Nocturnes (24 page)

It’s her fault I turned to Jinx for relief. Hell, if I hadn’t met Lola, maybe Jinx and Toombs and I would be having some fucked-up
Little Kinky House on the Prairie
three-way thing. I’d have been happier than I am now. They might have been too.

I slide the bottle up from its brown wrapper and study the label. “It’s not your fault, vodka. You’re the only one that makes me happy. You keep me steady. And everyone gives you shit for it. I’d never shit on you. I love you.”

Because there’s nobody else to fuckin’ love.

Glug, glug, glug…

Choking the bottle’s neck, I swirl its contents. Almost empty.

Fickle bitch.

I sigh.

Goddamn it, I miss Eve. So fucking much. I grind a finger and thumb into my eye sockets to ward off the sudden spring of tears building there.

I sneak another glance at Nocturnes.
One more stroll past for old times’ sake. You don’t have to go in. Just walk on by, give ’em the finger, and say, “So long, suckers.”

No. Go home.

A lifetime of seconds laden with heavy, life-altering decisions passes. I stand and turn the other way. Gotta pack. Gotta get the fuck out of this depressing town. Gotta go home.

So I do.

As I step off the curb into another onslaught of traffic, a high-pitched, far-off cry pricks up my ears. I freeze and listen. No follow-up screams. Probably some drunk tourist acting stupid.

Goddamn cars keep coming. When will this light ever change?

I turn back toward Nocturnes.

Fuck.

Don’t do it, Rax. Take your sorry ass to the house and sleep off the booze. You can start over bright and early tomorrow.

But…

But nothing. Go. Home.

“This is home.
Eve
is home.” I look down at the liquor in my hands.

I’m your salvation. Eve doesn’t need us. You’re safer with me.

“It’ll only take a minute,” I tell the pretty goose. I stuff the glass back into the bag to shut it up and stride purposefully to Nocturnes. As I pass the club and the line of frat boys waiting to get in, I search for Eve, but I don’t see her. Not that I expected to. I continue on and take a quick gander down the alley where I met her once. No one there, either, but it’s dark and hard to—

Wait. I pause at the mouth of the alley and then creep forward. A couple of people are down there. Rustling and clipped, muffled sounds signal something’s not right.

Limbs jerk. Dark bodies flail around a pale one. Fuck.

I tiptoe closer, wavering on unsteady feet, cursing myself for being so shit-faced. My heart halts and slams into my ribs with the force of a head-on car crash. Two black-clad men jockey around a smaller figure trapped between them. Oh holy Christ, are they trying to rape her? That woman needs help.

The bottom drops out on my tenuous hold on reality. This can’t be happening. Maybe I’m just seeing shit, as fucked up as I am. I’m frozen with indecision.

The guy in front of her lifts his arm. He’s holding a huge fucking blade. My blood pressure drops like a boulder. The woman twists, but it looks like she’s almost out of fight.

Fuck it. I charge down the poorly lit, foul-smelling pathway and toss the bag aside. Glass in hand, I’ll bash in the guy’s head if I have to.

The knife hits her cheek, and he draws the weapon across the flawless white plain of flesh like a bow over violin strings.

In slow motion, I throw out a hand and yell, “No!”

A black mane shakes. Ice-blue eyes freeze on me. Oh my fucking God.

Eve.

“Get your motherfucking hands off her! I’ll fucking kill you!”

Blind fury sears my veins, sharpens my sight, strengthens my muscles, and overcomes the alcoholic lull long enough for me to hurl the vodka bottle with everything I’ve got. Unfortunately, the maddening ferocity devouring me like a fast-spreading virus does nothing for my aim. The glass shatters uselessly against the wall. The guy holding her up drops her. But the other one also drops his knife, which flies across the blacktop, out of reach.

Fueled by high-octane revenge, I barrel into Eve’s attacker. When I land on top of him, the other guy takes off like a pussy bitch. All four of my limbs fly with minds of their own on a one-track mission: seek and destroy.

Kill.

Brutal, insatiable hatred drives my fists home. Consumed by a toxic swirl of inebriation and blinding rage, I lose track of my body and let go. I fall into a frenzy, subsumed by the frightening force of my newly freed temper. Madness owns me. Violence possesses me.

“Dead! You’re fucking dead!”
Pound. Hammer. Plow.
I see red and nothing else.

BAM!

