The Lord of Near and Nigh: Shifter MC Novel (Pureblood Predator MC Book 2) (24 page)

“I’m filling in the blanks a bit, all right? This is basically what Ware said during the briefing they called after Bernard talked to her. They’ve opened a collaborative team to track you and Kusch down. Homicide, missing persons…even bringing the Feds in on it.” Trish looks at the table, takes a deep breath, then glares right at me. “Nobody says it outright, but the rumor is you’re playing both sides.”

“What?” I nearly spit out my coffee. “Like…selling girls?”
 

“Yup. Bernard’s pushing this theory that Kusch was on to you, and now he’s…he’s fucking
gone
, Lil. Poof! Just vanished. It’s bad, Lily. Real bad. That’s why I’m so glad you’re here. Let me get dressed, we’ll go in and start at the beginning, just come clean about what happened at that fucking biker bar—”

I grip Trish’s wrist and say, “Tell me more about the crazy girl. The Japanese one.”

Trish tugs her hand free and glares at me. “It’s all in the girl’s statement. At
work
. Remember work, Lily? Your job? You can read her statement when you get there.”

“Just tell me what you heard.”

“The chick said the cult leader’s name is Father…no, Priest Gabriel. Said he jacks the girls on heroin to keep them sedate. Y’know…so they can’t resist. Said the cult leaders burn out the girl’s eyes to make them pure, if you can fucking believe that, then the leaders breed with them or sell them. Maybe both.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. Sick. Real sick.”

I glance at the front door.

“Lily?” Trish says. “Something bothering you?”

Girl misses nothing.

“No…I…how long have I been here?”

Trish glances at the clock on the microwave. “Twenty minutes. Why?”

“I need to borrow your computer.”

“Hell. No. Whatever you want can wait. They’re gunna put an APB out on you, Lily. An APB! They already have one for the douchebag biker and his gang.”

I cross my arms and stare at the table. “So I make one slip and have a game of pool with the wrong guy and suddenly I’m a dirty cop?”

Trish looks at me strange. Maybe thinking I’m being a bit too defensive. That’s what I’d be thinking, were I in her shoes. “It’s only questions, Lily. The arsons all happening on the same night. You disappearing. Now Kusch. They just want to go over what happened. I say we come clean. Tell them we were there. That we fled because we were at risk of catching a bullet. Wrong place wrong time. I mean, that’s the
truth
—”

“So you haven’t told anyone we were there?”

“What? Shit no. Wanted to talk to you first. Oh, and that reminds me. Get a fucking
phone
.”

I had one, I feel like saying. Bought it with the money in the wallet I stole. But instead I say, “What happened to the girl? The Japanese one? Shiori?”

Trish pales. “I didn’t tell you her name, Lil.”

Fuck.

“Sandra did. Yesterday. Right before we caught that dead biker in the penthouse.”

“Oh. Right,” Trish says, looking sheepish.

Trish still has my back, but not for long. She’s already thinking of cutting me loose. Can’t say I blame her. She worked her ass off to have a shot at detective. I shouldn’t even be here. I’m putting her at risk. Dragging her into my shit.
 

“I need your computer, Trish. Please. There’s not much time.”

“Time until what?”

“Just…listen. I think this case…the missing girls. I think it’s bigger than a bunch of cult fucks. I think…there’s more going on.”

Trish gives me her best don’t-bullshit-me face. It’s a good one.
 

“More going on? You sound like you’ve been drinking the Cool-Aid. If there’s more going on then Heather Ware is the one to tell it to.”

“I don’t think so,” I say quietly.

Trish’s eyes widen. “You think…the brass? Fuck that. Why?”

“Give me your computer.”

She does, and I spend some time digging, conscious that every second I stay here puts my only real friend at risk. Trish leaves to get dressed and emerges wearing jeans, a sweater and her Glock, which makes me feel a bit better. Trish is a crack markswoman.
 

“Here,” I say, showing Trish the screen. “Company #78-GF73. These guys own the condo the biker was killed in. Did you get details on that body?”

Trish shakes her head no.

“They cut off his head, Trish. Burned it to ash. Then ripped out his heart.”

