Warhead (Blue-Eyed Bomb Book 4) Page 2

  As I poured a round of shots, I heard—or rather felt—the rumblings of a fight brewing in the back corner of the room next to the stage where Jenkins was singing. I latched onto the thread of hostility and tried to pull it closer so I could interpret it better, but it was too erratic and frenetic to grab hold. Ben, one of the other bartenders, returned from his break, and I practically shoved him out of my way.

  “Sorry,” I said as I pushed past him and out from behind the bar. With some measure of calm, I made my way through the crowd toward the front of the stage, hoping to overhear what was being said. If it matched the tone of the energy assaulting me, shit was going to go down—and soon.

  Jenkins cast me a wary glance from the stage, then looked past me at the group I edged toward. With a single slice of his head, he tried to warn me off, but it was too late. What I heard already had me hooked.

  “You make a move on our territory and it’ll be your end, got it?” a male I didn’t recognize said. He leaned in toward another guy I’d seen at the fight club once or twice before. He was a Southside pack member, if memory served, which made the aggressor from the Northside pack—the one whose alpha Muses had killed while I watched. In hindsight, we’d been fools to think there wouldn’t be fallout from the murder, but Muses hadn’t seemed to care much at the time. Classic Muses.

  Given the amount of shit that had gone down that night, TS hadn’t gotten to the crime scene to do his thing before the cops showed up. Alejandro’s homicide had been front-page news, and though no obvious clues had been leaked, thanks to TS’ abilities after the fact, the packs seemed to be coming to their own conclusions about who the killer was.

  At first, the rumor had been that the PC had done it.

  Now it seemed the Southside pack was at the top of the list.

  “We’ll do whatever the fuck we want,” the Southsider replied. “You’ve got Alejandro’s dead mate and his shitty second-in-command running things over there, and those two couldn’t agree on anything if their lives depended on it—which they do now.” The werewolf’s grin grew wide and all-knowing, and I looked back over my shoulder at Jenkins, who did little to hide the fact that he was watching me as he sang. It looked like we were sharing a moment.

  Just not the kind onlookers would have assumed.

  My attention snapped back to the wolves just as one shoved the other into the crowd, knocking us all back a step or two. In a flash, a full-on brawl broke out, and I wondered how long it would take before the few humans in the crowd realized the strength of the men fighting wasn’t normal. They had to be shut down—and fast.

  I shoved my way through the crowd until I found myself in the front row for the fight. With no nulls to dull their superhuman abilities, the damage inflicted already was immense. I heard the band stop and Jenkins swear over the roar of an angry male; then I shot between the two parties and their pack brothers who had jumped in. I threw my arms out to hold them off, and they both just stared for a second, then laughed.

  “Move, bitch,” the Northsider snarled.

  I buried my foot in the side of his face without hesitation.

  When he shot up to take a swing, a young warlock from Jenkins’ neighborhood caught his arm. Though I couldn’t see it, I could feel the magic coursing through him to stop the raging wolf. I wondered if he did it to keep him from Changing right there in the bar.

  “Enough!” Jenkins shouted from somewhere behind me.

  The Northsider just laughed, the tone of it laced with malice. “It’ll never be enough.”

  “You know that shit doesn’t go down here,” Jenkins said, breaking through the crowd. “Now get the fuck out.”

  The Northsider’s gaze slid over to Jenkins.

  “If you think this is over, you’re crazy.”

  “We are,” the Southsider replied, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the floor, “and it isn’t. Remember that…”

  “Wallace, take your boys home before I let Troy here lay a beating on you.”

  Wallace, the Southsider, stopped laughing. “Careful, Jenkins. I’d be real, real careful if I were you.”

  Jenkins may have been without a true pack, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a badass in his own right. He held down his slice of Chicago territory that separated the Southside and Northside packs, and he viewed anyone that lived there, human or otherwise, as his to protect. If someone came into his hood and started shit, they’d have him to deal with.