In the next second, I’m lying on my back, staring at the black clouds, hand clutching my stomach to keep it from self-destructing inside my abdominal cavity. Jesus Katie Christ, I can’t fucking breathe. The guy rolls away, struggles to his feet, and scampers off.

“No. No!” Coughing, I fight for control of my feet and lose to gravity’s awesome power.

Get up, Rax. Get up and hunt that motherfucker down.

Oh God, I’m gonna puke.

Get up. Now, you sorry piece of shit.

I roll to my side and slowly push up. Glass shards slice my palm. I shake them off and beg my muscles for the strength to stand.
Come on. Come on!
Digging deep into the dregs of my energy reserves, I find my precarious footing and hobble after him. I’m so dizzy, drenched with sweat or blood or New Orleans piss—I don’t even know what—I can’t find my balance. After ten awkward steps, I collide with a brick wall. Stars sprinkle my vision, growing stronger and brighter until they supernova at once. Down I go.

My stomach rebels, spasms, and what feels like a fifth of vodka violently empties onto the pavement. I choke and sputter and groan. “God…”

More liquid frees itself from my gut in a burning explosion. I’m dying. I’m dead.

Make him pay for what he did to Eve.

Fuck.

Eve.

“Eve!” I cry out. My voice box burns like it lost a battle with a sandpaper cheese grater. The bass drum of my pulse deafening my ears, I scan the alley to regain my bearings. Where is she? Oh Christ, is she dead? Why didn’t I stay with her? She was bleeding. Oh my God. Holy fucking God…

I’m getting dizzy again. I can’t see.

My feet refuse any further cooperation, so I guess I’ll be on my knees from here. When my vision returns from its short-lived vacation, my gaze falls on the body lying in a small but growing red puddle staining the filthy alley, and I fucking lose my shit. Hand reaching for her through my off-balance crawl, heart mangled into a tattered hunk of meat, and soul gutted, I whimper, “I’m so sorry…I’m so sorry…”

I’m out of movement. My stomach wants to rebel again. I push forward anyway. When my knees won’t go any farther, I resort to commando crawling, using my arms and toes to propel me. Somehow—by the grace of God—I heave my carcass over to her.

With more effort than I’ve got in me, I stretch my T-shirt over my head and ball it. Throwing the fabric over the long, oozing red line smiling up at me with bloody gums, I press firmly on the deepest part of the wound at the base of her neck. Fuck, there are veins and arteries in there. If one’s been cut…

I fumble with my free hand for the phone in my back pocket. “Eve.” I dial 911. “Eve, baby, wake up. Can you hear me?” I shake her.

“Nine-one-one, what’s the nature of your emergency?” the tinny voice says in my ear.

“A woman’s been knifed in the alley behind Nocturnes on Royal. You gotta send an ambulance right this fucking second. I think she’s bleeding out. Fuck…” I shake Eve again. My glistening red hands, bare chest, and tattoos smell of rusted iron.

Christ. It’s everywhere…

The operator chatters on with instructions about keeping calm and applying pressure and blah blah blah, but all I hear is the gurgling of Eve’s barely there breaths, the thudding of my heart inside my head, and incessant “I’m sorries” blathering out of me. I drop the phone and take Eve’s lifeless body into my arms, pushing down harder on her neck.

“My God, Eve. Please don’t leave me. Please…”

The adrenaline spike crashes, and everything after that is a blur.

Sirens. Blue lights. Red lights. A crowd of people. Tears and snot and blood. God, the blood is every-fucking-where. This filthy place doesn’t deserve it.

What the fuck happened? Why is this…? What did she do?

“Jesus Christ!” A slick-haired man reeking of cigars appears beside us. He bends down. “Is that Lola?”

I nod.

He backs up. “Everyone out of the way. Make room for the EMTs.”

Stomping feet. Uniforms. Boots.

Eve isn’t moving. My senses are so muddied, I can’t tell if she’s breathing anymore.

Someone wrestles her out of my arms. The ambulance people busy themselves around me, doing whatever it is they do. Panic rides my lungs, cracking its terrible whip. “Is she dead? Tell me she’s not fucking dead.”

No one answers. I can’t see her. Why won’t they let me see her?

The greaser from a moment ago lays his hands on my shoulders and stares at me with round, concerned eyes. “I’m her boss, Rico. What happened?”

Her boss?

