City of Ghosts

Chapter Thirty-one

She tried to spin around and hide her tears, but he was too fast. One hand caught her arm and whirled her back to face him; the other hooked around her waist and pulled her against him.

Their eyes met. Oh, no. If he thought he could come in here and grab her and she would just drop her pants for him again, after all the things he’d said to her, after his fucking apologies, like he was ashamed of himself for wanting her—so fucking patronizing—and he’d changed his number and there he was with a date sitting in a booth outside—

Then he kissed her, and she caught herself in another lie. Dropping her pants was exactly what she was going to do, what she was doing, because without her telling them to be, her hands were already at his belt, tugging the buckle free, practically ripping his jeans open and shoving themselves inside. She wavered on tiptoe, straining to reach his mouth, unable to hold on to his neck or shoulders because there were other, far more important parts of him to grab, and his hands slid up and down her body, tangling in her hair, heating her breasts and neck and back.

Her jeans and panties fell to her calves, her back fell against the tile. He pushed her shoe and the bundle of fabric off one foot—his mouth left hers to bite the sensitive skin over her hipbone—and came back up, hooking his elbows under her thighs to lift her. Her jeans dangled from her right foot; it probably looked ridiculous but she didn’t give a damn.

And apparently neither did he. His mouth took hers again, hard, stealing her breath and her sanity. She knew she should resist, should tell him he couldn’t just storm in here and use her like that, but who was she kidding. She’d never been able to resist temptation—especially an unhealthy one—and at that moment he was another pill, another line; one she needed, one she would die if she couldn’t have, and her entire body was already vibrating in anticipation. So she twined her arms around his neck, holding on tight, while he shifted her in his arms and drove himself into her.

She cried out, her voice echoing off the tile. Somewhere deep in her mind it registered that anyone standing outside the room would probably hear her, but she didn’t care. Couldn’t help herself anyway, because his fingers dug into her skin and his hips pounded her into the wall and it was just as it had been the day before, when she couldn’t see or think or do anything but feel. Like electricity running through her body or the thick velvet of magic making everything tingle; she was hot and cold and shivering from both, her senses in total overload. He refused to give her a break, to slow down, to let her process what was happening. It terrified her. It made her want to scream with pleasure. She bit him instead, hard on the neck, the taste of his skin filling her mouth while he gasped and let his head fall back.

Behind him the door started to open. How he heard it over the sound of her voice and his own she didn’t know but he did, swinging her around and using her to slam the door shut again. The thin wood rattled in its frame and kept rattling, booming along to his punishing rhythm. Dimly she wondered if the door would break; then his grip shifted again so his hand could slide between them and she didn’t give a shit if it did.

His mouth left hers; he leaned back, looking down. Watching as he slowed his pace, rotated his hips, made breathless sounds fly from her mouth. And she let him, stretching her arms up to grip the top of the doorframe, stretching her back so her shirt rode up and pulled tight across her chest and he got a better view. She got a good view herself, watching his face; the same absorption on it she’d seen when he was fighting, when he was working. Total focus. On her. It was thrilling.

He came back to her. His lips found her throat, sucking hard enough to leave a bruise, crushing her to him again. She tilted her head, and clutched his shoulders so hard that her fingers were sore.

The door bucked and creaked behind her; fists on the other side added their own offbeat clamor. She and Terrible were together on their side of it, she completely in his power, unable to move, unable to do anything but let him have her and to glory in the fact that he was. She fisted the hair on the back of his neck, yanked his mouth back to hers, lights exploding behind her closed eyelids. Her body tensed, she was ready, she was so fucking ready, and she had to pull away because she had to breathe and when she did their eyes met—

It was too much. She couldn’t take it, couldn’t handle it, not when she knew he’d be able to see everything, all her feelings and stupid vulnerabilities plain in her eyes. She dragged her gaze away as her back arched and her head fell against the vibrating door and her body shook and clenched around him and somewhere in there she thought she screamed but she wasn’t sure.

His low, thick voice danced over her skin. Her head spun, she couldn’t see, couldn’t think. Only his voice, only his hands on her and his body inside hers and against hers told her she really existed, that this moment really existed. Somewhere in the back of her mind she thought if he hadn’t been clutching her she might go through the door herself—which wasn’t a totally unrealistic idea—and simply disappear.

