Relentless Flame (Hell to Pay) (3 page)

She jiggled the door handle until the key settled in the rusty lock. Entering the house, the vision of the living room, devoid of any furniture, weighed on her like a heavy hand on her shoulder. But for right now, they didn’t have a choice. Living here allowed her to stay with Scott. Up until Scott started going out with his newfound friends, it was more economical to live under one roof.

Of course, he wasn’t the teen who fled with her from Philly, but she still felt some responsibility to watch out for him, and one day things would change. Maybe it was nearing time for each of them to move on. If only she could get him away from his so-called friends.

Smiling, she sighed and indulged in a vision of her future. She’d have her degree, a job helping people cope with their lives, and a nice house decorated with new matching furniture, like from Ikea. One day.

What about a partner? A family?

The only vision that came to her had a chiseled chin and a twinkling blue gaze.

Yeah, right.

She opened her eyes to ripped linoleum and bare, cracked windows. “Please be careful how much money you’re spending.”

“I gotta hang with my posse,” he said, hiccupping. “You keeping me from my friends?” He swayed, his bloodshot stare unfocused.

“Of course not.”

“It’s my life, Hannah. You can’t tell me what to do.”

He stumbled against the spool they used for a table, a lucky salvage from a construction site. But as the main furniture in the living space, it was a pitiful reminder of the shell of their lives.

“I’m not your mother. You make your own decisions,” she said.

“You got that right. Besides, I got us out of that crap back in Philly. You owe me. I saved your life.”

“We both went through hell, and yes, I might not be alive if you hadn’t helped me.”

He leaned against the makeshift table and fingered a new gold chain around his neck. “I hope Ray dies and rots.”

“Me too. I never want to see him again.”

“What that sicko did to you ...”

“We’re not talking about it.” Her foot throbbed like it did the night Ray had thrown her down the basement stairs. Amazing what lengths a maniac would go to exact his warped sense of revenge.

“Our tracks are covered. Only my friend in Philly knows where we live.”

Not good enough
. “For how long are the tracks covered?”

“As long as we keep looking out for each other, Ray won’t be able to hurt us. If he does, I’ll call my crew.”

She sighed. Back to the stupid crew. A group of boozed up guys with too much testosterone and not enough brains.

“I’ll always appreciate what you did, Scott.”

She couldn’t remember large chunks of their journey from the East Coast to the West. Scott had probably saved her life. Maybe now he was growing up, coming into his own self. The twinge in her chest reminded her that he was all the family she had left.

“Damn straight. We’re a team here.” He belched.

Hannah sighed.

“Sis, that reminds me, you got some extra bucks? I’m light.”

She groaned. “No, I haven’t gotten paid yet.” Glancing at his new name-brand shoes and jeans, she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from commenting.

“Quit holding out on me.”

“I’m not. I don’t get paid until later this week, remember?”

“You’re hoarding money! I need cash to ... to put gas in the truck. How’m I s’posed to make a living if you won’t help me?”

“Good grief. Here’s all I have left.” She dug in her ratty purse and pulled out six dollars. “This’ll take care of gas tomorrow.”

“That’s all you have? Where’s the rest of it?” He leaned toward her but staggered again.

“I gave you everything else last week after I got groceries. There won’t be any more until Thursday. Make it last.”

“You’re a piece of shit ...,” he slurred again.

“We were a ‘team’ a few minutes ago.”

“Until you refused to give me gas money.”

The usual pattern for his drunk nights. Shame. She shook her head. There was no arguing with him. So much for both of them trying to build their lives. So much for escaping all the drama with Ray and his insanity. But as frustrating as Scott’s behavior had become, at least he’d never been physically abusive. He spouted off insults when he was drunk, sure, but his behavior paled in comparison to the hell they’d endured at Ray’s hands back in Philly.

And then there was her attempt to use her gift to heal others, as Ray had demanded. Her gut clenched. That altruism had nearly killed her when Ray snapped. She wouldn’t talk about that disaster, either. Hannah had been crucified the one time she wouldn’t—couldn’t—use her power, and she’d paid for the lapse ever since. Actually, Aunt Linda, God rest her gentle soul, had paid the greater price.

