Part 1 (2/2)

”Who?”

”Northwalk-the people at the top of your crazy wall. That's what they call themselves. Some kind of ancient surname.”

”They're people like me?”

He sighed. ”No. Jesus, Shepherd, keep up. As far as I can tell, there are maybe fifty or so of you future-f.u.c.kers in the whole G.o.dd.a.m.n world. Northwalk is just one of the organizations of rich, control freak a.s.sholes that pull your strings.”

Just one? There were other evil cabals? Oh, h.e.l.l no. ”Why are you telling me all this now?” He'd never been this forthcoming before.

He enunciated each word, the anger she'd sparked with her first slap beginning to simmer again as he seemed to tire of their conversation. ”Because it's pertinent to my message.”

She scoffed. ”f.u.c.k your stupid message. What's Northwalk's endgame?”

”How the h.e.l.l should I know?”

She slapped him again, as hard as she could. ”Make an educated guess!”

d.a.m.n, it felt good to hit something. He rebounded closer to her, the anger in his eyes deepening. Where she stood less than a foot away from him, she caught a whiff of his scent. He smelled hot and dirty-like a delicious man. Sten was also easy on the eyes, she had to admit-dark and fit, with a dangerous aura about him. Just the way she liked her men, before she met Robby and discovered the joys of nice guys, while Max had embodied the perfect combination of good and bad. Sten had also been great in bed, she suddenly remembered. Rough. She'd liked it, back then. She hadn't been with anybody in a long time; not since Max. Oh, Jesus, she must really be drunk and desperate if Sten was turning her on.

”Ow,” was all he said.

Guess the time for disclosure was over. ”Get out.”

”I haven't delivered my message yet.”

”I said get out!”

She tried to shove him, but all the d.a.m.n beer made her clumsy. He easily grabbed her arms and flipped her faceup onto the couch, pinning her down with his body. A moment of panic seized her as she lay helpless beneath him. If he decided to kill her after all, it would take him little effort now-oh G.o.d, and she felt the hardness of his erection pressing against her belly. Son of a b.i.t.c.h. For the last eight months, she'd been haunted by this G.o.dd.a.m.n Northwalk conspiracy, where the only measure of control she could exert over her life was to cut out her own heart by pus.h.i.+ng Max away. And here was Sten, physically restraining her and getting off on it. She was so tired of being the one on the bottom. She couldn't take it anymore.

”Here's the message,” he said, his face a couple of inches from hers as she struggled underneath him. ”Northwalk would like to extend you an invitation to work for them.”

”Why the h.e.l.l would I work for them?”

”In exchange for your cooperation, they'll take care of Delilah for you.”

She stopped struggling and stared at him. Were they offering to kill Delilah? When she was with Max, she'd had a vision of Delilah as president of the United States, initiating a nuclear war. Maybe Northwalk knew about this possible future, and didn't want to see it come to pa.s.s, either. But Northwalk was evil, and they wanted her child. She'd never help them do anything, no matter what they offered.

”Tell them thanks for the offer, but the answer is no,” she said. ”I'll never be a slave like you.”

What was left of Sten's smarmy demeanor cracked, and the anger she'd stoked finally overtook him. ”I am not their slave! You don't know anything about me, Shepherd.”

”Oh yeah?” she said, relis.h.i.+ng every second she got under his skin for once. ”Poor lonely Private Ander, won't talk about his past but f.u.c.ks like a beast and takes orders like a champ! Too used to pleasing his masters to even consider having any agency of his own. Just point him at whatever you need killed, no questions asked!”

His grip tightened around her wrists. As his hard body pressed down on hers and his hot scent filled her lungs, he glared at her with rage and frustration that matched her own. Sten didn't want to work for them any more than she did, she realized. He hated them, too. He felt what she felt. A burst of heat shot through her body. She hadn't connected with anyone on a raw emotional level since Max, and it felt...good. Holy s.h.i.+t, did it feel good.

”Sometimes,” he said through gritted teeth, ”you have to let people use you to get what you want.”

”Keep telling yourself that. I'm n.o.body's b.i.t.c.h like you are. n.o.body's!”

When she thought he was close to breaking her wrists, he let go. ”Fine. Take it out on me if you want, see what happens,” he growled. ”Do it!”

With her hands free, she shoved him to the side, and together they fell to the ground. She scrambled on top of him and punched him in the face. Finally, she was in control. She punched him again, the need for release so potent her skin trembled like a live wire. Sten was right; she needed to take it out on someone, use somebody.

A frantic euphoria hijacked her brain. Two more times she hit him, and he didn't fight back. As she lifted her arm to hit him again, he sat up and yanked her sports bra off, st.i.tches ripping as he forced it over her shoulders and head in one quick jerk. With a grunt like an animal, he grabbed her nipple with his mouth and sucked hard. She gasped-sweet Jesus, that felt good. A noise between a whimper and a groan escaped her chest as a wave of desperate l.u.s.t wiped away all rational thought. She needed something, anything, to dull the pain- Val pushed him back to the ground. She reached into his coat breast pocket, took out his wallet, and flipped it open. Of course he had a condom with him-he was on the Vice Squad, after all. She pulled his pants down to his thighs, ripped the package open, and slipped the latex over him while he watched, his chest heaving and black eyes burning. Then she threw off her running shoes, shorts, and panties.

