Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

Violet

Something's definitely not right here, I know it in my gut. My mind wanders to the flowers squished against my breast, the phone and cats left unattended in Skylar's room, and the little car that just tried to run us off the road.

"Please tell me the truth," I say to Cain. "Is it more likely that someone has a beef with Skylar or with you ?"

He clenches his jaw. "Me."

"Thought so. And do you think there's a chance they'd come after her to get back at you?"

He curses again. "Yeah."

I pull up my phone to Google some facts when I remember something. "It's a full moon tonight."

"And?"

I remember Skylar's fascination with moons. I take her phone and type in full moon. Nothing.

"Can you name the phases of the moon?"

He gives me a quizzical look, but nods. "Full moon. Waxing crescent. Waning crescent. Waning gibbous… waxing gibbous…" He strokes his chin, a surprisingly masculine move that makes me look away because he's my boss— correction, no he is not, we work professionally with each other —and I will not look at how sexy those fingers are rasping against the stubble on his jaw goddammit.

I type waxing crescent. Nothing. With a sigh, convinced this isn't going to work, I type in waning crescent.

Her phone unlocks. I pump the air.

"Got into her phone."

The streets are quiet, the oppressive heat and humidity of late August making the air around us shimmer with haze. Cain guns the engine, as if reminding the universe that he's coming for his sister. "Good work."

I suspect it isn't often that he commends someone who works for him, and his praise sends a warm flicker of pleasure through me. I ignore it. I don't like that I want his praise.

I focus on scrolling through her phone for some clues. I'm violating her privacy, I know I am, but we have to find something that can help us. If we let the police department take their time, it could be too late. I feel sick.

"So, your sister only has like twenty contacts."

"And?"

"Well, it's pretty unusual. The average person has… I don't know, I'd guess hundreds. Huh." I shrug. "That'll make it easier to go through."

"Okay, good."

"But… well, that's not a lot. Is she sort of a loner?"

"Yeah, you could say that."

Bingo. I read a text on her screen that pings my attention.

"She has a text from a guy she's named ‘Cowboy.'"

"Cowboy." He frowns. "That's not usually her scene."

It's definitely not.

"Yep."

I flip through the phone. "They met… a week ago… online. He asked her out for drinks and they agreed to go out last night." I don't say anything for a minute, because I'm not sure he wants to hear what's going on in these texts.

"Oh. Oh wow. Then there's a text here, she says, Don't call me back. I don't ever want to hear from you again."

"I want his address."

With the tone he uses, he could replace what he said with give me the coordinates so I can bomb his ass .

"And then it looks like there might've been more communication between them, but maybe it was a phone call or several because there are no more texts."

"And there's nothing else?"

I sigh. "I don't see much of anything. She's got some social media stuff... but even that…. Well, there's just Wiccan stuff."

I don't tell him what. He's obviously not a fan of her lifestyle, and I don't know how much is relevant anyway. I scroll through text after text, and it makes me feel shitty. I don't like invading her privacy like this.

But I share his concern. She's in danger, and we need to find her. I look for something, anything at all that will clue me in.

On a whim, I pull up a browser and scroll through her history. Now this is starting to feel more invasive. I ignore the growing unease.

My cheeks scald at the first dozen or so searches.

Doggy style

Reverse 69

Best tantric sex moves

Cowboy

"You're blushing, Miss Price," he says, as he flicks on the directionals and gets off the highway.

"She, uh… not sure how much you want to know. Let's just say I think I know why she calls him Cowboy."

His jaw firms. "Fuck."

"There are maybe some things you don't need to know about your sister."

With a grimace, he shakes his head. "Everything. I need everything."

"She… had a pretty rich sex life, it seems."

He looks like he's just bitten into a lemon. A rotten, mold-covered lemon.

"Sorry."

"Don't be."

I scroll a little more.

"Oh. Oh, wow."

" What ? Will you please stop that?"

Fuck, I need to find a better poker face.

I shake my head. I will not tell him I had no idea that was a position one could put themselves in. I mean, honestly… someone would have to have… like a really, really big… in order to fit that way…

"We aren't going to work together if you're hiding things from me."

"I just don't know if you want to know what I'm seeing over here about sexual positions, Mr. Master."

He clamps his mouth shut.

"Some of these are—" I stop talking, as a cold shiver runs down my spine.

Baby's breath.

She has six search histories involving baby's breath and three more with purple irises.

Why?

He pulls into a parking spot outside the restaurant. I remind myself to tell him about the flower search history later.

I need to call my bestie Candi but have to find a way to do it without him knowing, since he doesn't want to involve the police.

