Cards of Love: The High Priestess Page 4

  I make my way over to him, watching the portly guy shake Damen’s hand and move on to get a drink. Damen looks up at spots me, then smiles wickedly and crooks his finger at me.

  As if I am a fish caught on his line, I float toward him, drawn by the power of his call. I have no other choices at this moment, but even if I did…

  I would go to him. He’s irresistible, tall and handsome with a smile that could rival the devil’s. I know he’s wrong. I know he’s a bad man. I know I shouldn’t want him.

  But I go because he calls, and because I want to.

  The feelings I have about the place we’re in be damned.

  6

  Damen

  “Where have you been?” I ask, crooking an eyebrow at Bianka as I pull her into my arms.

  I slip my arm around her, pulling her against my big body. She feels right here, feels right in my arms. She looks up at me with an innocent smile, her red lips bewitching. “Here and there.”

  “Come on,” I say, pushing off the bar. “My brother said that there are more private areas off the main room. Let’s find a quieter place that we can talk.”

  She just nods. Allowing me to lead her off to the back, we check several of the rooms, finding every single one of them occupied by at least one couple having sex. Finally we find an unoccupied room, more a cubby than anything. When we get in and close the door behind us and sit down on the single bench, Bianka giggles.

  “We barely fit.” Then she looks at my face and laughs. “Oh, I’ve had too much to drink, haven’t I?”

  I pull her onto my lap. “Perhaps you’ve had just the right amount. After all, this is our first date. You’re allowed to be nervous.”

  Bianka looks up at me, wide eyed and breathless. “Should I be sitting on your lap on our first date?”

  I smirk. “I think it’s allowed, seeing as how we got married first. Besides, I’m not worried about what kinds of things you shouldn’t do. I’m only concerned with what you will do. And believe me, the list is expansive.”

  She turns a lovely shade of pink. “Damen…”

  I cup her jaw, leaning down to kiss her neck. Her breath catches and her hand tightens where it clutches my shirt. I keep thinking that she’s so delicate as I touch my lips to her rapidly beating pulse. I could kill her right now, snap her neck or crush her windpipe before she even realized what I was trying to do.

  More interesting than that, though, is the fact that I don’t want to. I want to cradle her fragile beauty, holding her in a cage made of my hands like a baby bird. I want to draw some of that beauty into my own dark corner of the world.

  She gasps ever so faintly as I cup one of her breasts, moving my mouth down toward the other one. My free hand wanders down to catch her ankle, tracing the smooth line of her leg up beneath her skirts.

  I push her neckline down a bit, baring her nipple to the cold air. Already puckered and hardened, it feels delicious under my tongue. Bianka moans a little and runs her hand through my hair, her eyes closing.

  Sliding my other hand to her inner thigh, I catch her by surprise when my fingers burrow into the damp curls at her core.

  “Oh!” she says, her eyes snapping open. She makes eye contact with me, her eyes wide and slightly terrified. “Damen—”

  My name leaves her in a breathy whisper. I give her an amused glance, my fingers finding her clit and swirling around it without hesitation.

  “Oh!” she whispers again, blushing all the way to the roots of her hair.

  I lean in and nip at her exposed nipple, abrading it with my teeth. Although she makes another needy sound and her pussy dampens my fingers more, she doesn’t seem to know what to do with all of that information. She’s inexperienced, unable to direct me.

  I look at her face, her eyes half-closed, her brow knitted.

  “Are you a virgin?” I rumble.

  She goes red again, her eyes opening. “I—”

  Suddenly there’s a scream outside, then a whole chorus of screams. Bianka’s head whips around, but of course we can’t see anything.

  There’s an explosive sound, over and over. Short and sweet. Someone is shooting, quickly targeting and resetting with practically no wait in between. Then there are more screams, and more shots.

  My hands clamp down on Bianka’s legs, keeping her from getting up.

  “Just wait,” I command, my eyes trained on the door. I’m on full alert, ready for anything. “I’m going to get up, but I want you to stay here in my seat.”

