Werewolves of New York: Darik Page 4

  Walking outside onto West 23rd, he continued South without a goal in mind. In any other town Monday night at this hour would have meant streets were quiet, but in Manhattan, pedestrians were always out and about. Darik made a game out of listening to their conversations, seeing how long he could hear what people were saying. His supernatural hearing caught mostly casual, unoriginal chitchat but occasionally there were snatches of brilliance. It wasn’t as good as a movie, but it was amusing.

  “I asked my doctor, ‘Can you do Botox?’ You know what he said? ‘No, but I can remove your gallbladder.’”

  “Judgmental prick.”

  “Right?!”

  And…

  “We were sitting there and she’s laughing and talking about all of these things they did together, and he was going right along with it! Finally, I told her, ‘Okay, let’s stick to stories that don’t purposefully leave people out.’ She had the decency to look embarrassed and apologize. I mean, what the fuck?”

  “Well, you know what they say. When you start dating a guy, there’s always a woman in the way–whether it’s his mother, his sister, his ex, or some girl like this who wants him but claims to be just his friend.”

  And…

  “So, how many siblings do you have?”

  That’s when Darik stopped playing.

  Chapter Seven

  At 10:45 P.M., Talia peeked inside her small, shiny, new refrigerator. The last one had busted. She’d found this one online and fell immediately in love. It took up so much less space in her studio apartment and cut her energy bill in half, which meant more money for things she enjoyed doing. But more than that, it was the first thing in the place that was hers, since she’d taken over the sublet a year ago after Margaret Hanover moved back to Michigan to have babies in a less spastic environment. The landlords had no idea Talia lived there. They didn’t even know Margaret had, or Wallace before her. This was how you kept rent control alive and well in Chelsea.

  The only problem was, the stupid, shiny refrigerator never had any good food in it ever since she committed to losing the extra fifteen pounds. She yanked open the freezer and stared at half-empty ice cube trays, frozen salmon and prepackaged low-fat Indian dinners from Trader Joes.

  No ice cream.

  She slammed the door shut. “Sorry, baby! I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to take that out on you.” She patted the shiny black surface and padded toward her little couch, plopping onto it and pulling her legs up to her chest in a tight hug. She laid her chin on her knees and stared into the future.

  A future with no ice cream.

  “Fuck it.” She jumped up and headed for the door where rows of shoes lay waiting. Slipping on a pair of ballet-style flats, she snatched her thickest wool coat off the hook. It didn’t exactly go with her pink sweatpants and white tank, but this was an emergency. Tucking keys into her pocket and hoping to make herself at least a little presentable should she happen to run into Keanu Reeves for whatever reason, she released her hair from its messy bun, letting the dark waves cascade onto her shoulders.

  In no time, she was on 18th St. heading for the nearest bodega.

  The flowers that normally colorfully lined the outside of the small neighborhood market were gone due to the late hour, and the place looked quiet and dark. She walked in and headed straight for the wall with the long freezer.

  Oh, the possibilities. Chocolate? Caramel chocolate? Caramel, chocolate and cookies? Mint chocolate chip? Vanilla bean? Chunky Monkey? Cherry Garcia?

  She read the titles over and over before choosing the winner: Pralines and Cream. Doing a happy dance, she closed the freezer door, whispering to the frosty container, “You’re coming home with me, you lucky dog.”

  So focused on the sinful joy of breaking her diet, Talia didn’t see two guys without masks or anything to lose, pointing guns at the old man behind the counter and a couple of terrified store patrons who were kneeling on the floor.

  A pockmarked Latino yelled, “Put it allllllll in the bag, man! Don’t leave any of it out!”

  Talia looked up in shock.

  A greasy-haired white guy had his gun pointed at the two customers on their knees, hands clasped over their heads–a brunette woman in her thirties and a young boy unrelated to her who’d been sent on a run for toilet paper, the single roll sitting by his sneakered feet. As the guy swung his gun, high on adrenaline and crystal meth, he caught sight of Talia.

  “HEY! You!”

  She inched closer. “I…I…” The innocents looked at her from under their brows, necks bent, bodies shaking.

  He yelled at them. “I said don’t look up, didn’t I? Don’t fucking look up!”

  “What the fuck man, where did she come from?” the Latino grated.

  “It’s okay!” she called out with her most soothing tone, the one she employed when talking to a dangerous patient at Manhattan General. “I’m not looking at you. They’re not looking at you. You’re going to get out of here, no problem.”

  “Bitch, shut the hell up!” the white guy shouted. “Get on the floor!”

  Talia bent at the knees and joined the others on the ground. She laid the ice cream down and clasped her hands over her head, hair falling in front of her face.

  The man could barely manage through shaking fingers to get his night’s earnings into the bag, change rattling onto the counter and floor.

  “Pick that shit up!”

  “Dude, forget the change, man! We gotta get outta here!”

  “We should take the girl!”

