Riding the Storm (14 page)

She
couldn't answer him because she wasn't sure. She wasn't one to cry. Remy must
have stirred up more than just answers with his interrogation, something even
ACRO's shrinks hadn't been able to do.

"I
think… I think I'm just exhausted." That much was true. Last time she'd
checked an isobar chart, the time stamp had said one a.m., and that had to have
been an hour ago.

He
stroked her back lightly, lulling her sobs and—damn him—drawing her closer.
"It's been a long night," he said softly. "Feels like
longer."

It
did. Seemed as though she'd known him for years rather than hours, and that
should feel stranger than it did. Of course, the whole night could be written
off as one big
Twilight Zone
episode.

Right
down to the strange chanting in her head.

There
were times that Creed was able to rely completely on his own sixth sense to
guide him through a situation with a pissed-off ghost and times he needed the
help of his spirit to sense anything at all.

This
was neither of those times, and his own common sense told him to stay away from
direct contact with the portal—and to stay with Annika.

For a
few minutes, he stood outside her bedroom door, and then, once he heard the
shower running, he stepped inside.

She'd
left the door to the bathroom open, just enough for him to get a clear view of
her in the shower.

She'd
been sixteen when he'd met her—he'd been twenty-four—and she'd been too much of
a kid for him to give her more than a passing glance.

Overnight,
she'd grown into one hot mama, practically knocking him on his ass, especially
the way she strode around ACRO like she owned the place. Over the past years,
she'd turned more than a few heads, but supposedly she hadn't taken any of the
operatives up on their offers.

He
hadn't offered her anything. Yet. And now he was all mouth hanging open,
watching the warm water sluice over her body through the clear glass shower
door.

She
was perfect, with an hourglass figure normally hidden underneath the black BDUs
she wore on a daily basis at ACRO—her shoulders were broad for her frame, her
waist narrowed to nothing and that ass…

Heart-shaped.
Made for his hands.

He
started to sweat.

He'd
already left his jacket by the door and now he pulled his T-shirt off as well,
his spine against the cold plaster wall, and still he was getting hotter.

Soap
ran off her back in creamy rivulets. She shook her head under the spray and his
cock jumped, nearly led him into the water with her.

She
wouldn't push him out—no, he was pretty sure she'd help him strip out of his
pants and let him take her, her ass pressed against the glass or the tile or
wherever else he balanced her.

The
tattoos along his right side throbbed uncontrollably with a primitive, pulsing
beat.

She'd
be tight and hot when he entered her, her legs gripping his waist, his mouth on
hers.

Or
maybe he'd kneel down on the hard tile instead and spread her thighs, lick her
sex until she came all over his face.

He
swallowed hard and thought about leaving the room.

No,
this is about her safety
. The spirit
had wormed its way in and discovered her deep connection to Dev. Add to that
her electromagnetic charge, and she was like a lightning rod for this spirit to
move through.

She
turned slightly, enough for him to get a view of high, firm breasts, just big
enough, with pink nipples that were already taut. She arched under the water,
ran her hands up to play with her nipples, and he groaned under his breath.

His
own fingers tugged the silver ring that ran through his left nipple as he
attempted to bring sensation to that side of his body—to alleviate some of the
pressure, to balance himself.

When
one of her hands slipped between her legs, past the perfectly manicured blond
triangle to the pink cleft under it, his groan turned to a low whimper. He
unzipped his fly because there was no way he was getting through this without
coming.

She
was thumbing her clit, circling the nub slowly, interspersing that action by
putting one of her fingers inside herself. Her mouth was opened, contorted with
pleasure, and he heard a low, keening moan over the sound of the water.

His
cock was leaking as he pulled it, back and forth, his fingers playing along the
slit the way he imagined hers would.

His
name was on her lips—he could see the way they pursed when they formed the
C
,
the way her hand moved faster and faster, in rhythm with his. His balls
tightened, his skin was so sensitive that the cold air from the house hurt.

And
then she screamed—honest to goodness screamed as she came, as if the release
was so uncontrollable she had no other way to express it.

Something
sizzled through him, complete and utter pleasure as he started to come into the
T-shirt he held.

The
house appeared to shake with the force of their orgasms, enough for Creed to
move out of view and Annika to open the shower door and call out, "Who's
there?"

He
stayed outside the bedroom door, listening to her dress, waiting for his legs
to stop trembling… and thinking.

Well,
now, this was an interesting turn of events, from both Annika and the ghost.
He'd been pretty sure he caught a certain vibe from the spirit when he and
Annika were pressed face-to-face, downstairs in the hallway, but now he knew
exactly
what this ghost wanted.

He
knew exactly what he wanted too.

At
first, Remy thought the chanting was only a figment of his imagination, a
leftover mirage from spending time in this house again.

When
it grew loud enough that Haley looked over his shoulder toward the front of the
house, he knew it was no damned illusion.

Shit.
"Haley, just stay here. Don't go near the front door," he said,
pulling away from her. But that wasn't going to do any good, because she'd
already ignored him, jumped off the table and pushed past him. And she still
wasn't wearing any shoes.

"What's
going on out there?" she asked.

"It's
because of me," he said quietly, still unable to bring himself to turn and
face the chanting. Or her.

His
breath hitched for a second and that familiar feeling of dread pitched straight
through to his gut.
You could leave now. Go out the back door and walk the
hell out of Bayou Blonde
.