  Outside, the screams grow quieter. There are no more shots, but that doesn’t mean anything. Without being able to see what is happening, I can’t begin to guess at the motives of the shooter.

  I’m filled with frustration, because normally I would go out there and see what’s happening. I’m not afraid to die, not in the least. If nothing else, the shooter should be afraid of me.

  But I’m not alone. No, I’m with this fragile little girl, whose eyes are wide with terror. She clutches at my tux jacket, staring at the door.

  “Hey,” I say, turning her face to look at me. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. I’ve got you.”

  She nods, her body language full of anxiety and fear. I slide out from under her, leaving her in my place. I draw my only weapon, a slim blade. Earlier this evening I made a decision not to carry anything heavier than a knife; now I curse my decision under my breath.

  I wait by the door, willing my heart beat to slow down. Relax and breathe, I tell myself. All the same, I am ready to strike down whoever opens this door. I may only have my blade on me, but my hands are just as deadly.

  But no one tries the door. After a couple of minutes, I open the door slightly and press my eye up to the slit, looking around. What I see is shocking, even to my jaded eyes.

  So much death. Someone has mowed down a dozen or more people over by the bar, shot them full of holes. They look less like a pile of bodies and more like a red mess on the floor, with body parts still strewn everywhere. Everywhere I look, there’s another body, another person that didn’t make it out in time.

  Arsen suddenly pops into my head. Fuck, I was so worried about the girl, I forgot that my brother was here before the melee. Did Arsen make it out alive?

  I open the door wider, stepping out and closing the door behind myself. Clutching the knife in my right hand, it occurs to me that the gunman might still be here. A chill runs down my spine as I remember that Bianka practically begged me not to make her go into the main room.

  She knew, somehow. She knew, and I didn’t listen.

  Apparently when she says she has bad feelings about things, she should be listened to. Tucking that fact away, I edge toward the bar.

  One of the first people a see among the dead is Philip Olstrom. The fat little man I was talking to about possibly taking some of his people up to Chicago, to set up a better system for dope smuggling than the operation they’ve currently got going. His face is frozen in surprise; his throat is completely gone, shot to shit.

  Fuck. There goes that idea.

  I look back at the door to the private room I just left. Bianka doesn’t need to see this. We should get the fuck out of here, before whoever did this decides to come back.

  Padding back to the room where I left Bianka, I knock on the door before I enter. “It’s me.”

  Opening the door, I find her looking frightened in the same place I left her. Her blue eyes pin me. “I told you we should’ve left.”

  I nod. “I know. You did.”

  “Those people outside… did they die?”

  I frown. “Some of them did, yes. Someone had a gun.”

  She makes a sad sound, which is almost heartbreaking. I don’t feel for the people outside. Even if they weren’t strangers, I wouldn’t. But she feels for them and I feel something for her. I walk over to her, helping her to her feet.

  “Are your brother and his wife okay?” she asks, her eyes already brimming with tears.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t see them. I
’ll call, once we’re clear of this place. That’s my first priority.”

  She nods her head. “Okay.”

  I turn and look behind me, hesitating. Her dress is going to drag on the ground, gathering who knows what. I can’t have that.

  “I think I should carry you. It’ll be better for you if you just hold onto me, close your eyes, and don’t speak. When we’re a couple of blocks away, you can cry or scream or ask any question you need to. But… I just need silence from you until then.”

  She looks at me, her eyes scanning my face. Then she nods her assent, raising her arms to me. “Let’s go.”

  I pick her up. She’s light as a feather, even with her ballgown. Her arms settle around my neck, her head falls against my chest, and her eyes close.

  Looking down at her makes me feel something dangerous, as if I’m contemplating falling from the very edge of the very top of a cliff. I can so easily imagine jumping, even though I know it would be foolhardy.

  Even though it would break me apart.

  Slowly, carefully, I carry Bianka past all the bodies and the gore, out the way we came in.

