Hyde, an Urban Fantasy (34 page)

Eden woke up on the couch, Carter frantically clearing off the coffee table in front of her. He never cleaned. “What are you doing?”

He glanced up from the table and threw his hands behind his back. His eyes were in full panic mode, his mouth moving but no sound escaping.

“What’s wrong?” Why wasn’t she still in her bedroom? “Did she—” Eden saw the door to her bedroom. There were two large holes near the hinges and it was hanging at an odd angle, staying upright only because of the padlock on the outside. Then she looked to the front door, which was slightly ajar, but still looked whole. She grabbed the throw blanket off the back of the couch and wrapped it and her arms around her naked body. “How did she get out?”

Carter shook his head, but said nothing.

Eden brought her hand up to rub her eyes. When she unclenched her fist, she saw a straw. Cut short. An inch, maybe two. Not something one would use for a daiquiri. Some kind of powder sticking to one end. Fear. Horror. The unimaginable. Swiping her nose with her other hand, she saw traces of the same white powder on her finger. She looked up to Carter in desperation.

“What happened, Carter? How did she get out?” Her voice was nearing hysterical.

He tucked his arms in tighter.

“Tell me what happened! Why did you let her out?”

His mouth opened. A second later, words tumbled out. “I didn’t. She didn’t get out.” He avoided eye-contact.

“Then where did I get this?” Her heart rate was increasing exponentially. When he didn’t respond, she asked again. “Carter! Where did this come from?” She held out her hands, palms up.

He didn’t look at her. “I got it from a friend. I just . . .”

She clenched her fists, one still holding the straw. “What is it?”

Silence.

“What. Is. It.” Her jaw was locked, and the words had to struggle their way out. How could he bring this into their home?
Her
home?

“It’s not heroin, Eden. I swear.”

A small part of her was relieved—the idea that the same drug that had killed her mother might be coursing through her veins was unbearable. But Chastity had snorted something and left Eden with all the repercussions. She looked at the straw in her hand again, not knowing if the racing beat of her heart was due to fear or the drug.

“It’s not—” he stuttered. “It’s medicine.”

She stared at him, mouth agape, taking shallow breaths. “Medicine? Are you kidding me? Is that what you call it?” she spat, hurling the straw at him. It landed on the floor between them, fueling her anger even more. Inadequate. The toss had been inadequate. She was inadequate. And Carter was absolutely inadequate.

“How could you, Carter?” she screamed. “
Medicine
that just happens to look exactly like cocaine, huh? Does giving it another name make it okay? Do you think I’m stupid?”

He stepped back, his face red, his eyes shiny. “It was in my room. I never imagined she would find it. That
you
would find it. You
never
go in my room. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” Her voice filled the apartment. “Oh, well if you’re
sorry
, then it’s no big deal. We can both just turn into junkies. Since you’re
sorry
.” Her worst fear, and he had brought it into their home, a reminder of everything she’d fought against, everything she hated. And he
knew
. He
knew
how afraid she was to even be near it.

“I’m not a junkie, Eden, I swear.”

“Is this what you’ve been taking all this time? Is this your ‘medicine’?”

“No, it’s not for me.”

“Yeah, right.” Rage burned through her chest, charring her belief in him and her trust in her own judgment.

“It’s to help—”

“To help you focus, right? Sure it is.” She looked around the room for something to throw at him, something heavy that would hurt. But he’d done such a thorough job of clearing off the table, there was nothing. So she tossed off the blanket and ran at him.

He stood still, accepting the pounding of her fists on his chest. But it was no use—she could never punish him enough.

She shoved him away and cried, “Well, I hope you are very focused while you get your stuff and get out!”
Leave me alone so my heart can finish breaking.

“I’m sorry, Eden. I never would have . . .” He lifted his arms as if he wanted to hug her.

“Get! Out!” She pushed him with everything she had, wondering if the drugs in her system increased her strength as he stumbled back.

He caught himself and nodded. Moving slowly to grab a bag that was next to the door, he looked back at her. “I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t ever want to see you again.”

She was weeping by the time the door closed behind him. Then her body started to shut down, close in on her until a welcomed feeling of numbness overtook her, her sobs becoming distant. As if they were coming from someone else’s soul.

§         
§          §

Mitch was out of breath from running from the airport to his car, screaming at traffic, and sprinting up to the second floor of her building. He slowed when he saw Carter leaning against the railing outside Eden’s apartment. “How’d it go?”

Carter lifted his head, and Mitch saw the redness of his eyes. After a moment of recognition, the guy bolted toward the far stairway.

Mitch broke out into a run again, passed the door to Eden’s place, and stopped. From over the railing, he watched Carter book across the lawn, a bag banging against his thigh.

He’d never catch him. Mitch jogged back to her door and pounded his fist against it, resisting the urge to break it down. That was when he heard her crying inside. Full-throttle waterworks, little gasps of air, then more crying. He grabbed the knob, ready to kick it in and possibly break a foot on the metal if he had to. He didn’t care. He needed to get in there.

