Summary:
THIRDS #1
When homicide detective Dexter J. Daley’s testimony helps send his partner away for murder, the consequences—and the media frenzy—aren’t far behind. He soon finds himself sans boyfriend, sans friends, and, after an unpleasant encounter in a parking garage after the trial, he’s lucky he doesn’t find himself sans teeth. Dex fears he’ll get transferred from the Human Police Force’s Sixth Precinct, or worse, get dismissed. Instead, his adoptive father—a sergeant at the Therian-Human Intelligence Recon Defense Squadron otherwise known as the THIRDS—pulls a few strings, and Dex gets recruited as a Defense Agent.
Dex is determined to get his life back on track and eager to get started in his new job. But his first meeting with Team Leader Sloane Brodie, who also happens to be his new jaguar Therian partner, turns disastrous. When the team is called to investigate the murders of three HumaniTherian activists, it soon becomes clear to Dex that getting his partner and the rest of the tightknit team to accept him will be a lot harder than catching the killer—and every bit as dangerous.
I'm not going to say I forgot just how amazing Dex, Sloane, and the whole Delta gang was because let's face it: how could anyone forget them even way back in the beginning? The humor, the wit, the danger, the heat is still absolutely off the charts and Mark Westfield brings that all to life beautifully. Obviously there are different voices for different characters but what I really loved was the added elements that showcased the communication devices, the inflections that technology does to one's voice. It was these little things that really made Hell & High Water stand out in the audiobook department that isn't often used in other stories. I can't say anything more that wasn't in my original review other than I still love THIRDS and can't wait to listen to the rest and look forward to future re-visits.
I'm going to start by saying that some of my most trusted book lover BFFs have been singing the praises of Charlie Cochet's THIRDS for ages now, I've even had the first two in the series on my Kindle for nearly three years. With it coming up on October, I decided it was a perfect time to give it a read for my paranormal posts. Simply put: THIRDS is BRILLIANT!
When I started Hell & High Water I thought, hmmm Dex is interesting. Talk about an understatement. As a high school graduate of the Class of '91, I grew up with the music of the 80's, now I can't say they ever filled me with the "drop everything, sing, & dance" adrenaline rush that Dex brings to the team, but it made me smile every time he starts singing. As a life-long devoted Star Wars geek, I really loved Sloane's closeted geek side that he shares with Dex.
As for the mystery side of the series, to say it had me on the edge of my seat from cover to cover may sound cliche but its no less true. I won't touch on the plot as I don't do spoilers but let me say I could not put it down, when I finished one I immediately started the next. The characters just blend together so well, even when they are at odds, as in Dex and Ash, he is not a fan of Dex's fire or his love of everything 80s. As for the romance, well lets just say that its off the charts and the chemistry between Dex and Sloane is what we all hope to find.
Dex, Sloane, and Destructive Delta is the paranormal equivalent of Abigail Roux's Ty, Zane, and Sidewinder. Now, I am not saying its a copy, far from it! No, what I mean is the passion, anticipation, intrigue, excitement it sparks in me is similar to how I felt with the Cut & Run series. THIRDS is most definitely an incredible, emotional roller coaster all on its own and I can't believe it took me so long to check it out because now I'm waiting on tender hooks waiting for more of Delta's adventures.
RATING:
Summary:
Aramin Decourcey—Min to his few friends—might be the best thief in Amberwich, and he might have a secret that helps him survive the cutthroat world of aristocratic families and their powerful magic users, but he does have one weakness: his affection for his adopted nephew, Harry.
When the formidable Sabadine family curses Harry, Min must accept a suicide mission to save his life: retrieve Kazimir Stone, a low-level Sabadine hedgewitch who refuses to come home after completing his apprenticeship… and who is in Anhaga, a seaside village under the control of the terrifying Hidden Lord of the fae. If that wasn’t enough, Kaz is far from the simple hedgewitch he seems.
With the Sabadines on one side and the fae on the other, Min doesn’t have time to deal with a crisis of conscience—or the growing attraction between him and Kaz. He needs to get Kaz back to Amberwich and get Harry’s curse lifted before it kills him. Saving Harry means handing Kaz over to his ruthless family. Saving Kaz means letting Harry die. Min might pride himself on his cleverness, but he can’t see his way out of this one.
The Hidden Lord might see that he never gets the choice.
Summary:
Lords of the Underworld #1
Gifted power over life and death, Lysandros has spent millennia in the underworld, listless and alone. The youngest child of Hades and Persephone, he’s been sheltered from the threats in the world above.
Theo Ward hasn’t been so lucky. After watching his mother wither away, he’d do almost anything to have her back. When a messenger appears at the Banneker College of Magic and offers the young professor a chance to save her, Theo can’t pass it up, even if it means going straight into the underworld and dragging her home. But Theo gets more than he bargained for when he crosses paths with the prince of Hades.
Set against the king of Olympus, they must shed their past burdens and learn to trust in each other, so they can face down a storm that threatens to wipe the nation’s capital off the map.
Careful What You Wish For by Helena Stone
Summary:
All Josh has ever wanted is to submit to another man; to give all of himself, completely, without reservation.
For the past six months Josh has been chatting with and submitting to Pascal online, and this evening his dream of doing the same in person, is about to come true.
Will Pascal be everything Josh imagines or is he about to learn that wishes can be dangerous?
I think we have all wished for something and immediately said to ourselves "careful what you wish for" well this is a prime example of that. I haven't read everything by Helena Stone but what I have read has been amazing but has all been contemporary, now whether the author feels Careful What You Wish For is outside her comfort zone or just outside the box, I can honestly say its wonderful and I am so glad she stepped outside her norm. One of the huge pluses for me was the paranormal entity she uses, I won't say what it is but its not something I've come across very often in my readings which only heightened the pleasure for me. A definite win-win from beginning to end.
RATING:
Summary:
Sasha Michaels is a psychic with an affinity for houses. And he’s homeless. Go figure. After months of sleeping rough, he stumbles upon an abandoned house, and the lonely place beckons him inside. He’s finally safe . . . until someone comes blundering in to his hideaway.
House-flipper Nick Cooper lost everything in the recession. Desperate to revive his business, he turns to a loan shark to fund his comeback project: flipping an abandoned house full of potential. But it turns out the house has an unexpected occupant.
Nick and Sasha make a deal: Sasha can stay in exchange for helping with the renovation. To both of their surprise, the closer they get to the loan shark’s due date, the stronger their feelings for each other grow. Problem is, Nick isn’t the only one with feelings for Sasha, and now the house doesn’t want to let Sasha go.
Reader discretion advised. This title contains the following sensitive themes: Drug use, explicit violence, non-consensual touching.
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Random Paranormal Tales of 2019
Hell & High Water by Charlie Cochrane
Prologue
DURING THE Vietnam War, the use of lethal biological warfare led to the spread of the Melanoe virus, infecting millions worldwide and causing the deaths of hundreds of thousands. Although no country would take credit for releasing the virus, the world’s top scientists came together to create a cure. The vaccine known as Eppione.8 used strains from animals found to be immune to the virus, but one year after distribution, the course of human history was forever changed. A dormant mutation within the virus was activated by the vaccine, resulting in the altering of human DNA, and giving birth to a new species: Therians.
When the first infected Humans began changing in the late seventies, some didn’t survive. Their Human bodies were unprepared for the shift. Others died of cancer or infections due to weakened immune systems, while others vanished. Rumors ran rampant about governments trying to clean up their mess. When it was clear the “problem” wasn’t going to go away, the US government tried to regain control of the masses, creating the Therian database and quickly passing new laws that would force all surviving Therians to register and get marked, supposedly for their own safety and that of their fellow Human citizens.
The government had been treating the first wave of Therians as a side effect of the war, one that would eventually die out. Then in 1976, scientists discovered what was really happening. The first generation of purebred Therians had been born. The mutation had perfected itself. Solidified, inside these First Generations. Suddenly, there was an advanced new species and along with it, a whole new set of fears.
In an attempt to restore social order, the US government quickly put new regulations and laws into place, along with a Therian branch of government. In 1990, Human and Therian legislators launched the Therian Human Intelligence, Recon, Defense Squadron A.K.A the THIRDS, an elite, military-funded agency comprised of an equal number of Human and Therian agents and intended to uphold the law for all its citizens without prejudice.
As long as Humanity continued to repeat the mistakes of the past, organizations like the THIRDS would be needed to ensure Humanity had a future, even if they had to stumble along the way to get there.
Chapter 1
FUCK. MY. Life.
Dex closed his eyes, wishing this was nothing more than some freakishly vivid dream where any moment now, he would wake up and everything would go back to the way it was. Of course, when he opened his eyes, nothing changed. He splashed more water on his face in an effort to ease the tension, but it didn’t help. Not that he’d been expecting it to. After wiping the excess water from his face, he paused to glare at the man in the mirror. The guy staring back at him looked like shit, pale with reddish-brown circles under his eyes that made him look as if he’d either been crying or using crack. There were definitely a hell of a lot of sleepless nights involved. Dex didn’t like the guy in the mirror. What an asshole.
“Are they out there?” His voice came out rough, as if waking from sleep—deep or otherwise—had been out of his reach for some time.
A hand landed on his shoulder, offering a sympathetic squeeze. “Yes. Remember what we talked about? As soon as you’ve had enough, you walk away.”
Dex let out a snort. It was way too late to walk away. Had been about six months ago. He straightened and snatched a paper towel from the automated dispenser. It was like drying off with newspaper, the same newspapers that had his image plastered all over their pages. Images that had been run through some Photoshop douchebag filter to make him look like even more of a prick. He chucked the paper into the wastebasket and stood there, finding it difficult to face his lawyer.
“Hey, look at me.” Littman stepped up to him and patted his cheek. “You did the right thing.”
Dex looked up then, searching for something, anything that might help the pain go away even for a little while. “Then why do I feel like shit?”
“Because he was your friend, Dex.”
