Shadow Bound. Rachel Vincent
Читать онлайн книгу.
the marrow of my bones. Into my soul. The darkness was mine to command.
Until half a minute later, when Kori Daniels stepped out of it and onto my right foot.
“Ow!” I laughed as the pointed toe of her dress shoe ground into my foot, and she stepped back immediately.
“Sorry!” she whispered, and I felt rather than saw her trip over her own shoes in the absolute darkness. I reached out for her instinctively, but let go as soon as she’d regained balance. “You did this?” she whispered again, from inches away, and I realized that if I couldn’t see her, she couldn’t see me.
“Yeah.”
“Holy shit, that’s incredible,” she breathed. Something moved between us, and it took me a moment to realize she was spreading her arms in the shadow I’d made, like a child in the rain. “It’s like finding a watering hole in the desert. A shadow on the sun.”
“Yeah, except I didn’t find it. I made it.” Couldn’t hurt to remind her how valuable I was.
I began to let the darkness go, a little at a time, and slowly light filtered in again from the hallway, feeling much brighter than it should have, after the absolute darkness. “That was impressive,” she said, when she could see well enough that her gaze met mine in the shadows. “No wonder Jake wants you.”
“He’s not the only one,” I said, and her brows rose in interest as she stepped back and glanced around at the unoccupied bedroom.
“Oh? Who else is courting you, Mr. Holt?”
“Ruben Cavazos, most notably,” I whispered, following her toward the door. “Along with a couple of the smaller syndicates on the West Coast.”
“Cavazos.” She practically spit his name, stepping out of the first of her shoes. “You don’t want anything to do with him.”
I laughed softly and tried not to notice the shape of her calves as she took off the second shoe. “I’d hardly expect you to endorse the competition.”
Kori straightened, holding both shoes by the straps in one hand. “He fucking shot me.”
“Cavazos shot you?” I could hear the surprise in my own voice.
Instead of answering, she pulled the left shoulder strap of her dress down to expose a puckered scar on her shoulder, still pink and fresh. “Two months ago.”
“What happened?”
“Clash of the titans.” Barefoot, she peeked into the hall, then gestured for me to follow her. “Everyone fights for one side or the other.”
“Are we sneaking?” I whispered, nodding at her shoes, wondering if I should take my own off.
“Nah. There’s no one in this wing. I just hate heels.”
I followed her down the hall and around the corner to the right. Three doors later, she turned left into a room with a billiard table in the center of the floor and a full-size bar along one wall. “Close the door,” she said over one shoulder as she dropped her shoes on the floor and headed for the bar.
I pushed the door closed softly, then crossed the room and took a seat on the center bar stool while she took up the position of bartender.
“What’ll it be?” She leaned forward with her elbows on the polished dark wood surface of the bar.
“Scotch?”
Kori rolled her eyes. “Of course you drink Scotch.”
“Are you calling me a stereotype?”
“Not yet, but if you don’t pull some surprises out of your hat soon, I suspect that moment is coming.” She dug beneath the bar and came up with a single short glass while I tried to decide how to respond to such a challenge. She wasn’t ready for any of my real surprises, and she never would be. Which was why I couldn’t get emotionally involved. Why I had to keep telling myself that she was just a hammer. A hammer with really nice legs, and eyes the color of good caramel, and …
Focus.
“Creating darkness wasn’t enough of a surprise?”
She laughed. “It was a start. Ice?”
“Four cubes.”
Kori scooped ice into the glass and set a half-full bottle of very expensive Scotch in front of me. I held it up, examining the label, reluctantly impressed with Tower’s taste. “How much trouble will we be in if we get caught?”
“We’re not going to get caught. If we hear footsteps, you make it dark, and I’ll make us disappear.” She produced a bottle of Grey Goose from beneath the counter, then circled the bar to sit on the stool next to mine. “There’s snack mix if you want, but you’re gonna have to serve yourself.”
“What are you going to do?”
“This.” She twisted the lid off the bottle and gulped from it once, twice, three times, without flinching.
“Rough night?” I asked, thinking about what I’d overheard.
“Any night that sees me in three-inch heels and sequins is a rough night.” She set the bottle on the bar, the cork stopper still clasped in one hand. “But I’ve certainly seen worse.”
I watched her, and after nearly a minute of staring off into space, she turned to face me. “What?”
“You drink like a man.”
She shrugged and glanced at the bottle I had yet to pour from. “One of us should.”
I wanted to ask, but at the same time, I didn’t want to know. Whatever the guard—David—had seen done to her was none of my business, and it wasn’t relevant to the job at hand. I already knew Tower was the scum of the earth, without having to hear the specifics.
And for no reason I could have explained, I didn’t want her to know I’d heard.
“So, what do you think so far?” She tilted her bottle up again as I poured from mine, then she wiped her mouth with the back of one hand. “Seen anything yet worth signing over your soul for?”
“Is that what I’d be signing away? My soul?” I happened to agree, but I was surprised to hear it from her.
Kori blinked, like she’d just realized she’d said too much—that pesky honesty getting in the way again. But she recovered quickly. “Nah. Just five years of your life. The standard term of service for most syndicates.”
“How close are you to the five-year mark?” I picked up my glass and sipped from it, savoring a liquor I could never personally afford, trying not to think about the fact that if I were alone with the other Daniels sister, this whole thing could be over in a matter of seconds. My objective hadn’t changed, but the strategy certainly had. Use one sister to get to the other. And to do that, I’d have to pretend to be recruitable.
“Five years came and went nearly a year and a half ago.” She twisted to show me her left arm, and the two interlocking chain links tattooed there. Marks of service. “One for each term.”
I’d already seen them, of course, and I already knew what they meant. She was six and a half years into a ten-year commitment to serve Jake Tower and his syndicate. Her oath had been sealed with two linking tattoos, each containing a tiny bit of his blood—a flesh binding. Until the day her commitment expired and her tattoos faded into the dull gray of dead marks, she would be compelled to follow his orders, or she would die fighting the compulsion.
Syndicate service was a miserable way to live. And often a miserable way to die. Only three kinds of people joined voluntarily: the ignorant, the ambitious and the desperate.
Which category did Kori fit into? Which would be most believable for me?
“You must like it here, then, if you signed on for another term,” I said, trying to embrace the part I had