Okay. So far, so good.
As I reached for my purse, I saw the small pile of used condoms on the floor nearby. I nodded to myself. At least I'd made one responsible decision last night, amid the insanity.
My dress was laying in a silky black heap next to my shiny designer stilettos. Incongruous amid the dust and squalor of the studio, I thought they looked like some bizarre still life painting. I slipped on my panties, and then lifted the dress and slid into it, making sure the pads of my bare toes didn't make any sound against the chilly hardwood floor. I felt a jagged splinter dig savagely into the sole of my right foot, and I bit back a hiss of pain. Still, I lifted my shoes and carried them, not wanting to risk the sound of the heels on my way out.
My bladder ached, but I knew I couldn't stop to use the bathroom. Every moment I was still here, I was daring him to wake up and find me in the process of sneaking out. Irrationally, I feared that even more than I'd feared waiting around for him to reject me. If I simply vanished without a trace, I could still be considered mysterious. But being caught sneaking away guiltily would make me feel like the timid little mouse I'd tried so hard not to act like last night.
Finally, I lifted my purse, wincing as the contents shifted and clinked together. Nic coughed gently and rolled over to face me, and for a terrible moment, I was certain his eyes would be open and locked on mine, his eyebrows raised knowingly. Going somewhere, babe? That's cool. I was finished anyway. Don't let the door hit you where the Lord split you. Oh, and don't get any crazy thoughts about coming back, okay? One per customer. That's my rule.
Instead, his eyes remained closed, and his snoring continued. He looked so oddly vulnerable, so boyish and sweet, so harmless—and in that moment, I was afraid that he'd be hurt when he woke to find me gone.
Oh, stop talking out of your ass, you dippy schoolgirl, the schoolmarm voice snapped. He's a wolf, and you're thinking of him like he's a sheep. Now go hop a train and get on with your life, before he opens those cynical blue eyes of his and makes you feel like you're two inches tall.
I hung the strap of my purse over my shoulder, gently pushed the door open, and left. On my way down the hall, a floorboard creaked loudly under my foot, and I thought I heard Nic sit up in bed.
I broke into a run and didn't stop—didn't even look back—until I hit the train station.
Chapter Nine
Nic
I woke up to find myself alone in bed.
Usually, this would have been my choice. Years ago, I learned that sleeping with women after fucking them was nothing but trouble. Whenever we'd both wake up, there'd either be a bunch of awkward silences and guilt from them that I didn't really need when starting my day, or worse, they'd be all lovey and clingy and ask, “So when do I get to see you again?”
I'd had to teach myself how to look at them with hard enough eyes so they immediately knew there wouldn't be an “again,” and then I'd usually have to deal with listening to them cry in the bathroom while they made a goddamn show of getting ready to leave...rattling their makeup kits loudly, slamming down the lever on the toilet, and all the rest of it. Then they'd stomp out indignantly, expecting me to feel like shit, run after them, and apologize. Which, naturally, I never did.
Instead, I'd gotten very good at making an excuse and leaving when girls brought me back to their places, and when I brought them back to my place, I always made it clear beforehand that we wouldn't be spending the night together—that I just didn't roll like that. If they could hang, cool. If not, their loss.
So why didn't I say that to her when I brought her back here last night? And why the hell do I feel so bad about waking up and finding her gone?
I tried to shrug it off as I pulled my clothes on, but the question kept nagging at me. She was just a girl like all the others, right? Prettier than most, sure, and she'd seemed smart and funny, and she was a better lay than...well, anyone I'd ever been with, probably, if I were being honest with myself. Which was weird, since my bodycount had to be in the triple digits by now.
But still just a random lay, right, Nic?
Of course. And it seemed like she'd certainly felt that way too, or else she wouldn't have pulled a vanishing act, would she? No, she'd have stuck around like the rest, waiting for me to wake up, with starry eyes full of romantic expectations I knew I couldn't deliver on. So she bailed before I woke up, to spare us both that rotten scene.
And you know what? Good for her. There oughtta be more chicks like her, when you come right down to it.
But the fact is, there probably aren't any more like her.
Jesus, where had that thought come from?
