California Demon Page 6

  “Oh, Eden. No.”

  “I’m twenty-two, Bea.” I handed her my Glock 17 as a backup to the one she already had, wondering how the hell I was going to manage even the little 43 with this getup on.

  “You’re better than this.” She gestured at my outfit. “You have value beyond your body. Don’t do this.”

  She’d been the first one to ever tell me that, back when I’d been thirteen and had discovered how easy it was to manipulate boys with a swing of my hips.

  “I’ll do this if I have to.” It wasn’t like I’d enjoy screwing some ancient dude, but to find Nevarra I’d do it. And I’d win a fucking Academy Award for the performance, too.

  She sighed. “I don’t want you to have to.”

  Me either, but desperate times…

  “I don’t think the Fixers will be back here,” I told her as I strapped my shoulder harness over my leather bustier. “They got the money. They’ve got Nevarra. They’ll be searching for me elsewhere.”

  They’d be searching for me elsewhere, intending to torture me until I gave up the location of either those seventeen cases of bullets or the money I’d gotten for selling them.

  Then they’d either kill me, or make me wish they had.

  “Either way, keep both guns close. Shoot first, ask later. I’ll be back sometime tonight,” I told Bea.

  Not for the first time I’d wished we hadn’t sold our cell phones, but we hadn’t been able to afford the service plan. We did have a landline, but that phone had been ripped from the wall and was currently in a heap beside the sofa. Still, I’d get a message to her if I was going to be out past dawn, even if I had to slip a kid a few bucks to relay it.

  Which reminded me…

  “Here.” I handed her the money I’d gotten from Bags, saving a ten for myself. “For groceries or medicines, or whatever. Also, there are two more loaded magazines on my dresser if you need them.”

  I hoped she wouldn’t need them.

  “Find her.” Bea glanced once more at my leather getup, and her lips tightened into a firm line. “Whatever you have to do, find her.”

  That’s exactly what I intended to do.

  I put the 43 in my shoulder holster. Then I shook my dark hair loose from its messy bun and left.

  Chapter 6

  I stood in front of the building, working up the courage to go in. This was the place that gang members spoke of with a nervous glance over their shoulders. I wasn’t sure what to expect. Hard core mobsters? A biker gang? Ex-cons with a long history of violent crimes?

  Suerte. That was the name in flickering neon over the front door. I’d been led to believe that Bishop had owned this place forever and guessed he must be of Latinx heritage to have used a Spanish word for the name of his bar. Looking at the chipped concrete block building with the faint remains of peeling paint under the eaves, I guessed it was named Suerte since anyone going in would be damned lucky to get out alive. The place didn’t have a bouncer, but I assumed it didn’t need one. The customers and staff inside were probably capable of taking out any trash that walked in.

  Twelve blocks surrounding the place were in blackout darkness, but this bar was fully Illuminated. I listened for the sound of huge generators, but heard nothing. The silence was eerie. It was as if the building were standing bastion against the darkness, a little oasis at the edge of hell.

  “Get your ass in there,” I muttered. I’d done enough stalling. Time was not on my side here, and I needed to swallow the deep unease that had lodged itself in my throat, and go inside.

  The music didn’t screech to a halt when I walked in, but I felt as if every single patron’s attention was on me. The first thing I noticed was the lack of brown faces in the crowd. The darkest person in the bar looked as though they would blister at noon without a healthy coating of SPF 30. LA had always been an incredibly multicultural city, and that included the neighborhoods here in the Valley. When the demons first burst into the scene, the one-percenters got in their private jets and got the fuck out of town. By the time the angels showed up to fight back and trash whatever was left standing, those with diversified assets cut their losses and fled. It had skewed the demographics considerably and made the number of white people huddled in this room seem odd.

  No, not huddled. Crouched. Territory marked, and every one of them prepared to defend it with their life. Noted.

  A few heads turned as I walked past the tables to the bar, sitting at an empty seat between two men who were glaring holes straight through me.

  “Taco Bell’s five blocks south, Chica,” the bald guy on my left snickered.

