Demon Marked Page 9

  But then his lips drew close to her ear, and she felt like a fool for even thinking about stupid, impractical things like kisses. “Don’t talk to Francis. The Death Ministry was looking for you at the training facility this morning. They were asking about some guy named Greg who’s been missing since last night.”

  Oh shit. The DM hadn’t found the body. Someone else must have taken it. Now she was a person of interest to a deadly gang and might very well be on her way to jail if the police had found the corpse. Her fingerprints were all over Greg.

  Greg. How sad was it that she hadn’t even known the guy’s first name? But then, she preferred to know as little as possible about her victims; it made it easier to concentrate on the information she pulled from their minds if her focus wasn’t cluttered with her own impressions.

  “So don’t talk to anyone until I get back and we can figure this out,” he said. “Do you hear me? Don’t talk to anyone but me.”

  Andre had never been her favorite person, but he’d proven today that he was someone she could depend on. Little Francis, on the other hand, had always made her uncomfortable. He seemed like a decent guy but was way too friendly. Every time she’d been seated by LF at Conti family dinners, she’d felt coated in smarm by the time the main course was served, and she always made excuses to escape to the stockroom when he stopped by the bar.

  Any other man would have gotten a clue and given up, but not Little Francis. He seemed positive she’d eventually throw herself at his feet—or his groin, if he had his preference. His opinion of himself was even higher than that of the average Conti man, which was reason enough for her not to tell him jack, even if Andre had thought fessing up to the boss’s son was a good idea.

  Emma tried to tell Andre she understood but could manage only a small nod. She was still so weak.

  “I want to check on a few things before we talk to anyone else about the ... missing person.” Andre leaned back, studying her face, fear and anger mingling in his expression. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Do what the doctor tells you to in the meantime.”

  Emma swallowed hard but still couldn’t seem to get any words to come out.

  Probably for the best. Andre certainly didn’t want to hear that it wasn’t the antivenom that had brought her back from the brink but a hearty dose of Dr. Finch’s life force.

  She’d laid her hands on the doc as soon as Andre had disappeared into Francis’s office. Andre had said he wanted proof of what she could do, but she wasn’t about to let him know she’d snacked on the Conti family doctor, just in case Dr. Finch decided to drop dead sometime in the next few hours. She was convinced Blue Eyes’ death was drug related and had nothing to do with her feeding, but she was still in deep shit.

  Any more and she’d be up to her neck in it.

  Luckily for her, Dr. Finch was too distracted by her moaning and clutching at his head to notice the pale blue light coming from her fingers. Even more luckily for her, the doc wasn’t the sweet old man he appeared to be. She’d been in so much pain, from both the venom and the antivenom, that she hadn’t been able to see his memories as clearly as most, but she’d seen enough to know his fat bank account was earned dealing death as often as healing the sick.

  He’d done something very, very bad ... something involving illegal organ harvesting ... or ... something. ... The images had been blurred, hazy. She couldn’t say for certain what he’d done, but Doc Finch had been wicked enough to suit her purposes, evil enough that she knew she’d have to talk to Sam and Jace about the man as soon as they got back from their honeymoon.

  Sam, at least, would believe that Emma had seen inside the doctor’s mind. Her sister would know who to talk to in order to make sure the Contis replaced Finch ASAP. For all their illegal activity, the Contis were decent people and didn’t make it their business to profit from others’ pain. They wouldn’t knowingly employ a man like the doctor.

  Still, Emma was glad Finch had been in the wrong place at the right time. Without the energy she’d taken from him, she was fairly certain she would be dead.

  The mix of venom and antivenom on top of the ever-present dark craving had nearly overwhelmed her. It had become almost too much for her to physically bear—she’d felt that truth in the way the demonic craving writhed and screamed inside of her as soon as the antivenom hit her bloodstream. Her only recourse had been to do something to make the craving stronger than the mix of drugs that threatened to destroy it.

