Wuthering Frights (7 page)

"Hello?" I asked, my voice deep and nervous.

"Meet me at Crespy and Palm in thirty minutes at the tattoo parlor," Quillan ordered, and before I could respond, he hung up.

Four

Crespy and Palm weren't exactly in a nice part of Splendor. Maybe not quite as bad as the loading docks where the portal from the Netherworld spat Quillan and me out, but close enough. And the tattoo parlor, aptly titled "Ink," was a place I'd kept strict surveillance on during my entire time as a Regulator. It was owned by a Titan named Baron Escobar. Baron was one of three Titans I had the misfortune of meeting, and like most Titans, Baron was enormous. If I rememb
ered correctly from his ANC bio
, (the guy had a long rap sheet in Splendor—mainly for illegal potions activity), he was over seven feet tall. And he was broad as well—like an ox. So to me, coming in at just five foot one, this guy was like talking to the Empire State Building.

Baron was bad news, period. He was renowned for his nasty disposition and a flagrant temper that
was attached
to a very short leash. Yep, Baron wasn't exactly the patient sort. I'd already had numerous run-ins with him; and if asked to rank Splendor’s "bad guys" according to their severity, I would've put Baron close to the top. So you can imagine my excitement in meeting Quill at Baron's tattoo parlor ...

Yes, I had prepared myself, knowing full well that Baron and his entourage of mutual fuck ups were going to have a field day with the news that I was now one of their much esteemed company. I mean, I was sure the news was going to come out tonight if it hadn't already. I was actually hoping Quill had already informed them—it would save a big song and dance that I wasn't in the mood to get into.

I pulled into the parking lot of Ink and sighed as I wondered what I was about to walk into. The street was completely dark, the light bulbs from the streetlights having been broken purposely and never replaced. The tattoo parlor was the only active business on Crespy Street. It sat surrounded by empty buildings and warehouses
that had been
vacated years earlier. And, yes, I did have a feeling Baron had something to do with the dereliction.

The parking lot of Ink was overgrown with weeds, the asphalt crumbling into multiple potholes. I eased the Suzuki into a spot next to a white Camaro. Somehow the Camaro seemed familiar to me—I thought it might have been Quillan's. Glancing into the car, I noticed no one was in it which meant I'd probably have to meet Quill inside, something I wasn't thrilled
about
. Aside from my bike and the white sports car, there were five Harleys lined up in front of the door and a large black Hummer H2 parked just beside them. The H2 was Baron's.

I turned the bike off and stood up, removing my helmet and placing it on the seat. It wasn't a good idea to carry it under my arm because I wouldn't be able to adequately protect myself, if the need arose. And I had a funny feeling that the need was probably going to arise. As far as I was concerned, I was about to walk into a den of lions—lions who would very much enjoy mauling me into oblivion.

I took a deep breath and started forward, remembering the twin blades I'd strapped to both sides of my outer thighs. The Op 6 in my shoulder holster was most definitely going to be confiscated, but maybe my leathers would conceal the blades. I could only hope. ‘Course if the blades were seized as well as my gun, I could always rely on my fairy powers which weren't anything to scoff at. With just the shake of my hand, I could materialize a mound of fairy dust in my palm, the limits of which were pretty endless. I could light the entire place on fire, freeze one of Baron’s asshole thugs or at the very least, create a chasm in the ground and swallow everyone. I had to wonder if I could do all three at the same time. Hopefully I wouldn't find out because I needed to meld in—I needed to become one of them so I could get my job done and get the hell out of there. But what was more, I needed to figure out how I was going to get myself out of this whole mess. Either way, opening a can of whoop-ass wouldn't make me any new friends.

When I reached the front door and knocked, it opened immediately. A cloud of cigarette smoke wafted directly into my face. I gagged and tried to breathe through my mouth just to avoid smelling it. Facing the bouncer again, I recognized him, although his name escaped me. He was a hulking were who looked down at me and flashed a partially toothless grin. His canines were missing, which I found strange and a little off-putting, considering he was a were.

"The former ANC Regulator, huh?" he asked me with an ugly smile. So the cat was already out of the bag … Good. That just saved me a lot of explaining.

"I have business with Quillan and Baron," I said acidly, glaring up at him and throwing my hands on my hips as I gave him all the sass I could muster. Hey, just because I was forced to work with Baron didn't mean I had to like it and, more so, didn't mean I had to be peaches and cream. Nope, I was going for sauerkraut and vinegar.

The were said nothing more, but harrumphed as if the joke was still on me and opened the door wide. I entered, feeling his gaze on my ass as I passed him. I turned around, my hands still on my hips, and narrowed my eyes at him. "Where the hell are they?"

"Down the hall," he answered, nodding his head toward the dark hallway. Before I could start walking, he grabbed my arm, pulling me toward him. Then he grinned lasciviously as he patted me down, ensuring that he copped a good feel of my breasts in the process. Just as I predicted, he felt my Op 6. I frowned as I took off my jacket to remove it, and handed it to him. My expression must have convinced him that it was the only weapon on me because he didn't feel for the daggers strapped to my thighs. Things were looking up. I pulled away from him, and threw my jacket over my shoulders as I faced the interior of Ink.

