Chapter Twenty
CHAPTER TWENTY
Jac drove to Dash’s apartment only to find the window blinds up, revealing from the outside that the place was vacant. He moved out?
Her heart went into overdrive, wondering if Heebie had eaten him. Dash had said that he’d already completed the cleansing ritual.
She rubbed her forehead. But so soon?
No. He can’t be dead. I refuse to accept it. Dash would’ve said goodbye. Right?
She went to find the manager’s office, hoping that someone could tell her where Dash might’ve gone.
She knocked, and an older man wearing a wifebeater answered the office door.
“Hi, um, I’m looking for the guy in unit three-oh-two? It’s urgent I speak with him, but he’s apparently moved out.”
“Yeah, people do that.” He rubbed his scruffy chin and stared at her boobs.
She ignored the gross behavior, hoping kindness would convince the man to point her in the right direction. “Can you tell me if he left a forwarding address or if he mentioned where he might go?”
“I can’t give out personal information.” He let out a juicy burp.
Yuck. “Please, it’s important.”
“How important?” He wiggled his brows.
Seriously? She was losing her patience. “Do you or don’t you know where he went?”
He rubbed his tongue over his front teeth. “Maybe.”
Double yuck! She opened her purse and dug out a twenty. “Here. It’s all I’ve got on me.”
He tilted his head to one side. “There are other ways to make it worth my while.”
Okay. Now she was pissed. “Tell me what you know, or I will come back here tonight with a very cranky tiger who really hates people. Other than me, of course. I feed him steak, so he does what I say.”
He laughed. “You just gonna go to the tiger store, huh? Bitch, you crazy.”
That’s it. Now he’d crossed a line. “Listen closely, you ginormous turd burrito…”
The man’s eyes went wide, and he stumbled back in terror. “I don’t know where he went, okay, lady? He just left some strip club’s address to forward his deposit.”
Dash was at the Pink Pit? Why?
The manager got to his feet and slammed the door in her face. “Now go away! I told you everything I know!” he yelled through the door.
Why the sudden change in attitude? She shrugged and went to her truck, wondering why the hell Dash would leave the club as his forwarding address.
She started the engine and adjusted her rearview mirror in preparation to back up. Jac caught a glimpse of herself. “What the…?”
Her eyes were glowing like two orange embers.
She blinked and leaned in for a better look. Tiny flames flickered inside her pupils.
She gasped. “Why are my eyes on fire? Why the hell are they on fire!” Her vision seemed the same.
This whole thing is bananas. Now some dragon genes had control of her body? Uh-uh. No. Not happening. Someone had to tell her how to stop this.
Unfortunately, that someone was probably Heebie, the only dragon she knew. But first, she needed to make a stand for Dash.
She grabbed her sunglasses from her purse and started driving toward the club.
As soon as Damien ended the call with Votan, he drove to the strip club and found a note from Cimil taped to the front door that read:
Dear Torrid Tailor,
I lied and split town. Suckaaa! See you soon.
Hugs and evil kisses,
–Cimil
#winning #vivalarevolution
Wonderful. And why didn’t I just send her to die? With no leads as to her whereabouts, Damien booked the next flight back to LA with Belch, where they planned to meet up with the team of Uchben at Damien’s home this evening.
After a tiny altercation at the boarding gate in Dallas, Belch raided the drink cart and fell asleep before the plane took off.
Thank Gods . The last thing Damien was in the mood for was a party, which often broke out spontaneously when Belch was around. He just had that effect on humans.
Damien needed to spend the time planning Cimil’s capture—for real this time—but all he could think about was how Sky’s behavior didn’t add up. In a day, she’d gone from wanting to live to saying no thank you. Had listening in on one single conversation between Dash and Jac really changed Sky’s outlook on life?
I should’ve noticed sooner. Something’s up.
“Tailor, get me some tequila,” Belch grumbled with thirty minutes left in the flight.
“No,” Damien snarled under his breath. “We’re lucky to be on this plane, and you will not make a scene.” Which Belch would if anyone gave him more alcohol.
“Lucky?” Belch slurred. “These peasants are lucky to be in the presence of a god .”
“The only reason they allowed you on board wearing nothing but a bathrobe is because I convinced them you’re a nudist with cognitive issues.” It truly was a miracle the airline staff had bought the story, when the truth was that Belch was far too tall and cumbersome to find him clothes on short notice. The hotel bathrobe had been the only option.
“Did you just call me a naked retard?” Belch yelled.
“I would never say such a thing.” Even if Damien thought it. Yes, times had changed along with standards of verbal decorum, but some words were hard to replace with regards to their malintent. “And you should be grateful that the flight attendants find you insanely attractive and took pity.”
It’s the long hair, isn’t it? Maybe Damien should grow his out now that he was single and all.
Belch stood. “Pity! Me? Fuck those cunts!” He stood, opened his robe, and flashed the entire first-class cabin with his very white, tight underpants. “You hear that, mortals? Suck my big, fat—”
Damien grabbed Belch’s arm and jerked him down into his seat. “One more word, and I’m calling your wife.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“You’re correct. I would not call.” Damien smiled. “Why do that when a video is worth a thousand words?” He held up his phone and displayed the video he’d taken last night during strip Twister.
In Belch’s defense, his eyes had never wandered, nor his heart that Damien could see. Belch simply liked playing naked games. Then he started crying about how much he loved his wife before he threw up and passed out under the table.
