Damned and Cursed (Book 2): Witch's Kurse (35 page)

Marie didn't change her routine.
 
She turned out all the lights and lay across the couch, content to watch television in the dark, wearing only her undergarments and a loose robe.
 
He couldn't see her body due to the back of the couch.
 
If only he had x-ray vision.

The sight saddened him.
 
An agile, powerful creature, able to do amazing things, reduced to watching reality television shows half naked.
 

He didn't hate werewolves with all his being, like Sean.
 
Most werewolves didn't even have a choice in their creation.
 
Rob understood that.
 
He also understood they still needed to be hunted and killed.
 
They were like lepers.
 
They needed to be dealt with.

Rob could still pity them.
 
He could watch Marie, admire everything she'd done and accomplished, enjoy that wonderful body of hers, even talk with her civilly.
 
He'd still have no problem slamming a silver blade into her chest, or blowing her head off with a silver bullet.
 
She'd share the same fate as anyone in her pack.

He sighed as he watched her.
 
She only got up once to get something to drink, giving him a show before returning to hers.
 
He wished he could move closer, but knew where the line was.
 
Even downwind, and with her in her apartment, he didn't want her getting a sniff of him.
 
A puppy's nose was very strong, even in human form.

As much as he enjoyed watching her, boredom was beginning to set in.
 
Marie wasn't leaving the apartment, and he wasn't sure what more he'd learn about her.
 
It certainly wasn't fun watching someone else watch television.

Rob carefully shimmied down the tree, banging his bandaged hand once along the way.
 
He held in a cry of pain, and made his way back to the car.
 
The night was still young, and he wasn't sure he wanted to head home just yet.
 
Maybe he could call Sonya or Renee, set up a little bedroom meeting with either one of them, or perhaps both.
 
He thought about Nia, who was out of an evening job, just like him.
 
She'd shown absolutely no interest in him, but unfortunately, those were the challenges he liked.

His car was parked three blocks away from Marie's apartment.
 
He slid into the driver's seat and noticed his phone in the console.
 
Sean had called.
 
It had been a while since he'd heard from his brother.

Sean answered on the first ring, and his mood was obvious.

"What the fuck is going on, Rob?"

"Uh, gee, big brother, it's good to hear from you, too.
 
How's the wife and kids?"

"Cut the shit."

"What the hell is your problem?
 
I've been watching the pup.
 
What else would I be doing?"

"I'm not an idiot.
 
I've been keeping track of things, too.
 
A damn explosion outside a hotel?"

"Yeah.
 
So what?"

"Why did you do it?"

"Why do you assume it's me?
 
I didn't have anything to do with that."

"Rob, stop.
 
I can't believe this."

Silence followed, and Rob knew Sean was
very
angry.

"So irresponsible.
 
We kill
puppies
, little brother.
 
Wolves.
 
That's all.
 
You want into the club so bad, but you just don't want to play by the rules."

"Seriously?
 
You want to talk about rules?
 
How about that gang of thugs that killed our father?
 
You killed every single one of them.
 
Were they puppies, too?"

"That's what you got?
 
That was personal, not business."

"So was this.
 
Not only did the bastard break my hand, but he fucked with our business.
 
I had a real good thing going at the bar.
 
Making money,
and
watching the target.
 
Not to mention the bitches—"

"Focus, Rob."

"This dickhead walks in and tears up the place, burns it down."

"Why?"

"He was a private eye or something, looking for whoever killed one of the bartenders there."

"Was that you, too?"

"No, asshole."

"Jesus.
 
This is just one big fucking mess."

"No, it's not.
 
Undo the little knot in your panties.
 
The wolf is in her apartment right now.
 
And the private eye is long gone."

"Oh?
 
You're sure about that?"

"Sean, I swear, when I see you, I'm going to whip your ass.
 
Yes, I'm sure.
 
I blew his ass into the next life."

"Then this headline I'm reading from that tiny little town about a man surviving a car explosion, that must be bullshit, right?"

All the color left Rob's face.

"What?"

"He lived.
 
I guess you didn't blow him quite as far into the next life as you thought.
 
He's in the hospital, recovering."

"There's no way."

"Is there any way all the stupid shit you've done can be traced back to you?"

"Fuck you.
 
And no."

"Then let it go.
 
The wolf…what does she call herself?
 
Marie?"

"Marie Johnson."

"That's who you worry about.
 
Her and her pack."

"I still don't think—"

"She has a pack.
 
You're just too busy staring at her tits to find them."

Rob was quiet.
 
Sean had made his point.
 
Rob didn't agree with nearly everything he'd said, but it was pointless to argue.

"I'll keep watching.
 
If she has a pack, I'll find it."

"We'll be there soon.
 
We were gonna take a short break, but with you blowing up the damn town—"

"Sean, you've said what you had to say.
 
I get it, you're a little pissy.
 
Stop bringing it up, get over it, and move on."

It was Sean's turn to be quiet.
 
They'd fought ever since they were kids.
 
They had different styles, different ways of doing things.
 
But they were united in the same cause, ever since they saw that werewolf in the mountains when they were younger.

"What happened with that private eye, you never bring it up to anyone in the organization.
 
If they found out, they would freak, and they'd never let you in."

"Any new word?"

"They're getting there.
 
They're softening.
 
When I get there, I might have some good news for you."