  I ignored him, keeping my eyes on the bottles behind the bar—and his reflection in the mirror behind the bottles.

  The dude to my right with the long wiry gray beard snorted. “You’re in the wrong place, sweetie. Around here we eat dark meat for dinner.”

  I forced myself not to tense up. This had been a bad idea, a very bad idea, but I didn’t have any other ideas. I could spend weeks looking for Nevarra and trying to dodge the tax collectors and never find her. If this Bishop guy could help, then I’d put up with racist insults and threats. I’d put up with anything to find my sister and bring her home.

  The bartender walked by, ignoring me.

  “I’m…I’m looking for Bishop?” Shit. Why was my voice like that? I sounded like a teen who’d been hauled in for dealing, not a grown woman asking a perfectly legitimate question.

  The bartender continued to act as if I wasn’t even there.

  “Bishop?” The bald guy laughed. “Since when does he screw wetbacks?”

  “Bishop’s picky,” Scrawny Beard said. “He might fuck you, but that’s it. If you want anything more than a quick screw in the storeroom, then you best move along.”

  Two women moved up behind me. In a more crowded bar, I would have thought they were trying to squeeze beside me to order, but I knew better.

  “Is Bishop here?” I called out to the bartender again, my voice sounding loud in the abnormally quiet room.

  “He can have his pick,” Scrawny Beard sneered. “He’s not going to be slumming it with a skank like you.”

  “You’ve got ten seconds to get out the door.” Baldy eased off his bar stool.

  The two women behind me shifting into backup positions.

  I kept silent and focused on keeping my breathing even and my muscles relaxed as I watched Baldy through the mirror. That’s how I saw him make a grab for me.

  His fist closed around my hair and pulled me backward. I reacted, turning sideways and slamming my elbow into his nose. At the same time, I sent a backward kick into Wiry Beard’s right knee. Spinning around on the barstool, I punched my assailant again with my fist, ducking a swing from one of the women.

  Baldy wrapped my hair tight in his hand, and pulled me against him, locking his other arm around my midsection. One of his feet hooked around mine and he yanked me off balance, throwing me down onto the ground.

  I was free, but it was still four against one. The two women kicked at me, and I found myself rolling and curling in to evade their feet instead of trying to get up. I felt a hand curl in my hair once more, forcing me to my knees.

  The redhead went to kick my face, and I grabbed her foot, sweeping her other leg out from under her. The brunette danced back so she didn’t step on her friend. The hand in my hair tightened and fingers came around my neck.

  Fuck this shit. I grabbed the hand at my neck and sent a pulse of electricity into the flesh. The man yelped, then let go of me, dropping like a sack of concrete.

  Ta-da. This was my other magic trick, the one even my family didn’t know about. Guess it was no longer a secret, since Baldy was twitching on the ground and cursing in a breathless voice.

  The entire bar had watched me take him down, but I didn’t have time to think about whatever fallout I might suffer from that. Jumping aside and putting the wall at my back, I faced the two women and Wiry Beard with my fists ready. So much for finding Bishop and b
egging him to help me find Nevarra. I’d be lucky just to get out of here in one piece.

  The brunette grinned at me. The redhead eyed my fists and took a step to the side. Wiry Beard stayed on his barstool, cursing and rubbing his knee. I heard a few chairs scrape back, and knew from a quick glance in the mirror that I was in serious trouble.

  A woman with her platinum hair in a shoulder-length flip slammed her hands on the bar. The sound was like a gunshot. Before I could blink, every patron was back in their chairs or on their stools. The brunette had backed up about ten feet, and even the redhead was suddenly giving me distance.

  Correction, not me. They were all giving the diminutive Marilyn Monroe distance.

  “Damn it all to fucking hell, I think she broke my knee,” Wiry Beard complained.

  “Oh can it, Cody. It’ll heal by morning.”

  The woman wiped her hands on a rag and tossed it at the bartender, hitting him in the face. Her nametag said “Head Bitch” which made me think I might actually like this woman.

  “She doesn’t belong here,” the redhead argued. “She’s not one of us. And she fucking Tazed King. No one attacks King and lives.”