  She looked up, horrified. A mistake. They both turned their guns on her. Two silver barrels pointed at her head. Frozen, she stared at them, the world becoming hyper-focused. Her heart stopped. Her blood slowed. The white guy’s finger twitched on the trigger. She squeezed her eyes shut. She heard a grunt, like the wind knocked out of an unsuspecting stomach. She opened her eyes. The white guy flew backwards into shelves, crashing onto them as they fell to the ground with an explosive clatter. From out of nowhere a man in a suit appeared standing between her and the second gun. No time to think. No time to move. Two loud cracks ricocheted through the air. Two bullets sped toward her savior, crashing into his chest. He grunted in pained surprise, his pause only momentary. He gave a swift front-kick to the man who’d shot him, sending the Latino flying through the air where he skidded into the bodega’s doorframe.

  The white guy ran over his partner’s body to escape, screaming, “Dude, run run RUN!” At the second ‘run’ the Latino was scrambling off the ground, escaping.

  The Asian man was quietly sobbing on the floor behind the counter, saying, “I just got through chemotherapy…I can’t take this.”

  Satisfied the robbers were gone, her savior bent forward, his suit jacket pulling at his shoulders as he grabbed his chest, groaning, “Oh fuck.” on a low pant.

  She leapt up, raced around him to see how badly he’d been shot. Quickly and carefully she pushed his suit jacket back and unbuttoned his shirt, eyeing the growing puddle of blood wetting the cotton. Then quickly assessing their locations, she stared at them as she informed him, “They’ve entered just above your left lung. Thank God they didn’t hit your heart or you wouldn’t be standing here. Are you able to breathe?”

  She looked up and had to catch her own breath. Staring back were sapphire blue eyes narrowed on her in a look she didn’t understand. His lips parted. A split second was all it took. She felt a click inside of her.

  I must save this man.

  Fear-charged shouts came from the woman and the boy, begging to know if he was okay. The woman yelled to the man behind the register, “Call the police!”

  “I’m calling an ambulance!” He shouted back.

  “No!” the wounded man groaned, speaking only to Talia as if he needed her to understand. “Don’t let him,” he whispered, leaning down to her ear.

  She pressed her hand over his, adding more pressure to stop the bleeding. “We have to get you to a hospital.”

  “No,” he whisp
ered, closing blue eyes against the pain. He bent at the knees, and she caught him. Years of working with patients had prepared her for his collapsed.

  “I’m a nurse. I know what I’m talking about.”

  “Then get me out of here,” he whispered in her ear, again so low nobody else could have heard.

  She stared into the future and the immediate past, making a decision. He’d saved her life. She owed him. He seemed desperate not to go. Praying she was doing the right thing, she called out to the others, “Don’t call an ambulance. They’ll take too long. I’m a nurse at Manhattan General. My car’s right out front,” she lied. “It’ll be faster.”

  The Asian man nodded and hung up the phone.

  “You still have to call 911 for the police!” the woman shouted.

  He started dialing again.

  Talia lifted the wounded man’s arm on his good side and placed it around her shoulders. “Come on, I’ve got you.”

  They headed for the door.

  The Asian man sputtered into the phone, “Yes, there’s been a robbery!”

  Talia didn’t listen to the rest, her attention completely on the stranger who saved her life. She walked him onto the street. He searched ahead, rasping, “The alley over there on the right. I can’t be seen by the police.”

  Her mind started racing. Why couldn’t he be seen? Is he a criminal? What kind of criminal saves lives?

  “What? Why?”

  “Please trust me.”

  They hobbled into the shadows that connected two buildings, and she began to lean him against a wall. “My phone,” he whispered. “Get my phone.”

  “We have to get you to a hospital,” she repeated with feeling. “I’m gonna hail a cab.”

  “No.” He shook his head, wincing. “You can’t.”

  She shot him a look. He was begging her with those blue eyes of his to listen. “Get my phone. I have a friend who will come. I’ll be all right if you just do this one thing. It’s in this pocket.” He motioned with his chin to the left pocket of his slacks.

  “Of course it is,” she muttered on an ironic laugh. “Okay, here I go.” Her fingers slid into the smooth material over a thigh so muscular she could feel the lines. I’m going to hell for lusting after a dying man.

  Pulling out the phone, she muttered, embarrassed, “Now what?”

  “My password is 2913. Hurry.” She unlocked his phone. “Call Dontae, you’ll find his number…”

  “In recent calls, right. I see him.” She was very aware that his eyes were locked on her.

  “Good. Dial it.”

  The phone rang and rang. “He’s not answering.”

  “Dial again. Then he’ll know it’s important. He’ll stop what he’s doing. Damn! This fucking hurts.”

  She dialed again. A male voice answered on the second ring.

  “This had better be good, you fuck.”

  Talia’s eyes darted to the stranger. “He answered! What do you want me to tell him?”

  The man called Dontae sobered up on the other end of the line. “Who the hell is this? Where’s Darik?!”

