Taken for Granite Page 3

  Fuck, she was scared, as scared as she felt the morning after Valentine’s Day when she and Chloe found the house full of smoke.

  What was the thing, anyway? Why was it crammed into the back of Mickey’s van?

  The phone vibrated. The diner’s number flashed on the screen.

  “Jack,” she said, the tremble in her voice real.

  “You’re late,” a deep voice said. Not Jack.

  “Um, Mick. The van… shaking… tires… what the fuck was that, Mick? It came right at me!” Her words tumbled out and her heart raced. The surprise of the gargoyle coupled with the sheer terror of Mickey’s displeasure would give her a heart attack.

  “You let it get away?”

  A chill settled over her. “No. I didn’t let it do anything! It broke free and knocked me down. It was huge.” And furious. She couldn’t forget the feel of him, hard and sharp-edged, his anger a tangible object, as he pressed into her.

  Mickey said nothing, the sound of his breath distorted over the phone.

  The silence unnerved her. Nothing good ever came from silence.

  “Come get your sister,” Mickey said. “We’ll discuss how to make this right later.”

  Juniper shoved the phone into her bag, her hand shaking. She had no idea how to make this right.

  tas

  Tas climbed to the highest girders in the building, his movement disturbing the thick layers of dust and mold. The abandoned building had a sorrowful air of neglect he recognized, kindred to his own. The coolness to the air told him he moved in shadows, out of the light of day. He would wait there until the sun set.

  He picked at the flaking metal of the girder. Iron dissolved on his tongue, bitter and oxidized. Not the best quality, but his body desperately needed the mineral. As he picked at the iron, he reassessed what happened with the female.

  The Rose Syndicate had been very clever to send in a lone female. He would not have hesitated to attack a group of males, but the female, alone and vulnerable, made him pause.

  Not true.

  His body had reacted to her before she opened the back of the vehicle. Perhaps his mating fever started the moment he had been transferred to the vehicle rich with her scent. When she opened the door and he sprang free, attacking her was the last thing his body wanted.

  His captors had tried to entice him to mate for years. They would toss vulnerable, frightened females into his cell, females who mewled and cried at the sight of him. Sometimes they were willing participants, excited by the prospect of mating.

  He never touched them. His kind had mated with humans over the millennia, but no amount of threats or cajoling by his captors could compel him to mount a human female. He would not make another slave for them. He endured the beatings, the agony as they found new ways to degrade him and strip away his pride, but he never wavered in this.

  Until now.

  His body burned with the fires of mating fever, pheromones and lust turning to a perfumed smoke that clouded his mind. His mate gland had swollen with dassa, applying pressure just under his jaw.

  His fangs ached to sink into the female and release his dassa.

  It was just a biological reaction to the hormones his body produced and wanted to purge. Into a fertile female. Nothing more than that. Human females had triggered the response before but he ignored the slow burn until it extinguished itself. Pushing himself to exhaustion with physical activity had been his favored method as he endured the mating fever alone.

  He had resisted all the other females the Rose had selected. He would not fall to the temptation of this one.

  None of the other females his captors had brought for him had ever triggered his mating fever, though.

  Absently, he palmed his hardened cock. It felt hot and heavy, and Tas found it difficult to think beyond the aching need of it—how it would feel to be buried deep in the hot, wet warmth of the female.

  He should not have accepted the female’s bottle of water. It must have been laced with some chemical to cause this reaction in him.

  The Rose starved him. Deprived him of sunlight and water. Then a lone female gives him the water he desperately needed?

  Another warrior who didn’t have rocks in his head would have spotted the obvious trap. It stank of Rhododendron.

  Still, Tas had little choice and he resisted the female. His will was stronger than the Rose’s snare.

  Another piece of iron dissolved on his tongue. He needed to replace depleted minerals if he wished to restore his strength. Marginally better than nothing, Tas focused on consuming the oxidized iron. Once that took the edge off his hunger, he’d seek a better source of nutrients. He had endured many mating fevers before. This one was no different.

