Page 49 of Nightshades
Flipping open the top, I peel a smoke free by wrapping my lips around the orange filter. Tossing the pack into the bag, the beetles swarm it and tug the zipper to enclose Greta’s skull.
“Hey, man!” I shout at the guy who dared to put his hands on Lula. “Hey!”
The guy stops in his tracks, the fragrant scent of annoyance trickling in the air between the drops of rain.
“Yeah?” He turns his head, tucking his hands into his jeans pockets.
“Do you have a light? I forgot mine.”
He pulls his hands free, and my gaze zeroes in on the one he touched my mate with. All I can think about is ripping his entire arm from his body. I roll my head over my shoulders, the deep huffs sound from my rhino, not liking that this man is still standing. He should be bleeding on the horns of my head, begging to live another day.
“Actually, yeah. I do.” He pats his pockets, finally pulling a red lighter free. “Here you go, man.”
I snag the lighter and flick it, covering the flicker of fire from the rain as it burns the tobacco until the ash begins to show itself.
“Thanks.” I toss it back to him. “I appreciate it.”
“No problem.” He begins to walk away, and I grab the back of his neck, forcing him to turn around and look me in the eye.
I deepen my voice. “It is a problem.Youare a problem.”
“Fuck you. Let me go, or I’ll call the cops.”
I lift him off his feet, then tilt him back, his head resting on my shoulder. “What do you think the cops will do? I could bring that pretty detective back. Let’s see what she would think about me dragging you into an empty room to make sure you can’t demand anything from a woman ever again.”
I flip him around, catching him by his neck so he is forced to look into my eyes. “I want you to fight me, so you know what it’s like to be overpowered.”
“I don’t know what game you’re playing at.” He punches my wrist, so I let him go, but I can barely feel a thing. His strength is a show of weakness in itself. “But I have money. I can get you money. Any amount you want.”
A man can only be measured by how he treats a woman. “I don’t give a fuck about your money.” His eyes meet mine long enough to fall into my influence, his body going lax in my hold. “You’ll come with me.”
“Sure,” he agrees. “Whatever you want, man.”
I place him on his unsteady feet, his body swaying from the lack of control he has in his body now that I’m in charge of it.
“Follow me.” I walk across the street, taking a long drag of the cigarette and flicking the ash free.
My new friend drags his feet behind me, following my every step as he was told. There’s an empty building nestled between an ice cream shop and a restaurant. The windows are boarded up with plywood, and there’s a massive lock on the door handle. I’ve seen these before. I’d have to enter a code to get the key to unlock the door.
Good thing I don’t give a fuck.
I ram the door with my shoulder, and it swings open easily enough. Closing it is another story, and I don’t give a fuck about that either. Let people come inside. Let them wander into the unknown.
I’ll kill them.
The natural sunlight peeks its way in. A few windows aren’t covered completely. Probably from others trying to break in. There’s the sound of dripping water in the distance, a large crack in the ceiling, and drywall crumbled onto the floor.
An old weather-ridden couch sits lopsided in the room to the left of us. Frames that hang on the wall are crooked, the art ruined by the dampness in the air or a thick grime covering the canvas. Whatever this place used to be, I bet it was lavish.
The floors are hardwood and beyond saving, which is a shame. There’s too much damage from years of being forgotten. This place went from being the first in someone’s life to nothing but a fleeting thought to a rundown building.
Oh, the stories this place could tell. I bet the walls themselves are haunted.
I scratch my claw along the mantle, engraving my own presence into the shambles of its history.
“Farington Place.”
Oh.