She sighed. “I’ll see what I can do tomorrow about an advance.”

“’Bout time you did somethin’ useful. Shit. My life sucks.”

He pocketed the cash and leaned against the wall.

“Good grief, let’s get you to bed.” She held out hope that Scott would come around and improve, but damn it, she wasn’t a doormat. She nudged him toward the only room with a bed on a frame. “Good night, Scott.”

He dropped, fully clothed, onto the messy blankets, completely out.

She sighed, closed his bedroom door, and trudged into the kitchen. Her ramen noodle dinner tasted like cardboard.

• • •

In the dimly lit club, strobe lights pulsed in time with a pounding techno beat as oiled female bodies writhed in cages and on countertops. In a velvet-upholstered alcove, Dante sipped tepid beer and cringed. Sure, it was alcohol, but this swill paled in comparison with
brånnvin
. His kin called it “burn wine,” and the fire that seared the gullet lived up to its name. This watered-down American beer would do for now.

At least luscious
flickor
, women, hadn’t changed through the ages. He flexed his chest, feeling the heavy bond business card in his pocket. Why hadn’t he called that magnificent and leggy woman from the restaurant last night? Totally out of character to pass up an opportunity with a woman like that.

He’d come to this club instead, hoping that something else would pique his interest. When he lifted one finger, he commanded the attention of two bare-breasted dancers. Good. He was the sun. The heavenly bodies of these women? Helpless to resist his pull.

What would it be like to have a woman want him without his magnetism? Notice the nuances of his character? Not care about who or what he was? Fill the hollowness that these brief interludes never quite satisfied? Perhaps a good woman could retrieve the humanity that had been driven from his soul.

Shaking his head to clear the uncharacteristic melancholy, he concentrated on the women standing at the ready. The dancers practically vibrated, their bodies quivering in anticipation of his slightest touch.

He projected his voice over the thumping bass beat. “Ladies.”

Something of a misnomer, but the lie didn’t matter. When he brushed his thumb against his upper teeth, the dusky dancer licked her full lips in response. One down.

“Oh, honey.” The cocoa-colored woman ran a hand over his torso. “Your abs are so hard I could chop coleslaw on them.”

He crooked his finger at the other woman, pleased when her pale breasts bobbed in quicker rhythm with her breathing.

He imagined their nimble fingers roving over every inch of his body.

Nothing moved inside of him.

Nothing?

His typical lust didn’t rise; his groin didn’t tighten in anticipation of the impending ménage à trois. Even imaging all their limbs tangled around each other, satiating his desire—none of it moved him. Literally.

Vad i helvete?

Since when ...?

Kristus
.

Since this mission. Since meeting a mousy woman who remained immune to his charms. A woman who was nothing like the
flickor
who typically drew his attention.

He pushed up from the table and shrugged off the women’s hands. Even their pouts of disappointment didn’t sway him. He strode, alone, into the fall night.

Was it the challenge or the woman?

Didn’t care. He needed to see her again and deliver his message.

The next morning, Hannah left Scott at home sleeping off his bender. Hopefully, he’d make it to work today. They couldn’t afford for him to lose another job. Despite her working full time at the bookstore, the money only went so far. If he continued to contribute to their joint efforts, with any luck, she’d have her degree in another three semesters and be one step closer to realizing her dream of becoming a psychologist.

When she took a deep breath, the cool morning air gave her a boost, and she pushed her uneasiness about Scott aside. Even her messed up foot didn’t slow her down as much today, and she reached the store a few minutes early to open up shop.

Her long skirt swished over the top of her foot with each step. Broomstick skirts were more rustic than her usual, conservative style, but she’d discovered that the skirts hid her deformed foot and minimized the appearance of her limp.

When she unlocked the front door of the bookstore, she stood in the front room and enjoyed a few minutes of peace. As she warmed up the espresso machine, the scent of coffee made her mouth water. It was too expensive a treat, though, and she wouldn’t steal, even a cup of coffee.