  4

  Juniper

  When Juniper returned the van to the diner, she expected Mickey to be waiting for her. Instead, Chloe climbed into Juniper’s old Honda, slamming the door. The car had been their parents’, and while the new car smell had been gone for a decade, it got them from point A to point B.

  “What happened to your hand?” Chloe flung herself down onto the front seat and shoved her school bag to the floor. Her hot pink headphones hung around her neck, ready to slip on and ignore her big sister.

  “I got caught on a nail,” Juniper said. Scarlet soaked through the tissues she placed over her hand. “I’ll clean it when we get home.” Hopefully, the wound wouldn’t get infected.

  “Tetanus shot.”

  “What?”

  “That’s what you need, if it was a nail. Don’t want to get lockjaw.” Chloe pulled her headphones on and stuck her nose in a book, not saying another word, totally unlike her normal, chatty self.

  “Oh. Yeah. Thanks.” Juniper mentally added a tetanus shot to the list of worries, along with gargoyle venom and monster bacteria. “How was the diner?”

  “Fine,” Chloe said in an uninterested grunt.

  “Did anything happen?” The diner was relatively safe, and Jack would keep the creepers away from Chloe, but Juniper still worried. She didn’t want to be one of those helicopter parents, but the world was full of unsavory people, her boss being one of them.

  “No.” Chloe moved the book closer, her nose nearly touching the page.

  Juniper pulled the headphones down. “That’s not good for your eyes.”

  “Ugh. Fine.” She snapped the book shut and hugged it to her chest. “I don’t like you working for Mickey.”

  “That’s part of my job,” she lied.

  “That’s why your hair is messy and your knees scraped? Part of your job. Sure.” Chloe rolled her eyes.

  A quick and hot blush rose to Juniper’s face. When Chloe said it like that, it didn’t look good. “Whatever you think you’re suggesting, young lady, that’s not my job.”

  “Let’s pretend that it’s your coffee Mickey likes so much.” If eye-rolling were an Olympic sport, Chloe would have the gold.

  “First, don’t talk to me with that tone. Second, Mickey has never once made a pass at me.” Or anyone who Juniper knew. Rumors about him with gals or guys just didn’t exist. Mickey was either extraordinarily discreet or completely uninterested in sex with anyone.

  “Whatever.”

  Never in her life had Juniper wanted to smack her kid sister. Fourteen was a trying age. “Give me strength,” she muttered.

  “I don’t like him,” Chloe said, voice softening as if she sensed her attitude went too far. “Why can't you find another job?”

  “It’s not that simple,” Juniper said. Good jobs didn’t grow on trees and she had an astounding lack of qualifications being a college dropout.

  “Yes, it is,” Chloe answered in that authoritative voice all teenagers had. She knew better. She didn’t work or pay the bills and had no blessed idea about how much things cost, but Chloe knew better. “And that hair color does not work with your complexion,” she added for good measure.

  “I thought you said I was rocking it.” Juniper touched the back of her head, confirming he
r blue ponytail held in place. She dyed her naturally dishwater blonde hair a bright color because she wanted fun in her life and dye was cheap. Fortunately, her blah hair soaked up the color.

  “I was being ironic,” Chloe said.

  Juniper pressed her lips together, willing herself not snap back at her bratty sister. Chloe was a good kid. She was. Unfortunately, she was in a bitchy mood today.

  The car turned the corner and they entered their street.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just… I had a bad day,” Chloe said in a quiet voice.

  Juniper knew that the other students at Chloe’s school got the best computers, the newest phone, the most fashionable shoes, and stupidly expensive everything. It was more than just the other students. Chloe rarely cared what strangers thought, but Chloe’s friend, Amelia, had all those expensive things and lived in a large house with an honest to goodness housekeeper. She had to be under immense pressure to fit in.

  “My day sucked donkey balls too,” Juniper said, earning a snort from Chloe.

  “Language, young lady.”

  “I’m thinking meatloaf and mashed potatoes for dinner. How’s that sound?”