  I knew that from personal experience.

  “Careful isn’t really his style,” I said, stepping up to my friend’s side. “Or mine either, for that matter.”

  I saw the corner of Jenkins’ mouth curl at my words. “Quinn, want to help me escort these boys out of here?”

  The dark-haired warlock with piercing grey-blue eyes smiled, then nodded. “Glad to.”

  Jenkins and Quinn hauled the two werewolves toward the front door while their lingering packmates looked at one another as though they might pick up where the other two had left off. I had no intention of letting that happen.

  “Should we do this the easy or hard way, boys? Because I’ve had a shit day, and letting out my frustration on your faces sounds like a pretty fucking awesome solution.”

  Suddenly, the two packs seemed united in their anger toward me.

  “Jesus, Phira,” Jenkins groaned as he returned. “I didn’t say start another fight—”

  “I wasn’t! I was just motivating them to leave on their own.”

  “They don’t look especially motivated,” he replied, shooting me a sharp sidelong glance.

  “That’s because men always assume they have women beat, no matter the situation.”

  “You’ll get beat if I see you anywhere near our territory,” a Southsider snarled.

  “Duly noted. Now,” I said, gesturing toward the front door, “if you’d be so kind as to fuck off, that’d be great. Unless you want your ass handed to you in front of all these people,” I looked around at the staring crowd, then leaned in closer and whispered, “by a girl…”

  With a growl so low I doubted the humans present could hear, the rest of the wolves headed toward the front door and out into the alley.

  “You’re not just going to let them leave unchaperoned, are you? I mean…won’t they just start shit as soon as we go back in?”

  Jenkins shook his head. “No, because neither pack wants to jeopardize the neutral territory.”

  “Yeah,” I said, watching the two crews walk off in opposite directions: one to the north, the other, the south. “I’m not sure I share your confidence about that. They seemed pretty ready to start shit to me.”

  “The Northsiders are still reeling from Alejandro’s death. And Wallace was right—their leadership is floundering at the moment. Alejandro was no fool—he never let any strong alpha males into his pack for a reason.”

  Jenkins cast me a knowing look and I nodded. I knew exactly why Alejandro had cleansed his pack of alpha wolves; because he didn’t want anyone challenging him for his position. Not that anyone could have beaten him as long as he had the fancy magical talisman he’d had made, then killed the witch who’d made it.

  The one Nyx had melted in her bare hand before Alejandro took his final breath.

  “I guess…”

  “I sent Quinn to follow them and make sure nothing happens. He’s more powerful than he looks,” he added. “I’m confident, not stupid.” He flashed me a grin.

  I gave him one in return. “Keep telling yourself that, Jenks. Maybe it’ll ring true one day.”

  He feigned anger and chased me back into the bar. I wove my way through the crowd and slid behind the bar, only to find myself cornered by the lone alpha wolf for the second time that evening. His bright blue eyes were wide with the rush of protecting his territory.

  His alpha side was showing through big time.

  “I’m smart enough to know that the bad day you have to work off is all because of the sexual frustration hiding just below the surface,” he said
, his head hanging close to mine. “And I’m smart enough to know how to fix it.”

  “You think I want you?” I asked, meeting his wild gaze. “That you’re the answer to my problem?”

  “I’m the answer to every horny woman’s problem,” he countered. “But like I said, I’m smart—smart enough to know that, in this case, I’m not the best man for the job.” He let out a breath, then pushed away from the counter, releasing me from the cage his arms had created. His hand rubbed over his face and up through his hair. By the time he finished, he looked less like the predator lurking beneath his skin and more like my friend. “Listen, Phira—I know something weird is going on with you and TS, but if you need someone to talk to about it, I’m here, okay?”

  “And if I just want to fuck someone to take the edge off?”

  “Totally here for that, too.” That maddening grin of his returned. “I mean, let’s face it, you’d be crazy not to.”

  “Or smart…”

  The grin widened. “Maybe.”