He needn’t have worried—it wasn’t even locked. Eden was curled up on the couch, completely naked, slowly rocking back and forth. What the fuck happened? He crossed the room in three strides, grabbing a throw blanket on the way, and slid onto the couch, covering her. “What happened?”

Tears flowed down her cheeks incessantly. Her eyes were puffy and red, her breath coming in shallow hiccups. But her face was peaceful, as if her body was reacting on autopilot without any input from her brain.

“Eden. Are you alright?” He lifted her chin, ignoring the wetness that made his hand slip slightly. “Say something.”

She didn’t.

His thumb brushed her lower lip, tugging at it slightly, wanting to somehow help it start working again. “Please say something.” He stared at her lips, deciding whether he’d rather have them form words or cover them with his own.

She looked at him through lashes turned even darker from tears and shivered a shrug.

He needed words. And she wasn’t going to give them to him. His anger pulsed when he thought of who would give them to him instead, even if he had to do it through a toothless and bleeding mouth. “It was Carter, wasn’t it?”

She neither agreed nor disagreed, but he knew.

“Did he hit you?”

The tiniest shake of her head came without change on her doll-like face.

He sighed. “Did he”—his throat clenched at the word—“
touch
you?”

Head shake, this time more adamantly.

He leaned backwards. “Then what the hell did he do?”

She bit the lip he’d just released but seemed incapable of speech.

“Where is he, Eden? Where did he go?” No, she needed yes-or-no questions. Carter had done something that turned her into a fucking magic eight ball of grief. “Is he at the station?”

Her expression turned into outright nervousness, probably knowing what Mitch would do to the guy when he found him. She wasn’t going to tell him anything.

Then he remembered the bag Carter had been carrying when he’d fled. It was a gym bag. Mitch tried to keep the sneer off his face when he remembered the name of the gym where Carter had suggested they have their boxing match. Well, their duel would happen sooner than either of them thought. Should have happened weeks ago.

He stood, wrapped the blanket tighter around her, and lifted her from the couch. His hand touched skin, warming him. He ignored his need to melt into it, into her, and carried her to his car. Setting her down gently on the seat, he swung around and jumped in. The trip to his house took two minutes tops. She didn’t say a word, just stared at him with blank eyes.

She might have been afraid of him, he didn’t know. At this point, he didn’t really care. He’d had a job to do, had left it to someone else to take care of, and would now make sure that mistake did not go unpunished. But
he
wasn’t the first person who would be punished. No, there was an order here that needed to be maintained. How’s that for leadership?

You didn’t think to get her some frigging clothes, asshole?
Mitch made sure the blanket was tucked tightly around her and carried her inside his house without letting her put a foot on the ground. After settling her into his bed, trying to make her comfortable while he was anything
but
, Mitch said, “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

She clutched the arm of his jacket, her grip weak. “Don’t . . . hurt him, Mitch.”

As thrilled as he was that her speech had returned, it was too late. Flexibility had never been his strength. It was decided. He peeled her fingers off and set her hand at her side. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Please. He’s not worth it.”

True, but it will make me feel a lot better.
“After I finish talking to him, I promise that he’ll still be standing, okay?”
Even if I have to prop up his unconscious body.

He knew right where the gym was—around the block from the police station. Normally it would be the kind of place he’d rather die than enter, but today was a special occasion. There’d be cops, lots of them, but his anger blocked out any rational thoughts of self-preservation he should have had.

He parked in front of a hydrant, vaguely thinking how happy he’d made some ticket-giver’s day. Not a big concern right now.

The place was big. A sunken lobby with uncomfortable, cheap-looking chairs lining one wall. This was no country club, this was where muscles were bruised and worked to full capacity and no prisoners were taken. Perfect for what he had planned. Concrete floors matched the long reception desk. Yellow lines were painted along each wall, directing traffic up a flight of stairs to where he imagined the workout room would be. A hallway curving around the metal banister led off to . . . offices? Showers? He didn’t really care.

Knowing that blasting through the reception area without more than a dirty look to the kid behind the counter would bring the attention of at least twenty sweating cops down on him, he stopped and tried to appear cordial.

The pumped-up teenager smiled back, probably used to expressions like the one Mitch currently wore.

“I want a tour. Now.”

“Okay, let me get someone.” The guy picked up the phone.

“Now. You have thirty seconds to find someone or I leave.”

His bluff worked. The guy glanced around him, sighed and then came around the counter, his steps slightly bouncing and a salesman’s smile on his face. “I’ll show you around.” He kept talking, but Mitch ignored him, making sure his feet were right behind the kid’s, pressing him to move faster.

They walked upstairs into a huge room filled with equipment surrounding a boxing ring lifted about three feet off the ground. Two men wearing gloves were slamming each other, followed by kicks, jabs and prancing. Mitch found the violence encouraging. He scanned the room, searching for his personal, human punching bag. Not there.

“What are you doing here?” Landon’s voice came from the side. He stood up from a bench press, wrapping a towel around his shoulders.