  7

  Bianka

  “Goddamn it,” Damen mutters as he calls his brother from the back seat of our Uber. He looks at me. “He’s not picking up.”

  “We should go to their house,” I suggest. “When you’re under attack, you retreat to your fortress, right?”

  “Something like that, yes.” He hangs up the phone and fishes in his pocket for his wallet. He pulls a few bills out of it, handing them over the front seat. “Take us to Audubon Park. I’ll pay you for your time. Hell, I’ll buy you out for the night. Just drive.”

  The young woman looks into the rearview mirror with her big eyes gone round with surprise. “Okay…”

  She makes a left turn. Damen looks at me, his expression worried. “Are you okay?”

  His fingers trace the curve of my shoulder, and I realize that I’m still shaking like a leaf. I slide over so that we’re pressed together, taking comfort in him. He puts his big arm around me, holding me close.

  I close my eyes, taking a deep breath. Sinking back onto his chest, I can hear the sound of his heart beating, k-thump, k-thump. It’s comforting, in its way.

  “I didn’t see them,” I whisper. “But I smelled the blood in the air. It makes me want to vomit, even still.”

  He sighs, moving my hair out of his face. “I’m sorry, Bianka.”

  “I should be glad that I have my ability,” I say softly, looking up at him. “At least it wasn’t me. But I can’t help but feel partly responsible. All of those people, those people that could’ve been saved if I’d just been more insistent…”

  Damen rubbed my shoulder consolingly. “It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t pull the trigger. And at best, if you had made your… feelings… known, you would’ve been treated like a crazy person. Like Cassandra, in the Greek mythologies.”

  I tense up, because that story is not just the story of some Greek legendary being. It’s also the story of Cass, my sister. I glance up at Damen, but he’s looking out the window.

  “Turn right on Tchoupitoulas,” he tells the driver, who complies. To me, he says, “Do you want to call you sister?”

  I bite my lip, shaking my head. “She’s probably asleep. I won’t disturb her without a reason.”

  When Cass is sleeping, when she might be dreaming of the future, it’s better not to wake her. She doesn’t like feeling that she’s missed something, and I won’t do that to her willingly.

  I keep my eyes closed, not drowsing but not quite awake, my head on Damen’s chest. All the way to our destination, I keep wondering: what if I had done more? Why didn’t a make a bigger fuss?

  This is a game I like to play with myself, anytime that I don’t listen to my intuition and then there are dire consequences. Ever since I was old enough to puzzle out that my gut instincts kept me from some pretty nasty things, I’ve felt this way.

  Our Uber arrives. The house is incredible, a two story mansion. Damen tells her to wait out front, and the two of us get out. I lean on Damen, even though no actual damage was done. It’s just better this way, and my instinct tells me to.

  Or at least, it doesn’t tell me not to. It’s hard to tell anything with him. A white static fills my head anytime I think about it for too long.

  Damen leads me up the sidewalk, knocking on his brother’s door. But it’s immediately obvious that something is wrong, because the door swings open by itself.

  Just inside, I see a beautiful table that’s been flipped over on its side, a vase full of white flowers on the floor beside it.

  “Fuck,” Damen mutters, pulling out his knife again. He grabs my hand, holding it in a viselike grip, and opens the door fully. “If anything goes sideways, I want you to run. You hear me?”

  I only nod. He goes inside the house first, creeping as silently as he can. I steel myself, expecting to see some bodies. But as we sweep through the foyer and into the living room, through the dining room and the kitchen… we find nothing.

  There are clear signs of a struggle or multiple struggles. In the living room, and back in some weird hallway off the main rooms.

  “Where do you think everyone is?” I ask. Damen doesn’t answer. His expression is bleak, though.

  I hold my breath as we head upstairs, but the upstairs is mostly untouched.

  “Huh,” Damen comments softly, opening a door into an office. The whole place looks trashed, so different from the pristinely-kept bedrooms up here. “Someone was looking for something, I guess.”