  “I already had a burger at the diner,” Chloe said, unsnapping her seatbelt as the car pulled into the driveway. She slammed the door closed and headed to the front door.

  “More for me then,” Juniper said, keys in hand. The day had worn on her, making her itch and squirm. She’d get dinner in the oven and then take a quick shower.

  The moment she stepped on the front porch, she knew something was off. The unlocked door swung open at a touch, and Juniper distinctly remembered locking it that morning.

  “Stay here,” she said, motioning for her sister to stay back with an outstretched arm.

  “No way. I gotta pee.” Chloe sidestepped her sister’s blockade and shoved her way through the door, the book-laden backpack poking sharply into Juniper’s side.

  “That’s no way to talk to your sister,” a deep voice said.

  A dark figure sat in the center of the sofa, flanked by two large men with stern expressions. Mickey and his henchmen.

  “You make house calls now?” Juniper regretted her words before she saw Mickey tense up. She wanted to claw them back. “I expected you at the diner.”

  Mick tilted his head as if he hadn’t ever noticed Juniper’s habit of saying everything she shouldn’t. He had a lean face with sharp, keen eyes, topped with dark hair. The effect was entirely like being studied by a crow.

  He turned to Chloe and Juniper held her breath. She didn’t want Mickey talking to Chloe, looking at her, or even knowing she existed. Her protective instincts wanted to shield her sister from the big bad man sitting in their living room.

  “You should go do your homework,” he said to Chloe before turning his attention back to Juniper.

  “I’m staying here.” Chloe dropped her backpack at her feet and folded her arms over her chest.

  Lord save her from stubborn teenagers.

  “Go to your room. It’s okay,” Juniper said.

  “No, it’s not. I’m not a little kid. I have eyes. Nothing about this is okay!” Chloe waved a hand toward their unexpected guests.

  Mickey chuckled.

  Juniper set her keys and bag down on an ottoman next to the front door. “Would you like something to drink? I have iced tea.”

  “No, thank you. Sit. I think we should discuss business and get out of Chloe’s house,” Mickey said and pointed to the green armchair opposite the sofa. “Nice place, by the way. Not what I pictured, but it’s homey.”

  Juniper sat. Chloe stood directly behind her, hands clamped on the back of the chair.

  They lost all the contents of the house in the fire. What hadn’t been damaged by the fire had been ruined by smoke. Try as she might, she just couldn’t get the smell of smoke out of the furniture or any fabric. They tossed all their clothes, bedsheets, curtains, towels, everything. Even the fake Christmas tree in the attic, which had melted a bit.

  Insurance money went to rebuilding the house, which didn’t leave a lot for new furniture. Everything came second-hand from a thrift store or IKEA. She couldn't afford to be picky, but she preferred mid-century designs and liked color. Imagine that, the gal with the blue hair liked color.

  “It’s eclectic chic,” Juniper said.

  “And the drapes? That real velvet?” He pointed to the cream and jungle green drapes with a floral brocade.

  “It’s whatever they made in the seventies.” Mickey didn't want to swap design ideas, so why chat about her curtains?

  “I like you, Junie,” he said.

  Juniper tensed. He did?

  “We came up together. I feel like we understand each other. You always tell me what’s on your mind, which no one else has the balls to do. So tell me, why would someone I consider a friend, screw me like this?” He clasped his hands between his knees, waiting for her response.

  Juniper didn’t know how to unpack that statement. “I’m your friend?”

  “Of course. My old man gave you a loan as a favor to me. He kept the terms simple because you’re my friend, Junie. And as a friend, I’ve never insisted on repayment.”

  “What loan? What did you do?” Chloe asked, voice rising in alarm.

  Mickey studied Chloe with those flat, dull eyes before shifting his focus to Juniper. For a moment, she recalled the cloudy gray and purple of the gargoyle. “She doesn’t know? Secrets are a terrible thing to have between sisters.” He tutted. “I pay your tuition, Chloe. You’re welcome.”