“Exactly. And I fucked him over. Some friend.” He went back to leaning over the sink, his fingers gripping the porcelain so tightly, his knuckles hurt. “Goddamn it!” That son of a bitch! What the hell had Walsh been thinking? Obviously he hadn’t been, or neither of them would be in this mess. Or worse, maybe Walsh had thought it through. Maybe he’d been so certain Dex would have his back that he thought “fuck it.”
Dex closed his eyes, trying to get the man’s face out of his mind, but he could still see it clearly. That face was going to haunt his dreams for a long time coming. The mixture of anger and pain when the verdict had been given—anger directed at Dex, and pain brought about by what he’d done—had been there for the world to see, especially Dex.
“No,” Littman insisted. “He fucked himself over. All you did was tell the truth.”
The truth. How could doing the right thing turn out so goddamn bad? Had it even been the right thing? It had seemed like it at the time. Now he wasn’t so sure. Regardless, he couldn’t hide out in the restroom all his life.
“Let’s get this over with.” A few deep breaths and he followed Littman out into the corridor. The moment he stepped foot out there, the locusts swarmed him, microphones buzzing, recorders and smartphones at the ready, flashes going off, cameras rolling, a litany of questions flying at him from every direction. It was as if he were underwater, hearing everyone outside the pool yelling and screaming as he sank to the bottom like a stone, no discernible words, only muffled sounds. Littman stepped up beside him, one hand behind Dex’s back in assurance, the other held up to the crowd in a vain attempt to bring order to chaos.
“Detective Daley will do his best to answer your questions, but one at a time, please!”
A tall, gray-haired man in an expensive suit pushed through his gathered comrades, ignoring their murmured grunts of displeasure, to place a microphone in front of Dex. A half a dozen more swiftly joined it.
“Detective Daley, what would you say to all the Humans who believe you betrayed your own kind?”
At least he’d been prepared for that one. Dex buttoned up his suit jacket, the gesture allowing him a few seconds to calm his nerves and collect his thoughts. Smoothing it down, he met the reporter’s gaze. “I joined the Human Police Force to make a difference, and sometimes that requires making tough calls. I chose to tell the truth. No one is above the law, and my job is to enforce it.”
A blonde woman in a tailored navy blue pantsuit swiftly jumped in. “Is it because your brother is Therian? Are you a LiberTherian Sympathizer?”
It was hardly the first time he’d been accused of such. Having a Therian brother was the sole reason the Human Police Force had taken longer than necessary to consider him when he’d applied ten years ago. If his father hadn’t been a respected detective on the force, Dex was certain he never would’ve been considered, much less hired. Knowing what they thought of his brother should have been enough to make him walk away, but it was those same close-minded individuals Dex had wanted to reach. That was why he’d joined the HPF, to continue making a difference from the inside, like his dad once had. It turned out to be a whole lot harder than he’d imagined, but that only succeeded in strengthening his resolve.
“My brother and I share the same beliefs when it comes to justice. Our fathers taught us to treat both Therians and Humans as equals. I may be liberal-minded, but my strong belief in justice for both species hardly makes me a sympathizer.”
An auburn-haired man with a shit-eating grin shoved his smartphone in Dex’s face, almost hitting him in the teeth. His expression told Dex he didn’t much care if he had. Dex calmly pulled back, his jaw muscles tightening. “Detective Daley, why haven’t you joined your father and brother over at the THIRDS? Is it because you didn’t qualify?”
Dex returned the asshole’s grin. “Whatever you’re paying your sources, it’s too much. I never applied to the THIRDS.”
“But you did go through their training.”
“I was offered the opportunity to take the three-week training course in the hopes I might reconsider becoming a candidate. I complied as a courtesy to my family, and I admit, a part of me wanted to know if I was up to the challenge.” And damn, had it been one hell of a challenge! Three weeks of intense physical training and skill-building exercises, rappelling, fast roping, room entry procedures, building searches, close quarter combat, and tactical weapons training. Dex had been pushed to his limits, and when he thought he couldn’t give any more, he was forced to reach deep down and give an additional 10 percent. It had been the most grueling, demanding, psychologically stressful three weeks of his life. Nothing he’d ever done had come close to what he’d been put through in those three weeks, not even the HPF training academy.
The THIRDS were the toughest sons of bitches around, and Dex had wanted to prove to himself that he could hack it. But join them? That was something else altogether.
“Did you pass?”
Dex couldn’t help his pride from showing. “Top of the class.”
“Will you be applying now?” another journalist asked.
“I intend to continue offering my services to the HPF.”
“What if they don’t want you? Do you think they’ve lost their trust in you, knowing you helped send a good man, one of their own brothers, to prison?”
And there it was.
Dex turned his head to whisper Littman’s name. His lawyer smiled broadly and held a hand up. “Thank you all for coming. I’m afraid that’s all Detective Daley has time for. Please respect him and his family during this difficult time.”
“What about Detective Walsh and his family? Have you spoken to them? How does his family feel about what you did?”
Dex waded through the toxic pool of newspersons, refusing to think about the hurtful and hateful phone calls, texts, and messages from Walsh’s family. People he’d once had barbecues with, whose Little League games he’d attended. He’d never wanted to bring them so much pain, to take away their son, husband, father. Being on the receiving end of their anger was the least Dex deserved.
“Detective Daley! Detective!”
He ignored the onslaught of questions, from what his boyfriend thought about the whole thing to whether his career with the HPF was unofficially over, and everything in between. He wasn’t going to think about any of that now. All he wanted was to get home to said boyfriend and maybe cry a little.
Dex walked as fast, but calmly, as he could, with Littman at his side, making a beeline for the north entrance of the Supreme Court Criminal Branch. Outside, the news teams tried to crowd him in, and officers did their best to control the growing mob. The railings on either side of the exit only proved to be a nuisance, corralling him as he tried to push his way through. The steps were blocked, so Dex grabbed Littman’s elbow and hurried him down the makeshift ramp to the sidewalk. Thank God they had a car waiting for them.
Dex tried to be nice about getting the journalists to step back so he could get into the backseat. When a couple of jerks tried to cram in, Dex was left with no choice. He grabbed their smartphones and tossed them into the crowd behind them.
“You’re going to pay for that!” one of them called out as he scrambled to retrieve his device.
“Bill me!” Dex climbed into the car and slammed the door behind him. The town car pulled away from the curb, and he slumped back against the pristine leather, letting out a long audible breath. Finally, it was over. For the time being anyway.
“You sure you don’t want to be dropped off at home?” Littman looked nearly as haggard as Dex felt.
“Nah, the parking garage is fine. I need to drop off the rental anyway.”
“You know I would’ve been happy to pick you up at your home and drop you off.”
“I know.” Dex stared out the window as they drove up Centre Street, made a left on White, and then drove down Lafayette. When they made a right onto Worth, the Starbucks on the corner had him pining for some frothy caffeine goodness. “I needed to drive around a while before court. Listen to some music, try to relax a little.” He’d made sure to rent a car with the darkest tinted windows on the lot and a slamming sound system. Music was probably the only thing that had kept him from going crazy through this whole ordeal, what with his boyfriend’s busy schedule. It would have been nice to have Lou there with him, but he understood the man couldn’t drop everything for him. They both had demanding careers and sometimes sacrifices had to be made. Still….
“I understand. You should lay low for a while until this blows over. There’s talk of that heiress—the one who’s been having a not-so-secret affair with her Therian personal trainer, being pregnant, and Daddy’s not taking it well. That should keep the vultures busy for a while. I suggest you take some vacation time, maybe surprise Lou with a nice little penthouse suite in the Bahamas or something.”
In no time, the car pulled up to the curb in front of the deli next to the parking garage, and Dex mustered up a smile, holding his hand out to his father’s old friend. “Thanks. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”
“You know I’m always here if you need me.” Littman took his hand in his and gave it a pat. “Dex?”
“Yeah?”
“He would have been proud of you.”
The thought brought a lump to his throat. “You think so?”
Littman nodded, the conviction in his words going a long way to assure Dex. “I knew your dad a long time. Believe me. He would have been proud. And so is Tony. He’s left me about ten messages asking about how you are. Your brother’s probably worried sick as well.”
Dex pulled his hand away to remove his smartphone from his pocket and chuckled at the fifteen missed calls from his family. He held it up. “You think?”
“Call your family, before Tony hunts you down.”
“I’ll give them both a call soon as I get in. Thanks.” After saying good-bye to Littman, Dex once again thanked him for helping him keep his sanity throughout all this and what was surely to come. Dex headed toward the rental in the parking garage. He wasn’t stupid enough to drive his precious baby to the courthouse. It was hard to lose the media in an Orange Pearl Dodge Challenger. If they weren’t in the city, he’d leave them eating his dust, but since he was in the city, it would make him a sitting duck.
As soon as he walked around to the rental’s driver’s side, he was doubly grateful he hadn’t brought his car, though he was no less pissed. Someone had slashed his back tire.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
He kicked the tire, as if doing so might magically repair it. Goddamn it, he should have let Littman drive him home. All he wanted was to get indoors, get something to eat, and vegetate on the couch. Thank God for auto clubs. He reached into his pocket for his phone when someone across the lot called out.
“Detective Daley!”
Instinctively, he looked up. A split second later the air rushed out of his lungs when something solid struck him between his shoulder blades. He stumbled forward, a blow to his thigh forcing him onto his hands and knees with a painful growl. Around him, three large Humans in black ski masks and black gloves crowded him. Damn it, where had they come from? Dex moved, intent on pushing himself to his feet when someone kicked him in the stomach, leaving him once again winded. He landed roughly on his side, holding onto his bruised ribs and stomach, his teeth gritted as he breathed heavily through his nose.
“You fucked up, Daley. You shouldn’t have testified against your partner.”
“Fuck you,” Dex spat out. Another kick confirmed mouthing off wasn’t appreciated. They obviously didn’t know him. With a groan, he leaned slightly to take in the sight of their neat attire. Maybe they did know him. “Who sent you?” He didn’t need to know. What’s more, he didn’t care. All he needed was enough time to figure out who he was up against.
“The Human race,” one of them snarled.