I stepped out onto the street, feeling the cold air trace its fingers up my spine. I've never been much of a Christmas fan—I'd had a pretty short childhood, all in all—but even I had to admit that there was something a little sad about the day after. The decorations that had seemed so shiny and cheerful yesterday seemed like a bunch of cheap and tacky junk today, just waiting for their owners to throw them away or toss them back into their dusty boxes for another eleven months—forgotten and far from daylight, like prisoners in solitary.
That reminded me of Kong, and man, did that hurt.
I glanced across the street, expecting to see Growler loitering there. When I saw that he wasn't, an uneasy confusion bubbled up in my gut like a backed-up drain. He was supposed to be watching my back in case Vole tried to take another shot at me—and even if Growler wasn't exactly the world's smartest or most focused guy, it wasn't like him to just ignore or abandon an order he'd been given.
He's probably just around the corner taking a piss in an alley, or up the street grabbing a breakfast burrito or something. Or maybe he saw Lauren leave and thought it meant that I was awake too, so he figured it was safe to bail.
I mean, it's Growler, for Christ's sake. If anyone can take care of himself, it's him. He could scare the titanium off an exhaust pipe, and if Vole or any of those other Mafia motherfuckers had shown up, Growler would doubtless have turned them into human pretzels in the time it took to say “Leave the gun, take the cannoli.”
But still, something seemed off.
I hopped on Lola and gunned her engine. As I did, I found myself wishing that Lauren were perched on the back again, her arms wrapped around me, her soft breath tickling my ear.
Trying once more to shake these thoughts out of my head, I rode up the street to the Nest.
# # #
When I got there and walked in the door, I could tell immediately that something was wrong. The jukebox—which had always been cranked 24/7 since the Nest opened—was dark and silent. The place was packed with Reapers, so many that all the seats were taken and there was almost no room to move among them. I did a quick head count, and realized that almost every member of the local chapter was here, close to forty guys all in all. We'd had gatherings that big before, of course, usually for special events, and when we had, the entire place had been full of jokes, roars, stomping boots, and breaking glass, plus waves of profanity that crashed through like a stormy ocean.
But today, the Nest was eerily still. There were a few mutters and whispers among the guys, but overall, you could almost hear a pin drop.
Not good.
Bard was standing in the far corner, pacing and smoking cigarettes. He'd proudly given them up over a year ago, but one glance at the ashtray next to him—and the heavy gray cloud around him—told me he'd been chaining them all morning.
Not good at all.
When he saw me, Bard stubbed out his smoke and walked over. He always walked with a slow and patient stride, but from the rigid way he was holding his shoulders, I could tell that this time, his calmness was an act—one he was having trouble maintaining. He spoke quietly, spacing his words out with great effort.
“I've been calling you, Nic. I was just about to send someone to your place to make sure you were alive. Where have you been?”
I blinked, confused. He'd been calling me? I hadn't checked my burner this morning before leaving the house, even though I always had before. And of course, I hadn't looked at it all night, because, well...
I reached for my pocket to check the screen for missed calls, but Bard's hand shot out with lightning speed, clamping down on my wrist before I could. Jesus, he was strong. For a crazy moment, I thought he would twist his hand expertly, snapping my wrist easily like a dead stick as he'd done with so many others. I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt genuinely afraid of Bard—that wasn't the nature of our relationship. He was like a father to me, but I was damned scared now, and the feeling made my stomach lurch.
“Don't look at your phone, Nic. It's too late for that now. Look at me.”
With difficulty, I raised my eyes to meet his own. There was anger there, to be sure, but the other things I saw there frightened me even more, because I hadn't ever seen them in his eyes before. He was scared, too. More than that, he looked oddly disappointed.
I cleared my throat uneasily. “Bard, what the fuck? What's wrong?”
“Growler never came back after last night. He's missing.”
Shit. Had I really convinced myself earlier that Growler was such a badass Superman that there was nothing to worry about? I'm a fucking asshole. And a selfish one, too, because if he hadn't been guarding me last night...if I hadn't rolled over immediately when Lauren asked to go back to my place, if I had just insisted that we go to hers instead...