Page 6 of One Dark Kiss (Grimm Bargains #2)

SIX

Rosalie

I smack my hand against my forehead several times as the rain beats down against my car when I execute a quick U-turn to return to the bar.

I cannot believe I forgot to have Alexei sign the two affidavits I need to file with the motion to release his funds.

He flustered me so much that I can barely think even now.

Thunder ripples above me, and in the distance, lightning strikes. I shiver and turn on a little bit of heat. The rain isn t unexpected this time of year, and yet the storm seems angry. Right now, the whole world feels furious.

I shake my head and then see Alexei walk out of the Amethyst up ahead. He even prowls like a panther, and I shove that thought into an abyss.

If he just signs these documents, I can get myself home. It s my turn to buy dinner for my boarders, and they get cranky if I m late.

A brown car, dented and rusty, zooms out of the alley in front of me, headed straight toward Alexei. I gasp and stiffen. He sees the car, and his body braces. A black barrel emerges from the driver s side of the back door, and I scream, frantically trying to press my button to roll my window down.

Alexei, run, I yell.

A pattering fills the air as Alexei ducks back into the bar. The man shooting continues to spray the bar s exterior as the car accelerates and quickly zips out of sight. I didn t see a license plate. I gasp, panting, shock buzzing through me.

I speed up and park near the curb before ducking out and running to shove open the door and almost fall inside the dim-lit bar. Twin barrels meet my startled gaze, one from a tall man behind the counter and one from Alexei. Upon seeing me, they both lower their weapons.

Are you all right? I sputter.

Alexei, red blooming over the left side of his chest, looks over at the man I recognize as Garik. You okay?

I m good, Garik says. Are they gone?

I nod numbly. We should call the police.

Garik s eyebrows lift, and Alexei tucks his gun at the back of his waist.

Were you shot? I hurry toward him and gently pry the material away. The borrowed shirt is quickly turning crimson.

I m good, he says, looking at the back door. She ran fast.

Garik lopes around the bar and moves toward us without ceremony, ripping Alexei s shirt over his head.

I gulp. Blood now slides down his well-tattooed and scarred front to pool at his waistband.

Garik prods his back, and Alexei growls.

Looks like a through and through. You re going to need stitches.

He returns to the bar and throws a filthy bar rag towards Alexei, who snatches it out of the air with one hand.

I hold up a hand. Don t put that against ... He covers his bleeding wound. I wince.

Come on, lawyer, he says, his face pale beneath his bronze skin. I need a ride.

I can t believe this.

He walks outside, looks both ways, and moves slowly around to duck into my passenger seat, holding his arm to his body.

He s going to get blood all over my car.

I shake my head, give one look to Garik, and follow Alexei outside, shutting the door behind me before glancing back at the bullet holes.

They match many of the others in the buildings down the street.

What have I gotten myself into?

I get in the car, which is still running, and pull away from the curb. I ll take you to Catholic General.

No, he says. Go left here.

I need to turn left anyway, so I do. What do you mean no? Is there a hospital you prefer?

No, just follow my directions. I know how to heal this.

If he wants to bleed to death, I guess that s his problem. It would certainly fix my current schedule. I wonder if I still get credit for having secured his release if he dies. Shouldn t we call the police?

No. There s nothing to tell them, and I don t want to be on their radar right now.

Not liking this, I follow his terse directions and end up a few miles away from town in a rundown area showing very little life. This area s even worse than where your bar is located, I murmur.

Take another left, he orders.

I m really getting tired of his commands, but I do so, emerging onto a forlorn neighborhood of, most likely, abandoned homes. Five houses scatter down the street with boarded-up windows, broken down fences, and tall weeds.

That one. He points to a decrepit white house at the end of the block.

I slowly pull into the weed-riddled driveway.

Hold on. He pushes open the door and moves toward the one-car garage door to lift it, the muscles in his chest straining and the tendons in his neck bulging.

I can t imagine the pain he s in right now. I ve never been shot.

Once he gets the door open, he motions me inside the dim space, looking even paler than before.

Unease filling me, I glance guiltily around and then pull inside. He quickly yanks the door down with his good arm, his jaw clenched. Silence descends now that we re out of the rain. I cautiously step out of my car. What are we doing here?

This way. He walks up two wooden stairs and opens a door to the house.

I don t like this at all. Um, I think I ll wait here.

Don t make me carry you. The last is said through gritted teeth.

Oh, like he could carry me with a bullet wound. Yet, something tells me he probably can. I wish I had a weapon. I climb the two stairs, hoping they don t break, and step inside a dirty, yet uncluttered seventies-style kitchen with cracked linoleum on the counters and floor.

He immediately opens a door to his left and starts descending down more wooden slats of stairs, his gait losing its natural grace. Come on.

Is this where you leave all the bodies? I gingerly pick my way down the stairs. Cool air washes over me.

His chuckle is dark. You ve never been safer, Peaflower.

Somehow, I m not comforted by that fact. I follow him into a square-shaped basement with dirt on the floor and no windows. I shiver. This would be an ideal place to hide a body, actually.

He walks to the far concrete wall, plants his good hand right above his head, and waits.

I gulp, the hair on the back of my neck standing up. Listen, I m not sure what ...

