Payback (7 page)

THERE WERE JUST WAY TOO MANY
piles of clothing on Heather's bed. When she'd walked into her room after midnight on the night of the party, she didn't even have the energy to shove them all to the floor, so she lay down on top of them -- face first. She felt like someone had hit her with a steamroller, backed up, and hit her again. Twice.

"Tired Heather," she croaked into her pillow. "Very tired."

Something was stabbing her in the stomach. Just a belt buckle. Or a hanger. Nothing compared to the overall ache that was crushing her into her center.

Her throat was incredibly dry, and her face felt like it had been rubbed down with sandpaper. Raw and itchy. Heather rolled over onto her back and felt like she was leaning on a small pillow. It took her a few seconds to realize it was her hair, tangled into a knotted ball at the top of her head. She gingerly touched her hand to it. That was going to hurt like hell to brush through. She tried to kick off her shoes, but her legs yelled out with pain, her thighs quivering like she'd just run a couple of miles.

"Don't move," she told herself. "Better not to move."

Better not to move so that she could think. Lie here and think and try to remember how, exactly, she'd ended up having sex with Charlie Salita.

There was kissing. That much she remembered. Lots of tongue and saliva. Groping. She'd even been quite helpful and popped open the ever-male-confounding front closure bra for him. He'd had a very smooth chest. Smooth and muscular and brown.

And there were a lot of pillows. Flowery ones with this ugly purple pattern that made it look like the Fruit Of The Loom grape guy had barfed all over the bed.

Bed. Okay, she remembered that, too. Heather squinted at the stucco ceiling, her eyes playing games with the swirly patterns and making her whole body spin. She felt very nauseous. Very spent. Almost abused.

She'd had a crush on Charlie in the eighth grade, worshiped him from afar in the ninth grade, almost gotten him to kiss her in the tenth grade, and then been totally humiliated and heartbroken when he'd told her he just wanted to be friends. A teenage boy who refused to even kiss her and leave her. Hormones didn't even play a role. Very ego damaging.

It was a long, sordid history of daydreams, doodled hearts, and tears.

She was a senior now. She had a boyfriend.

Maybe.

She didn't care about Charlie anymore.

But she wouldn't have minded being able to remember the sex.

THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A PARTY?

Mary Moss had never seen anything so pathetic in her life. A couple of kegs. A few tonsil hockey games. Bad music-store-compilation CD. It was no wonder Gaia thought this would be funny. These people must have learned how to party by watching reruns of
The Wonder Years.

A dorky guy with a completely over-it Caesar haircut sidled up to her and held out a beer. "Night owl." His head bobbed up and down like it was hanging from a piece of elastic. "I like it," he said.

Mary took the beer, chugged half of it, and handed it back. "Do you know Gaia Moore?"

His eyes roamed up and down her body, and he leered a smile. "Of her," he said.

Suppressing an eye roll was almost painful. Mary's consistently small store of patience was nigh gone. "Is she here?"

"Saw her somewhere," he said with a little shrug.

What she was actually there for obviously had no bearing. All he could see were the possibilities. Little did he know there were none. "Why don't you come sit down?"

"No, thanks," Mary said. "I wouldn't want to bother you. I can see you're really busy wasting space." His face registered no recognition of the insult, so Mary just snorted and walked away. This was a big apartment. There had to be someone here who had a line of coke or some real alcohol.

Wait, no. Not anymore. This was good, clean fun night. As much as she wanted drugs, as much as her body craved them, she was determined to follow through on her promise to herself.

It didn't matter, anyway, right? At this moment she d settle for the stimulation of a lot of chocolate and a good game of Twister.

Mary made her way down a freshly painted hallway, pausing to listen at doors as she went. Nothing. Nothing. Moaning. Fighting. Nothing. Obviously Gaia hadn't gotten her message and had been intelligent enough to recognize lameness run amok when she saw it. Maybe it was time to go home and relax with Conan and a really big pillow.

Suddenly a burst of loud laughter made Mary jump, and a slow smile crept across her face. Finally. She fluffed her long, curly red hair, straightened the shoulders of her black leather jacket, and pushed through a large swinging door.

The kitchen was huge. White. Immaculate. There was a raucous group of testosterone-high guys standing in the corner, bent over the table. One of them seemed to be taking notes in a big, cloth-bound book. No one noticed her.

This was obviously some kind of meeting. She obviously wasn't supposed to be part of it. That obviously meant she was going to stay for as long as possible. Mary tiptoed past a sparkling butcher block and ducked behind a counter. Perfect view of the guys, but they couldn't see her unless they were looking for her. Or the dog food that, from the smell of it, she was hiding behind.

"What about you, Charlie?" the guy with the book asked, rolling his pencil end over end between his fingers. "Add to the grand total?"

"Only one tonight, gentlemen," the Charlie guy answered. He was one of those guys who was totally aware of how good-looking he was, thus making him entirely unattractive. There was a round of disappointed, jeering "ohs" from the crowd, and a bunch of the guys laughed. Charlie held up his hands and backed up a step, smiling the whole way. "Wait, wait, wait. She's a Big Ten."

