Styx & Stoned (The Grim Reality Series Book 2) (22 page)

The revolver exploded, catapulting
the criminal backward into the stand of chips. He slithered to the white tile
floor in a cacophony of crumpling cellophane. The ringing in my ears ricocheted
through my head and my feet seemed rooted in place. Nobody moved. We just stood
there with our mouths hanging open.

I think I spoke for everyone in the
mini-mart when I finally muttered, “Holy crap.”

An aftershock of adrenaline surged
through me. I slung my soda aside and raced toward the robber. Hopefully he was
injured and not dead. I’d had enough of death for a lifetime.

Mr. Snack Cake seemed to have the
same idea and sprang into action. He barreled around the corner, shouting, but
I was too amped up to make sense of his gibberish. I dropped and slid the last
foot, stopping when my knees plowed into the robber’s ribs.

The good looking guy waved his arms
at me. “Don’t touch him!”

Too late. Sorry, but when I see a
scraped elbow or somebody with a hole the size of a frozen pizza in their
chest, my ninja paramedic skills kick into action. I pressed my fingers to the
robber’s neck, checking for a pulse. Nothing. My hands drifted across his
chest, but there was no place to start compressions. Not that it would have
helped. Doug’s shot had hit the man dead center—no pun intended.

Mr. Snack Cake skidded to a stop
beside me.

I glanced at him. “He’s dead.”

His eyes grew to the size of silver
dollars. “I told you not to touch him.”

Obviously the sight of a corpse was
completely freaking out this guy. Good thing I’d developed a rather unhealthy
obsession with CSI shows after my husband died. I knew what to do. I looked
over my shoulder at Doug. He still held the revolver, his hands shaking, and
appeared to be in shock.

“Call 911.” His eyes tracked to my
face but I don’t think he understood me. “Doug.” I used his name, trying to
snap him back to reality. “Put the gun down and call 911.”

The weapon clattered to the floor
and he fumbled for the phone. Using the dead guy’s shoulder for leverage, I
tried to push to a stand. The sensation of being pulled downward tugged on my
arms. I struggled to my feet and tried again, but couldn’t yank my hands off
the robber.

Mr. Snack Cakes leapt over the body
and gripped me around the chest. His hands locked directly between my boobs.
Granted, this was the most action the girls had seen in over a year, and
normally I would have been flattered, but I preferred to be groped more
privately—with less dead people around.

“Hey, pal, mitts off the boobs.” I
fought against his hold but my hands remained glued to the dead guy.

“I told you not to touch him.” He
tugged, but I still couldn’t straighten or remove my palms from the robber’s
body.

What happened next was like trying
to wiping sticky fingers with a paper napkin. No matter what, the napkin clung
to me—just like the robber did.

I was still bent over, as if locked
in a deadly game of Twister, when the cute guy heaved himself back and finally
dragged me free. I won’t swear in public, but I’m almost positive he groped my
boobs again.

I couldn’t be certain because at
the same time I heard a zipper-like rasp and found myself reeling backward. Mr.
Snack Cake caught me before we both fell into a postcard stand. I’d barely
righted myself when the dead guy’s body lifted from the tile and hurdled toward
me. I folded in on myself, bracing for impact. But instead of colliding, the
mini-mart robber passed through me. Somebody screamed like a little girl—I’m
pretty sure it was me.

The man holding me gripped my
hands, curling them into fists. “Hold him, Lisa!”

Every instinct had me spinning to
see where the robber had gone. Nothing made sense. Had I just imagined the man
passing through me?

“He’ll run if you let go,” the cute
guy said into my ear.

“Let go of what?”

That question was quickly answered
as the robber snapped back through my body, slicing me with an icy chill that
cut through my bones. A shudder rippled through me and my mind couldn’t
comprehend what I was seeing—Mr. Bad Manners.

His translucent body flickered and
a dark aura pulsed around the form. I screamed again and attempted to violently
shake off the good-looking guy’s hold. I’m certain it was one of those spastic,
hyperventilating convolutions. Not pretty, but I wasn’t apologizing for my
freak-out.

