Dahlia

  “Dee Dee, give me that bottle! Use a glass like a normal person!” Maiza snatched the bottle of wine out of my hand and slammed it on the bar top, far harder than necessary.

  I almost expected the glass to shatter, but it didn’t.

  “Maiza, we both know I’m going to finish the bottle anyway.”

  As I considered the slight slur of my words—no doubt from drinking for the last few hours—Maiza crossed her arms and glared at me stubbornly as if daring me to pick up the bottle again. She was far too concerned with appearances. Even now, her eyes shifted around the room to see if anyone was watching me.

  I was too drunk to care, but I could at least try to follow Maiza’s rules tonight—for her sake.

  With a sigh of resignation, I reached over the bar and helped myself to a large glass—far too large for a glass of wine, but the other glasses were out of reach. Besides, I was going to finish this bottle tonight.

  Something about confirming the Predictors knew my identity and had some sort of personal vendetta against me had made me paranoid. At any moment, Hastings could run to the Calos and tell them my secrets. In truth, it was probably only a matter of time before she exposed me.

  And the possible Imm retaliation? That was too much to think about. Both Carmen and Hastings had confirmed that something was coming. At any moment, the Imms could attack and leave Firen utterly destroyed if the Calos didn't get off their asses to help.

  And then there was the Reaper.

  I tried not to think of what happened with him at all. I wasn't exactly sure what had happened. One moment, he'd been hurling insults at me, and then it was like he'd changed his mind about me. And I couldn't, for the life of me, figure out why he'd had a change of heart.

  After his kiss, sleep evaded me, leaving me to finally dive into the High General’s journal. It was the perfect distraction, but after reading through the High General’s journal for a second time, I was disturbed, to say the least.

  The High General was tortured—his guilt clear with every word etched into this journal. The man wanted to atone for his sins, but he was also lost to the pain and suffering he had caused. He had done so much harm to the worlds, caused so much misery in the Imm wars against the human worlds, long ago. He described, in great detail, the mass genocide of humans and the way he had enjoyed causing so much suffering.

  As the journal progressed, he fought an internal battle against his evil impulses, but by the end, he expressed certainty that the Imms and their acts of cruelty were evil. And yet, he couldn’t stop causing so much harm. It was as if he depended on the thrill of it all. Craved it. Enjoyed it.

  He enjoyed the feeling of cutting down the weak.

  But he also grew more determined to save the very humans he had been raised to believe deserved to suffer and die.

  His writing was painful to read. At times, I cried as he described the suffering he caused and the remorse he felt. I felt his pain as he contemplated his own existence and whether the world would be better off without someone so evil. And in the end, despite his wrongdoing, I felt something like reverence for the man as he grew more determined to fight back against the Imms—to end their evil war against the humans.

  But then, the journal ended, and I was left only to wonder what happened to the man.

  It was like a crazy cliffhanger I would probably never resolve.

  I took a long drink of the wine and grimaced as stress made it difficult to swallow without gagging. I could hardly eat as it was, and now drinking was starting to become difficult, too. I’d never had such intense anxiety before. So far, the alcohol hadn’t even touched my emotions. My heart raced, and nervous energy coursed through my veins—making my hands shake with that energy.

  My mind just couldn’t rest.

  With the Councilwoman’s threats, my father’s assault, Simon’s revelations, Carmen’s warning, the Predictor murders, the looming threat of the Imms, my perfect kiss with the Reaper, and now the gruesome details in the High General’s journal?

  It was all too much.

  I looked around. The Ledge was busier than normal for a Tuesday afternoon. As usual, the place was spotless—Al was on shift, after all. As if on cue, I watched him step away from the bar to wipe down a table.

  Something about the normalcy of the act was almost soothing.

  “Dee, is something wrong?”

  I returned my attention, limited as it was, to Maiza. She was watching me with her doe-like brown eyes that seemed to look right into my soul as if searching for the reason I was sulking.

  I stretched my arms up high above my head and revealed, “I had a fight with my father—we aren’t speaking anymore.”

  This wasn’t the only reason I was upset, of course, but for someone as kind and sympathetic as Maiza, it would be enough to explain away my strange—even rude—behavior. She wouldn’t press me with questions.

  She raised a hand to her mouth, “Oh, Dee, I’m so sorry!”

  With some effort to appear unfazed, I shrugged, “It was only a matter of time, I think. He’s always had impossible expectations of me.”

  That was the truth.

  She threw her arms around me—making me stiffen uncomfortably. I wasn’t used to this kind of affection, and if it had been anyone but Maiza, I would have pushed them away. But I had a soft spot for the woman, and I would put up with a lot to keep her happy.

  “So, you waited for me after all,” I heard Max speak in a low voice from just behind me.