Dex let out a laugh. What an ass. It hadn’t taken him long to piece things together after noticing the gang’s black dress slacks and shiny black shoes. With a curse, he rolled forward to press his forehead against the asphalt. The only surprising part of this whole encounter was the fact it hadn’t come sooner. At least they weren’t going to kill him, just make him bleed a little. “Well, I got the message, so you can all go home now. You did your duty.” He received a blow to the arm with the shiny steel baton; most likely the same object they’d used to hit him in the back. Man, he was going to be sore tomorrow.
They dragged him to his feet, one holding on to each of his arms as the third came to stand before him. Dex closed his eyes and braced himself, his mind chastising him for being such a coward. The punch landed square across his jaw, snapping his head to one side and splitting his lip. Fuuuck, that hurt. He ran a tongue over his teeth to make sure nothing was loose. Nope, nothing there but the tangy taste of his own blood.
“Hey! HPF! Hands where I can see them!”
The Humans bolted and Dex’s knees buckled beneath him. Strong hands caught him, helping him stay on his feet. His back stung, his arm, thigh, and face throbbed from the blows, and his stomach reeled at the knowledge he’d done nothing.
“Daley, you okay?”
Dex recognized that voice. He looked up, puzzled to find fellow Homicide Detective Isaac Pearce holding him up, concern etched on his face.
“Pearce?”
Pearce helped him to the rental and propped him up against it, performing a quick assessment. Seeming confident Dex could stand, he surveyed the parking garage, but the perpetrators were long gone. His attention landed back on Dex. “You all right?”
“Yeah. Wish I could say the same about my suit.” Dex straightened, wincing at the sharp pain that shot through his body. “What are you doing here?”
“The usual summons, but my guy never showed. It was a nice day, so I figured I’d walk it. Glad I left when I did.”
“Yeah, me too.” Dex let out a small laugh then winced at the sharp sting it brought his lip. Tony was going to lose his shit over this.
“Any idea who they were?” Pearce asked worriedly.
Yep. “Nope.” Dex shook his head, wiping his hands on his slacks. “Just some pissed off Humans.” He had enough on his hands without bringing a whole new level of crap down on himself. “To be honest, right now, I just want to get home.”
“Don’t blame you.” Pearce motioned toward the slashed tire. “Need a lift?”
If he called the auto club now, Dex would have to wait for someone to come out—because he sure as hell didn’t have the strength or will to change the tire himself, wait for them to swap it out then drive the rental back to the lot. Or, he could accept Pearce’s offer and worry about the rental later.
“A lift would be greatly appreciated.”
“Great.” Pearce beamed at him. “I’m around the corner.”
With a murmured “Thanks,” Dex accompanied Pearce to his car, a silver Lexus that was more befitting a homicide detective. At least that’s what his old partner Walsh would have thought. The guy never did approve of Dex’s tastes. Come to think of it, Walsh was always making snide comments about what a “special snowflake” Dex was. He’d never paid much attention to the remarks, but in light of recent events, it was possible Walsh had always been a judgmental prick. Had Dex simply turned a blind eye to all of it? What if Dex had called him out on it sooner? Could they both have been spared all this?
“You okay?” Pearce asked again as soon as Dex was settled into the passenger seat beside him.
“Yeah, sorry. I’m still trying to wrap my head around all of this.”
“Why don’t you put on some music? Relax a bit. I’ll even let you choose the station.”
Dex gave a low whistle as he slipped on his seatbelt. “You’re going to regret giving me that kind of power.” He turned on the radio and navigated through the touchscreen to Retro Radio. Dex grinned broadly at Pearce, wiggling his eyebrows when Billy Ocean’s “Get Outta My Dreams, Get Into My Car” came blaring through the speakers. Pearce stared at him as if he’d lost his mind and Dex laughed. “I told you, you’d regret it.”
With a chuckle, Pearce drove out of the parking garage. “Where to?”
“West Village, Barrow Street.”
Despite Bobby McFerrin advising Dex a few minutes later not to worry and be happy, Dex was finding it difficult. If it were only that easy, Bobby. If only.
The ride down Sixth Avenue was quiet, filled mostly with power ballads and electro pop from the era of neon spandex, mullets, and shoulder pads with a wingspan to rival that of a Boeing 747. Dex appreciated Pearce letting him zone out instead of trying to make idle conversation. It was odd, being in Pearce’s car with him. They’d never offered more than the usual office greetings despite both working homicide from the HPF’s Sixth Precinct. Then again, Pearce had retreated into himself after losing his brother over a year ago, and no one at the Sixth could blame him. Having a younger brother of his own, Dex could imagine how hard it must have been on the poor guy.
Traffic wasn’t too bad this time of day, slowing down mainly near Tribeca Park and a few pockets down Sixth Avenue. Less than ten minutes later, they were driving onto busy Bleecker Street. Maybe he could convince Lou to pick him up a burger and fries from Five Guys on the corner. It was dangerous, having that place so close to his house. They pulled up in front of Dex’s brownstone, and Pearce turned to him with a smile. “Well, here we are.”
“Thanks for not kicking me out of your car,” Dex said, shutting off the radio.
“I’ll admit I came close when Jefferson Starship came on, but then I saw you tapping your hand in time to the music, and you had this sappy smile on your face… I didn’t have the heart.” Dex gave a snort and leaned back in his seat, smiling when Pearce started laughing. “You are one weird guy.” Pearce’s smile faded, and he suddenly looked a little embarrassed. “Want to get a coffee sometime?”
“Sure.” Dex tried not to let the surprise show in his voice.
“I know we’ve never said more than a few words to each other, but you’re a cool guy, Daley.” His brows drew together in worry, making him appear older than he was. Dex wasn’t more than a couple years younger than Pearce, but their job didn’t exactly allow for aging gracefully. “Be careful. I’d hate—” Pearce’s voice broke and he cleared his throat. “I’d hate for you to get hurt over all this. My brother, Gabe, believed in what he was doing and look where it got him.”
Dex frowned, trying to drum up what he remembered from the incident. He remembered it had been especially hard on Pearce, not having access to the case. But since Gabe had been a THIRDS agent, the HPF had no jurisdiction. “I thought the guy involved had been a Human informant?”
Pearce shook his head. “He was an HPF informant, but he wasn’t Human. He was Therian. A kid.”
Shit. Pearce’s brother had been killed by a Therian informant and here he was, coming to rescue a guy who’d testified against his Human partner in favor of a young Therian punk. “So, why aren’t you kicking the shit out of me too?”
A deep frown came onto Pearce’s face. “If your partner was stupid enough to let his personal prejudice affect his judgment, he deserves what he got. The truth is I admire you. Not everyone would’ve had the balls to do what you did. What happened to Gabe… was different.” He sighed, his expression troubled. “I’m just saying to watch your back. There are a lot of zealots out there looking for any excuse to carry out their own justice and things have been getting worse since that second HumaniTherian was found dead a few months ago. Some of these Humans are out for blood.”
Pearce wasn’t wrong on that. Two HumaniTherian activists had been murdered in the last six months and the evidence was pointing toward a Therian perpetrator, which meant jurisdiction fell to the THIRDS. Although the organization was doing its best to reassure the public, a storm was brewing between Humans and Therians, especially if they didn’t catch whoever was behind it soon. Dex’s testimony against his partner couldn’t have come at a worse time.
“Thanks for the warning, Pearce.” Dex stepped out of the car and closed the door behind him, taking a step to the side to wave at Pearce as he drove off. As soon as the guy was gone, Dex let out a sigh of relief. He loved his quiet little treelined street. With a smile, he painfully climbed up the steps to his front door. Finally, he was home. He stuck the key into the lock, turned it, and pushed the door open, baffled when it went thump halfway. Christ, now what? Something heavy was wedged up against it. With a frustrated grunt, he forced it open and carefully stuck his head in, frowning when he saw the large open cardboard box filled with DVDs, CDs, and a host of other things that should have been in his living room. His initial thought went to burglary, except he’d never run into thieves who stopped to bubble wrap their stolen merchandise.
“Lou?”
Dex locked the door behind him and wandered into the living room, his jaw all but hitting the floor at the near-empty state of it, along with the many cardboard boxes littered about in various stages of completeness. Something banged against the floor upstairs and Dex took the stairs two at a time.
“Babe?” Dex found his boyfriend of four years upstairs in their bedroom throwing shoes into empty boxes. “What’s going on?”
“I’m moving out.”
The words hit Dex like a punch to the gut, a feeling he was growing all too familiar with these days. “What?” He quickly maneuvered through the obstacle course of boxes and scattered manbags to take hold of his boyfriend’s arms, turning him to face him. “Sweetheart, stop for a second. Please, talk to me.” He went to cup Lou’s cheek, only to have Lou move his face away. Ouch. Double sucker punch. Tucking the rejection away for later, he focused on getting to the bottom of this. “Lou, please.”
“The nonstop phone calls, the reporters knocking on the door, the news reports on TV calling you a disgrace to your species. I can’t take it anymore, Dex.”
Guilt washed over him, and he released Lou. How many more casualties would there be as a result of his doing “the right thing”? “Give it some time. This will all blow over. What if we go somewhere far away from this, the two of us, huh?”
Lou shook his head and went back to packing. “I have a life to think about. I’ve already lost half a dozen clients. I can’t afford to lose any more.”
“This is New York, Lou. One thing you won’t run out of is parties to cater. It’s almost September, next thing you know it’ll be Halloween and you’ll be knee-deep in white chocolate ghosts and tombstone ice sculptures, telling your clients how throwing a party in a real graveyard is a bad idea.” When his lighthearted approach failed, Dex knew this was serious. Of course, to most people, the packed boxes would have been a dead giveaway, but Dex wasn’t most people. He refused to believe Lou would walk out on him when he needed him the most. “What about me? Aren’t I a part of your life?” Dex was taken aback when Lou rounded on him, anger flashing in his hazel eyes.
“You sent your partner to prison, Dex!”
Unbelievable. It wasn’t bad enough he was getting it from everyone else, now he was getting it at home too? Dex was growing mighty tired of being treated like a criminal. “I didn’t send him to prison. The evidence against him did. He shot an unarmed kid in the back and killed him for fuck’s sake! How am I the asshole in this?” He searched Lou’s eyes for any signs of the man who’d wake him up in the middle of the night simply to tell him how glad he was to be there with him.