“Damn. They did tell us what MC he was from though. The Purebloods. Ring a bell?”

“Yeah. I know it looks bad. But look at this. Board of Directors for that company? See who’s there? August Lerrick.”

“Your sugar-daddy’s daddy. Keeps coming around to you, huh?”

“Ha.”

“So? Rich motherfucker like that must sit on a hundred boards.”

“Right. But look at the company’s primary industry.”

“International shipping freighters. And also deep-sea fishing and exploration.”

“Just like the boat those girls were held in.”

“It’s nothing, Lil. You saying August Lerrick’s a sex trade fiend?”

“I’m saying it’s worth talking to him.”

“What about the police connection? You said you’re worried about brass.”

I can’t tell her I’m worried about the connection because Detective Al Kusch transformed himself into a mouthed monster and tried to rape me…while I was snooping through outlaw biker Prez Aaron ‘One-Eight-Seven’ Arud’s safe house. Nope. That won’t go over too well. So I say: “I need time, Trish. A little more digging. Then I promise I’ll take what I know to the station.”

I’m flipping through some more pages on the company website when Trish whispers, “You’re not coming in, are you?”

“No.”

“I could bring you in myself. I’ve already lied for you.”

“You could. But you won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Where’s Shiori now, Trish? In Seattle PD lock-up?”

Trish’s face darkens. “No. The Feds. They took her somewhere. Sandra seemed real pissed about it.”

“Anyone know where she went?”

“No. She’s just—”

“Gone,” I say. “The one person who knows about the wackos killing those girls. Disappeared…from our own PD.”

“This isn’t Stalin’s Russia, Lil. Feds snatch witnesses all the time. She got lost in the shuffle is all. She’ll turn up.”

I scroll through another page and Trish says, “Hey. Stop. Go back. Yeah. Holy shit.”

She looks afraid.
 

“What is it?”

“That lady. Senator Gladys Townshend? She’s on the Board for your shipping company as well.”

“So?”

“So we just found her at her hobby stables outside Olympia. Her and about a half dozen Pureblood Predators MC. All very dead. Torn to shreds.”

“Oh shit.”

“They found something else, too. In the Senator’s basement. A film studio. And on the computers? More than forty snuff films. She was selling them online under the alias ‘Countess’.”

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah. See what I mean? A State Senator? That’s why I need more time.”

But something claws at my insides, and I realize Trish and I have already run out of time.

***

“Trish,” I whisper. “What kind of stove do you have?”

“What? You all right, girl? You look like
hell
.”

“What kind?”

“Natural gas. Why?”

“Because in thirty seconds your front door is going to fly open, and your world is going to end. I’m sorry, Trish. I didn’t think they could track me like this. I never meant—”

“Now, whoa. Just…fucking whoa! Right? You’re sounding more than a little messed up, Lily, and I’m sorry to say that given your father and all, but maybe Bernard’s onto something when she say’s you might be suffering mental instability due to the trauma—”

“Bernard said that?”

“Yeah. She did. Said you might need…psychiatric counseling. And it’s not…y’know…entirely difficult to believe.”

I stand from the kitchen table, run to the stove and flip all the burners on full blast. “You have to run, Trish. I don’t see them out back yet. I don’t think they have us surrounded.”

“
Surrounded
?” My friend’s looking at me like I’m talking absolute gibberish.
 

“Run! For fucks sakes Trish you have to trust me. We have fifteen seconds! Run! I’ll hold them here—”

Trish stands, slips on her jacket and unbuttons her holster. “That’s the problem, Lily. I
don’t
trust you. Not anymore. I don’t trust you with yourself. I’m taking you in now, understand? I’m calling this in. Turn off the fucking gas already. I’m getting a headache.”

The sour reek of gas is filling the room. My blood pounds in my ears. I remember the creature now. I remember her hate and hunger. She showed me who’s coming. But not to save me. She showed me because she craves blood.

Ten seconds.
 

I draw my Ruger and aim it at the door.
 

Trish pulls her Glock and points it at me.

“Put the gun down, Lily. Put it right the fuck down. Now! Or so help me god—”

“Don’t shoot,” I say, eyeing the door, then the stove pouring natural gas into the room. “Don’t shoot until we’re outside. I’ll survive the fire. You won’t.”

