Demon's Plaything (2 page)

The scene was getting old.

He scanned the crowd again, searching for something to distract his mind as he idly wondered what, other than years of habit, had brought him here tonight, and his gaze snagged on a woman standing near the entrance. The stance she held was unique, making her seem both tentative and confident, simultaneously a part of the crowd and completely separate from it. She was dressed somewhat conservatively in dark wash jeans that molded her full hips and thighs, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and charcoal-gray leather jacket. The cut of the jacket emphasized her narrow waist and drew his gaze down to her curvy bottom. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail that made her appear incongruously young, though he’d peg her in her late twenties or early thirties. Rounded cheekbones led to a strong but feminine jawline, and he noted her pouty lips, though they were thinned with a tightness that marred them. She was attractive enough, he supposed, but not someone he’d usually look at twice, particularly given the more ostentatious women on display. Still, he found himself pulled in by her.

As he continued to watch her, she looked over the crowd and then at the fight, but her reaction was one he couldn’t recall seeing before. New attendees, as she so clearly was, generally fell into two categories: horrified or excited. This woman was neither. She didn’t appear turned on by the violence, nor did she shrink from it. Her gaze was cool, assessing, like she was analyzing what was happening and formulating a response. Interesting. Maybe these events weren’t so boring after all.

Then she glanced in his direction, and for a moment, their gazes connected. Her dark, dark eyes were cool, but they glittered, even in the low light of the warehouse. She seemed to be taking his measure, sizing him up as she’d sized up the fight, and he found himself lifting a corner of his mouth and nodding in her direction.

She frowned, almost a scowl really, and then quickly looked away, breaking the connection. A moment later, a tall man walked up behind her and casually put an arm around her shoulder. He recognized the guy, a semiregular who liked to place big bets on fights, bets that he sometimes couldn’t pay. Too bad for her.

Unfortunate for him, too. He suspected she would have been fun to get to know better. Oh well. He shrugged. There was no accounting for taste.

••••

Shayla stood next to a post on the outskirts of the raucous crowd. Ian had walked her in, and except for his brief check-in a few minutes ago, he’d left her to her own devices, and she was two seconds away from getting the hell out of here. Putting aside the fighting, which seemed to be the main attraction, she was uneasy with her surroundings. There didn’t appear to be much alcohol, but Shayla knew that was only the surface. With the amount of money being casually tossed around, she knew that alcohol and drugs couldn’t be far behind. She’d seen enough in the ER to know that one could rarely be separated from the others.

Everything about this place made her nervous, and she kept scanning the room, waiting for trouble to strike. The crowd was boisterous, yet seemingly well behaved, and there was more security here than she’d seen at the hottest nightclubs. Still, she kept imagining a full-scale riot breaking out, or, even worse for her if she was being selfish, which she was, a whole contingent of SWAT-outfitted police busting in and hauling everyone off in paddy wagons like in those old TV shows.

Do they even use paddy wagons anymore?
she wondered and then shook off the thought.

The specifics weren’t important. What mattered was the uneasy dread that was slicing through her belly now, the fight-or-flight response that screamed,
Flee!

Not one to ignore her instincts, she turned to leave.

And ran into a solid wall of chiseled human flesh, instantly enveloped in a warm cocoon that smelled of clean, woodsy male. The instincts that had been urging her to leave took a hard U-turn and were now suggesting she should stay, snuggle up to this human wall, and take a couple nice, deep lungfuls of its amazing sent.

Instead, reason prevailed and she took a step back, but was immediately thwarted by the heavy arm she hadn’t even realized was around her waist.

“Whoa there. Be careful,” the human wall said, its arm steadying her.

She hadn’t yet looked up from the chest centered in her line of sight, but the amazingly deep voice that floated down from somewhere above her head drew her gaze. She was immediately struck by a glimpse of moss-green eyes that practically shone with friendliness and mirth. Her gaze took in the rest of his face. He was the most classically handsome man she’d ever seen, from the strong cut of his jaw covered with a five-o’clock shadow that managed to look appealing instead of off-putting, and his aquiline nose, to the nicely shaped lips curved into a teasing smile. Even the slicked-back brown hair, something that she was not typically fond of, worked for this man. A quick glance down showed that his large frame looked as strong as it felt.

“Umm, uh, thanks,” she said a moment later as she stepped back, the arm releasing her. “I’ll try to be more careful.”

“No problem. The pleasure was all mine. Really.”

His eyes flashed with his words, and Shayla, usually immune to sweet words and blatant come-ons, well, in most cases anyway, believed him and tried to ignore the rush of excitement and interest that his words sent coursing through her.

“Well, uh, have a great evening, Mr.…?”

“Demon,” he supplied as her voice trailed off. “Just Demon.”

She wanted to laugh, she really did, but another look into his beautiful eyes had the chuckle dying in her throat. His undeniable attractiveness, the hot, magnetic pull she felt toward him made laughter impossible. It even made it hard for her to judge his garish tie and less than flattering tan suit. Seemed that beauty could cover a multitude of sins.

Too bad he was here. Shayla had few hang-ups about her sexuality, and if she’d run into this god of a man anywhere else, she’d have had no qualms about getting to know him better. But, alas, his presence here probably meant he was into whatever Ian was into, and that awareness threw a bucket of cold water over her desire.

“Good night,” she said.

“See you around,” he responded.

“Hope not,” she said without missing a beat, to which he laughed.

As she walked away, she felt his gaze boring into her back, felt that prickling awareness of arousal spark again, so she sped up. Ian would just have to find her later. Confused as she was about what Ian wanted and as scared as she was about the consequences, she couldn’t afford to add lust to the mix, especially not for a man who was probably up to no good.