“It wasn’t like you’d be able to bring the kid back. Not to mention he was a delinquent and a Therian!”
Dex’s anger turned into shock. “Whoa, what the hell, Lou? So that makes it okay? What about Cael? He’s a Therian. You’ve never had a problem with him.” At least Lou had the decency to look ashamed.
“He’s your family. I had no choice.”
This was all news to him. Dex loved Cael. He would never push his brother out for anyone. He’d been upfront about his Therian brother when he and Lou had first started dating. If his date couldn’t accept Cael, he couldn’t accept Dex. “Where is all this coming from? Since when do you have a problem with Therians?”
“Since one ruined my fucking life!” Lou chucked a pair of sneakers at one of the boxes with such force the box toppled over.
“Your life?” This conversation grew more astounding by the minute. Dex thrust a finger at himself. “Have you seen my face? I got the shit kicked out of me in the parking garage, thanks for noticing. If a fellow detective hadn’t come along, I’d probably be in the hospital right now. And you know what the most fucked up part of that is? They weren’t even street thugs. They were fucking cops!” Dex had known the moment he’d seen their attire and the telltale signs of an ankle holster on one of them. The bastards had probably been at the trial.
Surreal Estate by Jesi Lea Ryan
Prologue
DURING THE Vietnam War, the use of lethal biological warfare led to the spread of the Melanoe virus, infecting millions worldwide and causing the deaths of hundreds of thousands. Although no country would take credit for releasing the virus, the world’s top scientists came together to create a cure. The vaccine known as Eppione.8 used strains from animals found to be immune to the virus, but one year after distribution, the course of human history was forever changed. A dormant mutation within the virus was activated by the vaccine, resulting in the altering of human DNA, and giving birth to a new species: Therians.
When the first infected Humans began changing in the late seventies, some didn’t survive. Their Human bodies were unprepared for the shift. Others died of cancer or infections due to weakened immune systems, while others vanished. Rumors ran rampant about governments trying to clean up their mess. When it was clear the “problem” wasn’t going to go away, the US government tried to regain control of the masses, creating the Therian database and quickly passing new laws that would force all surviving Therians to register and get marked, supposedly for their own safety and that of their fellow Human citizens.
The government had been treating the first wave of Therians as a side effect of the war, one that would eventually die out. Then in 1976, scientists discovered what was really happening. The first generation of purebred Therians had been born. The mutation had perfected itself. Solidified, inside these First Generations. Suddenly, there was an advanced new species and along with it, a whole new set of fears.
In an attempt to restore social order, the US government quickly put new regulations and laws into place, along with a Therian branch of government. In 1990, Human and Therian legislators launched the Therian Human Intelligence, Recon, Defense Squadron A.K.A the THIRDS, an elite, military-funded agency comprised of an equal number of Human and Therian agents and intended to uphold the law for all its citizens without prejudice.
As long as Humanity continued to repeat the mistakes of the past, organizations like the THIRDS would be needed to ensure Humanity had a future, even if they had to stumble along the way to get there.
Chapter 1
FUCK. MY. Life.
Dex closed his eyes, wishing this was nothing more than some freakishly vivid dream where any moment now, he would wake up and everything would go back to the way it was. Of course, when he opened his eyes, nothing changed. He splashed more water on his face in an effort to ease the tension, but it didn’t help. Not that he’d been expecting it to. After wiping the excess water from his face, he paused to glare at the man in the mirror. The guy staring back at him looked like shit, pale with reddish-brown circles under his eyes that made him look as if he’d either been crying or using crack. There were definitely a hell of a lot of sleepless nights involved. Dex didn’t like the guy in the mirror. What an asshole.
“Are they out there?” His voice came out rough, as if waking from sleep—deep or otherwise—had been out of his reach for some time.
A hand landed on his shoulder, offering a sympathetic squeeze. “Yes. Remember what we talked about? As soon as you’ve had enough, you walk away.”
Dex let out a snort. It was way too late to walk away. Had been about six months ago. He straightened and snatched a paper towel from the automated dispenser. It was like drying off with newspaper, the same newspapers that had his image plastered all over their pages. Images that had been run through some Photoshop douchebag filter to make him look like even more of a prick. He chucked the paper into the wastebasket and stood there, finding it difficult to face his lawyer.
“Hey, look at me.” Littman stepped up to him and patted his cheek. “You did the right thing.”
Dex looked up then, searching for something, anything that might help the pain go away even for a little while. “Then why do I feel like shit?”
“Because he was your friend, Dex.”
“Exactly. And I fucked him over. Some friend.” He went back to leaning over the sink, his fingers gripping the porcelain so tightly, his knuckles hurt. “Goddamn it!” That son of a bitch! What the hell had Walsh been thinking? Obviously he hadn’t been, or neither of them would be in this mess. Or worse, maybe Walsh had thought it through. Maybe he’d been so certain Dex would have his back that he thought “fuck it.”
Dex closed his eyes, trying to get the man’s face out of his mind, but he could still see it clearly. That face was going to haunt his dreams for a long time coming. The mixture of anger and pain when the verdict had been given—anger directed at Dex, and pain brought about by what he’d done—had been there for the world to see, especially Dex.
“No,” Littman insisted. “He fucked himself over. All you did was tell the truth.”
The truth. How could doing the right thing turn out so goddamn bad? Had it even been the right thing? It had seemed like it at the time. Now he wasn’t so sure. Regardless, he couldn’t hide out in the restroom all his life.
“Let’s get this over with.” A few deep breaths and he followed Littman out into the corridor. The moment he stepped foot out there, the locusts swarmed him, microphones buzzing, recorders and smartphones at the ready, flashes going off, cameras rolling, a litany of questions flying at him from every direction. It was as if he were underwater, hearing everyone outside the pool yelling and screaming as he sank to the bottom like a stone, no discernible words, only muffled sounds. Littman stepped up beside him, one hand behind Dex’s back in assurance, the other held up to the crowd in a vain attempt to bring order to chaos.
“Detective Daley will do his best to answer your questions, but one at a time, please!”
A tall, gray-haired man in an expensive suit pushed through his gathered comrades, ignoring their murmured grunts of displeasure, to place a microphone in front of Dex. A half a dozen more swiftly joined it.
“Detective Daley, what would you say to all the Humans who believe you betrayed your own kind?”
At least he’d been prepared for that one. Dex buttoned up his suit jacket, the gesture allowing him a few seconds to calm his nerves and collect his thoughts. Smoothing it down, he met the reporter’s gaze. “I joined the Human Police Force to make a difference, and sometimes that requires making tough calls. I chose to tell the truth. No one is above the law, and my job is to enforce it.”
A blonde woman in a tailored navy blue pantsuit swiftly jumped in. “Is it because your brother is Therian? Are you a LiberTherian Sympathizer?”
It was hardly the first time he’d been accused of such. Having a Therian brother was the sole reason the Human Police Force had taken longer than necessary to consider him when he’d applied ten years ago. If his father hadn’t been a respected detective on the force, Dex was certain he never would’ve been considered, much less hired. Knowing what they thought of his brother should have been enough to make him walk away, but it was those same close-minded individuals Dex had wanted to reach. That was why he’d joined the HPF, to continue making a difference from the inside, like his dad once had. It turned out to be a whole lot harder than he’d imagined, but that only succeeded in strengthening his resolve.
“My brother and I share the same beliefs when it comes to justice. Our fathers taught us to treat both Therians and Humans as equals. I may be liberal-minded, but my strong belief in justice for both species hardly makes me a sympathizer.”
An auburn-haired man with a shit-eating grin shoved his smartphone in Dex’s face, almost hitting him in the teeth. His expression told Dex he didn’t much care if he had. Dex calmly pulled back, his jaw muscles tightening. “Detective Daley, why haven’t you joined your father and brother over at the THIRDS? Is it because you didn’t qualify?”
Dex returned the asshole’s grin. “Whatever you’re paying your sources, it’s too much. I never applied to the THIRDS.”
“But you did go through their training.”
“I was offered the opportunity to take the three-week training course in the hopes I might reconsider becoming a candidate. I complied as a courtesy to my family, and I admit, a part of me wanted to know if I was up to the challenge.” And damn, had it been one hell of a challenge! Three weeks of intense physical training and skill-building exercises, rappelling, fast roping, room entry procedures, building searches, close quarter combat, and tactical weapons training. Dex had been pushed to his limits, and when he thought he couldn’t give any more, he was forced to reach deep down and give an additional 10 percent. It had been the most grueling, demanding, psychologically stressful three weeks of his life. Nothing he’d ever done had come close to what he’d been put through in those three weeks, not even the HPF training academy.
The THIRDS were the toughest sons of bitches around, and Dex had wanted to prove to himself that he could hack it. But join them? That was something else altogether.
“Did you pass?”
Dex couldn’t help his pride from showing. “Top of the class.”
“Will you be applying now?” another journalist asked.
“I intend to continue offering my services to the HPF.”
“What if they don’t want you? Do you think they’ve lost their trust in you, knowing you helped send a good man, one of their own brothers, to prison?”
And there it was.
Dex turned his head to whisper Littman’s name. His lawyer smiled broadly and held a hand up. “Thank you all for coming. I’m afraid that’s all Detective Daley has time for. Please respect him and his family during this difficult time.”
“What about Detective Walsh and his family? Have you spoken to them? How does his family feel about what you did?”
Dex waded through the toxic pool of newspersons, refusing to think about the hurtful and hateful phone calls, texts, and messages from Walsh’s family. People he’d once had barbecues with, whose Little League games he’d attended. He’d never wanted to bring them so much pain, to take away their son, husband, father. Being on the receiving end of their anger was the least Dex deserved.
“Detective Daley! Detective!”
He ignored the onslaught of questions, from what his boyfriend thought about the whole thing to whether his career with the HPF was unofficially over, and everything in between. He wasn’t going to think about any of that now. All he wanted was to get home to said boyfriend and maybe cry a little.