“Put it down, Lily. Put it the fuck dow—”

Boot steps thump fast up Trish’s stairs.
 

I’m sorry, Trish. I’m so sorry.
 

Trish hears them. Her eyes widen, and for a moment she forgets about me. I leap at her as the front door bursts open and the first creature swarms in, a man with large black eyes set in a long, boney face and four-inch yellow fangs and twisted rams horn’s sprouting from his head, and I throw Trish behind me and run backward at the rear door, hoping to carry her outside with me, but Trish twists out of my grasp, the quick little bitch, and I slam into the door and fumble with the handle while Trish tries to swat the Ruger from my hand.

The horned creature grins when he sees us. Three more right pile in behind him, two monkey-faced things and one with a hooked beak like a vulture.

Trish screams.

Bet you wish you listened now, hmm little Miss Perfect?

I kick the back door open and shout, “Out, Trish, now!”

Trish struggles against me, blind with fear. The horned creature strolls down the short hall from the front door to the kitchen grinning and spitting and barking.
 

“Don’t shoot,” I scream at Trish. “The gas!”

The first creature stops. Sniffs the air. Leaps back into his buddies, trying to escape.
 

Fuck.

I bury my shoulder into Trish, knocking her onto the back porch, then lift the Ruger and fire at the stove.

The world erupts in flame.
 

And I’m beginning to like it.
 

O L
ORD
OF
Near and Nigh! O Night Wind! I am blind and deaf. I am an imbecile. I am stillborn. I am undeserving. Have you mistaken me for another, O Lord of Night? Will you lift me, place this waste upon you’re reed mat? In what manner shall I act and govern? In what manner shall I rule?

Because now I understand I am meant to rule.

Not the weak and pitiful Carlos Collazo. Not Tamara my bloodmate.
 

This lost, undeserving waste once known as Rodas shall rule.
 

I am reborn in your proud name, my Lord Without Value.

You have raised me, my brother.

Soon the faithful will name me Emperor of Discord. All that came before this moment means nothing. The history of the Skins will die with them.

Wildness returns to earth.

Skins and Stricken and Pureblood. All will kneel before me.

I’m pacing on top of a vast pyramid of stone on the outskirts of a city the dying Skins named Mexico City. It’s night. Stars shine dim above a yellow haze that clings over the city like a death shroud. Wind blows cool through my spotted fur. I look to the Blood Moon and understand it as an omen of my rise.

My faithful will remake the altar atop this pyramid. Bow before me.

Then beg me to offer them.
 

I raise my head to the Blood Moon and roar. The sound rumbles from my chest, echoes across the dusty stone plaza beneath me, then becomes a deep, throaty growl. My claws click on the pyramid’s ancient stonework as I pace back and forth, my long black tail whipping behind me.
 

Entire neighborhoods are on fire. The blaze glows red-orange as it leaps from building to building. The smell of smoke is heavy in my nostrils, and even from high atop the pyramid I hear the dying scream.

I descend the steps of the Pyramid of the Sun slowly, relishing this evening’s hunt.

Tonight we return this city to the sun and moon and rain and wind.
 

Tonight we return it to wildness.
 

To the oldest of killers.

***

I follow a shadow-path of suffering to the center of this once great city, a huge square called the
zocalo
, surrounded by buildings that house the collapsing Skin government.
 

The air is electric with fear and potential.

Long ago, offerings were made in this square.
 

There was fire and dancing and violence and prayer.
 

Blood was let in my name.
 

Tonight the square is packed with a million or more people. Some are ordinary Skins. Some are dressed in black, with handkerchiefs over their mouths and hoods hiding their faces. These ones carry protest signs made of metal pipes and wooden clubs. They’ve come to hear President Manuel Ortiz give an emergency speech from the National Palace. The President will declare martial law. Soldiers prowl the streets. Soon they will be
my
soldiers. The Skins wearing masks will riot and war against the President, and they will die believing they have a say.

The last of the free Skins.
 

Once again, blood will slick the
zocalo’s
stones.
 

The crowd believes it has come to listen to a speech.