Rebel's Desire (Iron Portal Paranormal Romance Series) (Iron Portal Series Book 4) (4 page)

K
eely carried
the cup of water through the tattoo parlor and handed it to the customer at Verla’s station.

“Thanks,” the man said, then knocked it back as if it were a shot of whiskey.

Verla looked up at him over the rims of her glasses. “You doing okay, hon? Want to take a short break?”

“Yeah, that would be great,” he said, sounding relieved. “Need to hit the john, make a couple of phone calls.”

According to the girl at the front desk, Verla had been working on the guy’s intricate sleeve pattern for over an hour.

“Right on,” Verla said, setting down the needle and stripping off her black latex gloves. “Meet you back here in ten?”

“Sure.” The man pushed himself up from the chair with grunt and headed toward the bathrooms.

For the past two days, Keely had sent countless texts to Becca, but all of them had gone unanswered. Up until now, she’d spent every waking moment in the bookstore, sitting near the front door. She only left her post if she had a customer. Whenever a car turned down the street, she jumped, straining to see if it was Mr. Reaux’s limo bringing Becca home.

“It was all a terrible misunderstanding,”
he would say.
“I did not mean to worry you. Please, accept my apologies...”

But of course that never happened. Becca was still gone, and Keely had no idea what to do to get her back. She hoped her sister was still in the Circus District somewhere. No doubt she was scared. Terrified, even. Had that bastard hurt her? Was she calling out for help but there was no one to hear her?

Keely pressed a hand to her forehead to quell the rising panic. When they were kids, they used to pretend they could communicate with their thoughts, giving each other hard stares from across the room in an attempt to transmit what they were thinking. If only that was her Talent. She’d know where her sister was and could come in with guns blazing and rescue her. If she had a gun. Okay, maybe a knife then. She could get a knife, a thin little switchblade that would fit in her pocket, then go there and stab that sonofabitch.

She sighed. Being a Shield-Talent—a crappy one whose abilities to ward off other Talents were limited and sporadic—would not cut it. She was only kick-ass and tough in her imagination.

Becca, on the other hand, was good at what she did. With a simple touch, she was able to project various thoughts and feelings to another person, get them to believe all sorts of outlandish things—a Talent that came in handy when selling
fortunes
. If Becca had been able to use it to get away from her captors, she would have done it already. Or prevented herself from being taken in the first place. The thing was, Mr. Reaux knew the people he extorted money from were Talents. He probably knew how to prevent—

Hell, maybe
he
was a Shield-Talent and immune to anything Becca could dish out. Just like Keely.

If only she and Becca weren’t Talents. Then she’d call the authorities and let them handle this. But that wasn’t the case, and she was Becca’s only hope. The buck stopped at her.

For a fleeting moment in the alley, she’d almost confided in Toryn when he demanded to know what was going on. He was so insistent that she nearly caved. But no matter how safe she felt in his presence, she couldn’t risk telling him the truth. There was too much at stake.

Panic and worry clawed up her spine again at what Becca must be going through. She didn’t want to think about it. She just wanted her sister back.

After Verla covered her workstation, Keely followed her out the back service door, where her friend lit up a cigarette. Harvey, the owner of Freak Ink, was out having a smoke, too. (It sounded like
free kink
when you said it fast, which was how Harvey wanted it pronounced when someone answered the phone.)

“I know you’re worried, Keely,” Verla said. “I’m sure it’s just one of Reaux’s scare tactics. You’ll see.”

“What’s going on?” Harvey asked, frowning.

Keely explained to him what had happened as she absently picked at the label on the bottle of water she’d grabbed on the way out. The lump in her throat that she’d been trying to ignore gave way to a sob. “It’s…it’s my fault she’s gone.”

Harvey cursed under his breath.

Exhaling a puff of smoke, Verla stepped over and put a hand on Keely’s shoulder. “Like it was your fault you got mugged on your way home from the bank by an angry mob of self-righteous protesters?
Bastards.
”

Harvey spat out a short burst of brown spit then took another drag of his cigarette. Guess if you wanted a nicotine hit, you might as well go all in. She wouldn’t be surprised if he were chewing a piece of nicotine gum, too.

