Dirty Blood Prequel
Wes:
Gravel
crunched underneath the tires of my brand new Aston Martin. The leather of my
recently purchased jacket crinkled stiffly as I downshifted and parked. I
checked the mirror, pretending to run a hand through my hair as I scanned the
lot behind me. She wasn’t here yet. I checked my phone for messages. No new
calls. I’d give her ten minutes and then I was out. In this sort of situation,
if you were late, you weren’t coming.
I glanced
up. The moon had already risen. I could feel it although the fading daylight made
it impossible to spot it among the clouds. The full moon was always the
strongest for me. The past few months I’d grown too irritated by the noise in
my own head and hid at home for the twenty-four hour period that heightened my
mental abilities to the point of mind reading.
Mind reading.
It sounded
like fun—until you sat in a crowded room with thoughts coming at you like
mental arrows so fast you couldn’t see straight. Like any good rock concert,
the buzz remained long after the ability to hear the melody—or in this case,
thoughts—faded away. But today was different. I’d ventured out under the
promise of information.
Liliana
usually delivered. Problem was she’d tried offering herself as a gift with
purchase so to speak. I wasn’t buying.
My new boots
crunched over loose rocks as I crossed the lot to the front entrance. This pair
was made from brown leather, all-purpose and expensive as hell—the last of the
evidence left behind by my shopping spree the week prior. Thank you, trust
fund. Having rich, dead parents had its perks.
Guilt washed
over me but it was the only way to think of them—hard and detached—so that the
grief didn’t kick in. When the sadness got to be too much, I bought shit. Yeah,
I was a chic that way. Cord was the only one who knew that little tidbit about
me and she wasn’t talking; I had plenty of information to blackmail her with
and she knew it.
The sound of
cars rushing along the nearby highway died off as I stepped inside the dingy
pool hall. I walked to the bar slow enough to scope out the other patrons
before sliding onto a tattered stool. The cigarette smoke hanging in the air
provided a screen of anonymity. Good. I didn’t want a single one remembering
me. I chose a meeting in the late afternoon on purpose; they’d all be drunk
enough by nightfall to forget they’d seen me at all. And if they didn’t, my
memory-swiping skills would finish the job.
But, holy
hell, their voices were loud and ignorant in my head. The bartender eyed me,
one brow raised in question.
“Beer,” I
said simply.
He popped a
top and slid it over without a word mentioned about proper ID. Another reason I
liked this place. Eighteen passed for twenty-one, no questions asked.
A frothy mug
appeared in front of me, the hand and the body it attached to retreating to the
other end without a word.
I sipped my
beer and stared into the dust-streaked mirror hanging behind the bar. Through
its reflection I watched two gray-beards shoot a game of nine ball in terse
silence. Probably a rematch after a steep loss. The fatter one looked way too
serious. I spotted a stack of twenties on the far corner of the table. Shark.
I shook my
head at the skinny guy’s imminent loss.
Two tables
over, two girls not much younger than me giggled and took turns shooting,
oblivious to the day drinkers and roughnecks sending them glances every three
seconds. They were both pretty in their own way. The dark-haired one was
clearly the queen of the court. You could see it in the way she held her chest
out and tossed her hair. But the other girl caught my attention—and held it.
She wasn’t like
her friend. The way she moved—with a confident yet quiet strength I’d only ever
seen in my own kind—and the graceful way she carried herself had me staring in
fascination.
Her light
brown hair fell around her shoulders and across her forehead at an angle that
made her shove it aside each time she leaned down to line up a shot. She didn’t
toss it around the way her friend did. It was much more subconscious than that.
It was fascinating how she went from laughing and joking with her girlfriend to
serious and concentrating the moment she bent over the cue ball. Took her game
seriously, apparently.
And provided
me the perfect view of her backside. I sipped the beer to cover my smile. And my
stare.
Her build
was athletic. I assumed she played sports of some kind, and I appreciated the
curve of her hip, the arc of her torso as it curved into rounded breasts. My
eyes traveled upward and I froze when our eyes met. She’d caught me staring. I
took a lazy swig of my beer before I finally looked away.
Feigned
confidence: my best attribute.
She went
back to her friend and I forced my gaze away, studying the exits. I checked the
time again. Liliana better hurry. Three more minutes and I was out of here.
The
hair-flipper said something and both girls laughed loud enough every man
turned. Neither girl noticed. No, wait. The hair flipper did. I sensed it in
her thoughts. More an awareness than anything else. She knew the room watched,
and she didn’t mind a bit. But her friend, the curvy brunette, she didn’t seem
to pay it any mind. It sparked my curiosity enough that I did something I
usually tried very hard not to. I opened my mind and let their thoughts pour
in.
I wonder if that biker guy would take
me for a ride if I flirt a little. He’s what? Like forty? Eww, gross. But, hey,
no harm in flirting. A motorcycle ride would be so fun!
Predictably
shallow. Annoying as hell. I tuned her out.
If Sam doesn’t stop eyeing that old
guy in the corner, we are out of here. I am not getting ax-murdered today.
I smirked.
Good girl. Stay away from the barflies.
Okay, two more balls to sink and then
we can go home. I want to cook that chicken Mom left out. Maybe I can surprise
her with dinner at the shop. Breathe, Godfrey. Line it up. Close one eye, open
it a little. Inhale. Exhale and shoot.
Her thoughts
were surprisingly pleasant to listen to. No drama. No shallowness. No
self-involvement like so many other girls her age. I listened for a moment more
as she debated how to sink the eight ball and watched through the mirror as she
called the corner pocket and bent over to line it up.
The pool
stick cracked against the cue ball as she jammed it forward. Less than a second
later, the eight ball shot forward and I watched the black sphere disappear
into the predicted hole. The girl smiled at her friend in a way that said she
hadn’t doubted herself for a second.
Neither had
I.
The front door
slid out on its hinges with a creak. I looked up as Liliana walked in. Her eyes
almost glowed with the energy radiating from her—a product of the moon phase.
I shifted
myself away from the girls behind me, not wanting to draw Liliana’s attention.
She was weirdly jealous for a girl I’d already turned down eight times.
As she
approached, I concentrated on turning the volume down as much as possible on
the thought stream flowing into my head. Liliana’s head wasn’t a place I liked
to visit. The mind of the honey-brunette behind me—now there was a place I
wouldn’t mind spending a little more time.
And for your viewing pleasure, a fan pic of Wes:
What do you think?
Wonderful!
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