  As much as she’d love the chance at a life without the need that haunted her, Emma knew the death of the darkness would be her death as well. She and her demon mark were inseparable. Even the spell book made no mention of destroying the part of her that had been transformed by the aura demons, only managing it.

  “Ginger ...” Emma croaked, praying her roomie—and her purse and spell book—had been located.

  “She’s fine,” Andre said. “I’m going to meet her now and help her get settled in a safe house. You’ll be staying there, too, until we get everything sorted out.”

  At any other time, his calm assurance that she would be doing what he told her would have made Emma livid, but at the moment it was strangely comforting. Ugh. She was definitely going to have to make sure she never ingested or injected anything unnatural ever again. Her physical weakness was bleeding over into the emotional arena. At this rate she’d be asking Andre whether she could stitch up his socks and clean his kitchen floors.

  Or maybe just offering up your ancient virginity.

  Even in her present state, the idea was way more exciting than it should have been. She’d never seriously considered sleeping with a man, let alone a man with a sex addiction whose partners probably numbered in the hundreds. It was crazy. She was losing her mind from the demon drugs.

  Yes. That had to be it. It certainly had nothing to do with the way Andre’s full lips had felt against her own, or the heat in his eyes when she’d reached for his belt earlier in the morning.

  “Ginger has ... my purse. ...” Emma swallowed again, willing the last of the numbness away from her tongue and the lustful thoughts from her mind. “Could you get it ... for me?”

  Andre rolled his eyes. “Sure, why not. I’m everyone’s fucking errand boy today.” He stood and adjusted the already immaculate seam in his pants. “Be good while I’m gone, and remember what I told you.”

  “Got it, boss,” Emma said, her smart-ass tone making Andre’s scowl grow even darker.

  “Great. And maybe you should spend some time thinking about what a dangerous, stupid thing you did today,” he said, casting a pointed look at Dr. Finch as he wandered back into their general vicinity.

  “It’s true, Miss Quinn,” Dr. Finch said. “I was very concerned.”

  I just bet you were, concerned about how a dead girl would mess up your afternoon golf game.

  “Tell her that she could have died,” Andre said.

  “You could have died. He’s right.”

  “But I didn’t. Now you can ... go play golf,” Emma said, not missing the flash of recognition in the doctor’s eyes. Bastard.

  Andre cursed beneath his breath before squatting back down beside her and talking in a hushed whisper. “Listen, you can be an asshole to the people who are trying to help you if you want, but remember this is your fault. Think about that the next time you’re putting that shit into your body.”

  Even though she’d been thinking the exact same thing, Andre’s words still made her eyes sting as he turned and walked away. She got it that he’d lost someone he cared about to demon drugs and had no clue Finch was a bad man, but that didn’t give him the right to treat her like a dumb kid. She’d been telling him the truth—she was cursed with a demon mark, but she didn’t touch demon drugs. Stupidly, it hurt that he wouldn’t even consider that she was an honest person.

  “Is there anything I can get for you, Miss Quinn?” Dr. Finch asked, the picture of the sweet, helpful old doctor.

  “No, thanks. I’m just going to rest.”


  “Would you like me to prepare a cot in the staff break room? Or I could—”

  “I’ll just ... stay here.”

  “That’s probably best.” He nodded, evidently pleased that she wouldn’t be a high-maintenance patient. “Be sure to drink some of the water on the table when you feel up to it. Water helps flush the system of the antivenom.”

  Emma shifted, taking in the glass of ice water on the table near her head. “Will do.” She closed her eyes, hoping the doctor would take the hint that she was done with conversation. She heard the doc shuffle away down the hall a few seconds later and relaxed into the soft, comfy couch with a sigh.

  All she needed was a power nap, and then she’d be ready to go. She had to help Andre find out what was going on with the missing body. They had to figure out who had found the corpse she’d shoved between the Dumpsters—the police or someone more dangerous. There were other gangs roaming the ruins, though none as feared or powerful as the Death Ministry. At least not yet.

