Kiss Me in the Dark Anthology - Monica James Page 0,67
murdered? Oh Yes. Without a shadow of a doubt, yes.
“He threw down a stack of money and said his favorite lieutenant would be by first thing in the morning for a reading, but a man like Charlie Holsan can’t hide the malice in his heart. I knew what he was planning the second he uttered your name. The English are so repressed, don’t you think? They spend so much of their time tamping down their feelings and emotions that when their feelings become too much for them, they just…explode.”
Far be it from me to urge her into a panic, but most people in Shelta’s situation have the common sense to muster up a little concern for their future. Shelta purses her lips and sips her tea, frowning a little as she lowers the cup into its saucer. “A bit too strong for me. I let the leaves steep too long. It seemed like a good idea, knowing who was coming to visit. I wanted to give them time to ruminate on you.”
“The leaves?”
“The leaves? Why do you ask it like that? Of course, the leaves.”
“I don’t believe in fortune telling or palm reading, Madame.”
She assesses me again, looking rather disgusted. “That’s okay. It won’t affect the reading. Drink up and we’ll have you out of here in no time.”
“This shit’s hotter than napalm.”
“Set it down to cool, then. And take off your shirt.”
This is a first. I smirk, slowly shaking my head. Does she want me to fuck her just to humiliate Charlie further? “Sad to say, you’re not my type.”
“I have no interest in fornicating with you, boy. The idea of laying with such a brute is nauseating. No, I want to see the scars.”
“What scars?”
She just looks at me. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t falter. This entire exchange is a waste of energy and time, but I’m a sucker for new experiences. In my line of work, things become rote after a while. People scream, and they beg, and they plead. They lie, and they scheme, and they bargain. Someone like Shelta is a rarity indeed. For some reason, I find myself wanting to humor her demands. The cup clinks against its saucer as I set the tea down on the battered blanket box which sits on top of the motheaten rug before me.
It might be cold outside the tent, but inside it’s hotter than Hades. I don’t mind shrugging out of my leather jacket. The heat actually feels pleasant as I tug my long-sleeved shirt over my head and ball it up in my hands.
For the first time, Shelta’s expression shutters as she takes in my bare torso. Her pupils widen as her eyes trail over the ink around my neck and my chest—the fleur de lis and the eagle with its outstretched wings. She flat-out blanches when she sees the nasty purple slashes across my stomach, though, and the angry twist of flesh on my chest where I was shot last year. She presses herself back into the seat, clearing her throat.
“Looks like you’ve seen your fair share of suffering, Zeth.”
“No more than I earned,” I counter.
“Those scars on your stomach? You were stabbed?”
“Repeatedly.”
Her reaction is bizarre. I can’t make head nor tail of her queasy expression as she drags her gaze up to meet my own. “Forgive me for saying so, but you had no business surviving that encounter. You know that, don’t you? In your bones? You should have died that night.”
A cold finger blazes a trail up my spine. My blood is ice in my veins. I haven’t talked about that night to anyone. Ever. I’m sure as hell not going to talk about it with this crazy bitch. “We’re done here.” I hastily pull my shirt back on, silently cursing myself as I wrestle with the material. I glower at the woman with the white-streaked hair, half expecting her to argue and push the point some more, but she looks relieved that I’ve shut the topic of conversation down.
“Drain the cup, Zeth,” she mutters. “Drink, and let’s be done with this.”
I don’t care how hot the fucking liquid is anymore. It’s time to end this farce. I manfully swallow down the earthy-tasting tea, wincing when some of the leaves swirl into my mouth. Quickly snatching up the saucer from the blanket box, I place it over the top of the saucer and flip both of them over, so that the cup’s resting upside down on top of the dish.