“Stop fighting me,” Mr. Snack Cake
yelled.

Yeah, right. Every survival
instinct screamed for me to get away from the ghostly entity glaring at me. I
dug my boots into the tile floor and pushed backward, but couldn’t get
traction. Any movement I made tugged the apparition of the bald guy with me.
The darkness around the robber grew and enveloped me. His anger beat against me
as if it was my own emotion. It invaded my personal space, choking off my
breath and the scream hovering in my throat.

The ghost yanked against my hold,
which disconnected his dark aura from me. I gasped, inhaling a lungful of air.
He jerked again, wrenching me forward. I stumbled over something and when I
looked down I saw the mini-mart robber’s body lying in the same place he’d
fallen, except now a pool of dark blood seeped from under his back.

My gaze darted to the ghost
attached to me and then down at his body. I screamed—again. I mean, I was all
about the paranormal, but in a romantic way—fallen angels—sexy vampires—pretty
much any immortal who wanted me to be the focus of his world—but not an angry
ghost of a violent criminal.

The cute guy leaned in. “Whatever
you do, don’t let go of him.”

Not that I could. My fingers ached
from the living guy’s grip and my nails gouged my palms. He turned me toward
the back of the store, which automatically dragged the apparition of the robber
with us. “I’m taking her to the bathroom to get cleaned up and calmed down,” he
said to the boys. “Lock the doors until the police get here.”

At this point, he frog-marched me
and what I now believed was a ghost, toward the back of the mini-mart.

The apparition fought our every
step. “Let me go, you stupid bitch.”

Wow, harsh.
Logic shrieked I shouldn’t argue.
I’d seen the Amityville Horror. No way did I want blood seeping out of the
walls of my house. It was hard enough getting red wine stains off the carpet.

“Shut up, Leroy,” the cute guy
said.

That silenced the robber’s ghost.
Crap, were these two partners?
Had I just become a criminal sandwich? Nausea
rolled through me. Maybe if I puked on Snack Cake’s fancy hiking boots, he’d
let me go.

“How do you know my name?” The
spirit stopped struggling. “You a cop?”

Cute guy lowered his voice so only
we could hear. “You wish I was a cop.”

Chills slithered down my spine at
his tone. Who the hell was this guy? The darkness pulsing around Leroy’s ghost
intensified and my head started to swim. It felt as if he was sucking the life
from me. Blackness crept around the edges of my vision.

Don’t pass out. Don’t pass out.

Damn it, I’d been determined to get
my life on track. It looked like the first day of my new life might be my last.

We entered the bathroom. The smell
of industrial cleaner filled my nose and the flickering fluorescent lights
intensified my headache. He kicked the door closed, sealing us inside the white
tiled tomb.

“My name is Nate.”

I craned my neck to see if he was
talking to me. “All right.”
Nice to meet you
seemed a little
inappropriate for the situation. “Listen Nate, you need to tell me what the
hell is going on because I am seriously about to lose it.”

“Let me get rid of him first and
then we’ll talk.” His voice softened, the creepy killer tone lessening.

“Get rid of him?” I scrunched my
face and laced my words with my infamous sarcasm. “Where do you think he’s
going? We’re in a frickin’ bathroom of a mini-mart.”

Me and my big mouth.

“Pick!” Nate waited a few seconds
before shouting the word again. “Pick!”

“Pick?” What was I supposed to
pick? The ghost or me? Life or death? My fingers ached from his crushing grip.
I wiggled, trying to get away, but he continued to hold me in place. “I pick
life. I want to live. Don’t kill me.”

“Me too,” Leroy’s ghost said.

“It’s too late for you, Badder.”

I didn’t know who Badder was, but
when Leroy began to fight me again, my keen sense of deduction kicked in,
telling me it was him. Several times he tried to jerk away, but kept rebounding
like a rubber band. His arms passed through mine, cutting my bones with a
searing cold. My head pounded, feeling like it was about to shatter. Any minute
I was going to embark on a psychotic episode of epic proportion.