She reminded herself of that as she drove home, but images of “Demon” and the memory of his alluring scent stayed plastered on her brain.

Two days later, Demon was still present in her thoughts, and he’d been the featured attraction in her fantasies. Memories of his amazing voice, his scent, his body, and thoughts of what she would have done to him had they met under different circumstances played in her mind. She hadn’t felt that powerful of an attraction to anyone in long time, maybe ever.

It was a damn shame that she hadn’t run into him somewhere—
anywhere
—else. Not that it mattered, though; she would never see him again.

Still, thoughts of the outrageously handsome, ridiculously named stranger were far preferable to other memories of the evening. Shayla still hadn’t quite processed it. She was no shrinking violet, couldn’t be to work in an ER, but there was something profoundly troubling about the event. People hurt each other; it was a fact of life. But the
joy
she’d seen on people’s faces as they’d watched… She shook her head to try to clear the memory.

And then there was Ian. He’d been the picture-perfect brother and grandson, calling her just to chat, visiting Nana, asking about her health. It should have been comforting, but instead his behavior had her edgy, nervous, and a sneaking suspicion about what he wanted had been brewing over the days since the event. Ian still hadn’t explained, but it didn’t matter. He’d have to get out of whatever mess he was in by himself. She’d tell him so tonight. They were getting together for dinner, a chance to catch up away from grand-maternal oversight he said, so she’d get more information and set him straight.

Today was her day off, so she’d made chicken parm. She usually made several batches so she’d have easily accessible meals after a shift, so she’d spent most of the day in the kitchen. Around six thirty, a knock at the door stated Ian had arrived. She rushed over quickly and opened the door, the late-model, higher-end sedan parked next to her car drawing her attention.

“Hey. New car?” she asked as she reached up to hug him.

“Hey. Just a little something I’m test driving, short stuff,” he responded with a smile.

She laughed. “I told you, I’m of perfectly average height, Ian.”

“Not next to me,” he said, pulling himself up to his full six three. “And besides, you tormented me for years about my height, so now payback is mine.”

“It’s not my fault you didn’t hit your growth spurt until you were a sophomore.”

“True, but that doesn’t make finally being taller than you any less fun.”

They both chuckled as they walked into the kitchen, and Shayla remembered well how her short, pudgy brother had turned into a full-grown man practically overnight. He’d had great fun turning the tables on her, and she couldn’t remember how many arguments Nana had broken up because he’d hidden something where she couldn’t reach it or had taken her things and stood on his tiptoes, arms extended almost to the ceiling in his new favorite game, keep-away.

“Chicken parm tonight,” she said when they entered the kitchen.

“Awesome. And look what I brought.”

He pulled out a deck of unopened cards.

“Hells yeah! Let’s hurry up and eat so we can play.”

Ian washed his hands and threw some tomatoes, cucumbers, and carrots into the bowl of lettuce she’d left on the counter. She pulled out the garlic bread that had been warming in the oven and sliced it while Ian set the table. After sitting down to eat, they chitchatted about work and his new girlfriend, who’d held that title for three consecutive weeks, a new record for Ian, and then Nana came up.

“She didn’t look so good, Shay,” Ian said, his voice as weary as she felt.

“No, she didn’t, did she?”

Shayla sighed and put down her fork. Ian usually tried to put a positive spin on any situation—“Always look for the upside,” he’d say—and for him to make such a blanket statement only proved that Nana’s condition was worsening.

“Is it as bad as it seems?” he asked.

Shayla weighed her words, but finally decided on the truth. “Yes.”

He looked taken aback. After his last “hiccup,” when he’d convinced Nana to use the house as collateral for a loan—a loan that Shayla was still paying every month—Ian had been scarce, whether out of genuine shame or as a way to punish Shayla by depriving Nana, she hadn’t decided, so he hadn’t seen the extent of Nana’s decline. And it had to be shocking, even to someone who could be as self-centered as Ian.

“So what’s the plan?” he finally said.

Shayla shrugged. “I’m not sure. She has an appointment with the pulmonologist next week, but she’s adamant that she go alone.”

“Well, we’re ignoring that. When and what time?”

The vehemence from the usually easygoing Ian heartened her. He had his issues, and she had hers, and they certainly had their grievances against one another, but she couldn’t pretend it didn’t feel good to have him here, couldn’t pretend that she didn’t hope that, for one of the very few times since they’d become adults, they could be united, if only in their love of their grandmother.

“I think we should give her space.”

“Space? What does that mean?”

“We love her and we want the best for her, and she knows that. At least she should, but anyway, she still deserves her privacy, and the worst thing we could do is make her feel out of control.”

He snorted, face lightening with his mirth. “Yeah, Ethel don’t look kindly on bossing.”

“My daddy has been dead for sixty years, and he didn’t tell me what to do either,” they said in unison and then burst into laughter.

“Point taken,” Ian said after their laughter subsided.

Shayla said, “I’m not sure why she wants to go alone all of a sudden, but I think she’ll come around. We could have lunch or coffee or something after and see where things stand.”

“Cool. And if she stays her wonderful, stubborn self, who plays good cop?”

“As if that’s a question. You know you hang the moon, baby boy,” she said, stealing one of Nana’s favorite pet names for him.

“It doesn’t feel that way,” he said as he finished his last bite of pasta. “Not when I’m constantly reminded of how successful my sister,
the doctor
, is and how my life would be so much better if I were more like her.”

The rough, abrupt shift and his harsh, bitter voice chilled her and made her stomach lurch. Ian had made similar comments before, occasionally complaining that Nana’s, and to some extent her own, expectations were bothersome, but he was rarely this direct. The transition from his undeniable concern about Nana to this angry other side of him was jarring.