The ride back to his apartment was eerily quiet, but Bowie was too freaked out to formulate a question, and Javier was driving like a madman, weaving in and out of traffic with a tension in his face Bowie found unnerving. He wanted to touch him, wanted Javier to tell him everything was going to be okay. Even if it wasn’t.
Bowie unlocked the door that hid the stairs to their crappy two bedroom apartment. If he wasn’t so nervous, he might have been embarrassed about the state of his living quarters, but he could only focus on the mysterious package and the three girls standing around the small dining room table, like they had summoned the gaudy monstrosity with their little cult circle. The worst kind of black magic.
When Bowie went to touch it, Javier shook his head. “Uh-uh, angel. Leave it shut. We’re taking it to go.” To Alice, he said, “Do you have a trash bag?”
Alice stared at Javier, unmoving, just blinking at him like she thought he was about to steal her purse.
“Alice!” Bowie shouted, snapping his fingers. “Trash bag. Now. Please.”
The dark-haired girl turned on her heel, walking the five steps to grab a white hefty bag from under the sink. “It’s lavender scented,” she muttered as she handed the bag to Javier.
“Noted,” he countered distractedly.
They all grew wide-eyed, Bowie included, as his—boyfriend?—pulled gloves from his pocket and carefully settled the gold foil wrapped box into the trash bag, balloons and all, before carefully tying it up. He grimaced at the red liquid beading on the dining room table, swiping two gloved fingers through the mess and examining them. Bowie’s stomach sloshed at the smear of reddish brown on the off-white latex. “Is that…”
Javier’s gaze met his. “Blood. Yeah. I think so.”
“We’re burning that table,” Anna said with more conviction than she’d ever had in the four years he’d known her.
“Are we taking it to the police?” Bowie asked.
“Do you trust the police to handle this?” Javier asked.
Bowie wanted to say yes, but the truth was, he didn’t. They had betrayed his trust time after time. “No.”
Javier nodded. “Exactly.”
“So, what are we going to do with our bloody balloon box?” Bowie asked.
“I have some people standing by. We’re meeting them downtown.”
Odette frowned. “You have people? Downtown? Who is standing by to handle this blood filled box, which was delivered to our apartment? Who’s gonna watch out for us?”
Javier looked Odette up and down like he’d just noticed she was there for the first time. “Relax, Barbie. I got you. I’ll get some people to watch your place. They’re looking for Bowie. Chances are this is just a scare tactic. If they’re watching for him, they’ll follow us back to my place.”
Anna shuddered, leaning closer to Alice. “Just get it out of here.”
“I’m going with you guys,” Odette said.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Javier told Bowie.
She flicked her eyes up and down just as he’d done to her, setting her face with a withering look. “I didn’t ask. I want to know what’s in the box. Bowie is my best friend, and that trumps gangbanger boy toy. Let's go.”
She flung the front door open and ran down the stairs before anybody could think to retort. Javier turned to Bowie. “Gangbanger boy toy? Damn, she’s a savage.”
By the time Bowie and Javier were back on the street, Odette was waiting, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently. Javier clicked the button and disengaged the alarm on the Charger. While Bowie held the back passenger door for Odette, Javier carefully put the box and balloons into the trunk.
Once they were on the road, Odette said, “What the hell is going on?”
Bowie looked at Javier, who ignored the question before saying, “We don’t know. That’s kind of why we’re taking it to somebody else.”
“The guy who attacked you is dead, but here you are getting mysterious packages. If it’s not your boyfriend, who is it?”
“Again, we don’t know.”
“Where are we going?” Odette asked.
Javier flicked his gaze to Odette’s in the rear view mirror. “Elite.”
