquin’s scent strong in my nose. He wasn’t even trying to hide. And he knew I was coming.

I pulled out my conduit, holding it in plain sight. Even if any of these swingers were paying attention, they’d probably think I was toting a unique new sex toy rather than a weapon. I notched an arrow in it, one-handed, as I pulled back a silk curtain cornering the far end of the room off in what must have been a VIP section. I saw figures seated, limbs splayed, candlelight pulsing…and a demon’s smile as Joaquin glanced up at me.

His arms were thrown about two blondes, one on each side of him, both leaning into him and stroking the bulge in his leather pants. Disease practically oozed from their pores. He caressed the exposed neck and earlobe of one, dragging a bit on her chandelier earring—which she apparently found erotic—while fondling the right nipple of the other. Closer to me, on a velvet wedged seat, a woman looked up from between the legs of the only other male present. She rose in a sensuous shimmy, straddled him, and asked rather snottily if she could help me.

“I doubt it,” I replied, eyes never leaving Joaquin’s.

“This is a private party,” she said, emphasizing
private
, in case I didn’t understand nuance. I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye.

“So leave.” And I really wished she would. She and the other man were disease-free. I wanted to keep it that way.

She straightened, stepping toward me like she was going to do more than that. Joaquin, voice amused, stopped her with a lazy wave. “As you were, Samantha. I invited her,” he said, nodding when Samantha turned a questioning gaze on him. “Didn’t I, Olivia?”

“Yep,” I said, propping my right elbow up high, my conduit in plain view. “You’re why I’m here.”

He laughed and kept stroking his women. “No sense of foreplay, this one. No patience or restraint. Olivia Archer
likes to get right to the point,” he said, eyes moving to my conduit, then back up at me, indicating he knew it was there and had his own offense prepared.

“Olivia Archer?” the other man said, straightening from beneath Samantha to get a good look at me. “
The
Olivia Archer?”

“Nope,” I said truthfully. “Just someone who looks an awful lot like her.”

“Now, now. Don’t be shy, Olivia. Everyone is here for the same thing, and we’re all quite discreet, aren’t we, girls?”

The women beside him purred their assent, one watching me closely as she flicked a tongue into his ear. If that was supposed to entice me, I thought, stomach flipping, it was having the opposite effect.

“Have a seat, Olivia,” the other man said, either oblivious to or ignoring Samantha’s heated glare. At least she’d stopped writhing all over him.

“Sit next to me,” the blond ear licker said, spreading her legs slightly as she angled toward me.

“No,” I told them both, and remained where I was.

“Yes,” Joaquin said, and lifted his hand from the other woman’s nipple long enough to release her hair from its messy updo. She sighed, flipping her hair to one side. He took the single chopstick that had been holding it all up, and pointed it toward the artery in her neck. I edged around the cushioned cube across from them and sat.

“What’s your poison?” the other man asked me, though I didn’t think he was talking about drinks.

“Don’t, Lucas,” Samantha warned, crossing her arms.

“Oh, Olivia likes it rough,” Joaquin answered for me. “Isn’t that right?”

“You’ve been together before?”

“We go way back,” I replied, playing along. I positioned my conduit between my legs, pointed toward Joaquin. He ran the chopstick along the blond woman’s neck. She purred and leaned into it.

Samantha, who was apparently of the if-you-can’t-beat-
’em-join-’em school of thought, perched herself on the coffee table in front of me, which put her smack between Joaquin and me. Placing her hands on my knees, she rubbed her thumbs over the insides, pushing slightly outward as she offered me a promising smile. She was blocking my view of Joaquin, and my shot. I shifted so I could see him again. He smiled knowingly.

“I think Samantha wants a kiss,” he said, slowly thrusting his pelvis in my direction, as his harem started up on his pants again. I looked over to find Lucas touching himself.

For a moment I thought about shooting them all.

“Yes, Olivia,” Samantha purred like a porn star, leaning forward so her cleavage was in my face, her short skirt riding almost to her hips. Joaquin’s eyes flickered. The ear licker leaned forward to caress Samantha’s ass. Her moan rustled my hair. “I’d love to taste those lips.”

I waited until I felt her breath on my cheek, her eyes half closed, her lips parted…then put my palm on her face and pushed. Hard. Samantha flew backward, over the coffee table, and into the trio opposite us. The girls screamed. Apparently fond of violence, Lucas stroked himself harder. Joaquin merely laughed.

