He bit his lip. Okay, maybe the desk clerk wasn’t that creepy. The man was certainly good at his job. He smiled to himself, feeling better, though he had no idea why. He was fucked. Well and truly.
Back at his apartment, the guys would contact New Jersey. Most likely Cesar’s lieutenant would answer and send a car full of thugs to investigate where his boss was.
The sun chased shadows on the sidewalk outside the glass doors. Julian fished his phone out of his pocket, cursing to find it dead. Like everything he had, the phone belonged to the organization. His apartment, his car, all leased through Castenada’s front company. For fifteen years he’d been living what he’d thought was the good life. Nice digs, good clothes,expensive dinners. But the truth was, he was owned by the Castenada cartel.
He walked over to the trash and tossed the phone in. There was no one to call anyway. It was possible they tracked it to the hotel before it died. Julian had to get out of there, and fast.
Yet he stayed. He stood next to the counter, rubbing a hand along the smooth mahogany, feeling the familiar dents and scratches. A part of him said to move and keep moving, make a plan, while another held him back, somewhat fearful. The hotel was safe. Comfortable. It was the only thing in the world that was truly his. Such as it was. No one knew he owned it.
That is, until they hit his apartment, cleaned out the safe, and found the paperwork. Taking a deep breath, he clenched his fists, steeled his nerves, and walked outside. Just that short trek took a lot of effort, and he was out of breath already. His wallet held the company cards and two crisp hundreds tucked away. But where would he go?
Turning, he edged himself down the street. It was daylight but early enough that traffic was light. A chill went through him. His last memory was being in the car, with blood running over his hands and a hole in his chest.
Ahead of him, the diner’s lights glowed, warm and welcoming. A familiar place. That was good. Coffee sounded good. Baby steps.
Julian was on his second cup when he looked up to see Abraham’s dark figure standing at his booth.
“What do you think you’re doing?” The words were a low rumble in Abraham’s throat. Julian found it mildly sexy the way he talked.
Sexy? He frowned. He could admit certain men were attractive without getting weird about it, but this felt different. He was straight.
“I’m uh, drinking coffee?”
“Dude. You almost died. You should be hooked up to tubes and shit. Yet you’re… Wait, did you walk here?” Abraham’s look was incredulous.
“No. Magical fairies picked me up and flew me, but I wouldn’t give them my teeth, so they dropped me off here.” He frowned. Maybe fairies were real? God, he’d probably insulted one somehow. “Yes. I walked here. It hurt like hell, but I needed caffeine, okay?” He gestured across from him so Abraham would quit making a spectacle of masculine beauty at his table.
The big man/creature sat down and ordered coffee. When the waitress had gone, he looked at Julian.
“You look remarkably well. How do you feel? Wait, are you really you? Is it Julian I’m talking to? Or someone else.” His voice lowered. The sound did things to Julian’s insides. Things he couldn’t figure out. He blinked at Abraham like he was new and sparkly. New thoughts, completely random were just shot into his brain. Julian pushed at his temples. He was losing it.
Abraham’s words snapped him out of his stupidity. “What do you mean someone else? Who else would I be?”
The waitress came with the coffee carafe and a mug. She poured as Abraham barely gave her a glance. He studied Julian.
“You remember our deal in the car? The medallion for helping you? I took you back to the hotel where my doctor friend stitched you up.”
“Great. I’m indebted to you.”
“No. You’re not, but it’s a wait-and-see kind of thing.” Abraham took a long drink of his coffee. He ripped open packets of sugar, dumping them into his coffee, along with creamers. Stirring, he sipped again.
“Wait for what? Spit it out. Will ya? I’m picturing all kinds of weird shit in my head now. Did you steal a kidney or something?”
“No. But you were bleeding out. The bullet shredded an artery and things didn’t look good. Do you remember taking the necromancer? The old guy who died at your place?”
Julian winced. “He died. I really didn’t mean for that to happen.”
“Well, his spirit or whatever was in my friend Hunter.”
“Purple-haired guy.”
“Yeah. Anyway, he did some magical transference shit to help you.” The big man drank his coffee as if this were a normal conversation. Julian squinted at him. Abraham’s eyebrows lifted. “You were dying, man. It was the only way we could think to save you.”
Julian jerked up from the booth. The stitches jolted pain through him as they stretched. “I have a freakin’ spirit inside me?”
“Julian, sit down.” His eyes flashed that eerie gold. “I don’t know. Hence the question, how do you feel?”
“I feel like shit. Tired as all get-out, I hurt, I’m thirsty and weak and strangely okay.”