I open my mouth to explain what I saw, but something stops me. Her boss was the one who told her to stay away from me. The one who probably tells her who to fuck in the Nocturnes dungeon. I study his exaggerated features—the wide, disbelieving expression, overly arched brows, and shocked O of his mouth. He’s like a fucking caricature of Dudley Do-Right. And faker than an eight-dollar bill. Fuck this asshole. I shove him off me. “Two guys attacked her with a knife. You know anything about that?”

The shadows darken his features, and a malevolent glint sharpens his black eyes for a split second before feigned concern moves back in like an unexpected storm front.

Why do I have a sneaking suspicion he knows a lot more than just
something
?

“Of course not,” he spits out. “Why would I? I’ve been working all night.”

A police officer nudges his way through the crowd as the EMTs wriggle a board under Eve’s still body.

“She’s alive, right? She’s alive?” I shove some loose hair from my face. “Why won’t anybody fucking talk to me?”

No one answers. They load her onto a gurney. I follow. The policeman slaps a hand to my chest to stop me. “Are you family?”

“No, I—”

“Then you can’t go with them. Did you see what happened?”

Goddamn it. “Yeah. Two guys jumped her. One of ’em held her while the other sliced. They ran off that way.” I point down the street. “I tried to catch them, but…”

The officer pushes a button and speaks into the walkie-talkie attached to his shoulder. Numbers. Codes. I don’t know what. I’m too busy watching that Rico asshole talking to another policeman. The guy is fully animated and pointing at me.

“Describe what they looked like,” the officer says.

“All black clothes. Ski masks. Big motherfuckers.”

“Any other distinguishing features?”

“No, but you standing here yakking isn’t catching the fucking criminals. I’m not kidding, man. They went that way.”

“You need to calm down, sir. What’s your name?”

“Braxton Rathbone. This is bullshit. Fucking bullshit.” My eyes water as the EMTs stuff Eve into the back of their wagon and then hop into the front seats.

The policeman turns away to confer with the disembodied voice chattering from his shoulder. Rico leaves the scene. The ambulance engine revs to life.

A uniformed blond guy comes over and says, “The manager of the club says he’s had problems with you harassing the victim before. We’re gonna need to ask you a few questions.”

“What? You gotta be fucking kidding me. I didn’t do that!” I point at the ambulance pulling away from the curb, siren deafening. “I tried to save her, man. Her attackers are getting away.” My heart crushes like an aluminum can under a steel-toed boot. Not only am I being accused of hurting the woman I…care about, but worse, I don’t even know if she’s alive. My mind spins like a tornado.

I look down at myself. I’m covered in Eve’s blood. Drunk. With a prior history at Nocturnes for being an asshole.

Fuck. Seriously, just fuck.

“Have you been drinking?”

“Yes.” No point in lying. I’m sure they can smell it on me.

“Do you have anything in your pockets that I need to know about? Weapons? Drugs? Needles?” Blondie pulls on a pair of latex gloves and closes on me.

I straighten as he steps behind me. “No. Are you arresting me?” My gaze travels up the wall and lands on a little black device above Nocturnes’s door while the officer frisks me and relieves my pockets of their contents.

He snaps a pair of cuffs around my wrists behind my back. Fuck. “No arrests. Yet. We’re detaining you as a possible suspect. Just want to ask some questions. You can cooperate, or I can take you to the station and make it formal.”

I gesture to the camera with my chin. “Why don’t you check the security tapes. That’ll prove I had nothing to do with this.”

“Got someone doing that right now. Just have a seat.” Blondie points to the curb.

Fuck that, I’m standing. “Is Eve gonna be okay?” I’m on the verge of losing my shit again.

The policeman removes my license from the wallet he nicked from my pocket and studies it. “How do you know the victim?”

I sigh. “Man, this is such bullshit. You want to find your attacker, check out Rico Suave. He’s the one you should be worried about.”

“Sir, we’re talking to
you
right now. How do you know Eve?”

“I had a relationship with her.”

“Sexual?”

“Is there any other kind?”

The guy lifts an I’m-not-amused brow.

“Yes. We had sex.”

“The manager says you were banned from Nocturnes. That true?”

“Yes.”

“Why’d you come back?”

“I didn’t go inside.”

“But you were outside. Why?”

“I’m going home tomorrow. I wanted—hoped—to see Eve one more time before I left.”

“She didn’t want to see you?”