The "ohs" turned to "ooos." Impressed glances all around.

"This I gotta hear," the note keeper said, leaning back in his seat and pushing up the sleeves of his off-white sweater. His beady little eyes were shining with interest, piquing Mary's own. Charlie was obviously a big manly man among the manly men.

Charlie looked around, as if checking to see if he had the full attention of his audience. Once satisfied, he opened his arms and gave a little bow. "Heather Gannis," he said with false modesty.

Mary knew Heather. If she was a big anything, it was a big bitch.

"No way!" some kid in a hideous lounge shirt shouted, thrusting his arm down like a kid who'd just been picked last for kickball.

Charlie grinned. "And boy, can that girl move." More laughter, catcalling, and applause from the crowd. Bad shirt guy shot an icy glare at Charlie from the other end of the table, never taking his eyes off the victor as he took a long swig from his bottle.

Mary felt her face go red as the reality of what these guys were discussing sank in. The disgust mixed with the pungent aroma of the dog food made her stomach crawl.

"You got a confirm on this?" Notebook Boy asked, his pencil now poised over the open page in front of him.

A short kid in the corner raised his long-neck bottle of beer. "I saw them go in, and she looked very happy when they came out."

"Five points for Charlie," Notebook Boy said, making a note in his tome with a flourish. "For bagging a Big Ten."

"To the Big Ten!" the short guy yelled. He was answered by a chorus of echoes, more applause, and another bow. That was when Mary couldn't take it anymore.

"Was it your total lack of decency that brought you guys together, or do you all just have really small penises?"

There was a brief, confused silence as Mary stepped out from her hiding place and into full view in the middle of the kitchen. A few jaws dropped and a few sets of eyes narrowed before anyone spoke. It was Charlie who finally processed what she'd said. Mary was surprised that he was the one with half a brain.

"Who the hell are you?" he asked, sounding like a B-movie cliché.

"Who cares who she is?" the note keeper said, standing up and squaring his shoulders, all menacing-like. "What matters is how much she heard."

Mary rolled her eyes. "About what?" she scoffed, tossing back her hair. "Your pathetic little sex ring? I heard enough to tell all your conquests about it."

The guys exchanged looks, clearly trying to figure out what to do about her and her threat. Mary's heart suddenly started to pound out of sync with its normal rate. There actually were a lot of big necks, large hands, and teeny-tiny intellects in the room. Plus they were a bunch of sex fiends. Not exactly an ideal place for an attractive girl like herself to be making challenges.

Charlie finally emerged from the group and started in her direction. Mary fought the urge to back up and raised her chin. She couldn't remember the last guy who had intimidated her. Or at least the last guy who had gotten any indication that he'd intimidated her.

Of course this was one damn big guy backed up by about fifteen others.

"I'm giving you five seconds to get out of here," Charlie said when he was close enough for her to smell the Tic Tac-tinted beer stench on his breath.

Like that was supposed to scare her.

"And you won't be telling anyone anything," he added. "We're not afraid to hurt girls." He actually smiled as he said this, causing sweat to pop out in the center of Mary's palms with a maddening itch. "Got it?" he asked with a very serious edge in his voice.

"I got it," Mary said, surprised at the strength in her voice as she looked into a pair of very disturbed eyes. She glanced around the room, making sure to look at every single face so they would know that she wasn't, in fact, squirming.

The final look of disgust was saved for Charlie. She managed to hold it for a couple of seconds even though he was still glaring at her, and then she turned and went back the way she came, whacking open the door with a flourish.

It wasn't until the elevator doors had slid shut behind her that she let herself realize her knees were shaking.

ELLA STARED OUT THE PLATE GLASS
window of the loft in Hell's Kitchen, watching steam billow out of a manhole in the middle of the street. The image left her feeling cold. Cold and angry. Ella hated the winter. Had ever since she was a girl. There was something suffocating about it. The thick clothes. The tight spaces. The holiday crowds.

It made her feel small.

"You know, I've had people shot for not listening to me."

Ella snapped to attention at the sound of the word
shot
. He would do it. She knew that. She wasn't as indispensable as some.

She turned from the window and faced Loki. His eyes, as always, were unmasked. Sinister. But there was laughter in them. He didn't really intend to kill her. At least not today.

"I'm sorry," Ella said, running the tip of her finger along the edge of the galvanized metal counter next to her. The one that held the plans. "I was distracted. It won't happen again."

Loki's mouth twisted into a smirk. "Daydreaming about the holidays, are we?" he asked. "Or are you just thinking about what will happen to you if I find out you're lying about our unfortunate friend, the doctor?"