  Head Bitch fixed the other woman with a hard stare. After two seconds, the redhead dropped her gaze. “Way I see it, King attacked her. Now go sit your ass down, or some stranger with a pocket zapper’ll be the least of your worries.”

  The redhead went to help King to his feet and got swatted aside for her efforts. The bald man finally managed to get up, spat in my direction and stumbled his way over to one of the tables.

  “Bishop’ll be back soon. He doesn’t normally hang out here on Thursdays.” HB kept her eyes on the bald man. “Can I get you a drink while you wait? On the house ’cause of your trouble just now.”

  I really wasn’t in the mood for drinking, but I knew better than to refuse. She felt she owed me, and it would be very rude for me to let that debt go unpaid. At least, that was the excuse I was using. I never turned down a free drink. Or free food. Or free anything.

  “I’d love a beer. Thanks.”

  I sat back on the stool. Wiry Beard promptly stood and limped elsewhere.

  HB crooked a finger, and the bartender yanked a bottle out of the fridge, twisting the cap off and setting it down in front of me.

  Heineken. Huh. I had no idea why I was getting the fancy beer, but I wasn’t going to argue. Taking a sip, I kept an eye on everyone through the mirror and waited. No one else bothered me. By the time my beer was half gone, a blond surfer god came through the door. Every head in the entire room swiveled to watch him, mine included. King stood, still covered in blood from when I’d broken his nose and made like he was going to approach the guy.

  For a second I expected a repeat of what had happened to me, only with a whole lot less hair pulling. The air in the room thickened. King leaned forward, as if he were bracing against a strong wind or getting ready to explode into action. The blond guy tilted his head, his expression a mixture of disgust and incredulity, as if a really mangy hamster had just growled at him.

  Did hamsters growl? Either way, bulk-wise the odds might not be in his favor, but my money was on the blond.

  “Sit. The fuck. Down.” The words came out like bullets from a gun. Okay, maybe the odds were in Surfer Dude’s favor after all.

  King sat down as if his legs had been cut out from under him. Completely ignoring him and everyone else in the joint, the blond guy walked behind the bar, and came to a stop in front of me.

  “You’re looking for me?”

  I almost choked on my beer. This was Bishop? I’d expected an older man—a way older man. And given the name of the bar, I’d expected him to look Latin-American. He was definitely Caucasian, seemed to be in his late twenties, and looked like he was ready to bench press a few large appliances before he grabbed his surfboard.

  Tall. Muscular. Sun-streaked hair that flopped into his eyes and curled up at the nape of his neck. Brilliantly blue eyes and the sexiest mouth I’d ever seen. I tended to go for the dark-haired, olive skinned bad boys, but this guy was seriously fucking hot—emphasis on the fucking. Venice Beach muscle heads weren’t usually my thing, but this guy took my breath away.

  “What do you want?” the man demanded.

  Someone behind me snickered.

  “Can we talk in private?” I asked, looking around at all the patrons who were pretending not to be listening in.

  “No. Spill it, then get out of here.”

  I winced. So much for making a sexy impression on the guy, although I doubted I looked all that sexy anymore with my hair in a knotted mess and my black leather accessorized with a coating of dust from the floor.

  “I need to hire you.” Might as well get straight to the point. I didn’t have time for small talk anyway. “I need to find someone. Fast.”

  His eyes did a slow tour of my leather-clad body. “Guy knock you up?”

  “No! That’s…no!” I sputtered.

  “How fast?” He picked up my half empty bottle of Heineken and threw it in the trash.

  I cleared my throat, resisting the urge to run for it. “Tonight. Now. Right now.”

  “I charge by the hour, and I get paid for my time whether we find what we’re looking for or not, whether whatever I’m tracking winds up dead or alive.”

  I swallowed hard and nodded. “How...how much is your rate?”

  He quoted a number that sank every last one of my hopes. “I don’t have any money. Or bullets.” At least none that I could spare. Not that the box I had would be enough in trade even if I offered it up.