  “Thank you?” Chloe tugged on Juniper’s ponytail. “You said Dad’s life insurance paid my tuition.”

  “Not entirely,” Juniper said.

  “Not entirely or not at all?”

  Damn that Chloe for being clever. “Not at all,” Juniper admitted.

  “But I don’t understand. Dad and Mom had a policy. I remember finding it in the filing cabinet.”

  Juniper remembered digging through the filing cabinet, too. “It lapsed. He missed a few payments. All the money covered was the funeral.” Barely. Even with the insurance money, the neighborhood took up a collection for the burial expenses.

  “And I was more than pleased to send a neighborhood kid to Longwood. It’s the best school in the city. Look what I did with my Longwood education,” Mickey said with a sharp-edged smile. “But your sister isn’t as smart as you, Chloe. The job I gave her only has two rules, but it seems I have to remind her. So tell me,” he said, turning his focus to Juniper. “What are the rules?”

  “Don’t look at the cargo and no stops,” Juniper said.

  “And what did you do?” Mickey asked in a deceptively sweet, crooning voice.

  Juniper’s first impulse was to cave, confess that she stopped and opened the back, but she had already lied. It’d be worse for her now to confess and really, Mickey set her up for failure. He sent her to chauffeur around an angry gargoyle with no heads up, not even a baseball bat.

  “That thing busted out of the crate. It came at me. What was I supposed to do? And thanks for the warning, by the way. You could have told me there was a live… whatever that was, in the crate. Or given me a gun.” The words spilled out of her.

  “Junie, I have GPS on the van. You sat in that parking lot for fifteen minutes.” He stood and strolled around the room, picking up knick-knacks and inspecting the thrift store paintings on the walls.

  “I was in shock!” Panicking, actually, and trying to get her story straight.

  Mickey frowned. “They said the specimen had been sedated.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief as Mickey’s attention shifted from her rule-breaking to his shady business contacts.

  Mickey stopped in front of the credenza with an ancient tv on top. Casually he picked up a faded photo of Juniper and Chloe’s parents, dusted the frame with the cuff of his shirt, and laid it face down.

  Her chest tightened. Not good. So not good.

  “You tell a convincing story, Junie, b
ut if the specimen came at you, the way you claim it did, I’d expect the barrier to be busted.”

  Shit. She knew she should have taken a tire iron to the plywood barrier.

  “So I’ll ask you one more time, what did you do?”

  “I stopped. I opened the back,” Juniper said.

  “Do you know how long I’ve tried to get a live specimen? All I have is that horrible stuffed mount, and that’s only the head. The Illuminati keep those things locked down tight and hardly ever move facilities. I’m not happy, Junie.” Mickey paced the length of the room.

  Curiosity made her forget her fear. “There’s more of those things?”

  “What things? What are you talking about?” Chloe asked in a soft, frightened voice.

  “How would I know? All I have is that fucking stuffed head. I know it’s not a fake, but how many can there be?”

  “But what is it?” She knew what she saw. The word danced on her lips but deep down, she knew it was ludicrous. They weren’t real.

  Mickey paused in front of her chair. “On your knees.”

  “No way,” Chloe whispered. At least she was smart enough not to protest as Juniper sank to her knees in front of Mickey.

  His thumb swept across her lower lip before pushing in. Tasting the bitter tang of sweat and tobacco, Juniper didn’t protest as he probed her mouth and added another finger.

  She watched him, eyes wide and glossy from the prick of tears. Maybe he liked the tears, maybe he didn’t. She couldn’t stop them if she tried. The money she owed… He could demand anything, suck his dick or put a bullet in her brain, and no one would blink.

  No one other than Chloe. But if he swore he wouldn’t hurt her sister, she’d agree.

  “Please,” she said as he removed his fingers, ready to beg, to bargain. “I’ll do anything.”

  “Anything. Hmm.” He reached behind and pulled her ponytail free. “Blue. Good girls don’t dye their hair, Junie. Don’t you want to be a good girl?”

  “Yes.” More than anything. She’d promise to be anything he wanted at that moment.