“There’s something going on over at Aphrodistic,” he said. “Something very hush-hush.”

Keely’s breath hitched. “What kind of something? Why do you think it could involve Becca?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know for sure. One of my regulars is a bartender there. But given that a few other Talents have gone missing after talking to Reaux—attractive young women like your sister—I’m just guessing it’s related.”

“There have been others?” she asked, her eyes widening. “Who?”

“You know that girl who works at the coffee place?”

There were dozens of coffee shops and carts in the District, but she had a pretty good idea who he meant. “You mean Hanna from Circus Coffee?”

Hanna, a former dancer who quit to have her son, was a popular bikini barista. Word would get out on social media that she was working the coffee cart that day, and within minutes there’d be a long line. Suddenly every male in the area, and some females, needed a caffeine fix. An old man on a video ad for Circus Coffee proclaimed he goes there to get a drink from Hanna because it’s the biggest thrill of his day.

“That’s the one,” Harvey said. “I was talking to Yvonne—”

“The woman who owns the cart?” Verla interrupted.

“Yeah, Yvonne. That’s her. I ran into her this morning when I was out walking Fritz. Turns out Hanna missed her shift yesterday. A few customers saw her talking the night before to Davin Reaux.”

“Okay, so Hanna’s missing, too,” Keely said impatiently. “But can we focus on what your bartender friend told you?”

“Apparently they’re getting ready for some big private event over there. The whole place will be shutting down to get ready for it.”

Verla examined her cuticles. “They gonna bleach it out from top to bottom?”

“Private event?” Keely asked. She didn’t like the sound of that. “What kind of private event?”

Harvey shrugged. “My friend doesn’t know many details. Just that a bunch of VIPs will be in attendance.”

“What kind of a VIP,” Verla said with air quotes, “goes to an event at Aphrodistic?”

Harvey flicked an ash from his cigarette. “Apparently some heavy hitters. My client thought there were going to be a few professional athletes, politicians. Maybe a rock star or two. All the staff has to sign NDAs. And they’ve let a bunch of people go.”

Keely chewed on her lip. But what did this all have to do with Becca? She’d heard about establishments that catered to the rich and famous, only hiring beautiful people to work there. Women who had a certain look…and certain measurements.

The door to the alley opened and the receptionist poked her head out. “Steve is waiting for you, Verla. Are you—?”

“Oh, shit, yeah,” she said, stubbing out her cigarette. “Tell him I’m coming.”

Harvey held the door open for them.

Keely started to follow Verla back inside when her phone rang.

“I’ll be right in,” she told them.

She pulled the phone from her pocket, glanced at the screen, and her heart nearly stopped.

It was Becca.

B
y the time
Toryn and Sean arrived back in New Seattle, the sun had already dipped below the Olympic Mountains to the west, leaving in its wake a thin, gray light. Rush hour was nearly over, most of the commuters having left for home on earlier trains and ferries. For the most part, the sidewalks were scattered with well-dressed and well-behaved people heading to dinners and cocktail hours. It was still too early for the rowdier nightlife crowd.

An array of tantalizing aromas greeted them when they got to the Circus District. Indian curry. Italian pasta. Vietnamese pho. New Seattle seafood. Neither Toryn nor Sean had eaten anything since they left the Iron Haven, so they might have to grab something from one of the street vendors soon.

Sean stood on the corner and looked up and down the street several times. In one hand was Toryn’s leather coat, the one that Keely had worn for a short time. She’d looked so charming, so enticing, with his large jacket draped over her curvy, petite frame, he thought, and a sudden wave of possessiveness surged through him.

“Don’t you have to smell it or something?” Toryn asked, confused.

Sean shook his head. “It’s more of an energy marker that I’m trying to match up, not exactly a scent, although that’s the easiest way to think of it.”

“So are you getting anything yet?” He was unable to keep the impatience out of his tone. Sean had told him it would be a long shot, but that didn’t keep him from hoping for success.

“No.”

They started at the edge of the District, walking the area in a grid pattern so as not to miss a single side street or alley. There were no skyscrapers in this part of town, just a bunch of historic five- and six-story buildings that had clearly seen better days. Sean told him that it had once been a trendy part of town back before the big earthquake hit and turned much of it to rubble.

