Dead Ink(Karma Series Book 4)(2)

He took another step forward until he was only a foot away, and a tremor  ran through her that she hoped he didn't notice. He was definitely  impatient. She had a feeling he wasn't the type to naturally run long on  that attribute anyway. She'd never been easily intimidated but dying  seemed to have unsettled her composure a bit.                       
       
           



       

Maybe she should've gone to the second name on the list, someone named  Fate, but this place had been closer. She had to believe that the five  miles between this location and the next address didn't mean the  difference between life and …  Could you even kill a dead girl?

She watched as he stood in front of her and realized that, good or bad,  the choice was out of her hands, for now anyway. She was here, and her  second and third choices were no longer available. Might as well lay it  all out on the table. And come to think of it, she had already died once  this week and come out of that intact. If he did kill her, maybe she'd  just keep coming back?

"I really don't know anymore. I can tell you who I used to be." She  watched his face, waiting to see what reaction he would have. There was  none.

"Keep talking." He didn't retreat or continue forward, the only movement  was to cross his arms, showing off the striated muscles of his  forearms. The gesture worked against physics and somehow made him look  larger.

She thought of how to explain all that had happened, not sure how to  tell him the chaotic events that had occurred. He was going to think she  was insane. What if she told him and he called someone from the loony  bin to come and get her?

She did a mental shake of her head as she appraised him. No. Chain her  up in a basement? Maybe. Call the cops or an ambulance? She'd bet no on  that one.

"Talk." He leaned forward as he said it. If she didn't start giving him what he wanted, he'd be on top of her soon.

The buildup of frayed nerves took over and she decided to run with the  situation as she started babbling it all out, without a thought to what  was being said. "I was running an art show in my gallery in Seattle, and  I went outside to go get my phone. It was dead, and I wanted to charge  it, but I didn't have a cord in my office because I lent it to a friend  the day before, and so I only had a car charger and I hate not having a  phone and there was no-"

"I get it. You went outside." He made a rolling motion with his hand so  close to her it caused a few strands of blonde hair to sway. His  eyebrows rose slightly. "Then what?"

And here came the ugly part she didn't like to think of, let alone have  to explain to someone. "There was a sharp pain. Someone stabbing me, I  think, but I'm not sure because I couldn't find any wounds and I still  can't, and then I was somewhere else entirely and it wasn't Seattle  anymore, and I didn't look like me. There was this guy who said I was  dead and I had to work for him, and I think I'm having a psychotic break  because none of this makes any sense, but he had your name on a list of  threats and I made a run for it-"

"What was his name?" His words cut through hers, startling her out of her rambling.

"Who?" Faith didn't care that he kept cutting her off. She wasn't sure  anything coming out of her mouth was making sense anyway. It didn't  sound plausible to her and she'd just lived through every horrifying  second of it. Maybe she should've gone to the cops, but if it were  true … if she was dead, and all the things that had happened to her were  accurate, what would the cops do?

She didn't look like herself anymore; she had no proof that she was who  she said. She'd definitely end up in a psych ward for sure, locked up  like a sitting duck for that psycho to come and pluck her up, pretending  to be a relative or something. No; Lars, as intimidating as he looked,  was still the better choice.

She looked at him with that thought in mind. Boy, she might really be  fucked if he was it, though. She had a feeling the odds were really low  on him having a Good Samaritan plaque hanging in the back somewhere.

"The one who wanted you to work for him?" His voice was calm as he  reminded her that he was still waiting for an answer, and somehow she  heard the weight of the question he'd just put to her. She had a feeling  he was already suspecting the name she was about to give but she wasn't  sure if it would be a good or bad thing.

She looked around, as if just uttering his name would somehow make it  possible for him to find her here, and then decided she'd probably read  too many Harry Potter novels. She cleared her throat, trying to get rid  of the hitch she knew would be there, and forced the name out anyway. If  Harry could do it, so could she! "Malokin."

She flinched as he suddenly went from almost perfectly still to a  movement so fast it blurred. His arms unlocked and his fist slammed into  the nearest counter, splitting the wood and dislodging everything upon  it in the process and she was glad she hadn't mentioned the other one  who'd wanted her.                       
       
           



       

Faith nearly tripped in her effort to move farther away from him. He  didn't seem to notice as he let out a string of curses. She backed up  until the wall was at her back and prayed to a god she was fairly  certain had forsaken her that she hadn't made a huge mistake. Then she  remembered that she was an atheist. Oh yeah, she was screwed for sure.





Chapter Two





First his friend Fate dragged him into this mess with Malokin, and now  the shit storm was literally spreading into his shop, Dead Ink. Up until  this point, even with the gangs on the street and the way the riots  were kicking up, he'd managed to maintain some semblance of normality.  The world might be going to hell but in his small corner, there was  still normal civilization. It might only be a block long but it was  enough for him.

His attention swung back to the girl who'd brought the mess inside his shop with her.

She'd marched right in here and dragged Malokin, the most likely cause  for this upheaval, right along with her. Malokin was a sadistic bastard  who lived for pain and anger and had been eluding him and the guys for  years. The only thing they knew about him was that he was somehow the  psychical manifestation of anger and had appeared with increasing  regularity, right along with the increase of riots and the gangs in the  streets.

And now he appeared to be sending care packages to Lars, all wrapped up  in the shape of a helpless female with a sweet voice. And how did she  get past his wards? Anyone wishing ill upon him or his property  shouldn't have been able to make it beyond the sidewalk. Unless he'd  left a loophole? Did he say people wishing him harm or just men? He'd  have to redo them now.

Still, she didn't look like trouble, and you didn't hang around as long  as he did and get lied to easily. Problem was, the read he was getting  off of her contradicted everything he knew about Malokin's tactics so  far. He didn't recruit the innocent types to work for him. She could be  here setting a trap.

But she was here so what did he do with her now?

"What's your name?"

"Faith Dover," she said and then her eyes drifted off toward the door again. "Or it used to be."

Her fingers hadn't stopped toying with a rip in the dirty shirt she was  wearing, and she looked like she hadn't slept in a week. Her pants  appeared to have been rolled around in a dirt pile while she was still  wearing them, and he thought that might have been a fragment of a dead  leaf stuck in her hair. He would've thought Malokin would've sent her  out packaged up a little better. She was definitely attractive but she  looked like filet mignon served up on a moldy hamburger bun. Malokin  might be a sadistic psychopath but he was a sophisticated and polished  one. Nothing about this made any sense.

"Why did you decide to come here?" He took a few steps closer to her,  closing the distance that had been created when he'd lost his temper,  but stopped when he saw her chest rise and fall more rapidly. He didn't  want her terrified to the point she'd hyperventilate. He wanted answers  now, not in a half an hour after he'd gone to the trouble of reviving  her from a spell of nerves.

"Because I didn't want to work for him or be near that man and I didn't  know where else to go. You were the closest name on the list I knew I  could get to."

"Closest to where? Where is he?" Lars asked, thinking maybe they'd  finally found a lead on the slippery eel's location. They'd tracked  Malokin down many times to always get there just as the dust was  settling from his departure.

He could see her struggling to remember and then a thought triggering an  action. She reached into her back pocket and pulled out a piece of  paper and looked at it quickly. "The Breakwaters," she said as she  handed it to him, the name and address of the hotel stamped on top, his  shop's address and his name scribbled in messy handwriting below, as if  she'd been in a hurry.