  I turned and forced myself to smile up at the man, meeting his eyes as he stepped closer. He ran his fingers through my hair and leaned down to whisper, “Gorgeous, as always, Dee.”

  His touch felt wrong—repulsive, even.

  He wasn’t the Reaper.

  As an image of the masked vigilante flashed through my mind, I started to pull away from Max when the door to the bar flew open—hitting the wall with a crack that made Max jerk away, eyes widening in surprise. Maiza shrieked—nearly deafening me in my left ear as I watched the painting of Max’s grandfather fall to the ground again, and this time the frame split on impact with a second loud crack!

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  I shifted my gaze from the broken portrait to the doorway, and what I saw there would have made my heart race had I not been several drinks into the evening and already teeming with nervous energy.

  Hawthorne stood in the doorway with Bennett just behind him, and both men were looking at me with identical expressions of distaste. Now that they stood together, there was no doubt that the pair were related—perhaps even brothers.

  Bennett pushed past Hawthorne with a fake broad grin stretched across his chiseled face, blue eyes flashing as he announced, “Well, if it isn’t little Dee Dee!”

  I glared at the Imm man and raised my oversized glass to acknowledge him with a sullen, “Bennett.”

  The man smiled at the grim expression on my face and closed the distance between us. Before he could get too close, Max stepped between us, “We asked you not to drop in like this.”

  Bennett stopped and cocked his head at Max, “And we asked you to let us know what your little pet uncovered, but apparently, she’s keeping things from us all.”

  “She’s not a pet—”

  “She is.” Bennett grinned down at me. “She’s a pretty little pet for you and your mother to order around. But your little pet is also a little disobedient—hiding things from you. What a shame.”

  Bennett made a mocking tsking sound with his tongue that made me want to punch the Imm.

  Max shook his head and pointed back at me, “Anything Dahlia hides is for good reason. I have faith in her—you should too.”

  I felt my eyebrows rise. I hadn’t expected Max to stand up for me, but here he was—standing up to the Imms for me. And with the dark expression on his face and the firm set of his shoulders and jaw, Max was almost intimidating.

  But these were Imms, and Bennett didn’t like Max’s defiance.

  “Careful,” Bennett narrowed his eyes at Max, poking a firm finger into his chest, “Your faith may be misplaced, human.”

  Max opened his mouth to speak, but I cut in, “Max. I can handle this.”

  Max ignored me as Bennett stepped forward, but before he could reach out to pull out the free barstool beside me, a hand settled onto his shoulder—stopping him in his tracks as Hawthorne asked—his voice strained, “This is Dee?”

  Damn. I’d almost forgotten about him.

  “Yeah—cute little human, isn’t she?”

  Hawthorne’s face became stony as he stared down at me.

  Bennett shrugged Hawthorne’s hand off his shoulder and took a seat beside me as I greeted the stony-faced Imm, “Can’t say I’m all that pleased to see you.”

  I looked over at Bennett and scoffed, “Or you.”

  “Ah, be nice, Dee,” Bennett gestured to Hawthorne, “I brought backup, and I can’t guarantee he will find you as amusing as I do. He’s a lot meaner than me.”

  I was too distracted to acknowledge the comment. Instead, I studied the shape of Bennett’s face—from his strong jaw to his sharp brow line to even the coloring of his skin—and then turned to do the same to Hawthorne.

  They just looked so similar.

  “Are you two related or something?” I blurted out before adding dispassionately, “You know—you both have such an extraordinary ability to both threaten and annoy me.”

  “Half-brothers,” Bennett grinned before explaining, “We have many half-siblings. Our father spread his seed far and wide—especially in his younger days.”

  “Gross, don’t call it that,” I nearly gagged at the comment.

  “What?” Bennett leaned forward with a sadistic grin. “Seed? It’s a common-enough term. I suppose you do seem rather innocent, though, but only by appearance, I think. I’ve heard otherwise, of course, but I’m not sure I want to believe the rumors about you. I quite enjoy fantasizing—”

  Refusing to hear any more, I cut in harshly, “The only fantasy you should have about me is the one where I tie you up and cut off your dick, Imm, because if you touch me, that will be the only outcome—I promise.”

  It was an empty threat, but an effective one, nonetheless.

  Max inhaled sharply beside me—tensing with fear of retaliation.

  Bennett stared at me in shock as if he’d never expected me to threaten him, but from behind him, Hawthorne shook with laughter as he placed a heavy hand on Bennett’s back and asked, “Are you really going to let the human speak to you like that?”

  I cocked my head at the men, morbidly curious to hear how Bennett responded.

  “I find it endearing, actually,” Bennett admitted with a sigh, “But I prefer my women to be far more…docile.”