  I made a show of rolling my eyes, and he laughed as he walked toward the back room. A sense of calm washed over me, knowing that we’d narrowly averted a crisis that night—that, in a fashion, I’d done my duty as part of the PC. I’d helped keep the peace while maintaining the balance between the human and supernatural communities.

  But later that night I’d learn it came at a price.

  It always did.

  Chapter Three

  An hour later, my phone buzzed repeatedly in my back pocket until I ducked away from the bar long enough to pull it out. Four missed calls from Nico was far from a good sign. I took a deep breath and called him back.

  “Hey—”

  “What are you doing right now?” he asked, his irritation plain.

  “Um, working?”

  “Go to the back room. We’ve got a body.”

  A chill ran down my spine. “Yeah, okay. Gimme a sec.”

  I turned to Ben and shook my phone, indicating it was important. He nodded, and I all but ran into Jenkins’ office, slamming the door behind me. Without invitation, I plopped down in the seat across from his desk. “Okay, I’m good, Nico. Go ahead.”

  Jenkins had just begun his what-the-fuck interrogation when his voice was drowned out by the death I was about to relive.

  Where are they? I wondered. Jenkins was going to be so pissed if I fucked this up. He and his girlfriend would never let me live it down.

  I peeked around a corner and was greeted by a haymaker of a punch. It knocked me off my feet, sending me flying. I landed face-first on the pavement and scrambled to get up before any more blows landed, but there was no time. A thick forearm was around my neck before I got far. Large hands encircled my wrists to keep me from casting spells at whoever held me captive.

  “What do you want?” I asked.

  “Stupid kid,” the one choking me growled. “Shoulda minded your own business.”

  “Too late for that now,” another said.

  “Too late for any of them,” a third male said.

  “I was just doing what Jenkins asked,” I explained.

  “Yeah.” The arm around my neck tightened. “Pretty soon he’ll be doing what we ask.”

  The pressure in my head and lack of air in my lungs was unbearable, and I continued to struggle to no avail. The one holding me lifted me off the ground with ease, his arm creating a noose around my neck. When he jumped high into the air, I knew the end was coming. He landed with such jarring force that I felt my neck stretch for a fraction of a second. Then it snapped.

  Then everything went dark.

  I shot up in the chair, pawing at my neck and gasping for breath. Jenkins was hovering over me, the worry he felt etched deep into his features. It coursed into me where his hands gripped my shoulders, overwhelming me just as the death had.

  “Jesus, Phira. What the—”

  “Just give me a second,” I wheezed, knocking his hands away. I fell forward, head between my knees, and tried to calm myself. But it was hard with the guilt that was slowly mounting.

  I fumbled with shaky hands to bring my phone to my ear.

  “That was fucking useless—” Nico said before I cut him off.

  “I need you to send me a picture of the victim!”

  He never bothered asking why. Seconds later, my phone vibrated with an incoming text. I clicked on it and swore under my breath when the image of a slightly blue and very dead Quinn popped up on the screen.

  “What’s going on, Phira?” Jenkins asked, returning to my side. I angled the phone toward him, and he let loose a string of curses that made mine pale in comparison.

  “Nico, the victim is a warlock friend of Jenks’ who was at the bar tonight. We shut down a fight between the packs, and Quinn followed one of them until they left the neutral zone.”

  “Not exactly,” Nico said. “Pretty sure his corpse is lying in Jenkins’ territory.”

  “Is that where he was killed? What we saw in the vision? Because he could have been—”

  “It’s the same,” he said, knocking any hope out of me like a punch to the gut. If Quinn had been killed in Jenkins’ territory, then the packs’ aggression had grown to desperation—possibly even retaliation, depending on which one the murderers belonged to.

  And until I spoke to Quinn’s ghost, we wouldn’t know.

  “I need these fucking visions to actually show us something useful!” I yelled, knocking a lamp off the desk. My anger wasn’t growing; it was nearly at level ten already. “What good is having this ability if it never actually helps?”

