Sexy Beast VI. Lydia Parks
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sobs broke the momentary hush, the cries of the dark-skinned woman who knelt beside her. Who put her hand out and touched the shoulder of a slender young man lying naked on the path in front of Tala.
All around them were pools of blood, and the torn, lifeless body of the punk who had grabbed her. One of the guys knelt beside the body and touched the chest, the side of his neck, the pulse point at his wrist. His movements appeared surprisingly competent, as if he’d done similar examinations before. He raised his head and frowned at Tala. “He’s bled out already.” His deep voice showed no emotion. “Nicky got both his jugular vein and carotid artery. The kid didn’t have a chance.”
Tala raised up on one elbow. She shook her head and caught her breath; waited for her vision to clear. “Who?”
“The wolf or this kid?” He stood up. “I don’t know who he is, the one who grabbed you. The wolf was…is Nicky, our friend.”
The young woman kneeling beside her looked totally traumatized. She raised her head and stared at Tala. “He just changed,” she said. “He joked about it, but I thought he was only kidding. I didn’t believe him. Nicky saw that guy grab you, and he ripped off his clothes and changed.” She shoved her knuckles into her mouth and closed off a sob.
Another young woman ran up and wrapped her arms around the first girl. Two more young men appeared, both of them dressed in black, lips, noses, and eyebrows pierced, arms and hands tattooed, heads shaved in strange patterns. They knelt beside the unconscious youth lying in the trail. The first punk, the one who’d examined the body, stood off to one side, apart from the others, but Tala knew he was one of them.
They’d all come from the direction of Keisha’s garden.
The garden where the Tibetan grasses grew.
Suddenly Mik was there, and AJ beside him, and Tala’s head was still spinning, though not nearly as badly. The three guys pulled back, cautious, obviously intimidated by the two large men.
All but the first young woman who stayed beside her comatose friend.
“Are you okay? What happened?” Mik touched Tala’s shoulder, but his eyes were on the naked young man lying next to her on the ground. He was alive, his chest barely rising and falling with each breath.
“Do you have the car?” Tala glanced up at AJ.
He nodded. “I do.”
She held out her hand. AJ grabbed it and helped Tala sit up. She bowed her head a moment against her bent knees while the world spun. Then she looked up at AJ. “We need to take them with us. All of them. Now.” Tala touched the shoulder of the young woman kneeling beside her on the path. “I want you and your friends to come with us. We can help you, but not if the police get here first. Mik, can you carry him?”
Mik nodded. The girl nodded as well, but it was nothing more than an automatic response. Her black hair swung like a silken curtain; her eyes still looked glazed.
Her amber eyes.
Mik carefully picked up the unconscious youth and cradled his lanky, naked body gently in his arms. The others watched him, each with a feral gleam in eyes the color of dark amber. All of them shared the same look: the tall, lean bodies, the golden eyes with flecks of green. Tala took the hand of the young woman who’d cried out and gestured to the other girl, who’d walked back toward the garden, still obviously dazed. “Come with us. We’ll keep you safe. We’ll take care of your friend.”
“Why?”
It was the one who’d been playing doctor, a tall, lean man. He appeared to be a bit older than the others, but he wore the same kind of silver studs in his eyebrows, nose, and ears. The same dark, heavy clothing. The left side of his head was completely shaved while hair hung in long tangles from the right. His face and hands, all that showed outside his black shirt and pants and heavy, knee-length coat, were covered in tattoos. He stared at Tala a moment longer. “Why do you want to help us?”
“Because your friend helped me,” Tala said, slowly rising to her feet. “And because we”—she gestured at AJ and Mik, and then herself—“we are just like you.”
2
Jazzy shook her head to clear the weird sensation of having done way too many drugs, something she’d actually avoided most of her life. Her ears buzzed, her body trembled. She looked around and saw Beth coming back from the garden. Jazzy held out her hand. Beth grabbed it and pulled her to her feet.
Beth had Nicky’s pants and boots under her arm. She kept her eyes away from Nicky, and Jazzy wondered if she’d ever seen him naked before now. Even unconscious, curled like a child in the big man’s arms, he was surprisingly well built. She’d never have expected a package like that on such a quiet guy like him. She looked closer, but didn’t see the studs she’d heard about. His penis lay nestled in its bed of dark, curling hair, unadorned and flaccid.
Jazzy’s skin went hot and cold and hot again. She knew she was blushing. Why was she even looking? Now certainly wasn’t the time. But her body was still aroused in spite of her fear, and her clit rode stiffly against her jeans. This was all just too weird.
Beth glanced back at the garden where Nicky had changed. Where all their lives had changed. “Shouldn’t we get the rest of Nicky’s stuff?”
“Yeah. He’ll want it.” Jazzy looked at the tiny woman beside the two men, and then she made eye contact with the one carrying Nicky as if he weighed nothing at all. “Be careful with our friend.”
The man, an oversized vision of Hispanic and Native American male perfection, merely nodded. He carefully stepped over the bloody and torn clothing and disappeared into the bushes with Nicky’s limp body in his arms.
Jazzy grabbed the rest of Nicky’s torn and tangled clothing and Beth found a bunch of the studs and rings that had somehow fallen from his pierced flesh. Jazzy straightened up and glanced at the strange woman, who was looking more impatient by the second.
“Okay. I’ve got everything. I sure hope you can explain what happened.” Jazzy hadn’t meant to sound so confrontational. These people were here to help them, for whatever reason.
Logan grabbed her elbow, as if he were escorting her to the Oscars instead of the big SUV parked on the other side of a copse of bushes and flowering plants. He didn’t say a word, but Jazzy soaked up the sense of his strength and took some comfort in his closeness.
Her head buzzed again, like the sound of bees inside her skull. Nerves. Must be a delayed reaction to what she’d seen. She glanced back, once, at the mangled body lying near the garden. Then she looked up at Logan. His jaw was set, his eyes narrowed. He’d looked so different when he was checking out the guy on the ground. Like he knew exactly what he was doing. Sort of like a doctor examining a sick person.
“What were you doing with that guy…the dead guy?”
Logan’s head jerked around and his fingers tightened on her elbow. “What do you mean? I didn’t do anything.”
“You were touching his neck and checking his injuries. You looked like a doctor.”
“Someone had to check and see if he was still alive. No one seems to care that a guy’s lying dead on the ground back there.”
Jazzy frowned. “We all care, Logan. But maybe we care more about Nicky than some fucking punk who tried to molest a woman in the park. Sorry, but he doesn’t get any sympathy from me.”
“Pretty heavy price to pay for coppin’ a feel.”
“Not heavy enough, as far as I’m concerned.” She tugged her arm free of Logan’s grasp. The dead guy deserved what he got and then some. She’d had more than her share of punks trying to cop a feel and way too many had succeeded and gotten away with it.
Sirens screamed in the distance. “Sounds like they’re getting closer,” she said, to no one in particular.
“Hurry.” The