Dex walked as fast, but calmly, as he could, with Littman at his side, making a beeline for the north entrance of the Supreme Court Criminal Branch. Outside, the news teams tried to crowd him in, and officers did their best to control the growing mob. The railings on either side of the exit only proved to be a nuisance, corralling him as he tried to push his way through. The steps were blocked, so Dex grabbed Littman’s elbow and hurried him down the makeshift ramp to the sidewalk. Thank God they had a car waiting for them.
Dex tried to be nice about getting the journalists to step back so he could get into the backseat. When a couple of jerks tried to cram in, Dex was left with no choice. He grabbed their smartphones and tossed them into the crowd behind them.
“You’re going to pay for that!” one of them called out as he scrambled to retrieve his device.
“Bill me!” Dex climbed into the car and slammed the door behind him. The town car pulled away from the curb, and he slumped back against the pristine leather, letting out a long audible breath. Finally, it was over. For the time being anyway.
“You sure you don’t want to be dropped off at home?” Littman looked nearly as haggard as Dex felt.
“Nah, the parking garage is fine. I need to drop off the rental anyway.”
“You know I would’ve been happy to pick you up at your home and drop you off.”
“I know.” Dex stared out the window as they drove up Centre Street, made a left on White, and then drove down Lafayette. When they made a right onto Worth, the Starbucks on the corner had him pining for some frothy caffeine goodness. “I needed to drive around a while before court. Listen to some music, try to relax a little.” He’d made sure to rent a car with the darkest tinted windows on the lot and a slamming sound system. Music was probably the only thing that had kept him from going crazy through this whole ordeal, what with his boyfriend’s busy schedule. It would have been nice to have Lou there with him, but he understood the man couldn’t drop everything for him. They both had demanding careers and sometimes sacrifices had to be made. Still….
“I understand. You should lay low for a while until this blows over. There’s talk of that heiress—the one who’s been having a not-so-secret affair with her Therian personal trainer, being pregnant, and Daddy’s not taking it well. That should keep the vultures busy for a while. I suggest you take some vacation time, maybe surprise Lou with a nice little penthouse suite in the Bahamas or something.”
In no time, the car pulled up to the curb in front of the deli next to the parking garage, and Dex mustered up a smile, holding his hand out to his father’s old friend. “Thanks. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”
“You know I’m always here if you need me.” Littman took his hand in his and gave it a pat. “Dex?”
“Yeah?”
“He would have been proud of you.”
The thought brought a lump to his throat. “You think so?”
Littman nodded, the conviction in his words going a long way to assure Dex. “I knew your dad a long time. Believe me. He would have been proud. And so is Tony. He’s left me about ten messages asking about how you are. Your brother’s probably worried sick as well.”
Dex pulled his hand away to remove his smartphone from his pocket and chuckled at the fifteen missed calls from his family. He held it up. “You think?”
“Call your family, before Tony hunts you down.”
“I’ll give them both a call soon as I get in. Thanks.” After saying good-bye to Littman, Dex once again thanked him for helping him keep his sanity throughout all this and what was surely to come. Dex headed toward the rental in the parking garage. He wasn’t stupid enough to drive his precious baby to the courthouse. It was hard to lose the media in an Orange Pearl Dodge Challenger. If they weren’t in the city, he’d leave them eating his dust, but since he was in the city, it would make him a sitting duck.
As soon as he walked around to the rental’s driver’s side, he was doubly grateful he hadn’t brought his car, though he was no less pissed. Someone had slashed his back tire.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
He kicked the tire, as if doing so might magically repair it. Goddamn it, he should have let Littman drive him home. All he wanted was to get indoors, get something to eat, and vegetate on the couch. Thank God for auto clubs. He reached into his pocket for his phone when someone across the lot called out.
“Detective Daley!”
Instinctively, he looked up. A split second later the air rushed out of his lungs when something solid struck him between his shoulder blades. He stumbled forward, a blow to his thigh forcing him onto his hands and knees with a painful growl. Around him, three large Humans in black ski masks and black gloves crowded him. Damn it, where had they come from? Dex moved, intent on pushing himself to his feet when someone kicked him in the stomach, leaving him once again winded. He landed roughly on his side, holding onto his bruised ribs and stomach, his teeth gritted as he breathed heavily through his nose.
“You fucked up, Daley. You shouldn’t have testified against your partner.”
“Fuck you,” Dex spat out. Another kick confirmed mouthing off wasn’t appreciated. They obviously didn’t know him. With a groan, he leaned slightly to take in the sight of their neat attire. Maybe they did know him. “Who sent you?” He didn’t need to know. What’s more, he didn’t care. All he needed was enough time to figure out who he was up against.
“The Human race,” one of them snarled.
Dex let out a laugh. What an ass. It hadn’t taken him long to piece things together after noticing the gang’s black dress slacks and shiny black shoes. With a curse, he rolled forward to press his forehead against the asphalt. The only surprising part of this whole encounter was the fact it hadn’t come sooner. At least they weren’t going to kill him, just make him bleed a little. “Well, I got the message, so you can all go home now. You did your duty.” He received a blow to the arm with the shiny steel baton; most likely the same object they’d used to hit him in the back. Man, he was going to be sore tomorrow.
They dragged him to his feet, one holding on to each of his arms as the third came to stand before him. Dex closed his eyes and braced himself, his mind chastising him for being such a coward. The punch landed square across his jaw, snapping his head to one side and splitting his lip. Fuuuck, that hurt. He ran a tongue over his teeth to make sure nothing was loose. Nope, nothing there but the tangy taste of his own blood.
“Hey! HPF! Hands where I can see them!”
The Humans bolted and Dex’s knees buckled beneath him. Strong hands caught him, helping him stay on his feet. His back stung, his arm, thigh, and face throbbed from the blows, and his stomach reeled at the knowledge he’d done nothing.
“Daley, you okay?”
Dex recognized that voice. He looked up, puzzled to find fellow Homicide Detective Isaac Pearce holding him up, concern etched on his face.
“Pearce?”
Pearce helped him to the rental and propped him up against it, performing a quick assessment. Seeming confident Dex could stand, he surveyed the parking garage, but the perpetrators were long gone. His attention landed back on Dex. “You all right?”
“Yeah. Wish I could say the same about my suit.” Dex straightened, wincing at the sharp pain that shot through his body. “What are you doing here?”
“The usual summons, but my guy never showed. It was a nice day, so I figured I’d walk it. Glad I left when I did.”
“Yeah, me too.” Dex let out a small laugh then winced at the sharp sting it brought his lip. Tony was going to lose his shit over this.
“Any idea who they were?” Pearce asked worriedly.
Yep. “Nope.” Dex shook his head, wiping his hands on his slacks. “Just some pissed off Humans.” He had enough on his hands without bringing a whole new level of crap down on himself. “To be honest, right now, I just want to get home.”
“Don’t blame you.” Pearce motioned toward the slashed tire. “Need a lift?”
If he called the auto club now, Dex would have to wait for someone to come out—because he sure as hell didn’t have the strength or will to change the tire himself, wait for them to swap it out then drive the rental back to the lot. Or, he could accept Pearce’s offer and worry about the rental later.
“A lift would be greatly appreciated.”
“Great.” Pearce beamed at him. “I’m around the corner.”
With a murmured “Thanks,” Dex accompanied Pearce to his car, a silver Lexus that was more befitting a homicide detective. At least that’s what his old partner Walsh would have thought. The guy never did approve of Dex’s tastes. Come to think of it, Walsh was always making snide comments about what a “special snowflake” Dex was. He’d never paid much attention to the remarks, but in light of recent events, it was possible Walsh had always been a judgmental prick. Had Dex simply turned a blind eye to all of it? What if Dex had called him out on it sooner? Could they both have been spared all this?
“You okay?” Pearce asked again as soon as Dex was settled into the passenger seat beside him.
“Yeah, sorry. I’m still trying to wrap my head around all of this.”
“Why don’t you put on some music? Relax a bit. I’ll even let you choose the station.”
Dex gave a low whistle as he slipped on his seatbelt. “You’re going to regret giving me that kind of power.” He turned on the radio and navigated through the touchscreen to Retro Radio. Dex grinned broadly at Pearce, wiggling his eyebrows when Billy Ocean’s “Get Outta My Dreams, Get Into My Car” came blaring through the speakers. Pearce stared at him as if he’d lost his mind and Dex laughed. “I told you, you’d regret it.”
With a chuckle, Pearce drove out of the parking garage. “Where to?”
“West Village, Barrow Street.”
Despite Bobby McFerrin advising Dex a few minutes later not to worry and be happy, Dex was finding it difficult. If it were only that easy, Bobby. If only.
The ride down Sixth Avenue was quiet, filled mostly with power ballads and electro pop from the era of neon spandex, mullets, and shoulder pads with a wingspan to rival that of a Boeing 747. Dex appreciated Pearce letting him zone out instead of trying to make idle conversation. It was odd, being in Pearce’s car with him. They’d never offered more than the usual office greetings despite both working homicide from the HPF’s Sixth Precinct. Then again, Pearce had retreated into himself after losing his brother over a year ago, and no one at the Sixth could blame him. Having a younger brother of his own, Dex could imagine how hard it must have been on the poor guy.
Traffic wasn’t too bad this time of day, slowing down mainly near Tribeca Park and a few pockets down Sixth Avenue. Less than ten minutes later, they were driving onto busy Bleecker Street. Maybe he could convince Lou to pick him up a burger and fries from Five Guys on the corner. It was dangerous, having that place so close to his house. They pulled up in front of Dex’s brownstone, and Pearce turned to him with a smile. “Well, here we are.”
“Thanks for not kicking me out of your car,” Dex said, shutting off the radio.
“I’ll admit I came close when Jefferson Starship came on, but then I saw you tapping your hand in time to the music, and you had this sappy smile on your face… I didn’t have the heart.” Dex gave a snort and leaned back in his seat, smiling when Pearce started laughing. “You are one weird guy.” Pearce’s smile faded, and he suddenly looked a little embarrassed. “Want to get a coffee sometime?”
