My fist connects with his nose, muffling the rest of his words, but I hadn’t taken into account that he is made of granite. I step back, flexing my hand, quite happy to risk a little more pain if I can throw another hit. For his part, McNeil looks more shocked than hurt.
Why do I hunt down these assholes? Because I was born three hundred years too late to get revenge on the man who’d killed Okiku.
Because like hell I’m angry.
“I know what you’ve done to them,” I snarl. “If I have to make it my life’s work, I will find all the evidence I need to see that you serve time for every girl you’ve hurt and thrown away. Count on it.”
The couple hadn’t bothered to draw back the curtains. From what little light comes in from outside, I see the smile freeze on McNeil’s face. His mouth curls into a cruel snarl.
You never really know how much of a mask someone wears until they peel it off.
Strip off the good looks and the confidence, and underneath that layer of skin there’s a monster lurking inside Keren McNeil, one he hides from everyone else.
A six-foot-tall, one-hundred-ninety-pound quarterback versus a lean Japanese kid barely pushing one forty-five? Not much of a contest and not something I’d considered when I threw the first punch. McNeil’s swing catches me right in the stomach, and I’m on the ground before I know what’s going on. I dimly hear yelling, but I’m having trouble hearing, as if sounds are coming out of second-rate speakers with a cheap bass. Pain blooms along my sides, and I realize in between the spurts of hurt that McNeil is kicking me, so I put my hands out to block him.
McNeil is roaring at me too, but my mind doesn’t process the words. I don’t need to hear them to know what he’s shouting.
And then the onslaught stops.
I crack open an eye to find McNeil staring over me. He’s no longer angry. Quite the opposite; he looks like he’s about to wet his pants. His eyes bug out of his head, his mouth open in stark terror at something no one can see but him.
And me.
Okiku shuffles toward him in her full diabolical glory. Her hair hangs low, and she is making soft, gurgling sounds at the base of her throat. This is her death rattle—the last sound she made before she died and the last sound her prey hears before they do.
“No, Okiku,” I croak out, but she doesn’t listen. When she gets worked up like this, she never does. I try to get up again, but my ribs protest my movement and I double over, trying to will more air into my lungs.
And then I can feel Kendele there, hugging me tightly. “You’re an idiot,” I hear her whisper hoarsely.
McNeil had fled. Okiku is nowhere to be seen, and I’m worried about what she might do if left to her own devices. I’m in no condition to go after her, and my hope is to get out of here, at a farther distance from McNeil than she can stray from our bond.
“Can you get up?”
“Barely.” There’s a crowd of people who’ve gathered at some point during my ass-kicking, though no one but Kendele bothers to help. With her support, I get back on my feet and reject her worried offers to bring me to a nearby hospital.
“I’ll be all right. I don’t think anything’s broken, and I, ha, still have all my teeth.”
“Don’t you dare treat this like a joke!” Kendele looks on the verge of crying.
“Sorry. I have to get out of here, Kendele.”
“What do you mean? We need to get you medical—”
“I have to get out of here!” I’m trying hard not to panic. “McNeil’s life depends on me getting the hell out of here as fast as possible. The farther away I am, the better. It’s important, Kendele.”
She relents at the distress in my voice. “Fine. But I’m going with you then. This party’s outlived its fun anyway.”
McNeil’s blows turn out to be less painful when I’m standing, and I’m able to totter down the stairs with little assistance and make it to my car without any other interference. Once Kendele slides into position beside me, I gun the engine, taking one last look back at the dark house. There’s still no sign of McNeil.
What worries me is that there’s no sign of Okiku either.
Chapter Five
The Date
“I’m not going home,” Kendele says the instant the car is out of the McNeils’ driveway. “And I want you to see a doctor.”
“You’re not my mother, Kendele.” I feel like a herd of cows has been stampeding the flamenco somewhere between my fourth and fifth ribs, but I keep my driving steady. “And it’s not like she had much say for most of my life either.”
“Tark, anyone with a brain can see that you’re hurt. You have to at least make sure nothing’s broken. Are you seeing double? Is there anything you can’t move?”
“I’m fine, Kendele. I’ve been in enough fights to know the difference between getting beat up and getting a pancreas kicked in.”
She crosses her arms, assessing me. “I suppose,” she concedes, although reluctantly. “So typical of you men not to want any help. What did you do to make McNeil punch you anyway?”
“I punched him.”
She stares. “You punched McNeil? Tark, you’re crazy! Whatever possessed you to do that?”
“Did Trish ever tell you that McNeil’s been harassing her?” We stop at a red light, and I turn to face her. Okiku is still nowhere in sight.
“What do you mean?” The expression on her face tells me all I need to know. “What are you talking about? What did Trish say?”
I set my jaw. “Never mind.” If Trish hasn’t told her, then it isn’t my place to, though it may be too late to close that particular box. “Look, let’s just forget about it.”
“Easier said than done,” Kendele says, but to my surprise, she’s quick to change the subject. “Look, whatever it was, I’m sure you had good reason to punch him. If you don’t want to tell me right now, that’s fine. But I want something in return.”
“And what’s that?” I ask, suddenly wary.
“I was serious when I said I didn’t want to go home just yet. If you’re as uninjured as you claim to be, then we should have time to grab something to eat first, right?”
I open my mouth. For the first time in my life, I can’t think of anything witty to say, so I close my mouth again. “Are you…asking me out?”
She flashes a triumphant grin. “Now you finally get it.”
***
I probably wouldn’t have chosen a food truck for a first date, but it’s late, most of the restaurants of choice are closed or closing, and I didn’t want to fall back on someplace trite like Denny’s or Applebee’s. Kendele admits that she’s never had pho before, so I drive us over to the corner of Twentieth and L Street, where one of my favorite food trucks—easily noticeable by its punk decor—is stationed.
Okiku’s absence worries me though. I keep an eye on the rearview mirror, expecting her to appear at any moment, and my nervousness increases with every minute that goes by.
It’s probably nothing. Okiku knows never to stray too far, and the lack of other spirits in the area trying to haunt me seems to imply that she’s nearby, even if I can’t see her. Besides, if anything happened back at McNeil’s, I’m sure Trish would have contacted Kendele about it by now.