What the h.e.l.l are you doing, Val? Stop- She sat back and let him enter her with a thrust so strong it sent shock waves through her entire body. A guttural moan surged from her throat as she rocked on top of him. She licked her lips, closed her eyes, and thought of Max. The smell of his mountain spring shower gel, the bay rum aftershave on his neck, the way he'd felt inside her. G.o.d, she missed him. She hadn't known she could long for another person so much until he wasn't there anymore. Even the pain she'd felt after Robby's murder paled to the hole Max's absence left in her soul. Now she was willing to take anyone who came along to fill the void, anyone who made her feel something good, even her enemy.

Sten grabbed her and pulled her deeper onto him, directing her hips with strong, rough hands. She grabbed his dress s.h.i.+rt in her fists and blinked back stars that popped into her vision. A wave of dizziness swept over her, from the run and the beer, and now the s.e.x. Her mouth watered and muscles tensed while growing weaker at the same time. She needed release. Needed it.

She struggled to breathe as the heat in her belly grew, until the pain she'd been holding in for eight months finally exploded- I'm standing on the balcony of Max's house, the balcony where he threw his father to his death. The sky is overcast, the water is black. All the gla.s.s is cracked and trash is strewn everywhere. At my feet I see a weathered newspaper with a headline that reads: ”President Barrister Declares War.” Before I can check the date or read the article, the brightest light I've ever seen bursts in the sky and mushrooms upward. I hear and feel a rumbling that grows louder, shattering the gla.s.s around me, until a shock wave hits and I'm engulfed in flames- Blur.

A light rain falls on a choppy expanse of water I recognize as Elliot Bay. Across the water, the s.p.a.ce Needle pokes through the skyline, glinting where the sun strikes it in breaks between roiling clouds. A group gathers on the rocky beach, just off a two-lane road: police officers, medical personnel, random onlookers behind a cordon. A coroner. Splayed on the rocks at the center of the throng is a body-a woman in a c.o.c.ktail dress that used to be white, now soiled brown. Her matted blond hair bobs in soft waves of water that lap at her bloated, pale face. Milky eyes that used to be brown bulge from their sockets. Black ligature marks streak across her wrists and ankles. Nearby, a woman wails- Like cigarette smoke, the vision faded from Val's view, and she was back in her living room.

Underneath her, Sten blinked as if trying to snap out of his own trance. The desperate anger they'd shared faded from his face, replaced by his usual smarmy mask. ”Got tomorrow's lottery numbers?” he asked. ”If you did, I think it's only fair I get half.”

Val sighed and closed her eyes, trying to push away the image of yet another dead person from the future, as well as her recurring vision of Delilah destroying the world. She'd never had a real o.r.g.a.s.m before, only these terrible-and mostly useless-glimpses of the future. Max was the one who saw numbers-stock market data and other financial information that had made him his millions. Val saw dead people, either during or shortly after their often horrific and painful-looking demises-none of it financially lucrative. The visions were weak when she was alone, stronger with another person, even stronger with someone she was attracted to, and strongest with another person with the same ability-someone like Max or Delilah. If she concentrated right before o.r.g.a.s.m, she could sometimes guide her visions to reveal useful information to help her solve cases, like manipulating a dream. Unfortunately, she wasn't very good at it.

She'd wanted a distraction from her miserable life. Instead, she saw a random dead woman. G.o.dd.a.m.n this horrible ability.

Val felt something brush against her face. She flinched and her eyes popped open. Sten's fingertips caressed her cheek.

”I thought you pa.s.sed out again,” he said, his voice soft with a tenderness she didn't know he was capable of. ”I don't think you're cut out for day drinking, Val.”

”Shut up.” Light-headed, she slowly pushed herself off him and sat in a heap on the couch.

Sten stood, peeled the condom off, and dropped it on Val's coffee table. He picked up her gun off the floor and put it on the table, too, as if replacing a tchotchke he'd knocked over. As he pulled up his pants and tucked in his dress s.h.i.+rt, his eyes lingered on her. Val sat slack on the couch, tired, naked, more than a little drunk, and covered in sweat. Shame flushed her cheeks. What the h.e.l.l had she been thinking? Sleeping with Sten had been stupid, reckless, and worst of all, pointless. It felt great for a few fleeting moments-to experience control, to feel pleasure-but now she was back down the hole she'd started in; deeper, even. She should have shot him instead.

After a few seconds of staring at her, Sten straightened out his jacket and fished a business card out of his wallet. ”If you change your mind about Northwalk's offer, or ever need to talk again, give me a call. Anytime.” He set the card down next to the used condom. ”Carressa doesn't know what he's missing with that vanilla fiancee of his.”

She flinched. Of course he'd bring that up. f.u.c.king Sten.

He finally left, giving her a couple of hours alone to prepare for the arrival of a new client-after she took a long, cold shower.

Chapter Two.

Val handed a tissue to the sobbing middle-aged woman seated at the dining room table. Nora Monroe dabbed at her eyes and sniffled until Stacey returned from the kitchen with a mug of hot water, a tea bag bleeding into it.

Nora accepted the mug with trembling hands. ”Thank you.”

Stacey nodded and sat next to Val, in front of a pen and notepad she'd prepped. They waited as Nora sipped her tea. In the pause, Val took a long drink of black coffee from her own mug, trying to ease the hangover headache thumping between her eyes. She ignored the disapproving glance Stacey shot at her. Another lecture about Val's self-destructive behavior was brewing. Fantastic.

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