"Alright, big brother.
 
As much as I love sitting here getting lectured by you, I think I'm gonna go find me some strange vagina."

Sean laughed.
 
"Yeah, you do that.
 
I'll see you soon.
 
Be safe."

Rob hung up.
 
He didn't drive away.
 
He simply sat there holding the phone, lost in his thoughts.

Sean's advice to
let it go
was good, sound.
 
The private eye didn't know who was responsible for the attack.
 
There was no reason to pursue the issue further.
 
Even though he'd survived, he was probably horribly disfigured, more than enough of a price for breaking Rob's fingers.
 
The only thing to worry about was Marie.
 
Keeping track of her, finding her pack.

However, one of Rob's weaknesses was his inability to let things go.
 
He planted that explosive with one goal, to kill the private eye.
 
He'd failed.

Rob didn't like failure.

He had some research to do, some holes to fill in.
 
Marie would survive without his loving gaze for one night.

*****

It was ten o'clock at night when Rob slowly opened the door to one of the VIP recovery rooms.
 
Visiting hours were long over, and not even allowed in the wing he sneaked into.
 
He carried a bouquet of flowers in his good hand.
 
The room was almost completely dark, except for a machine beeping quietly in the corner, and some light from the window.

He took a deep breath as he skulked across the room.
 
Shifting the flowers to his bad hand, he pulled out the knife, which gleamed.
 
It was a comical sight.
 
Flowers in one hand, knife in the other.

Rob walked slowly, carefully, ready for anything.
 
He stared at the motionless lump covered by a sheet on the bed.
 
Only a mop of brown hair stuck out.

He raised the knife above him.

"It's about damn time," Jack said, standing behind him.

Rob whirled in place, lashing out blindly with the knife.
 
Jack caught his arm and drove an elbow into Rob's nose.
 
The young bartender fell to the floor, losing his grip on both the flowers and his weapon.

"Flowers," Jack said.
 
He scooped up the bouquet.
 
"I wondered what the disguise would be.
 
Dressing up as a doctor.
 
A nurse.
 
A porn star.
 
You walk in here with a bunch of pansies.
 
How original."

Jack slapped Rob across the face with the bouquet.
 
Flowers flew all over the room.
 
Rob reached for the knife, but Jack kicked it away, not that it would do him any good regardless.

"You're not even hurt!" Rob said.
 
"The newspaper said—"

"Oh, but that's not true.
 
My
feelings
are hurt.
 
And the local media just said exactly what I paid them to say."

"Listen, you can't kill me!"

"You're just wrong all over the place tonight."

Rob backed into the corner.
 
His gaze went to the head of brown hair in the hospital bed.

"That's Leroy," Jack said.
 
"He died this morning.
 
Heart attack.
 
His hair matched mine, so I figured, why not?
 
I've been waiting for whoever blew me up for three days.
 
Think about that.
 
Three days of shitty hospital food, of staring at ugly doctors and nurses.
 
I'm not in a good mood."

Jack reared back and buried his foot in Rob's chest.
 
The young mortal's eyes bulged as the wind left his lungs.
 
He cough and gasped as he lay on the floor.

"How's the hand?" Jack asked.
 
"We can pick up right where we left off."

In a mad burst of energy, Rob tried to crawl away.
 
He slithered under the bed, heading for the door.
 
Jack shook his head, and dumped the body of Leroy on top of Rob as he emerged on the other side.
 
Rob let out a girlish scream as he tried to push the corpse away.

"Leroy, meet Rob.
 
He's a bartender.
 
Or he
was
."

Jack slowly circled the bed.
 
He wasn't in a hurry.
 
The fun part in revenge was the wait, that small window of time when the victim was absolutely certain they were going to die, and did everything in their power to fight it.
 
He loved watching the sudden shift in personality.
 
Rob was on top of the world not long ago.
 
Slinging drinks, flirting with women, living the good life.
 
Because Jack had roughed him up a little, Rob decided it was his turn for revenge.
 
Those silly thoughts were going to cost him his life.

"Wait!" Rob said.
 
"You have to listen!"

Jack leaned down and slapped him across the face.
 
He hoisted Rob to his feet and threw him across the room, slamming him into the wall.

"It wasn't my idea!" Rob shouted, wiping a trickle of blood from his mouth.
 
"I was paid to kill you."

Jack cocked his fist back, but held up in striking again.
 
He studied Rob's body language, his tension.
 
Crossing the room, he turned the light on, pushing the darkness away.
 
He caught Rob eying the knife in the corner, but Rob lifted his gaze immediately when Jack stared at him.

"Stalling for time?" Jack asked.
 
"You definitely don't have much left."

"No!
 
Look, I was paid to slip that bomb under your car, after you destroyed the bar.
 
To be honest, after what you did to my hand, I would have done it for free.
 
But it wasn't me that thought of it."

Jack couldn't tell if Rob was lying or not, and that bothered him.

"Oh?
 
And who is the genius behind the devious plot?"

"Marie Johnson.
 
She owned the bar.
 
That whole thing was her life, you see.
 
And you killed it."

Jack laughed.
 
"Marie Johnson.
 
You might as well say John Doe."

"I'm serious, man!
 
Her name is Marie Johnson.
 
And…this is just a guess, I'm not really sure.
 
But I think she had something to do with Erica's murder."