The main room had two reclining chairs and a small stool that swiveled between them. The inside of the place was just as dingy as the outside: old linoleum floors, browned with age and filth, reflected the same decay and neglect as the surrounding buildings. The walls, once white, were yellowed from decades of cigarette smoke—the smell was pervasive. I'd felt a headache growing between my temples as soon as I'd entered the confined space.

Black and white samples, detailing the various kinds of tattoos available, hung around the room haphazardly. My eyes fastened on a skull with a snake going through both eye sockets; then shifted to the image of a naked woman spread-eagled. At that tasteful image, I decided to stop looking. Steeling myself, I started down the hallway. The combined smell of smoke, alcohol and vomit was nearly enough to make me hurl, but I strode on, trying to avoid breathing.

So this is what I was destined for? This was the type of place I was going to have to hang out in, the types of people I'd now be dealing with? I didn't even have the wherewithal to feel sorry for myself. Instead, I reached the end of the hallway, which terminated into a closed door and I rapped on it with my knuckles.

The door opened, the sound of "Black and Yellow" by Wiz Khalifa pouring out of the small room in a flourish of bass. A woman stood before me; she was wearing nothing more than a tiny black g string and heels that were so high, she towered over me. Glancing down at them, I had to guess they were at least six inches. The woman had a rocking body—huge fake boobs with a tiny waist that flared into curvy hips and long legs. Her face, though, was another story. Her nose was, in a word, generous, and her skin was wrinkled and sallow, hanging off her cheekbones as if all its elasticity was long gone. She looked like she'd been the inspiration for the phrase "rode hard and put away wet."

"Hi," I started as she eyed me from head to toe, smiling as she took in my leathers and matching jacket. I tried to see past her to count how many people were in the room in case I needed to protect myself, but she basically blocked my view.

"Hi yourself," she answered back in a high-pitched, seductive tone. She probably assumed I was another of Baron's playthings—my leathers being part of a costume. But the idea of sex with Baron left me completely grossed out. I'd rather cut off my own arm ... with a butter knife.

"I'm here to see Quillan and Baron," I said quickly, cutting right to the chase. I wasn't in the mood to make small talk with a floozy.

She frowned at my less than friendly greeting, but was spared any further correspondence when Baron's loud voice bellowed out over the other voices and music, "Who is it, Dolly?"

She backed away as if to say "see for yourself," and I glanced around the dimly lit room. There were two old couches in the middle and a dartboard along the back wall. Baron emerged from behind a corner, probably the bathroom, if I had to guess. I saw a huge smirk on his ugly face and I scanned the room quickly, looking for Quillan. He wasn't anywhere to be seen.

"Ah, Dulcie fuckin' O'Neil," Baron said, with a sigh, like I was exactly where he wanted me. "The bitch responsible for making the last five years of my life ... difficult." He was putting it mildly. I'd single-handedly busted his ass for multiple offenses and put him behind bars at least twice.

"Baron fucking Escobar," I answered, with one eyebrow arched, hinting at my pseudo-ennui. "Pleasure to see you too."

He laughed with a bellow that seemed to ricochet throughout the room. "It's always a pleasure seeing you," he began as he eyed me up and down. "It's the dealin' with you part that's a pain in my ass." He had the overall look of a boxer—a wide, flat nose, a nose which had been broken numerous times in fist fights. His eyes were set so far apart, he looked sort of like a dolphin; and he had an enormous lantern jaw—like he was half dolphin, half pit-bull.

"Well we can't all be," I started and then glanced at Dolly who was hobbling back toward us, looking like she was about to trip over her stilts, "gracious."

Baron folded his beefy arms across his barrel chest and regarded me with a grin, making me dread whatever was going through his head. "Seems like your new name should be ‘Shitty Luck’."

I shifted my gaze from Baron to the three men who were standing around the dartboard, watching us curiously. As far as I could tell, there were four people in the room who might cause trouble. No, Dolly didn't count. And dammit all but w
here the hell was Quillan?
I should have just waited on the bike until he pulled up instead of presuming the white Camaro was his. Stupid me.

"Call my luck what you will, but my name is still Dulcie," I said icily.

Baron shook his head and the fake smile on his face melted away into an expression of anger. The look in his eyes was lethal. "You think you can just show up here like we’re old friends or some shit?"

Yep, things were starting to go downhill. And if Quill was planning on showing up, now would be a good time. I tried my best not to look ruffled in the slightest. "Look, Baron, I'm not here to cause trouble. Quillan told me to meet him here." I even backed away a few steps until I nearly bumped into the slut on stilts.

Baron peered behind him to what I assumed was the bathroom and nodded. As soon as he did, two men walked out with Quillan between them. So it wasn’t a bathroom after all. ‘Course, right now, I was more concerned with why Quillan was being restrained than the architecture of Ink. From the look of it, he hadn't been roughed up or anything, so at least that was a blessing.

"Dulcie," Quill said in a low, worried voice.

"What the hell is going on?" I asked, looking at Quill and then Baron.

Baron took a few steps toward me and smiled as if he knew something I didn't. "The elf told me you were working with him now, for the Head of the Netherworld. That right?"

I nodded, but said nothing. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Quillan trying to disengage himself from the two weres holding him. He was unsuccessful.

"Baron, I told you the truth—Dulcie
is
working for us now," Quillan interjected, obviously nervous about where this situation was headed.