I pull out my phone and shoot her a text.

Babe, off record. You were telling me something last night about a recent string of sexual assault victims… what can you tell me about it?

No response. I tuck my phone in my left pocket and Skylar's in my right. He parks the car. I pull up my pants leg to make sure my knife's secured, inwardly groaning when I see the purplish bruises along my shins from getting into his truck. I look like I fell off my bike when my mom took my training wheels off. Great.

I don't miss the way people look at us, and I don't think it has anything to do with my odd choice in attire. I can tell that people recognize him, and those that don't, notice him from afar. He's large and intimidating, but that isn't what garners attention so much as the way he walks.

Some people walk like they know you're watching them. Others walk timidly, as if they don't want to step on toes or offend you. Cain walks into the restaurant as if he belongs here and anyone who doesn't ought to fuck off before he makes them. His confident gait and the take-no-prisoners steel in his eyes are silent declarations that he isn't afraid, that if anyone does something dangerous, they'll deal with him. He drips arrogance and violence through his goddamn pores, something that should turn me off.

It doesn't. It doesn't at all.

A few women vaping to the right of the entrance look him up and down, and one even hands her bag to her friend and steps toward us. She gives me a quick look and easily dismisses me as someone who isn't competition, because she doesn't even bother to hide the fact that she likes him, thinks he's hot, and wants to sleep with him, probably right this very minute.

Without missing a beat, Cain slides his large, warm hand along my lower back, curves his fingers around my side and pulls me to him. His eyes are glacial, a man on a mission, but my body doesn't seem to care. At the feel of his hand on me, my blood heats, an electric current coursing its way straight through me. I can't help but step closer to him. I like the way my body tingles, as if every nerve knows this is a man who knows how to treat a woman's body.

The woman heading toward us halts mid-step, then shoots me a scowl. I don't know if I want to stick my tongue out at her or punch her.

We step further inside, and a waitress hands us some menus.

"Do you still have wings on the menu? Babe, you remember those wings you like?"

Babe ? Wait, what? Cain Master's just staked his claim on me, and I have no idea why. But when the woman who'd been heading toward us steps to the side, it's starting to become clearer.

I draw in a shaky breath and laugh. I could get into this. "I do. You're the best, honey." Gag. Me.

A glimmer of a smile crosses his lips, like a particle of sun breaking through clouds before they swallow it up again. "Anything for you."

This is a front. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Let's sit at the bar," I suggest, gesturing toward the bar.

"Sure thing, baby."

God! He's really pushing this. I make gagging motions with my finger down my throat, then slice my hand in the air in front of me. Stop!

He mouths, " Nope ."

Argh!

I hop up on a bar stool, but he shakes his head at me. "Scoot over."

"You wanna sit here?"

"I do," he says through tight lips. He's the boss, and he has his reasons, so I move to the left and let him take the seat I was in. "I can see all exits this way."

I'd be pleased if I felt he'd made this move to protect me, but I don't romanticize shit.

The bartender, a thin, kinda young ginger with a scraggly beard and piercings all along each ear and his eyebrow welcomes us. "Can I get you two a drink?"

His eyes linger a little longer on Cain. He recognizes him, I think. Hard to forget a guy like him.

"Soda water with lemon," I order. Cain gets a soda.

"I know you," the bartender says to Cain when he hands us our drinks. Bingo.

"Yeah?" Cain takes a sip of his drink and places it back on the counter. His eyes flit over my shoulder, scanning the entrance, before he looks back at the bartender. He folds his arms across his chest, and his muscles bulge. I don't know if he's trying to intimidate him on purpose, but the bartender takes a step back. "How do you know me?"

"On second thought, not sure I do. You remind me of someone."

He turns to walk away.

"He's Skylar's brother," I say loudly enough to get his attention. "Do you know her?" I keep a close eye on the people watching us. Does anyone look guilty? Curious? Does anyone know her?

Cain shoots his eyes to me, the quickest glance. I pull out my phone and open up a picture of her.

"We're actually looking for her," I say casually. "Have you seen her recently?"

The bartender wipes down condensation from my glass, then slides it over to me as my phone beeps. "Haven't seen her."

He doesn't make eye contact, though, and as soon as someone else comes to the bar, he walks away from us to take their order.

"He's lying and avoiding us." I sip my soda and check my phone.

"Agreed. The question is, why?"

There's a string of texts from Candi.

Where are you? No one's seen you at work and you never miss.

I'm doing a job. I can't tell you any more right now.

Are you safe?

I look at Cain. Am I safe? Hell no, I'm not safe. But he's likely not going to hurt me in the next few minutes, so I can lie for now. I have to.