  If the Demons’ Army or one of the other smaller gangs could help incite a street war between the Contis and the Death Ministry, however, they might be able to seize control of the Southie drug trade away from their rivals. The Death Ministry had controlled the waters near old East River Park for years and earned riches by running demon drugs out to the man-made pleasure islands off the coast of New York in international waters. This wouldn’t be the first time another gang had tried to get a piece of the DM’s action, but it might be the first successful attempt.

  Andre might find her theory a little far-fetched, but she knew another gang member was the most likely candidate for body thief. The gangs roamed the dark alleys and twisted corridors of the ruins. The police certainly had no reason to be patrolling behind the Demon’s Breath in the early hours of the morning. And even if the Squat demons had returned and fed on the body, they would have at least left bones behind.

  Emma turned the problem over and over in her mind until the seams of her sanity began to shred and unravel. No matter how weak she still felt, she couldn’t just lie here and take a nap; she had to get up and do something; she had to—

  “Mikey! Michael, you here?” Little Francis yelled the words from the door to his office, obviously unconcerned with waking the sleeping girl on his couch. Emma kept her face still and her eyes closed, determined not to say a word to Francis if she could help it.

  Andre was right; they would be better off if they had more information before they went to the boss’s son. Once her involvement in this mess was confirmed, LF would have to call his dad, and she’d feel more prepared for the wrath of Uncle Francis if she and Andre could find out what had happened to the body.

  “Douglas,” Francis yelled. Footsteps sounded from down the hall, the scurrying of an obedient minion hurrying to do his master’s bidding. “Get me Mikey, or get Mikey on the phone. We’ve got a situation. The girl showed up at the meeting place but ran off before we could get her into the safe house.”

  Oh no. Ginger. It had to be. How many other girls were the Contis checking into a safe house this morning? What the hell was wrong with her? Why had she run?

  “I want Mikey uptown coordinating the search,” Little Francis said. The fact that he was willing to send one of his best hunters and a team of his men to look for her friend changed Emma’s opinion of him. At least a little bit. He might be sleazy, but he was a sweeter sleaze than she’d realized.

  “Yes, sir,” a young man Emma assumed to be Douglas said. “Do you want the team already in place to keep looking or—”

  “Of course I want them to keep looking, Douglas. Use your fucking brain.”

  Geez. Francis was really passionate about finding Ginger. Or maybe he always talked to his assistant like he was demon waste stuck on his shoe. What did Emma know?

  Nothing. She knew a whole lot of nothing, a state of being she meant to remedy as soon as possible.

  Emma waited until she heard Douglas’s footsteps hurry away down the hall and Francis’s door close before slitting her eyes. Good. Francis had indeed returned to his lair. She lifted her head, searching the long hall that led to the main entrance of Conti Bounty. She was alone, except for the doctor lingering near the coffee station and Douglas, who would be manning the front desk.

  Still, she might as well have had a team of armed bounty hunters between her and the door. The doctor and Douglas weren’t going to let her walk out of here. She was going to have to get a little more ... creative.

  Her eyes drifted along the wall, searching for a window. She’d done her share of sneaking out—and back in—through windows in her time at the halfway house, but never through one that opened out on demon-infested waters. The East River was pretty to look at, but she didn’t want to go swimming in it anytime soon, especially not when her arms and legs still felt like taffy twisted one too many times.

  That left her only one option.

  Emma hefted herself into a seated position with a sigh, pushed to her feet, and tottered down the hall toward Dr. Finch. She felt fairly steady but played up the sway in her step as she closed the distance between her and the doc.

  “Dr. Finch, I was wondering if—”

  “Miss Quinn, you shouldn’t be up,” the doctor said, looking annoyed when she reached out and took his arm. He’d clearly had enough of her touch when she’d mauled his head earlier in the morning.

  “I know. I just can’t sleep.” Emma blinked her eyes, hoping she didn’t look as horrible as she suspected or her plan might be made to fail. “I feel so ... dirty. I was wondering if there was somewhere I could take a shower.”