“Sure.” Dex tried not to let the surprise show in his voice.
“I know we’ve never said more than a few words to each other, but you’re a cool guy, Daley.” His brows drew together in worry, making him appear older than he was. Dex wasn’t more than a couple years younger than Pearce, but their job didn’t exactly allow for aging gracefully. “Be careful. I’d hate—” Pearce’s voice broke and he cleared his throat. “I’d hate for you to get hurt over all this. My brother, Gabe, believed in what he was doing and look where it got him.”
Dex frowned, trying to drum up what he remembered from the incident. He remembered it had been especially hard on Pearce, not having access to the case. But since Gabe had been a THIRDS agent, the HPF had no jurisdiction. “I thought the guy involved had been a Human informant?”
Pearce shook his head. “He was an HPF informant, but he wasn’t Human. He was Therian. A kid.”
Shit. Pearce’s brother had been killed by a Therian informant and here he was, coming to rescue a guy who’d testified against his Human partner in favor of a young Therian punk. “So, why aren’t you kicking the shit out of me too?”
A deep frown came onto Pearce’s face. “If your partner was stupid enough to let his personal prejudice affect his judgment, he deserves what he got. The truth is I admire you. Not everyone would’ve had the balls to do what you did. What happened to Gabe… was different.” He sighed, his expression troubled. “I’m just saying to watch your back. There are a lot of zealots out there looking for any excuse to carry out their own justice and things have been getting worse since that second HumaniTherian was found dead a few months ago. Some of these Humans are out for blood.”
Pearce wasn’t wrong on that. Two HumaniTherian activists had been murdered in the last six months and the evidence was pointing toward a Therian perpetrator, which meant jurisdiction fell to the THIRDS. Although the organization was doing its best to reassure the public, a storm was brewing between Humans and Therians, especially if they didn’t catch whoever was behind it soon. Dex’s testimony against his partner couldn’t have come at a worse time.
“Thanks for the warning, Pearce.” Dex stepped out of the car and closed the door behind him, taking a step to the side to wave at Pearce as he drove off. As soon as the guy was gone, Dex let out a sigh of relief. He loved his quiet little treelined street. With a smile, he painfully climbed up the steps to his front door. Finally, he was home. He stuck the key into the lock, turned it, and pushed the door open, baffled when it went thump halfway. Christ, now what? Something heavy was wedged up against it. With a frustrated grunt, he forced it open and carefully stuck his head in, frowning when he saw the large open cardboard box filled with DVDs, CDs, and a host of other things that should have been in his living room. His initial thought went to burglary, except he’d never run into thieves who stopped to bubble wrap their stolen merchandise.
“Lou?”
Dex locked the door behind him and wandered into the living room, his jaw all but hitting the floor at the near-empty state of it, along with the many cardboard boxes littered about in various stages of completeness. Something banged against the floor upstairs and Dex took the stairs two at a time.
“Babe?” Dex found his boyfriend of four years upstairs in their bedroom throwing shoes into empty boxes. “What’s going on?”
“I’m moving out.”
The words hit Dex like a punch to the gut, a feeling he was growing all too familiar with these days. “What?” He quickly maneuvered through the obstacle course of boxes and scattered manbags to take hold of his boyfriend’s arms, turning him to face him. “Sweetheart, stop for a second. Please, talk to me.” He went to cup Lou’s cheek, only to have Lou move his face away. Ouch. Double sucker punch. Tucking the rejection away for later, he focused on getting to the bottom of this. “Lou, please.”
“The nonstop phone calls, the reporters knocking on the door, the news reports on TV calling you a disgrace to your species. I can’t take it anymore, Dex.”
Guilt washed over him, and he released Lou. How many more casualties would there be as a result of his doing “the right thing”? “Give it some time. This will all blow over. What if we go somewhere far away from this, the two of us, huh?”
Lou shook his head and went back to packing. “I have a life to think about. I’ve already lost half a dozen clients. I can’t afford to lose any more.”
“This is New York, Lou. One thing you won’t run out of is parties to cater. It’s almost September, next thing you know it’ll be Halloween and you’ll be knee-deep in white chocolate ghosts and tombstone ice sculptures, telling your clients how throwing a party in a real graveyard is a bad idea.” When his lighthearted approach failed, Dex knew this was serious. Of course, to most people, the packed boxes would have been a dead giveaway, but Dex wasn’t most people. He refused to believe Lou would walk out on him when he needed him the most. “What about me? Aren’t I a part of your life?” Dex was taken aback when Lou rounded on him, anger flashing in his hazel eyes.
“You sent your partner to prison, Dex!”
Unbelievable. It wasn’t bad enough he was getting it from everyone else, now he was getting it at home too? Dex was growing mighty tired of being treated like a criminal. “I didn’t send him to prison. The evidence against him did. He shot an unarmed kid in the back and killed him for fuck’s sake! How am I the asshole in this?” He searched Lou’s eyes for any signs of the man who’d wake him up in the middle of the night simply to tell him how glad he was to be there with him.
“It wasn’t like you’d be able to bring the kid back. Not to mention he was a delinquent and a Therian!”
Dex’s anger turned into shock. “Whoa, what the hell, Lou? So that makes it okay? What about Cael? He’s a Therian. You’ve never had a problem with him.” At least Lou had the decency to look ashamed.
“He’s your family. I had no choice.”
This was all news to him. Dex loved Cael. He would never push his brother out for anyone. He’d been upfront about his Therian brother when he and Lou had first started dating. If his date couldn’t accept Cael, he couldn’t accept Dex. “Where is all this coming from? Since when do you have a problem with Therians?”
“Since one ruined my fucking life!” Lou chucked a pair of sneakers at one of the boxes with such force the box toppled over.
“Your life?” This conversation grew more astounding by the minute. Dex thrust a finger at himself. “Have you seen my face? I got the shit kicked out of me in the parking garage, thanks for noticing. If a fellow detective hadn’t come along, I’d probably be in the hospital right now. And you know what the most fucked up part of that is? They weren’t even street thugs. They were fucking cops!” Dex had known the moment he’d seen their attire and the telltale signs of an ankle holster on one of them. The bastards had probably been at the trial.
Surreal Estate by Jesi Lea Ryan
Chapter One
Sasha
Fall
I wasn’t sleeping. No one really did when spending the night on a bench in a seedy park. Too easy to get mugged by a crackhead. Instead, I stared up at the starless Milwaukee night and lamented my lack of four walls and a roof. The three layers of clothes I wore warded off the autumn chill, but I worried what winter would bring. I could wander south like some of my brethren, but at the heart of it, I was a Wisconsin guy born and raised. This was my home, no matter how battered and bruised it left me.
“Hey, kid,” called a scratchy voice in the dark.
I sat up and saw Willie’s dark figure ambling toward me. The cold must’ve been bothering his trick knee, because he leaned a little too heavily on the shopping cart that contained all of his worldly belongings. He was old and mostly harmless, but I pulled my bag closer to me anyway. You couldn’t be too careful out here.
“What’s up, Willie?”
The old man sat down next to me on the bench, sending a waft of air, acrid with meth-sweat and filth, up around us. I switched to breathing through my mouth.
“Saw you playing your guitar on the bridge today. From the looks of your case, I’d say you hauled in at least fifty bucks.”
It had only been twenty-three, but it was always best to downplay any cash I might have . . . even if it was only Old Willie asking. “It wasn’t that much, and I spent most of it on dinner.”
“Well, that’s too bad. I know a guy we could pick up a half gram of crystal from real cheap. Turn around and double our money easy.” He gave me the side-eye, checking for my reaction. I forced myself not to clench my teeth as I replied.
“No, thanks, man. I’m not into dealing. Besides, I don’t have that kind of cash.” I did, but the last thing I was going to do was drop what I had into a half-cocked drug deal. Suddenly, I wanted to get out of here, away from the drug talk. I might be in dire straits, but I’d never turn to dealing. I’d seen the toll that shit could take on not just the user, but their families, their friends, everything they touched. A shiver rolled up my spine.
I stood, slinging my guitar case onto my back and lifting my bag. “Nice seeing you, Willie, but it’s cold out here. I’m gonna see if I can find hot coffee or something.”
“Okay, kid. Try the gas station over on Twentieth Street. They should be open.”
I gave him a pat on the shoulder and walked away. It took twenty paces before my nose cleared of his scent. I wasn’t the freshest either, but at least I made an effort.
It was late, or early, depending on how you looked at it. I crossed the little park heading to the street. A cop car drove past me a little too slowly; the second time I’d seen it that night. At best, the cop would tell me to be on my way. At worst . . . well, I didn’t want to deal with that. I wasn’t drunk or high or causing trouble, and I was so tired of people treating me like a criminal just because I was poor. I needed to get out of this place, with its heavy shadows watching me, and remind myself there was such a thing as normal in this world.
The tiny, no-name city park gave way to nearly empty streets as I cut through the parking lots of gas stations and Asian groceries. The worn concrete buildings and closed corner bars still displaying old Schlitz signs in the windows were echoes of a time when the city had teamed with blue-collar jobs and a hope for the future. No one could be hopeful on this street now.
I rounded the corner into a residential neighborhood lined with mature trees and pre–World War II family homes. It was the kind of neighborhood where parents worked jobs with uniforms and punched clocks, and they trusted their latchkey kids to hold the fort down until they could get home with their buckets of fast-food chicken for noshing on in front of the TV. In other words, a lot like the neighborhood I’d grown up in.
As I walked past the sleeping homes, a soft hum woke up the sixth sense in my mind. When I was young, I’d manifested psychic abilities, and walking down a neighborhood street had excited me. I had an affinity for homes . . . well, all buildings really. And in turn, they had an affinity for me. They always seemed to know I could hear them.
The best way I can describe my gift is that human emotions imprint on the places people live, work, and spend time. The structures absorb those emotions, and I can read them. Mostly, I only sense a low vibration of warmth, affection, sorrow . . . But if the vibrations are strong, well, other things happen.