A door slides open in front of him. He looks over his shoulder and flashes me a grin, one that warms me in inappropriate places.

Come on, Rosalie, he says, his voice low with pain.

I have to admit, my curiosity has just sprung wide awake. I hurry across the dirt floor, my kitten heels sinking annoyingly, and follow him inside. We re in pitch darkness. The door closes behind me, and I try not to scream. I hear something fumbling, and then lights flick on down a long tunnel.

Whoa, I say, and then my gaze catches on ... Is that a golf cart?

He smiles. Do you mind driving? I m kind of dying here.

I like the idea of still being in control, because this is crazy. Sure. I run around to sit on the driver s side of a pretty standard blue golf cart.

He sits next to me, his heat instantly warming me. That way.

There s only one way. I marvel at the can lights attached to concrete walls every five feet or so. Where are we going?

Just drive.

I don t want to be curious or amused, but this is the most fun I ve had in a long time. So I press the gas pedal, and the cart instantly zings off. Don t you have to charge these things?

He jolts. Wait.

We both wince as a loud pop echoes, and I turn to see an electrical cord fly through the air and land hard. Oops.

He scratches his head. Yes. It s always plugged in.

I probably just broke it. But it s not my fault he didn t explain what s happening. I hit the gas again, entranced at our speed. We go several miles in a short amount of time, until we reach the end of the tunnel with an obvious door. I stop. Where are we?

Hologrid Hub. He hitches painfully out of the golf cart.

I hop out and hurry around to look at his face. He s gone pale beneath his bronze skin, and he s partially bent over. I told you we should go to a hospital.

Right. He moves forward and flattens his hand against the top part of the door like he did before.

I squint my eyes and peer up. Is that some sort of sensor?

Yes, he says. It s a palm sensor that reads the fingerprints. My hand s the only one that will open it.

I don t want to be impressed, but I am. That s kind of cool.

The door slides open, and we walk into one of those fancy computer server rooms you see on TV.

Whoa, I say. Computer consoles with blinking lights line all four walls except for a doorway opposite us, whereas in the center on a big pedestal sits an amethyst, raw and natural, bigger than a basketball.

The stone s cuts and valleys sparkle purple and slightly white in the dim light.

The servers hum around us, so clean they reflect our images.

Hold this. Alexei hands me his gun, his gaze locked on the crystal in the center of the room.

What are you doing?

He moves toward the amethyst as if unable to refuse its draw. Taking a deep breath, he places both hands on either side of the precious gem. I m healing myself.

I move to the side, watching as the crystal begins to glow a brighter purple. Wow, I whisper.

As one of the four major social media companies in the world, Hologrid Hub runs on amethysts.

The three other companies run on either garnets, citrines, diamonds, or aquamarines.

I know this because my best friend, Alana, is the person who actually charges the crystals at Aquarius Social.

I ve never quite understood what that means, and not once has she mentioned she can receive healing energy from a stone.

Alexei throws back his head, and electricity arcs through the air.

I blink. Alana has explained how the four families learned to harness the power from crystals back in the stone ages, which gives them better health and longevity.

They ve taken that gift and amassed wealth and power through the centuries.

As I watch, the hole in Alexei s shoulder begins to mend.

I stumble back. Holy moly. Alana never said that the stones could actually mend wounds.

Alexei s eyes open and he looks at me, his gaze slumberous. This is a secret.

Holy crap. Crystal energy really can heal. It s sad that most people don t know about crystals, I blurt out. Alana taught me that I have an affinity with angelite, but it would take centuries to exchange this much power with crystals. It really is quite unfair your families didn t share this.

He gives me a pointed stare and steps away from the stone, which is now glowing a brighter purple.

The opposite door opens, and Hendrix Sokolov walks in. Well, hello brother.

Alexei turns. They re about the same height, but Alexei is cut sharper with more obvious muscles. How did you know I was here? he drawls.

Hendrix lifts a shoulder. Please, I have sensors in this place. He glances at the open doorway. However, that s news. I guess I ll have that filled in.

Alexei s smile lacks humor. This company s mine, brother. You going to give it up?

Hendrick smiles. He s blonde with startling blue eyes and is quite handsome in a different way than Alexei. Where Alexei is dark, Hendrix is light. At least, he gives off that impression. Not in a million years. I ll kill you first.

Alexei lifts his shoulder. It s a date then. We ll go back the way we came. He grasps my arm and pulls me toward the tunnel.

Hendrix snorts. Alexei? Is this really your play?

Alexei pauses. Yes. Why do you ask?

There are rumblings of a new player with a new platform. Something with even more advanced AI than the rest of us put together. Could be gossip. But the internet is humming. You know anything about that?

No. Alexei s jaw hardens. That s a problem for another day. He propels me toward the back door.

Hendrix chuckles. I would think that as a lawyer, Ms. Mooncrest, you wouldn t break and enter.

I stumble and then regain my balance, pulling Alexei to an abrupt stop. I m surprised he allows me to do so. His brother recognized me through the surveillance equipment? We ve never met. How do you know my name?

Hendrick winks. The second you became Alexei s attorney, I had you investigated. I know more about you than he does.

I doubt that, Alexei says, moving us both toward the exit again.

We re not done, brother, Hendrix calls out.

Alexei looks over his shoulder. You ve got that right.