  “But that doesn’t answer where everyone could be,” I say, my anxiety only growing.

  “No, it doesn’t.” He shakes his head. “I really wish I knew where Arsen was right now.”

  Suddenly I have a gnawing sensation in the pit of my stomach. I need to get out of this house, and I need out yesterday.

  “We have to go, right now,” I hiss, looking at Damen. “We have to get out of this house. I have another feeling.”

  He raises his eyebrows, but I’m not waiting around. I turn and rush down the hall, then take the stairs as fast as I can. I’m in a complete panic, the wheeling bearing down on me, making it so I can’t see straight. Luckily Damen’s right behind me.

  We rush out of the house, but I can’t stop there. I run flat out, past the waiting Uber, straight down the block.

  They’re coming back! echoes faintly in my head, but without any explanation or real reason. Once I take a left, running until my lungs feel like they are going to explode, I finally slow my pace.

  Damen runs up behind me, breathing hard. “Why are we running?”

  Then there is an explosion, this one so big and loud that it lights up the night sky and steals the very breath from my lungs. Arsen’s house, the house that we stood in only one minute ago, goes up in an inferno.

  Damen stands still for a long moment, staring at the fireball that we can see from here. “Fuck!”

  The Uber rolls up behind us, our driver looking at us suspiciously. “I’m gonna assume that you guys want to get out of here.”

  I nod, grabbing Damen’s hand. “Yes. Yes, we do.”

  He gives himself a shake when I tug on his hand, climbing into the back seat with me.

  “Driving ya’ll is gonna be a lot more expensive than I originally thought,” the driver says, looking at us in the rearview mirror. “Double. Hazard pay, you know.”

  “Fucking drive the car,” Damen growls, and we peel out with a squeal of the tires.

  I turn and look back at the fireball that once was a house, lighting up the evening. It’s so bright that it’s almost painful to look at the house.

  “What the fuck just happened?” Damen asks. Turning away from the receding fire, I realize that he’s genuinely asking me.

  “I don’t know,” I admit, leaning my head back against the leather head rest. “I just… I got a feeling, a panicky sick feeling. I kept thinking the phrase, they’re coming. That�
��s all I know.”

  He stares at me for a long moment. Then there is a buzz, and he pulls out his cell phone. The screen says ARSEN.

  “Motherfucker!” he exclaims. He answers it, speaking a dulcet-sounding language, but his irritation is clear. It’s obvious that the caller is Arsen, and that they’re arguing in whatever language they grew up with.

  His gaze slides over to me, and he scowls. Then he hangs up the phone.

  “Apparently my brother and his girl got amorous, and they decided to leave,” he reports, putting his phone back in his pocket. “They’re holed up at a hotel downtown. I had to break the news about the house to him.”

  I frown, nodding. “I imagine that was hard.”

  “At least he called. He could’ve… not.” He looks out the window, his meaning clear enough. Arsen could’ve very well been in that nightclub. He could be dead right now.

  Damen sighs. “Enough about my brother. What are you and I going to do now?”

  “I think… I think we need someplace to go that’s busy, where we can think.” I bite my lip. “And eat, maybe.”

  “Hey, driver,” Damen says. “Can you take us to a late night place to grab a bite?”

  “Sure. You want to go to a bar or a breakfast place? We got both in spitting distance of here,” the driver answers easily.

  Damen looks at me. Eggs sound nice and nonthreatening, especially after so much horror tonight.

  “Breakfast,” I tell her. “Please.”

  She nods and navigates the car only a few blocks before she pulls out outside a white-columned restaurant. I can see that the neon sign out front reads The Camellia Grill, and from a glance in the windows the place looks super busy and bright.

  We both get out and Damen guides me up to the restaurant, his hand on the small of my back as we go. Inside we find that the place is basically a long deli counter, with waiters in red and white striped uniforms helping patrons sitting at red topped barstools.