They had just passed a boarded-up building with a bright orange condemned sign tacked to the front when Sean stopped.

“What?” Toryn asked, almost bumping into him. “Do you have something?”

“I can’t tell,” the other man said, frowning. “But I’m picking up something familiar. It’s coming from somewhere over there.”

Toryn turned his attention in that direction. There was a nondescript building across the street and next to it, a small patch of open space that the city called a park but which was actually only a few benches and a square of grass.

He scanned the people, looking for that telltale mane of red hair. Nothing.

Several food trucks were parked on the curb, but he didn’t see her in any of the lines either. Sean was saying something about being hungry, but Toryn wasn’t listening.

Maybe Keely was inside one of the stores. There was a vegan donut shop that offered palm readings, a pawnshop that promised top dollar for the wedding ring your bastard ex-husband gave you, and Mental Travel, an agency that promised you the vacation of your dreams.

When he saw the tattoo parlor at the far end, he remembered the butterfly tattoo on Keely’s shoulder. Was that where she’d gotten it? Maybe she was there now. A surge of excitement shot through him at the thought of coming face-to-face with her again. But if not, maybe the people inside would know her and could put him in touch with her.

“Listen, I think I may know where she could be,” he told Sean. “If you want to go grab something to eat, I can meet up with you later.”

Although he was starting to trust the guy a little more, he didn’t want him hanging around if he did run into Keely. Not if he could help it. There’d be introductions, explanations. It would be easier if he were alone.

Disappointment flashed in Sean’s eyes for a moment before disappearing. “Why don’t you take this then?” He handed Toryn a cell phone.

Toryn stared at the device but didn’t take it. Iron Guild warriors didn’t use cell phones. Before the Iron Havens were built, warriors had nowhere to keep material possessions on this side of the portal. But more importantly, the Pacifican army was known to monitor and eavesdrop on cell phone conversations, and they couldn’t take that risk. Not when the location of portals and the lives of Cascadians were at stake.

“I jail-broke it,” Sean explained. “Then rerouted the network to a hidden frequency and removed all location identifiers.”

“Care to explain that in English?” Toryn asked gruffly.

“It means that no one else will be able to listen in on your conversations. Just the person on the other end of the line. And no one will be able to ping the phone to figure out its location. Rickert is having me procure them for all the warriors to use when they’re on this side of the portal.”

Toryn still wasn’t sure what all that meant, but if Rickert was okay with it, then that was good enough for him. He took the phone from Sean, and the guy gave him a crash course on how it worked.

“I’ll grab a bite to eat and then if I don’t hear from you, I will…uh…run a couple of errands. So no hurry. Just call me if you need me for any reason.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.”

Toryn thought he detected a hint of sadness in the guy’s demeanor. He debated whether to say anything or not. Finally, his curiosity got the best of him. “Everything okay?”

Sean met his gaze for a moment then looked away. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? Because if there’s something I can do…” He let the offer trail off.

The truth was, he owed him. The guy had done him a solid today, even though Toryn had been a total dick ever since they met. Rickert had him working on computer stuff back at the Iron Haven. There was plenty for him to do, and yet he’d dropped everything in order to help Toryn.

Sean rubbed a hand over his face. “It’s nothing really. I just thought I’d swing by my old neighborhood. See if I can get a glimpse of my family from the street.”

Ah. So that explained why the guy had been so willing to help. “You still don’t think it’s safe to let them know you’re okay?”

Sean shook his head. “It will never be safe. I cannot take that chance. It’s not worth it.” He cleared the emotion from his throat then looked up to the sky, as if searching the heavens for strength. “I’d rather my wife move on and my daughter grow up without me than have them be in danger again because of me.”

Guilt for being so distrustful of this man stabbed at Toryn like a blunt knife.

This was a dangerous line of work they were in, fighting against the Pacifican army. With the exception of Rickert, Asher and Vince—whose women were as tough as they were—all the warriors with families kept them on the other side of the portal. And for good reason. They’d be prime targets for the army if they knew about them.