  Of course he did.

  I groaned with annoyance.

  “Go away.” I waved a dismissive hand at them and turned back to my drink. “I’m drunk. I’m not equipped to handle your Imm nonsense tonight. No. Tonight, I’m drinking and avoiding all my worries and responsibilities—to include two bothersome Imms.”

  If the men heard my ramblings, they didn’t acknowledge it.

  “Let’s go somewhere quieter,” Hawthorne murmured to Bennett softly as he gestured to the crowd that was now watching their every move. “There are too many eyes and ears here.”

  He probably didn’t like that the bar patrons witnessed me standing up to them—couldn’t have humans thinking they could get away with disrespecting the Imms.

  Bennett nodded and turned to me, his fake smile plastered to his face. “So, Dee, show us to a quieter spot where we can talk.”

  “No, absolutely not.” I waved a hand towards Max. “Go bother Ferro or something.”

  Max’s eyes widened as if the thought terrified him. I didn’t blame him for it, but I certainly didn’t like that he was back to being a coward like every other human. Just like that, his confidence was gone, like it had all just been a show before.

  Bennett looked up in Max’s direction—studying his startled expression—before pursing his lips and waving him off, “I think I’d rather talk to you, Dee. To start, why don’t we talk more about moving you out of this world? Your potential is so limited here.”

  “We’ve given her an exceptional life here, actually.” I nearly jumped at the sound of Portia’s voice from behind us as she walked up to the bar.

  With the alcohol buzzing through me, I hadn’t even noticed her enter through the still-open front door.

  I scowled at her and joked, “I’m still underpaid.”

  “I won’t pay you at all if you keep complaining.”

  It was hardly a threat, lacking any emotion or commitment. Portia wasn’t even looking at me as she spoke. Her dark eyes were on the two Imm men—Hawthorne in particular.

  I didn’t blame her. Hawthorne was frightening on a normal day, but tonight, he was nearly comically terrifying. He had knives of all shapes and sizes tucked into small sheaths on his leather clothes. He also had two massive swords strapped to his back and a smear of blood across one cheek that left me absurdly curious to know what he had been up to tonight.

  He was a beast of a man—there was no better word to describe him. And his appearance was all the more striking next to Portia's well-groomed, professional demeanor.

  I suppressed a shudder of fear and relied on drunken confidence to recommend, “Now that Portia is here, you should all take your business somewhere else—Maiza and I were enjoying our evening without you.”

  I attempted to shoo them off, but Portia simply ignored me. “Can I help you with something, gentlemen?”

  She gestured to a table across the room that had become suspiciously empty over the course of our conversation—probably abandoned by some patrons who wanted nothing to do with the Imms.

  I envied them.

  Max stood, but Portia ordered, “Max—stay here with Maiza.”

  She didn’t have to say that again. Max immediately took the empty chair beside Maiza, and Bennett reached behind the bar to retrieve two bottles of wine as he explained, “We’re just looking for some information about the Reaper. Things have been abnormally quiet with him—once again—but something tells me Dee might know a little more about him than she’s willing to admit.”

  Portia paused—eyes flashing to mine before returning her attention to Bennett. “There haven’t been any sightings lately, as far as I know. I don’t have much information myself.”

  “Pity.” Hawthorne took a bottle from Bennett as he backed away to the nearby table. “The others didn’t want to cooperate tonight either.”

  Maiza gasped as Hawthorne retrieved a blade the size of my forearm and stabbed it into the top of the table before taking a seat there. I felt my own eyes widen at the sight of the blood on the blade. Hawthorne hadn’t been kind to “the others” tonight—that much was clear.

  To her credit, Portia didn’t even flinch at the sight of the blade. Instead, her eyes drifted to me as if to reassure herself that I was there to protect her. But her faith in me was misplaced. I couldn’t protect her from Hawthorne if it came down to violence tonight.

  Hawthorne would tear me apart—of that, I was certain.

  Portia returned her attention to the Imms as she found her voice, “I can assure you, the Reaper has been quiet—like you said.”

  Bennett looked at me questioningly, “Remember what I said before—about lying to me?”

  Of course I did. It was hard to forget.

  I opened my mouth to respond, but Portia cut in, “She’s not a liar.”

  “Then tell me why the Reaper’s scent was all over Dee’s home earlier today,” Bennett spoke casually—his eyes on me now as he placed his bottles on the table.

  Shit. Maybe an Imm's sense of smell was better than I thought.

  Bennett narrowed his eyes at me, all semblance of lightness gone from his demeanor now.

  "So, Dee," he offered in a low, dangerous tone that raised the hair on the back of my neck, "We can do this the easy way, or we can make you wish you were never born. The choice is yours."