But it wouldn’t happen. She knew it wouldn’t because he was there, because his strong arms held her up and his big chest pressed against hers and his breath heated her skin, because he shuddered under her hands and his body went rigid and she came back to awareness with her forehead resting on his shoulder and her arms aching from holding him.

This time there was no long dazed pause; he moved again almost immediately, setting her down on her unsteady legs. She braced herself against the wall. The cool tile shocked her back to reality, where the door was still bucking and angry shouts came through the wood.

He tugged his jeans back up and yanked the door open. From her position behind it she couldn’t see what happened, but the sounds told her well enough; the strangled gawk of someone being grabbed by the throat, the dull crunch of a fist against flesh, the tumbling thuds of a falling body.

“Any else wanna bang the fuckin door? You bang that fuckin door again, I kill you. Dig?”

Apparently they did. Certainly she didn’t hear anyone arguing. No surprise there.

He slammed the door behind him and leaned against it, staring at the floor like it was about to jump up and attack him.

She fastened her jeans, stuck her foot back in her shoe while an ugly certainty crawled into her brain to make a home. “If you apologize to me again, I will hit you.”

His shoulders lifted; not a shrug, but a hunch, as if he expected her to hit him anyway. Which, given what happened the day before, she couldn’t exactly say she blamed him for. “Aye, well … guessin I ain’t can say that one again. Ain’t like I come in here by surprise.”

She dug around in her bag for her pillbox and pulled it out. The heavy silver filigree, rough against her palm, grounded her. Gave her whatever it was she needed to keep talking. “So why did you come in here, then?”

He shook his head.

“Terrible … come on, just—”

“Aw, shit. Ain’t can do this, Chess. Fuckin speeches and shit. Whatany you’re wanting, I ain’t—ain’t can give it. Not on the now, dig. Not after …” He shook his head again.

“After what you saw,” she finished. “After you found out about—Lex.”

“You ain’t even quit seein him now.” Light flared through the room as he lit a cigarette, the enormous flame on his black steel lighter blowing heat against her skin while he eyed her. “Givin you knowledge bout them tunnels, aye? Still seein him, and you wanting me to—”

“But that’s different, it’s work, and—”

“He ring you up, gave you the knowledge? Or he come at your place for aught else, just happen to drop it down while he there?” The darkness in his eyes, the bitterness in his voice, told her he already knew the answer. And why wouldn’t he? He knew Lex—not as well as she did, but he knew him. Knew Lex wasn’t the type to hand out chunks of helpful information out of the kindness of his heart.

Knew because when it came right down to it, he wasn’t the type to do that either.

She looked away. Lit her own smoke, wishing it was something stronger than plain tobacco. “Yeah. He came for something else. But he didn’t—I ended it. Really, really ended it, and he knows it.”

“Only knowledge Lex got is what Lex wanting.”

“Yeah, I know. I know that, that’s why I never—It never meant anything. He never meant anything to me. And I never told him anything about you, never. But he did help me out, he helped me out when Kemp was killing hookers and he helped me out …”

Shit. What did it say about her that telling the truth always made her sound like such a liar?

“Earlier tonight he took me into the tunnels. He—”

“Earlier? You with—”

“No, just listen, please. He told me they found—ow—I needed to see the tunnels. And we were chased, we found a body, one of the—He was dead and they chased us with psychopomps and it was—You remember, who we saw yesterday. And I found out more about him, he isn’t just—ow!—he’s bigger than we thought. He’s someone else.”

Her beer still sat on the floor where she’d set it, by the sink. He scooped it up and took a long drink. “What the fuck, Chess, keep tellin me I gotta give you trust an then—”

“Because I can’t lie to you, I don’t want to hide things from you anymore. I’m trying to make it right, Terrible, and I can’t help it if there’s things you don’t—Would you rather I kept lying and pretended I hadn’t seen him and hadn’t found out what I found out? I have a job to do and that’s what it was, that was all it was, he had information I needed.”

“Aye? Maybe I got some knowledge you need right, too. Lex trying to push Bump off Forty-third, aye? Sent he men just on the other night, start gunfights there on the border streets. Figure he tryin kill em all, stick he own in afore we—”

“What?”