The door chimed behind her, and the air pressure in the bookstore changed. A light scent of spicy aftershave drifted past as goose bumps rose on her arms.

She whirled, her tan cotton skirt rasping against silk slacks, as she buried her nose into a massive chest. Standing eye to eye with the sheen of fine fabric stretching across a broad torso, she gulped in a whiff of warm, masculine essence. When she stumbled backward on her weak foot, the espresso cup dropped from her nerveless fingers.

In one continuous blur of movement, Dante plucked the cup out of the air and presented it to her. His confident, sardonic lift of the corner of his mouth hadn’t changed. Electric-blue eyes glowed as he smiled down at her, and the curve of his sensual lips commanded her attention.

When he returned the cup, their hands brushed, which sent warmth and a strange jolt of energy up her arm to her neck. She jerked her eyes away. The quivering in her chest couldn’t have anything to do with him standing this close. The shakiness had nothing to do with the heat somehow radiating off of his muscled chest.

She had to crane her neck to look up at his handsome face punctuated with high, broad cheekbones and a clean-shaven jaw. His light blond hair waved back off his forehead but for an errant piece. An intense need to sweep that lock of hair into place stopped her cold.

Something shifted deep in her belly, pleasant and warm, like watching a sunrise. She wanted more. When his strong mouth curved upward, her heart fluttered.

Wanted more?

Heart fluttering?

Come on. What’s wrong with you?

A bucket of ice water couldn’t be a more abrupt wake-up.

She moved back another few feet, cheeks burning, and cleared her throat. She tugged at her too-large knit top and smoothed the shabby skirt. In light of her un-model-like appearance, she had to be a huge joke to a colossal man who looked like a bodybuilder dressed in Armani.

Realizing that too much time had passed where she’d stared like an idiot at Dante, she took another step back.

He didn’t move, but simply watched her, the corners of his mouth curving upward. In a flash, she wanted to know how the edge of that firm mouth tasted and how it would fit against hers. Would his lips be as demanding as his appearance, or did he have a tender side that he expressed when he kissed?

Get a grip. Stay cool and collected. Time to return from fantasy world.

“Ah, thank you.” She placed the cup next to the espresso machine. “Can I, um, help you?”

“I’m sure you can.” He raised an eyebrow.

Seriously? He flirted with
her
?

After the initial wave of disbelief passed, she fought an urge to giggle.
Oh, geez
.

“What would you like?” She cringed as her voice wavered. Not cool. Not collected.

“You.” The meaty man swaggered, but he hadn’t taken a step. How was that even possible?

Hannah laughed out loud before she covered the inappropriate outburst with her hand. “Pardon?”

“I’d like
you
, madam.”

He hadn’t moved, but his presence wrapped around her like a warm blanket. If a warm blanket were made of muscled arms and a massive chest, that is.

“I ... I’m not. Uh, what?”

Seriously, where were the hidden cameras?

“I’d like you to go to lunch with me. Or dinner. Or ... breakfast.”

He flexed his shoulders, managing to appear even more self-assured and Herculean. She stifled another giggle. This entire ridiculous situation, while flattering in a surreal way, had no future. If this poor man only knew her baggage, he’d run far away.

But he wasn’t running. In fact, he’d planted his large, polished leather-clad feet, spread his legs into a determined stance, and continued to focus all of his attention on her. After all the obvious messages she’d given him, he persisted in this parody of flirtation. Maybe he was a little on the ... slow side? Well then, God bless his simple mind, at least he was handsome.

Might as well have some fun with the insanity
.

He winked once. When she didn’t move, he winked again.

She covered a laugh by clearing her throat. Unable to help herself, she egged him on. “Do you have something in your eye?”

It was his turn to rock back on his heels. He frowned. “In my eye?”

“It seems
irritated
.” She emphasized the last word, hoping he’d get a hint.

“Irritated?”

“Irritated. As in, something is
bothering
it.”

Hints apparently didn’t work. Or perhaps he had the emotional fortitude of an Abrams tank. He was built like one.

“What does being bothered have to do with the lunch you’re going to have with me?” His smile tightened into a grim line and then drooped.