  “Phira—”

  “I mean it, Nico. Like, what’s the fucking point?”

  “The point is that eventually we will find these assholes one way or another, but you need to keep your shit together to do that, not fly off the fucking handle because you think you’re somehow responsible—”

  “I know I’m not, but we never should have let the kid follow them— I should have gone instead.”

  “Well you didn’t, and now he’s dead, and there’s no fucking point wallowing in that. Avenge him. Get him justice. That’s all you can do.”

  I took a deep breath. “That feels so empty, Nico. I want to stop this shit from happening, not just punish the guilty.”

  To that, he had no reply. “We need you to go do your thing—you know, summon his ghost or whatever. We need to learn what he knows, if anything. What he saw before he got attacked. Who he was following.”

  “Yeah. Okay.” I turned my attention to Jenks. “Do you know which pack he followed?”

  The lone wolf shook his head. “He didn’t say and I didn’t ask.”

  “Just go home and do your thing,” Nico said before covering the phone to talk to someone else. “I’ll be in touch.”

  The line went as dead as Quinn.

  “I have to go,” I said, voice soft. “I need to go see someone, then head home to help find the killer.”

  Much to my surprise, Jenkins didn’t say a word. Instead, he opened the office door for me, his gaze distant and full of regret.

  “We’ll find out who did this,” I said, resting my hand on his arm as I passed. “And Nyx will make him pay.”

  He merely nodded and I walked out, the weight of responsibility heavy on my shoulders. It pressed down more and more as I made my way to wait for the bus—the one that would take me to the surly troll who had helped me unlock my ability to speak to the dead. Since Quinn’s ghost hadn’t shown himself yet, I was hoping I could summon him at Damascus’ place, and maybe, if I was lucky, he’d get one of his handy little premonitions while I was there. Of course, they didn’t always make much sense without context, and one had even proved to be wrong, but I was willing to take whatever break I could get.

  Because something big was brewing between the packs, and I didn’t want anyone I cared about to get caught in the crossfire.

  I closed the gate behind me and looked up to find Damascus, the odd-as-fuck troll, standing on the rickety porch to
welcome me—or kill me. With him, I could never really tell.

  “When are we going to get past this not-so-welcoming phase?” I asked as I approached his broken-down home.

  “When the Daughter of the PC alerts me to her visit before she arrives,” he said coolly.

  “Sorry, but this was a bit of an emergency. I won’t stay long.”

  “If I allow you to stay at all.”

  I stopped at the bottom step and stared up at the monster of a being. His height and breadth were formidable, but it was his inhuman yellow eyes that unnerved me every time. It felt like they were looking into my soul, dismantling it piece by piece until they found what they were looking for.

  I put on a big smile, prepared to play nice. “Listen, there’s been a murder, and while the others are out looking into the potential suspects, I thought to myself ‘hey, I should stop by to see Damascus, knower of all things helpful and extremely forthcoming troll, and ask him if he can tell me anything about it’.”

  “You attempt to flatter me?”

  “I think attempt is the operative word there—”

  “I know nothing of the warlock’s murder, just that he is dead.”

  “Did you know Quinn?”

  His eyes narrowed. “I know everyone and no one.”

  “Right,” I replied dryly. “Of course you do.”

  “What does the Daughter of the PC really want?” The way he asked that question—the pressing subtext just beneath the surface—made me wonder what he was asking. His words felt oddly compelling, even though I knew that was not his gift—or at least I thought it wasn’t. Or maybe it was my desire to unburden myself of so many lies and feelings that I couldn’t share with anyone that made me feel like he was prying truths from deep within me.

  In reality, it wouldn’t have been hard—they were barely contained just below the surface.

  “To find out what’s going on between the packs.”

  The crease in his brow relaxed and he stepped aside to allow me onto the porch.

  “There is dissonance,” he said, gesturing to the door.