“What?”

She shook her head. “Say that again. Say what you just said again.”

His brows lifted, but he did as she asked. “Try an kill Bump’s men on them border streets, put he own in.”

“To push Bump out. To take over.”

“He got he goals, aye, an having me an Bump dead at the top of he list. You got that fuckin knowledge, aye? You had it months gone, you know what he givin the try, an you still—”

“He’s trying to push them out and take over.” Her phone had fallen into the bottom of her bag; she’d forgotten to slip it back into its little pocket. She dug around for it, found it and pulled it out. “That’s what he’s doing. It’s not the—Not them, I mean, maybe it still is, but it’s him too, he’s taking over their plan.”

“What you chatter—”

“Maguinness. Baldarel.” Pain shot up her arms; she gritted her teeth and ignored it. It was a warning shot, not serious yet. “From the tunnel. Yesterday, and tonight with Lex. He’s killing them, whatever they were doing he’s doing it now and they’re running.”

Where had she put Lauren’s number? Had she even—No, there it was, in Recent Calls. Great. She hadn’t solved the mystery, not entirely, but she had a big piece now. A big piece.

The phone threatened to slip away from her when she tried to cradle it between her shoulder and her ear; Terrible reached out to steady it while she cracked her pillbox and tossed three Cepts down her throat. Her body hummed with exhaustion; exhaustion mixed with that bizarre post-sex energy that sometimes hit her and made it impossible for her to sleep. Or rather, impossible for her to sleep without taking something heavier. She had plenty of those, and she might even take one—at least she would if she could convince herself it was safe to go back home.

For a fleeting moment she considered asking Terrible if she could crash on his couch, but no. He probably wouldn’t let her, not just then; and if he did, he would feel imposed upon. Pushed. She wasn’t stupid enough to think this conversation—the first real one they’d had in weeks—meant she was forgiven. Far from it.

What it did mean, though—at least she hoped it did—was that he was willing to talk to her. That maybe he was willing to start trying to get past her betrayal. Just the thought made her heart pound. She’d do whatever she had to do to make sure she didn’t fuck that up, and pressing him for a place to stay would definitely be fucking it up. The last thing she wanted was for him to wonder if she was using him, or make him think she was after something. Something else.

No answer on Lauren’s cell; no answer at her house—Chess had that number scribbled in her notebook. Shit. How long did it take to spend an evening with Daddy? Where could she—She could be dead, that’s where she could be. She and the Grand Elder both. Not likely, perhaps, but definitely in the realm of possibility.

Chess turned to Terrible, standing behind her smoking with his back still braced against the door. Fuck, there was another problem. They were going to have to leave this bathroom soon, and given the door pounding, she imagined they were going to have a very interested audience when they did. Just what she needed.

“Lauren isn’t answering. D’you think maybe …”

He looked at her as if trying to assess exactly what she was thinking or what ulterior motives she might have. Either he found none or he worked out some way to handle it, because he gave her a half-shrug, a lazy lift of one shoulder. “Aye, take you over if you’re wanting.”

“Thanks. Really, thanks a lot.”

“Aye, well. Figure Sela ditch out, aye?”

Right. Oops. “That was your date?”

He nodded.

“Yeah … maybe you should go check, huh? Just to be sure?”

“What you do, wait up here?”

“Think I can get out that window?”

He considered it, smiled a little. “Let em all get the thought I were in here on my alone?”

“Oh. Right. That would be kind of—”

“Naw, ain’t give a fuck what them got in them heads. Here.” He crossed to the window, its glass long since replaced by plywood. It took him a minute to force it open; paint cracked and the entire frame screeched and shook. “C’mon.”

He lifted her up, helped her squeeze out the window. “Go on out front, aye? Meet you up there.”

She wanted to say something. Wanted to lean back in and kiss him, to touch his face or fix the strands of pomade-slick hair that had fallen over his eyes. But this new armistice was too delicate; she was acutely aware of it beneath her like a tiny storm-tossed raft. For the first time in weeks she had some hope, honey-poison sweet and thick on her tongue and in her heart. She didn’t think she could stand losing it again.

So instead she just nodded and watched him push the window down until the slab of weathered plywood covered the hole where he’d been.