My range isn’t wide, but in a populous neighborhood like this one, the vibes tend to mix together like an odd, harmonious chorus in my mind. Sometimes a place will resonate more strongly than the others, rising above as if in solo and calling out to me with its story.
As I neared the corner, a house with plastic toys lying in the yard beckoned me closer. I approached the porch steps and rested my hand on the railing, opening myself up to the energy of the wood beneath my palm. My breath hitched as the spirit of the house touched my soul and slowly filled me with its tenderness for the occupants inside.
In my opinion, contentment is a vastly underrated emotion. Happiness, true elation, is difficult to sustain long-term. You’d either cross over into mania or you’d get so used to the feeling that your internal benchmark would shift, making it seem ho-hum. Which is actually sad. Contentment, on the other hand, is like a long feeling of okay. A sigh for the soul. Things might not be perfect in your life, you might have a micromanager boss or a persistent ache in your back, but overall, your life is going swell. The bad moments won’t keep you down, and you retain your capacity for appreciating the good ones.
A light deep within the house came on. Someone getting up for an early shift or maybe just taking a piss. I adjusted the guitar on my back and continued down the street. I passed an elementary school and rounded another block. I was thinking of splurging on an Egg McMuffin when I felt it. A tug in my chest.
I turned to see what had pulled at me. Across a short expanse of overgrown yard was a large, stately colonial. Thick vines climbed the brick and clung to the mortar, giving the home an ominous quality in the darkness. But the sense coming from it didn’t feel dangerous, only abandoned. The house called to me with a mixture of loneliness and desperation. I held my hand out, letting the cool vibrations roll over my skin.
Come inside.
I strode up the walk, unable to ignore the call. The neglect made my body feel hollow. The windows on the lower level were mostly boarded over with plywood. A niggling sense of heaviness on my left arm steered me, causing me to skirt the porch and go around the side instead. There, the vines climbed over the windows and choked the gutters. I reached the backyard with its foot-long grass and giant bushes that blocked the rest of the neighborhood from view. It wasn’t four walls and a roof, but the privacy of the backyard lent a feeling of safety that I’d rarely experienced since taking to the streets.
Come inside.
I stepped up onto the rear porch and the nearly rotten wood gave way slightly to my weight. I opened the rusty screen door and tried the knob on the inner door. Locked tight.
Come inside.
How? I might be able to play almost any instrument set in front of me, but picking locks was not in my repertoire. I could track down Five Finger Felix (not his real name, but he answered to it) and ask him to come back tonight to help me break in, but no. If he knew there was a big, vacant home over here, he’d have it overrun with squatters by the end of the week. No one ever accused Felix of being discreet.
My side felt tingly and weighted again. I let the house steer me where it wanted me to go, stepping off the porch and rounding to the left side.
Come inside.
The heaviness vanished, and I stopped. I glanced down at a small basement window, and then bent to get a closer look. It was tough to see with the dark shadows cast from the lilac bushes, but a barely perceptible, otherworldly haze around the window forced my eyes to focus on it. There was no glass in the rotting frame, only a sheet of heavy black plastic. I pushed on the sheet. It came away easily, the adhesive on the old tape long dried out.
I slipped the guitar off my back and set it on the ground next to my pack. I was thin enough to have no problem fitting through the tight space, but was it such a good idea to venture in? No telling what hid in the black void of the basement.
Come. Inside.
I couldn’t turn my back on the house now. Bad idea or not, it needed me.
I wiggled out of my jacket, not believing I was doing this. Breaking and entering wasn’t my style. Then feetfirst, I sank down on my butt and scooched forward. I sat there for a moment, legs dangling inside, unable to sense the bottom of the black abyss. Then, with a deep breath, I steeled my nerves and dropped in.
Chapter Two
Nick
Spring
“This place is a real shithole.”
I cuffed my brother lightly on the side of the head. “Shut it, Damey. She’s got good bones. And if all you’re going to do is bitch, you can walk your ass back home.”
My excited fingers fumbled with the rusty door lock, while Damien picked at the peeling paint on the crumbling porch railing.
“These vines are going to be a bitch to scrape off.”
“Yeah, it’s not going to be fun, but I can’t have the place looking like the Addams family lives here.”
“Steven’s gonna be pissed that you bought this place without him. What’s the point of having a brother for a realtor if you aren’t going to use him to take care of these things for you?”
“The bank auction was today, and Steven’s still in South Beach trying to recapture his youth with the Spring Breakers. I didn’t have time to wait.”
“Why the hurry? Didn’t think you’d even want to get back into house flipping after what happened before.”
“The market’s recovered.”
“But has your bank account?”
I ignored the question and pushed open the door of the early 1900s colonial. A waft of musty, stale air and dust motes greeted me. The last rays of the setting sun slanted through the dirty windows, illuminating original hardwood floors and a hand-carved mantel piece. The place was more beautiful than I’d hoped, and my face split into a huge grin.
“Look at this!” I said, practically bouncing over to the mantel to trace the intricate scrollwork. “They don’t make things like this anymore. A little scrubbing and staining, and it’ll be good as new.”
Damien kicked at one of the fallen bricks from the fireplace’s facing. “Yeah, it’s great.”
“I’ll have to put a gas insert in. Buyers don’t like dealing with the maintenance of wood-burning fireplaces. Come on! Let’s find the kitchen.”
A set of French doors separated the living room from the dining room. Most of the glass panes were broken, but the wood was in great shape. “Check these out! They just need some new glass and stain. Don’t think I’ll keep them here though. This wall has to go to create an open-floor plan. But wouldn’t they be nice in the master? I could use them to separate the sitting area from the sleeping area.”
“We haven’t even been upstairs yet, and you’re making plans for the master bedroom? How do you know it has a separate sitting area?”
“This place is huge. If it doesn’t already have one, I’ll make one. Use your vision, Damey! Don’t you see the potential here?”
“Potential for bankruptcy . . .” he muttered.
I pretended not to hear him, my mind spinning with renovation plans as I assessed the home’s condition. Damien sneered at the cracked plaster, obviously wondering how his broke-ass brother planned to pay for the repairs. None of his fucking business.
We came to an abrupt halt in the kitchen doorway. All the air in my lungs expelled in a long whistle.
“Damn, Nick. That’s not good.” Damien groaned.
The ugly remains of a seventies remodel gone wrong was bad enough. The property had been abandoned for several years, so I’d known I’d have to update the place. But the layer of green mold coating the walls, ceiling, and the cabinets was thick enough to mow.
“Either a roof leak or a busted pipe somewhere upstairs,” I speculated, stepping forward to see if I could spot where the moisture was coming from. “I’ll have to get the mold remediation guy out in the morning to test and make sure it’s not toxic, but I don’t see any black mold, so we should be okay.”
Damien pulled the edge of his T-shirt up over his mouth. “I’m outta here, man. I’m allergic to that shit. See ya at Mom’s Sunday.”
“Wimp.”
Damien waved his middle finger behind himself as he strode out.
I was glad he’d bailed. Hadn’t wanted him to come in the first place, but since he lived right around the corner, I couldn’t exactly have hidden the fact that I’d purchased the abandoned property. Especially once he saw my Cooper Remodeling truck parked in front. The nosy bastard hadn’t even stopped to tie his shoes before he’d come running over. Ten bucks said he’d call Steven within five minutes to tattle on me.
I reached down to switch off my phone. The last thing I needed right now was another brother lecturing me, even if it was out of concern. I wanted time to revel in this amazing house that I’d gotten for a steal.
I let my eyes unfocus a little so I could see past the furry mold and peeling linoleum. The room was huge! I could add an island and still have space for a nice breakfast nook by the large, southern-facing windows. New quartz countertops and dark-stained cabinets, and it’d be perfect.
Off the kitchen was a decent-sized bathroom with hookups for a washer and dryer. Good. An old house like this might have one of those creepy basements with only the rock foundation for walls and home to a thousand spiders. Potential buyers would hate having to drag their laundry all the way down there. A nice laundry area would give me an advantage in selling the house for a profit.
I was about to seek out the basement when a shuffling noise came from upstairs. I paused to listen. Squirrels? It was common for the rodents to nest in the attics of older homes. The yard had several overgrown trees with branches close enough to the roofline to make that possible.
The shuffle noise sounded again, this time accompanied by the soft creak of a floor board.
Could someone be in the house? No way. I’d walked around the foreclosed property and peered in as many windows as I could before making a bid on it. The place had been locked up tight. Must be an animal. Probably a bastard raccoon. I was halfway up the stairs to investigate before I remembered the crowbar I’d left in the back of the truck.
“Whatever you are, fucker, you better not have rabies,” I called out, hoping the sound of my voice would scare it off.
I reached the top of the steps and peered into the first bedroom. Nothing but yellowing wallpaper.
Then I pivoted toward the next room and came face-to-face with a man.
“Holy shit!” I leaped back and raised my fists.
The stranger lifted his hands as if surrendering to the police. “I don’t have rabies.”
“Who are you?” I yelled, still trying to catch my breath. “Why are you in my house?”
“Sorry. I didn’t think anyone owned the place.”
Without taking my attention off the guy, I did a quick scan of the room beyond. It was obvious from the layers of sleeping bags in the corner, stacks of clothes, and neatly arranged personal items that he’d been squatting here for a while.
“You armed?”
The guy’s eyes widened, and he dropped his hands. “No! I have a few plastic knifes over there next to the peanut butter jar, but that’s it. I swear.”
Sure as shit, the guy had the makings for sandwiches sitting on a box in the corner.
I eyed the squatter. He was young. Early twenties maybe? Just a kid. He was as tall as me, but thin. I had thirty pounds of muscle on the guy easy. The tension in my neck eased. If he wasn’t armed, the kid was no threat.
“Look, I’ll go. I just . . . Let me get my stuff.” He ran his hand through the nest of dark hair and narrowed his eyes at his belongings. No way would he be able to carry it all with him unless he had a car.
“How’d you get in here?” The question came out harsh with the adrenaline still coursing through my system.
“Uh, basement window,” he said absently, as he slipped into a pair of worn combat boots. “The first time anyway. Now I come in through the balcony.”