“Apparently you’re not her type.”

Wedged between the table and couches, Samantha looked like a sand crab struggling from its back. “Fuck you! Fuck her! I’m going to—”

Joaquin’s hands whipped from behind the other two women to yank Samantha against him. I knew it hurt because she gasped and struggled as he pushed her down between his knees, so she was still facing me. Then his hands turned into a caress. “You’re definitely my type, though. So beautiful. So perfect. So healthy and vibrant and strong.”

I lowered my conduit, letting it point at the ground. Samantha melted under Joaquin’s touch and words, ignorant of being used as a shield and of what his kiss would do to her. She shot me a haughty look, unaware the fingers playing over her flesh could snap her neck in a nanosecond.

Knowing he’d outplayed me and had me trapped—he’d kill someone if I aimed at him, if I left, if I even moved at all—Joaquin laughed again. “Somebody suck me off.”

I couldn’t watch this, I thought frantically, as the women flanking him bent toward him. I
wouldn’t
. I couldn’t sit and watch while both these women began to burn inside. But the chopstick tapped lightly on one of their heads, and long fingers lingered along Samantha’s neck.

“Stop!” I said as one of the women reached into his pants, pulling him out.

“No…don’t stop,” Joaquin ordered.

“I’ll do you,” I said, and Joaquin’s surprise allowed me to stand without getting anyone killed.
See?
I thought, taking a step forward.
No harm done.

“Oh, I’ve got to see this,” Lucas said, moving closer as the blondes eased back. There was confusion and a bit of petulance on their faces, but they were willing to share. As long as Joaquin was.

“Put your
toy
down,” he said, warning after warning layering his voice. I took a step back and dropped my conduit on the seat I’d just vacated. The air burned with satisfaction as Joaquin smiled. “Now come here.”

I did, nudging Samantha aside with my foot, a rude gesture meant to anger her enough that she’d get far, far away, and it worked. She pushed to her feet, grumbling, and flounced to Lucas’s other side. Now they were all lined up on the couch, watching me expectantly. I swallowed hard and took another step forward.

Well, what else was I supposed to do? I couldn’t let him kill one more person. I was counting on his desire to own and possess and force me to do something I hated—to rape me yet again, but this time with my consent
and
an audience to watch my humiliation—to make him forget all about the potential victims around him. After all, wasn’t I Joaquin’s ultimate victim?

I stopped inches from him, so close I could feel the heat from his skin leaching through his pants, so close his hard-
on was unavoidable. Violent lust swirled in the air around me, making me dizzy, coating the walls and furniture and each of us with its filth. Even the blondes, twins I realized now that I was closer up, had backed away from Joaquin slightly, though to them it probably smelled like nothing more than body odor.

“On your knees,” he ordered in a dark, silky voice. I swallowed hard and slowly lowered myself to the floor. Perceiving my reluctance as slow seduction, blonde number one giggled, while Lucas leaned back comfortably. Joaquin slumped forward and made himself available to me.

I reached up, shaking, and wrapped my hand around him. He pulsed gently in my hand, and I wanted to puke. Joaquin sensed this, half groaning, half laughing, and grew harder still. “Don’t be shy,” he said, folding his arms over his head. “Kiss me.”

“And touch yourself while you do it,” Lucas suggested.

“O-okay,” I said. Bending forward, I let my free hand trail down my body, between my legs and the slit in my skirt.

“Olivia?”

I jerked, turned my head in time to see the curtains parting and Ian’s head appear.

“Go away, Ian,” I said, voice raspy, both hands working. He stared, unable to believe his eyes.

“No,” Joaquin said, the smile a yard wide in his voice. “Join us, Ian.”

“I…I…” Ian swallowed hard, looking at me, and I knew my eyes were as black as tar.

“Don’t worry, Ian,” I said, finally locating what I wanted between my legs. “It’s not what it looks like.”

And I drove my steel stiletto as hard as I could up between Joaquin’s legs, pulling on his shaft like a gear stick, a primal cry in my throat as blood gushed over my weapon hand. My yell was nothing, however, compared to Joaquin’s roar. His arms flailed reflexively, hitting the girl on his right in the face. She cried out, dropping her martini in his lap.
He screamed louder.