They'd been over this already. Several times. And although Ella had been frightened when Loki first confronted her about the doctor, the explosion, and what part she'd had to play in the whole fiasco, she was now getting a little bored. Of course Loki had found out about the events of the last few days. When it came to anything having to do with Gaia, Loki always found out. He knew about the explosion; he knew that Gaia had been at the station that night; he knew that a girl had been brutally slashed; and he knew of the doctor's unfortunate -- and obviously more than coincidental -- demise. He also knew that Gaia had ended up in the hospital.

The one thing Loki couldn't know for sure was what Ella's involvement had been. Loki was a master of information, but Ella had covered her tracks well, and she was a good liar. After all, she'd learned from the best. And although Loki was obviously still suspicious, Ella knew it was in his best interest to give her the benefit of the doubt for now. She
was
dispensable, but it would be very inconvenient to get rid of her. Besides, he could have no idea that Ella's hatred for Gaia went deeper than petty rivalry. He couldn't know that she wanted nothing more than to see Gaia dead. And his ignorance of that one simple fact was probably the only reason Ella was still alive.

Loki spread a blueprint out on the drafting table in front of him. Ella glanced at the corner of the page and noted the label New York Department of Public Works. It was amazing how Loki could get his hands on whatever he pleased.

"Sugarplums dancing," she said flatly.

"How is my Gaia?" Loki asked, studying the plans, oblivious to the fact that the mere mention of the name brought most of Ella's blood vessels dangerously close to bursting. "Is she excited about the holidays?"

Ella shrugged. "I don't know how she feels," she said, trying to keep the bite from her tone.

Suddenly Loki turned on her with the speed of a wildcat, his eyes crazed with anger as he thrust a crumpled-up newspaper into her face. "You don't even know what she's
doing,
" he growled, baring his teeth just slightly.

Ella's life stopped flashing in front of her eyes when she realized he wasn't, in fact, holding a weapon. Shaking, she gingerly took the newspaper from his hands and unfolded it. There was a large black-and-white photo of a twisted car wreck, accompanied by a headline that made the blood in her veins run cold.

MYSTERIOUS BLOND WONDER GIRL SAVES BABY, MOTHER

Finding her voice somewhere among the confusion her insides had been twisted into, Ella tried for an excuse. "We don't know that it was --"

"Of course we know it was her!" Loki spat, the rims around his eyes just a slightly darker shade of red than his skin. "Why didn't you report this?"

There was no way she could tell him she didn't know. No way she could tell him she was home, cleaning up the muck that passed for dinner in the pit that passed for a home where she lived a life that passed for a life with a man who could have been her father. And she was doing it all for him.

She couldn't tell him that. "The girl is fine," Ella said slowly, realizing she was actually unable to recall whether or not she'd seen Gaia since she left the night before. "I didn't want you to worry unnecessarily."

He glared at her. "You're skating on thin ice, Ella."

Ella blushed, feeling like a small child who had just been reprimanded for skipping her homework. She hated being made to feel like this. Hated Gaia for being the cause.

Loki took a deep breath and let it out slowly, audibly, through his nose. "From now on I want to know everything," he said, his mouth turning into a sly grin. "I don't need your protection."

"Yes, sir," Ella said. And he turned back to his plans as if nothing had ever happened.

"What else has our Gaia been up to?" he asked, his gaze flicking over the numbers printed at the edges of the large page he was studying.

Our Gaia.

"She's going to parties," Ella said, lacing her fingers together behind her back to keep her hands from clenching into fists. "And she's been with that boy," she added, mostly to see if he'd react.

She wasn't disappointed.

Loki turned to her, one eyebrow raised. "Has she?" He seemed to be contemplating the news. Gaia getting too close to Sam could be risky for Loki. Ella knew this. It was only a minuscule risk, but still, Loki had gotten rid of people for less.

Ella was practically salivating. All he had to do was say the word, and she would gladly execute the job. In the most painful and messy way possible.

"Good," he said finally.

Ella almost choked. That wasn't the word she was looking for.

"I'm sorry?" she said, before she could think the better of it. But Loki was flipping through his plans, apparently willing to ignore the fact that she'd questioned him. His mood swings were completely unpredictable.

"If he makes her happy, good," Loki said, frowning as he leaned closer to the desk, tracing one of the hundreds of jumbled lines on the blueprint with his nail. "Maybe she'll stay out of trouble until I need her."

Need her. That stung. Ella was so sick of hearing it, she could scream. What could Gaia possibly do for him that she couldn't do? That she hadn't already proven she was willing to do time and time again?

"Ella!" he roared. Her heart hit her throat so fast, she coughed. Now his eyes were smoldering again. "Don't make me tell you a third time," he said. He thrust his finger at the plans. "There is work to be done."

Ella shoved images of Gaia and her little friend aside and joined Loki at the drafting table. She would have to deal with Gaia and Sam on her own, that much was obvious. Loki might want Gaia to be happy, but it wouldn't be Ella's fault if Sam, say, stepped in front of a speeding cab, would it? Or a subway train.

But whatever she decided to do, the planning would have to be saved for another time.

If she wanted to live long enough to follow through with it.