Yes.

What did you need to know?

You said there was a rise in sexual assault cases lately. What did you tell me about flowers?

It's his signature move. He leaves flowers for his victims before he rapes them. Why do you need to know?

I don't reply.

The baby's breath at my breast feels suddenly hot, burning against my skin like a brand.

I try to reason with myself. Not every flower is a sign.

I'm going crazy.

Half a minute later, another text comes in.

Hey. You're nowhere to be found then the next thing I know, you're asking me about active cases. Way to freak me out. What the hell is going on?

I don't know. I'm safe.

I glance at the monster of a man sitting beside me and release a breath.

Two

Fuck.

I have some research to do tonight.

Cain's scowling at his phone, too.

"Anything important?"

"Yeah. They got the details on the car that hit us, but the car was stolen so there's no way to tell who was driving."

"And the lights?"

"Someone reconfigured the timing grid at the intersection."

Also notable.

I have to find out more about the missing women and the surviving victims. I open my phone again, and I Google shit I never want to Google until I've got a list of details involving the rape crimes around here lately. I do not tell any of this to Cain quite yet, because I have to find a way to do it without giving him a coronary.

I make notes on my phone.

Tonight, I'll look up every detail I can until I have a better idea of what's going on.

I slug the rest of my drink and raise my hand for another, just so I can get the bartender to come over.

He glances from me to Cain apprehensively. "Need a refill?"

He nods.

I watch as the bartender fills both of our glasses. He jerks his head behind him. "Be right there."

He's just trying to get us to not ask questions, I know he is, because I see no one has called him, no one who's waiting for him.

I turn on my most charming smile. "Oh, hey," I say, crooking my finger at him to stay before he goes off again. "I actually have a few more pictures of the girl we're looking for." I try to keep my tone casual, my body language relaxed. I wish I could send a message to Cain to lighten the hell up, because he's definitely not contributing to the casual, relaxed vibe I'm going for here.

The look the bartender shoots Cain is nothing short of terrified, but I talk quickly so he doesn't look at Cain and looks at me instead. "I've got a few more pictures for you." I pull up the pictures I swiped from Skylar's social media. "It's really, really important we find her. Are you sure you didn't see her? She was here last night on a date."

The bartender rubs a hand across his face. I read once that touching one's face is a classic sign of guilt or nerves, and I note this carefully. My guess is he didn't have a direct hand in taking her, but somehow helped the people who did or at least knows who they are.

Son of a bitch.

I glance at Cain, narrowing my eyes to tell him to stop looking like the Grim Reaper, then quickly glance at the bartender.

Cain leans forward on his big, beefy arms, his voice a low drawl. "I'd be very pleased if you could help us find her. Like she said, she's my sister." Implication: And I'll be pissed if you don't.

"Right." The bartender's words are barely above a whisper.

Cain flashes a disarming grin that somehow makes my nerves stand on edge. There's something about that smile I don't trust. There isn't an ounce of humor in his body right now. "I'm not sure we've met before?"

He extends his large hand out. It's then that I notice small tattoos along the inner side of one hand. I can't see what they are yet, but there's a lot of them.

"Name's Cain Master."

Now this time, there's nothing left to the imagination. The bartender pales, and only after prompting from Cain, reaches out and gingerly takes his hand. "I've heard a lot about you, sir."

Cain shrugs. "Eh, people like to embellish facts. I bet half of what you heard isn't true."

And the other half is.

The bartender doesn't reply at first. Then he clears his throat, and when he speaks, it's in a low whisper. "Meet me by the dumpster out back. We can't talk here."

Cain slowly picks up his drink and sips. I take inventory. There's one more bartender near the dishwasher, unloading clean, steaming hot glasses and placing them on a rack. A few people glance our way, but most are drinking or dancing, and in one corner of the room, some people play pool. A waitress sidles past me with a tray of pizza that looks so good my mouth waters.

Damn, this place is teeming with people, from young adults to teens, and I'm starving. I haven't eaten in way too long.

"Finish your drink," Cain says in a low whisper. "Then follow me."

The bartender wipes down the space in front of him, turns, and leaves. He walks down a hall that leads to a door, a broken restroom sign leading his way. The door shuts behind him.

A minute later, Cain gets up from his seat, tosses a few bills on the bar for the tab, then goes out the door the way the bartender went. I follow. Someone crosses in front of me, putting more distance between me and the guys.

Before I can reach them, an alarm goes off. White lights flash. The wail of a siren goes off and sprinklers water down on us.

"Everyone evacuate!" someone shouts, just as the smell of acrid smoke reaches me.