I guess every man has to blow off steam. Even a god.
“Tailor?” Belch said.
“Yes?”
“Thank you for not squealing. I really do love my mate, but the constant workouts are difficult. She’s like a health machine. I’m a party machine.”
“Not all couples are a match made in the heavens. I understand.”
Belch sighed. “Some are made of broken parts from different planets.”
Maybe that was the problem with him and Sky. “Do you think it is possible for such couples to make it?”
“Make it?” Belch asked.
“You know, to the end.”
“I have no fucking clue, tailor. But I’m wise enough to know that guys like you and me are lucky to find a woman who loves us at all.” Belch began pushing the attendant call button. “Tequila! Tequila!”
“Stop that.” Damien pulled his hand away. “What do you mean ‘like you and me’?”
“Dude,” said Belch, “I’ve been here a very, very long time, and there are three types of men. The ones who are born rock solid, the ones who improve with age, and the ones who just are who they are.”
“Which one am I?”
“You are who you are.” Belch scratched his balls inside his underwear.
Damien looked away. (A) He did not want to see Belch’s hairy balls for the hundredth time. (B) Hearing a god, no matter how deranged or itchy, say something so damning about him hit hard. Mostly because Damien did not disagree.
Until recently, Damien had blamed his shortcomings on the rage demon living inside. He always said that he would be a different man if freed from this dark being.
But that was a lie.
The last time the demon had been let out “to play” was at a party in Miami, where Damien met with a client’s sister. She was getting married and wanted Damien to make the dresses for her and the bridesmaids. Damien found himself cornered by the bride-to-be, who demanded sex. When he refused, she threatened to tell her brothers that he’d forced himself on her.
Initially, Damien told himself that the demon broke through on its own and slaughtered her along with the entire wedding party, but the truth was that he’d let the demon out. The entire family belonged to the Russian mafia, and a part of him wished them dead. Not because they were bad, which they were, but because he saw himself reflected in this family of cutthroats. He saw their lack of compassion, their greed, their taste for finer things. He saw everything depraved in himself at that party, and he did not like it.
So he let the demon out.
And now they were all dead.
Well, except for the person sending letters and photos, threatening to expose me . Likely a security guard or neighbor his demon had missed killing. A fight for another day.
The point was that Belch’s comment summed up Damien perfectly. He was not rock solid nor trying to be a better man. Damien simply was who he was: a bad man. And sitting in a shop, making suits, would not change that.
“Maybe that explains why I keep attracting such dark, unsavory creatures into my life,” he said to Belch.
“Yeah, well, without shit, there’s no fresh air.” Belch burped in his face.
“You are vile.” Damien waved his hand in front of his face to dispel the horrid smell.
“But see?” Belch laughed. “The only reason you like fresh air so much is because it’s not a mouth fart. There is no light without dark. No joy without sorrow. No blowjobs without dirty whores. Or a new car for your wife.”
Damien frowned. “I’m not sure about that last one, but I see your point.” Belch was attempting to point out that not everyone got to be on the “right side” of the coin. Some were destined to be on the dark side of things. “But what if I don’t want to be the sorrow any longer?”
Belch shrugged. “Then don’t.”
“You just said that some of us are who we are—bad leopards who can’t change their ugly spots.”
“No,” Belch corrected, “I said that you are who you are, and men like us cannot be defined by one thing. For example, maybe you love your wife and couldn’t imagine a life without her, but a part of you really loves to get naked and fuel the masses’ need to blow off steam, so you sneak out at night and DJ at your sister’s nightclub in downtown LA, and then you drink too much and vomit on people’s heads, but they just cheer you on because deep down inside, who doesn’t want to be puked on by a god?”
Damien winced with disgust. “Thank you for that vivid explanation.”
“Greystone, I am a deity, and I can tell you’re a man meant to walk the path of doing bad things for the right reasons.” He paused. “And of doing good things for the wrong reasons. The first is who you are, and the world needs men willing to do the dirty work that keeps others safe. The second is your personal hurdle in life—the challenge you must overcome to reach your full potential.
“You do not trust yourself, and your fear of making mistakes—of harming others—is so great that you sit in your little shop, hiding, when you should be unleashing the warrior inside. Hell, I know you have it in you. We watched you for years before you took up tailoring again. You could track down a demon, kill a Chupacabra, and defang an entire coven of vampires all before breakfast.”
Those events had happened during Damine’s bounty-hunter days, but Belch was one hundred percent right. Years ago, Damien had been a force to reckon with; however, there was always collateral damage, and one day, the innocent blood on his hands had become too much. Eventually, Damien decided to retire and go back to the respectable trade that defined the Greystone men.
“I appreciate the candor,” Damien said. “May I ask you something? I understand the gods had a shake-up with their powers before their retirement. Which powers did you end up with?” Damien was curious.
Belch rubbed his chin. “From what I can tell, I am still the God of Wine.”
“But I do not recall you being so introspective and wise before.”
“Margarita thinks I inherited Cimil’s fortune-cookie powers.”
That explained it. “Ah. Cookie power. It suits you,” Damien said.
“Do not be silly. I don’t wear the power, tailor.”
There’s the stupid god I know.
“Also,” Belch added, “your lucky numbers are yellow and eight.”
Damien gave him a look. The gods really were insane.