A small balcony at the back of the room looked out on the backyard. The overgrown trees were just right for hiding an intruder from the sight of neighbors, not that there were many neighbors who could see this side of the house. The old Milwaukee neighborhood backed up to a wooded city park. The privacy of the backyard was one of the home’s selling points.
The squatter snatched a large pack from somewhere and began jamming clothes into it. He’d need at least three of those bags for all his stuff.
Not sure what to do with myself, and unwilling to turn my back on him just yet, I studied him. His hair was overgrown and bushy and knotted with curls, and his face hadn’t seen a razor in a while, but he appeared clean enough. The water was shut off in the house, so he must be getting regular showers somewhere else. His face was pale, and he had to keep pushing that hair out of his eyes so he could see what he was doing. Shit, he looked nervous, maybe even scared. I’d seen his type before. Guys who were down on their luck and had few, if any, options. Back when my company was flipping houses all the time, I used to hire guys like this, day laborers, to assist on jobs. As long as they were sober, I’d been happy to throw some work their way.
“Hold up.” I sighed. When the guy didn’t stop his frantic packing, I reached out to touch his sleeve. “I said, hold on a minute.”
He glared at where my hand rested on his forearm before he stepped away. “You’re not gonna call the cops, are you? I didn’t damage anything. Okay, I smoked in the house once in a while, but honestly, that’s it.”
“What’s your name, kid?”
His eyes narrowed on me. “Sasha.”
“What kind of name is ‘Sasha’ for a dude?”
“Russian Jew.”
“Really? What’s your last name?”
“Michaels.”
“What kind of name is ‘Michaels’ for a Russian Jew?”
“The kind whose grandfather decided not to saddle his future kids with ‘Mikhailovich’ when he left the Soviet Union.”
“Good call.”
Sasha rubbed a shoulder, and then bent to snatch up one of the many blankets that made his bed on the floor.
“I’m Nick. Nick Cooper.”
Sasha grunted and began folding.
“You got somewhere to go, kid?”
“I’m twenty-four years old. Not exactly a kid.”
“Well, do you?”
He gave a small headshake, and glanced out at the falling twilight. “Might be room over at the United Methodist shelter. I’ll have to find a place to stash my things first, though. Last time I was there, some assholes made off with my shit while I slept. Only reason they didn’t get my guitar is because I was curled up with my arm around it . . .”
Sasha motioned to where a beat-up guitar case leaned against the far wall. He averted his eyes from me.
“How long you been staying here?”
Sasha shrugged. “A few months. More like six. Again, I’m sorry. I didn’t know anyone owned the place. It’s such a lonely old house. Figured I’d be long gone before anyone came around.”
“An out-of-state bank owned it. I just bought it today. They don’t let people tour foreclosed properties before purchase, so I didn’t know you were here.”
“You bought a house without seeing the inside? That’s . . . risky. Have you seen the kitchen yet? The place looks like a science experiment gone mad.”
“I saw it. It’s fixable. I was going to have to gut the kitchen anyway. I’m going to renovate the place and sell it.”
The ghost of a smile touched Sasha’s lips. “Really? I mean, that’s cool. That you’d fix it up and not just knock it down to build a parking lot or something.”
“No parking lot. They don’t make homes like this anymore.” I knocked on the plaster wall. “You know, with character. A new kitchen, some cosmetic work, and it’ll make a good family home again.”
Sasha trailed his fingers down the nubby plaster wall gently. “Yeah. She’ll be happy to get rid of that kitchen.”
She? Uh, okay. In any case, the guy seemed to have genuine affection for the old place. Could he see the same potential in it as I did? If so, maybe I should keep him around. I could use someone on my side when Steven the Great finally showed up to tell me what a mistake I’ve made.
I leaned in the doorway and crossed my arms. “What’re you doing for light here without electricity? Candles?”
“I have a camping lantern. One of those where you turn the crank a bunch of times and it stays lit for about ten minutes. I don’t need much light anyway. I go to sleep early so I can get up for work in the morning.”
My brows shot up. “You have a job?”
“Uh, yeah,” he answered sarcastically. “I work the opening shift at a coffee shop on National Ave during the week. And I do some busking around town for cash. Once in a while, I’ll play in a bar gig or a coffee shop or something, but that’s not regular.”
“So you work, but you’re squatting in an abandoned house? Why?”
Sasha scowled at me again, and I stifled a grin.
“I’m trying to save money, all right? Do you know how hard it is to afford rent in this town on your own? Not to mention, every landlord wants two references and a credit check. Baristas and buskers don’t exactly rate as the most financially stable people with the credit bureaus. I’m doing the best I can.”
I raised my hands. “Sorry, man. Not judging. Just trying to understand.”
Sasha’s scowl faded as he reached for a sleeping bag. He smoothed out the wrinkles and began to roll it with the precision of a well-practiced Boy Scout. Suddenly, I felt like an asshole for making the guy leave. He wasn’t hurting anything. And I’d heard terrible stories about sleeping in homeless shelters. Shit, if it weren’t for my family’s support when my business had gone bankrupt and my ex-wife moved out with her share of what was left, I could’ve ended up on the streets myself. But what was I supposed to do? I couldn’t let a homeless guy stay here. What if he trashed the place?
In his haste, Sasha bumped his knee on the box he was using as a table and knocked a plastic bottle half-filled with water over onto the hardwood floor.
“Oh, shit! I’m sorry!” He grabbed a threadbare bath towel draped over the radiator to sop up the mess. He scrubbed the area. When the towel was soaked, Sasha slipped off the flannel shirt he was wearing over a T-shirt and used it to finish the job.
“Dude, you don’t need to use the shirt off your back. It’s just water.”
Sasha didn’t look up as he gave the wood planks one last wipe. “There isn’t much lacquer left on this floor. If I let it sit here, the wood will discolor.”
He said it so earnestly that I swallowed hard to stop from telling him that every floor in the house would need to be redone anyway. It touched me that he had taken such good care of a house that wasn’t his. Not quite believing what I was about to say, I said, “Hey, it’s getting late, and obviously you aren’t cooking meth in here or anything, so I guess there isn’t any harm in letting you stay the night.”
Sasha clutched the wet cloth to his chest. “Really? You’d let me stay? Why?”
I shrugged a shoulder. “You don’t have anywhere to go. And if you got all your things snatched in a shelter, I’d feel like a dick for making you leave here.”
He eyed me with suspicion. After a moment he asked, “And what do I have to do for it?”
“For what?”
“For being able to stay the night. What do I have to do for it?”
“Nothing, man. It’s too late in the day for me to start any work now. Just get some sleep, all right?”
He averted his eyes from mine and took in the room. “Thanks. I have to work in the morning, but as soon as I get off, I’ll come by and get my things.”
“I should be around in the afternoon. Feel free to use the front door. I don’t need you breaking your leg climbing that tree and suing me.” I knocked my fist on the doorframe. “Well, I want to finish looking around, then I’ll be out of your hair.”
I was halfway down the hall before I understood what he’d been asking.
Charlie Cochet is an author by day and artist by night. Always quick to succumb to the whispers of her wayward muse, no star is out of reach when following her passion. From adventurous agents and sexy shifters, to society gentlemen and hardboiled detectives, there’s bound to be plenty of mischief for her heroes to find themselves in, and plenty of romance, too!
Currently residing in Central Florida, Charlie is at the beck and call of a rascally Doxiepoo bent on world domination. When she isn’t writing, she can usually be found reading, drawing, or watching movies. She runs on coffee, thrives on music, and loves to hear from readers.
Lisa likes to tell stories, mostly with hot guys and happily ever afters.
Lisa lives in tropical North Queensland, Australia. She doesn't know why, because she hates the heat, but she suspects she's too lazy to move. She spends half her time slaving away as a government minion, and the other half plotting her escape.
She attended university at sixteen, not because she was a child prodigy or anything, but because of a mix-up between international school systems early in life. She studied History and English, neither of them very thoroughly.
She shares her house with too many cats, a green tree frog that swims in the toilet, and as many possums as can break in every night. This is not how she imagined life as a grown-up.
Sam Burns wrote her first fantasy epic with her best friend when she was ten. Like almost any epic fiction written by a ten year old, it was awful. She likes to think she’s improved since then, if only because she has better handwriting now.
If she’s not writing, she’s almost certainly either reading or lost down a Wikipedia rabbit hole while pretending to research for a novel.
W.M. Fawkes is an author of LGBTQ+ urban fantasy and paranormal romance. With coauthor Sam Burns, she writes feisty Greek gods, men, and monsters in the Lords of the Underworld series. She lives with her partner in a house owned by three halloween-hued felines that dabble regularly in shadow walking.
Helena StoneHelena Stone can’t remember a life before words and reading. After growing up in a household where no holiday or festivity was complete without at least one new book, it’s hardly surprising she now owns more books than shelf space while her Kindle is about to explode.
The urge to write came as a surprise. The realisation that people might enjoy her words was a shock to say the least. Now that the writing bug has well and truly taken hold, Helena can no longer imagine not sharing the characters in her head and heart with the rest of the world.
Having left the hustle and bustle of Amsterdam for the peace and quiet of the Irish Country side she divides her time between reading, writing, long and often wet walks with the dog, her part-time job in a library, a grown-up daughter and her ever loving and patient husband.
USA Today Bestselling Author Jesi Lea Ryan grew up in the Mississippi River town of Dubuque, IA. She holds bachelor degrees in creative writing and literature and a masters degree in business. She considers herself a well-rounded nerd who can spend hours on the internet researching things like British history, anthropology of ancient people, geography of random parts of the world, bad tattoos and the paranormal. She currently lives in Madison, WI with her husband and sassy kitty.
Charlie Cochet
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EMAIL: charlie@charliecochet.com
Lisa Henry
EMAIL: lisahenryonline@gmail.com
Sam Burns
Helena Stone
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Jesi Lea Ryan
Hell & High Water by Charlie Cochet
Ebook Re-Release Coming October 24
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Prince of Death by Sam Burns & WM Fawkes
Careful What You Wish For by Helena Stone
Surreal Estate by Jesi Lea Ryan