Utter chaos erupts.

You don't realize how crowded a place is until you all try to evacuate at once. One minute ago, the place was relatively calm, save some voices and laughter. Now, it's a zoo.

People shove past me. Some scream, and others have the rabid look of someone being chased. I might be small, but I won't let myself get trampled. Someone in front of me shoves me back. I throw my shoulder, knocking them down.

"Hey!" her boyfriend says, and the dumbass thinks he's somehow entitled to hit me. I duck his hand, and in one quick movement, sweep his leg. With the crowd pushing on him, it's the most effective way to make sure he stays down. His girlfriend screams. I take the opportunity to run.

I'm small, so it's easy to dodge the melee of people around me. I wonder where Cain is, but I'm not too worried. Something tells me he can take care of himself.

I get to the exit when someone grabs me from behind. I feel strong fingers at the nape of my neck. On instinct, my hand flies up to block the touch just before I bend and strike at the torso behind the grasp.

I gasp when I see Cain doubled over, the people around us swarming past, oblivious to us. Shit! Sirens scream, coming closer.

"Fuck," he pants, still doubled over. "It was a set-up. And Jesus, look before you fucking strike. Come with me."

It's then that I realize there's blood dripping down his forehead and a gash on his upper left arm, and neither one of those were because of my self-defense moves.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Follow me." He sidesteps people left and right, then ducks down behind a barrel. He tugs me down beside him. Fire trucks come down the street, their sirens piercing the air. Our hiding space is so small, I'm right up against him, my back against his thighs. I keep myself very, very still.

His voice is a low vibration in my ear. "Stay here. We're waiting until this has all died down. He pulled the fucking alarm trigger thinking it would scare us off."

"Asshole. I don't scare off that easily."

"Good," he says from behind me. His voice is a low rumble, his warm breath on my neck. "I don't either. And now, we wait. The son of a bitch set me up."

I would not want to be that bartender right about now.

"How do you know it was a setup?"

"The second I stepped outside of the bar, he was gone, the alarm went off, and when people poured out of the bar, I was attacked."

I suspected he knew something. This only confirms it.

"Who attacked you?"

"Couldn't see. Someone hooded, and they took off the second the place evacuated."

"Son of a bitch." I wobble in my crouched position, and without a word, he wraps his hand around my waist to steady me. His hand's large enough that his grip on one side rights my whole body. My skin seems to flame beneath the heat of his touch. I force myself to stay focused.

The firefighters come, finish evacuating the place, and put out a small kitchen fire. I look in every direction to see where the bartender might have hidden. I pull up the bar website and look for everything I can find. They have a profile page with the name of everyone who works here. I get to work.

By the time the crowd's dissipated, I've got everything I need to know about the bartender.

"You think they think we're gone?"

"Long gone."

"Good."

We wait for what seems like hours. I don't move. I barely even breathe. We're safe in our hiding place, but our location could be revealed at any moment, so I stay exactly where I am. His hand's still on me, steadying me. My breathing's ragged and unsteady.

I blink in surprise when I see the bartender. I hiss to Cain, "I saw him. He went in just now through the back door to the stock room. Plan of attack?"

He grunts. "I'll go in first. I'll?—"

"Let me go in first. I'm smaller and it will be easier for me to find him."

"Absolutely not, and do not interrupt me again."

I stifle a whine. Of course not. Yes, sir! ::inward eye roll::

His voice rings with authority. "I'll find him. I'll question him. You'll do what I tell you."

I grumble at him, "Take notes on my notepad and maybe make you a sandwich?"

The grip on my waist, which I almost forgot about, tightens. "Careful, Miss Price. Don't push it."

Now why would I do a thing like that? Grrr!

I see a glimmer of red hair through a window.

"He's definitely there."

"Where?"

"Ten o'clock, behind the door, but close enough to a window if you need that entrance as well." Ha, who am I kidding? The only one of us who'd fit through a window is me. He'd be lucky to get a leg through.

I hear the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked. "Let's go."

Seconds later, we move as one, crouched but running to the back entrance of the restaurant. I test the handle and find it locked. Silently, Cain jerks his head for me to get out of the way and pulls a small, slender device out of his pocket. He slides it expertly in place. The lock clicks, and the door swings open.

Cain goes in first. Prepared for an ambush, I don't look. This is not going to end well. The ginger bartender looks at us, turns, and tries to run away. In one swift move, I take my knife out of the ankle harness, aim, and fling it through the air. It lands like an arrow, the blade sunk deep into the wood of the doorframe half an inch from his head.

"Stay right there."