A bright, blue light suddenly
appeared at the end of the bathroom near the toilet. All of us stopped
struggling and stared as the sink disappeared behind the elongating glow. The
light widened into a rectangle and the intensity dimmed. Breath caught in my
throat when an actual door appeared and then slid open. Leroy Badder’s mouth
dropped open and his shoulders slumped. At least I wasn’t the only one stunned
by the sight. Nate, however, appeared perfectly calm, like an elevator arriving
in the Holiday bathroom was a normal occurrence.

My attention drifted back to the
far end of the bathroom and the man standing on the other side of the door. At
least I thought it was a man. Something about him didn’t look completely human.
Maybe it was his coal black eyes or perhaps the tiny bumps protruding from the
front of his skull that reminded me of horns. Despite what was certainly an
unfortunate birth defect, the man’s head was a perfect oval. A solid sheet of
sable brown hair slicked along the top and sides like glossy frosting, and the
creases in his black suit were so sharp they could cut. Mafia attorney popped
into my mind.

Beyond him the room glowed red. Not
like those red light bulbs hookers use to advertise their services, but more
like a roaring fire burned nearby. My first impression? Modern Gates of Hell.
But that would be ridiculous, right? I mean, I was standing in a mini-mart
bathroom.

“I’ve got him, Pick.”

Nate’s words snapped me out of my
trance. “That’s Pick?”

“Yes.” His gaze slid to mine and he
lowered his voice. “Don’t let him touch you.”

Like that even had to be said.
“Yeah, no problem there.”

I must have been in shock, because
I should have been freaking out. It wasn’t every day you saw an elevator to
Hell in a convenience store bathroom. My life was hockey games and laundry,
not…well, not whatever this was.

“Nate.” Pick’s voice carved through
the tension like a hissing blade. “Punctual as usual.” His gaze tracked to me
and his thin lips pulled into a white, feral smile. “And who do we have here?”

This Pick character gave off a
seriously eerie vibe.

“A new recruit,” Nate said.

I had no idea if they were talking
about me and it didn’t matter. At this point I was doing good not to pee
myself.

The attorney guy pulled a clipboard
from a file pocket mounted near the entrance and scanned an attached paper.
“Leroy Badder?”

“Yes.” Nate didn’t move or release
his hold on my hands. “He just robbed the convenience store—or tried to.”

Pick ticked a mark on the clipboard
and placed it back into the pocket. “You’ve been quite the troublemaker, Mr.
Badder.”

“Yeah, well, let me go and I’ll
show you just how bad I can be.” Leroy tugged against my hold, pulling me
toward the elevator.

Panic shot through me. Nate had
specifically said to not let Pick touch me and I had every intention of
complying. Once again, I dug the thick heels of my boots against the slick tile
floor and lunged backward.

Nate’s grip tightened and he leaned
in, pressing his mouth against my ear. “When I tell you to release him, let
go.”

“Gladly.” Though I didn’t know if
my fingers would open after being crushed for so long.

Leroy shook his arms, which caused
me to chomp down on my tongue. I bit back a string of name calling, most of
which were less than flattering references to his mother.

“Now?” I shuffled my feet, trying
to avoid Badder’s stomping boots. Then the ghost braced his foot against my
thigh and hauled backward. “Now?” I shouted.

“Now!” Nate’s grip slid from my
hands to my waist, holding me steady.

With the help of Leroy’s thrashing,
my fingers uncurled and released the ghost. Leroy hurled toward the open door,
as if being sucked in by a giant vacuum, and tumbled into the elevator. He lay
for a few seconds, looking around. When his gaze tracked downward, his eyes
widened and his mouth rounded in a silent scream. Before he uttered a sound,
Leroy dropped out of sight. The scene reminded me of the coyote on one of those
Road Runner cartoons. Seconds later, the scream he hadn’t voiced wafted up and
out of the elevator to Hell.