  That gorgeous upper lip curled into a sneer. “Then go find someone else. I don’t do charity work.”

  “Can I pay you on time? With interest?” I fought a wave of shame. “I’m good for it, I promise.”

  He turned. I shot out of my seat to lean across the bar and grab his arm. “Please. I’m desperate. I need you to find my sister. She’s only fourteen years old. They took her from our house. I heard you…you could find people. I’ll pay. I swear. I’ll pay double your rate if you’ll give me thirty days to get you the money. Double.”

  As soon as I’d reached for him, I realized my ass was in the air, and I was in a position where Bishop, as well as anyone looking in the mirror, could see a substantial amount of cleavage. The surfer god eyed my breasts, the bar lighting reflecting gold flecks in his blue eyes. A low-level electric pulse shot from his warm skin into my hand and through my body.

  I sucked in a breath, which lifted my breasts and brought them dangerously close to tumbling out of my bustier.

  Okay, maybe this outfit hadn’t been such a great idea after all.

  “Paying on her back is the only currency you’re gonna get from this one,” King snarled. “Actually, she’s probably better paying on her hands and knees.”

  I ignored the comment and focused on Bishop. Yeah, he was eyeing my boobs, but I’d seen him tense when I’d mentioned Nevarra’s age. That gave me hope.

  “Please. She’s just turned fourteen. You know what they’ll do to her. I’m desperate. I’ll do anything. Anything.” And I would too.

  His jaw clenched. “Where was she taken from?”

  I told him my address, afraid to move, breathe, or give him any reason to say no.

  “I’ll be there in half an hour.” His eyes swept me. “We might be on foot and moving fast, so I suggest you change into something more…appropriate.”

  I let out whoosh of air and slid back down to my barstool. “Thank you. Thank you so much—”

  My words were addressed to his back because he was walking away. Thirty minutes. Shit I’d have to hustle to get back home by then and be ready to go, and these boots weren’t exactly made for walking, let alone running.

  Chapter 7

  I got home to find that Aunt Bea had made her way into the kitchen and was boiling water over the little camp stove I’d picked up a few months back. The woman’s face was swollen, but she’d cleaned herself up and ha
d a makeshift sling holding her splinted arm. Her clothes were filthy and blood splattered, but I’m sure that was at the bottom of her list of priorities right now.

  “How is Sadie?” I asked her.

  “Sleeping. I re-dressed that wound on her shoulder, but her leg…”

  “I know.” I sat down and pulled off my boots, inspecting blistered feet unused to wearing heels. “I’ll find something to sell for more antibiotics and first aid supplies. And maybe pain pills, although they’re hard to find.”

  Bea sat down across from me, swaying a bit in her seat.

  “You okay?” I asked her.

  “Lost a lot of blood. My heart pills mean I don’t clot so quick. Bled like a stuck pig all over the hallway.” She sent me a wan smile. “I’ll be fine. My biggest worries right now are keeping Sadie’s leg from getting infected and finding Nevarra.”

  Mine too.

  “Someone will be here in a few minutes to help look for Nevarra. He’s got a reputation for finding people.” That wasn’t all he had a reputation for, but Aunt Bea didn’t need to know that.

  She sent me a sharp glance. “I’m not happy that you went out to meet him dressed like you’re walking Western Avenue.”

  I didn’t blush at Bea’s mention of one of LA’s many prostitution spots because she wasn’t far from the truth. Bea had never been a prude, but she’d raised us to not be so quick to think to use our bodies as commerce. But desperate times…

  Not that Bishop had seemed more than mildly interested in my body.

  “Marissa from down the street has a cousin who works at the hospital. Tomorrow I’ll go down and see if she can ask around for a nurse or a doctor who would make a house call. Maybe they’ll take trade or payments.”

  Hospital staff were swamped. The chances that a nurse or doctor would make a house call, even if a co-worker asked them, was slim, but it was worth a try. There was only so much Bea and I could do with a bottle of antibiotics and basic first aid supplies. Hell, I didn’t even know if the medicine I’d gotten from Bags was the right stuff to counteract an infection from a gunshot wound.