When
he was younger, this kind of scene would always happen near Halloween, when
witches and magic ran rampant.

And
his old man would suddenly take charge, tell him,
Go into the bedroom and
turn up the radio and don't come out until I tell you
. And then, after half
an hour or so, Remy Senior would come in, to find him huddled against the
headboard, trying his best not to show fear, not to give a shit at all, and
never succeeding.

People
get stupid about what they don't understand, T
, Remy Senior would say. And he'd make dinner and
they'd eat together and Remy Senior would stay home that night, barely drink,
and that would be enough to make Remy happy.

But
he wasn't that kid anymore. Or a coward.

"I
said, don't go near that door," he barked, his voice firm with the
inherent tone of command he'd grown accustomed to.

He
turned in time to see Haley's spine stiffen at his words. But she'd stopped
walking, at least. He moved quickly, brushed past her and flung open the front
door, closing it behind him just as fast.

A
quick head count showed fifteen people on the postage stamp of a front lawn, a
mix of men and women with candles and lanterns, standing among the debris and
destruction, and all because of him. How special. The welcome home party that
kept on giving.

His
head began to pound, and he opened his mouth to speak, to tell them all to back
the hell up, but nothing came out.

"Told
you he was back," said one of the women he recognized as a self-appointed
neighborhood voodoo priestess. She was really nothing more than a scam artist
who sold tap water and called it miracle juice. And then she started chanting
again in Cajun French, some curse removal bullshit. Like any of them cared
about helping him.

He'd
never believed in curses, and he wasn't starting now.

"
Arete
saf
I'll give you two minutes to shut your mouths and back away from this
property. And then I'm going to start shooting," he said hoarsely.

The
chanting died down to a soft whisper, drowned almost completely by the sound of
branches cracking under feet as a handful backed away, even though he didn't
have a gun in his hands. He recognized a few of the neighbors, even more people
he'd once gone to school with, born and bred on the Bayou Teche and refusing to
leave. He watched them until a single strong voice in the crowd cursed Remy,
galvanizing the mob again, and then their faces grew hazy as his head began to
spin. His skin tingled, the wind picked up and the chanting grew louder.

"Remy."
Haley stood next to him, touching his arm even as the rain began to fall—large,
heavy drops that splattered and hissed when they hit the grass. Steam rose and
the images in front of him blurred and all their words ran together.

"Ah,
T-Remy's got himself a woman."

"
Bonne
chance, cherie
. With a man like that, you're going to need it."

"He's
goin' to kill you, chile. He's done it before…

"You
all need to leave," she called out to them, her voice calm and strong, and
fuck, she was just as good at giving commands as he was. Maybe better, even,
because everyone suddenly shut up, and for a second the humming in his brain
stopped.

"Mebbe
you need to get him outta here instead, lady," one of the men from the
back of the crowd called. And that's when he noticed they all wore the familiar
bags of gris-gris around their necks to ward off the evil spirits they were
convinced held court in his body.

At
this point, maybe they weren't wrong. And he didn't care anymore; he closed his
eyes and prepared to let them chant the devil right out of him. But Haley
shoved him hard, and he opened his eyes and stared at her. She stared back, her
jaw clenched tight, her lips pressed into a thin, angry line.

"Don't
you let them do this to you." She held the shotgun that had hung on the
post inside the front door for as long as he remembered, slung comfortably
across her arm. And he didn't see the same fear or hatred in her eyes that the
crowd had in theirs. He saw understanding, but that had to be a trick of light.

This
was all one big goddamned trick. "Go inside, Haley."

Something
hit him in the chest—a bag of bones and herbs, most likely, followed by sticks
and anything else the mob could get their hands on, all meant to drive him back
inside so they could finish their spell-casting.

"I'm
not leaving you out here alone," she said, using her weight to try to
force him back toward shelter, but he stood firm, his bare feet planted on the
wet deck. When a stone bounced off his shoulder, she snarled, spun around.
"What the hell are you people doing?"

"We're
throwing spells, sugar. You ever hear about the curse T-Remy's got on
him?" One of the women in the crowd sauntered toward the porch, her hips
swaying in cutoff jeans, and he recognized her as Suzette, a girl who'd been
raised by her three brothers in a rusty old trailer. She had a few more pounds
on her than he remembered, and her features looked harder, like she'd been
through hell in recent years. But there was no denying that she was still a
good-looking woman.

"If
I need to know something about Remy," Haley said in a voice cool enough to
send the local cottonmouths into hibernation, "I'll ask him myself."

She
crowded possessively against him, put one foot in front of and between his so
his thigh pressed into her ass, and he realized she was standing out here in
nothing but a two-buttoned shirt and shredded underwear that, if there were
more light, would be providing the men with a damned good show.

"Then
ask him if he still likes these," Suzette said, cupping her breasts
through the fabric of the tight tube top that barely covered them.

Damn,
if this were happening at any other time, he might actually enjoy what promised
to be a catfight worthy of any man's wet dreams.

"Maybe
you think you're woman enough to take him on," Suzette continued,
"but I don't think so."

"What,
did you try and not succeed,
chere
?" Haley asked. She slowly
leveled the shotgun at Suzette's chest, and cocked her head. "Because
there's nothing about Remy that I can't—or don't want to—handle."

"he
let me handle him a few times.
Gete toi
, sug." Laughter rang out as
Suzette smirked at Haley, blew Remy a kiss and winked before she backed into
the safety of the crowd.