  Dr. Finch hesitated. “I’m not sure. The bounty hunters have a locker room, but I think it’s only for the men.”

  “Oh, well ... maybe I could shower there?” Emma leaned closer to the doctor, until the curve of her breast nearly touched his arm. “You could watch, make sure no one came in and that I didn’t fall down or anything. I mean, you’re a doctor, so it would be okay for you to see me naked, right?”

  Finally, the familiar glimmer of lust crept into the doc’s pale blue eyes. He nodded and hurried to set down his coffee. “Of course. That would be fine. Come with me—I’ll show you the way to the locker room.”

  Emma smiled and took the arm he offered, leaning on him as he led her past Douglas’s desk. Thankfully, the young man was busy on the phone and didn’t seem to think anything of the doctor leading his charge down the hall. Perfect. Now all she had to find was a way to ditch the doc and—

  The women’s restroom. It was on the right side of the building and would allow her to escape onto the street instead of into the river. Now if only she’d get lucky and the lav had a window.

  “I need to use the bathroom before I shower,” Emma said, untangling her arm from the doctor’s, shaking off his warm, papery hands. “I’ll be right back.”

  She slipped away into the bathroom before he could say a word, sending up a silent shout of victory as she spied the window on the opposite side of the room. The lock twisted easily. The window itself took a little shoving—the wood swollen from the summer heat—but it finally gave with a small groan. Emma popped the screen out with a few well-placed punches and was easing out of the window on her belly seconds later.

  All told, she’d been in the bathroom less than two minutes. She hoped that meant she had at least another five or ten before the doctor came looking for her and realized she was gone.

  She hated to sneak out on the Contis, but she couldn’t just lie on the couch. She had never been good at letting other people take care of her business. She needed to start figuring her way out of this mess, but first she had to get that shower. The doctor had wiped away some of the spark, but her skin still glittered in the bright morning light. She couldn’t afford to attract that kind of attention, especially since she couldn’t be sure the police weren’t already looking for her.

  Her apartment was out of the question, but Sam and Jace’s place wasn’t too far away. Surely th
e Death Ministry hadn’t been able to find out where her family lived so easily ... though it certainly hadn’t taken long for them to find her and Ginger’s place.

  Emma sighed and hurried through the maze of streets, picking her way around the ruins toward the west side of Southie. Safe or not, she was going to have to take a chance on Sam’s place. She had no money, no earbud to call anyone, and very few options. Besides, if she was going to break and enter, she preferred it be someplace where she was fairly sure the occupants weren’t going to press charges for the damage.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Thirty minutes later, a freshly showered Emma stepped out of Sam’s apartment building wearing a borrowed pair of jeans—with a hundred borrowed dollars tucked in the front pocket—and a short-sleeved white button-up shirt. The shirt was more feminine than anything she’d worn in years, and the jeans about three inches too short, but she’d stuffed them inside her boots, added one of Jace’s thick black belts, and pulled together an outfit that was nice and plain and hopefully wouldn’t attract attention.

  Outside, the summer day was picking up steam, but the wind still felt cool as it blew through her damp hair.

  God, it was hard to believe it was barely eight in the morning. She felt like she’d lived three days in the past few hours. Still, she wasn’t sleepy. Once the last of the sluggishness left her limbs, she’d felt energized, sharp, the way she usually felt after a feeding.

  That sharpness had convinced her that she had to go back to her apartment and take another look around. Her gut was telling her she’d missed something in her first, messed-up stagger through the wreckage. It still seemed odd that nothing of value had been taken. She would have thought that even the Death Ministry would take the television. The men at the top of the gang were rich thugs, but the younger men, like Greg, lived in slums inside the ruins until they’d gained sufficient status in the organization. Surely a guy like that wouldn’t pass up a free television. But then, the police wouldn’t trash her place without a warrant, so who else could it be?