  Darik? Talia looked up at the blood running down his thick, pale fingers. Even though the call wasn’t on speaker, Darik acted as though it was, not raising his voice in the slightest, which seemed very odd. “Dontae, I’m shot. 18th and 8th Ave. Send a car.”

  “Hurry,” she whispered into the phone.

  “No shit,” Dontae said. The line went dead.

  She held the phone suspended in front of her. “He hung up.”

  “I know.”

  “Oh, um…okay. Are you a criminal? I have to ask, because this is more than a little strange! What is going on?”

  “I’m the opposite of a criminal. Thank you for trusting me.”

  “Who says I’m trusting you?”

  He panted for a few moments, closing his eyes before he rasped under his breath, “Your actions.”

  She colored and looked down at the phone. “You want me to call someone who’s not an asshole?”

  He chuckled through the pain and looked at her. “Wait here with me?” He leaned partly on her, partly on the brick wall, closing his eyes again.

  “Of course,” she whispered. “I have to make sure you stay alive. I’d just rather do it the old fashioned way.” She sighed and put her hand over his, both applying pressure. With uncanny timing, a cab raced by, its horn forcing her to notice. She glanced to the heavens and back to Darik. “I can hail a cab, and in three minutes we could be at a hospital! Three! Come on! If you die on me, I swear…”

  “No. I’m not going to die,” he groaned. Then he smelled the top of her head. “You smell really good.”

  “Uh, thanks?” She smiled at the weirdness of such a comment. “I’m Talia. Probably about time we introduced ourselves.”

  “Darik Greyson. Nice to meet you, Talia…?”

  “Irizarry. Talia Irizarry.”

  “Spanish?”

  “Puerto Rican.”

  “Gorgeous either way.” A new stab of pain made him gasp, panting against the desire to cry out. He controlled himself and finally grunted, “Never been shot before.”

  “Pretty sure most people have never been shot before.”

  “I’m not most people.” He bent his head back, exposing his Adam’s apple.

  No, you’re really not, are you?

  She couldn’t help but let her gaze travel over the muscles in his neck, at the strong jaw his short, curly beard couldn’t hide. She even liked his freaking nostrils. Mentally shaking her head, she pushed her flats harder into the cement to sturdy herself.

  He saw her straining and made an effort to stand up. “I’m feeling better, just a little woozy.” His legs dipped.

  “Stop trying to impress me. Taking a couple bullets did the job. I’ve got you.”

  “Mind if I bury my face in your hair?”

  “Are you joking?”

  He paused. “No. You smell fucking delicious.”

  She burst out laughing then, chest shaking uncontrollably. “Darik Greyson, You’re very strange. But yeah, if it makes you feel better, bury away.”

  A sleek black sedan sped to a stop in front of the alley, the headlamps exploding light onto the pair. Talia blinked as Darik straightened his spine. Both the driver’s and rear passenger’s doors opened in unison. A heavy-set, dark-skinned chauffeur ran forward but the blonde man in the suit beat him easily, flashing hazel eyes at Talia. They recognized each other immediately. He was the same man who’d rescued her purse.

  “Dontae. Two bullets,” Darik whispered as Dontae lifted him up and headed away with him.

  Stunned, she watched the three men leaving her behind. “Wait!”

  “Bring her with us!” It was the loudest Darik had said anything since they’d met.

  Dontae lowered him into the car. “Are you crazy? No.”

  Another black limo screeched to a stop and two rear doors flew open, producing a ridiculously handsome man with wavy brown hair, and a stocky badass with brown eyes and his hair cut very, very short. He looked like he was there to kick somebody’s teeth in and Talia’s heart stopped. The realization dawned on her that they were Darik’s friends as they asked Dontae, “What happened?” “Where’s the guy who did this? I’m gonna…”

  “How do you know it’s a man?” It was the only thing she could think of to say, when what she really wanted to scream was, Take me with you!!!

  The new arrivals clapped eyes on her for the first time and paused.

  “Was it a man?”

  “Yeah. But he didn’t have to be.”

  Darik called out, “Nate! Bring her with you. Dontae won’t do it!”

  The wavy-haired man came at her with determined green eyes. “Let’s go.”

  Dontae straightened up. “NO WAY.”

  Talia shot back, “I’M A NURSE. He saved my life! There is no way I’m letting you take him anywhere I can’t see him. He needs medical attention. I’m helping. Nate, is that what they call you?
I’m coming with you.” She rushed past Nate and he turned to join her, the stocky badass already heading for the second car.

  She ignored the glare coming from the bastard named Dontae and met eyes with Darik who was staring out from inside the limo, impressed.

  She offered him a short nod and headed for the second limo. She had no idea what she was doing, but she’d never seen anything like him, this group, or the way they were handling this whole situation. She was not going to miss the opportunity to explore what the hell was going on.

  A British chauffeur popped out of the driver’s side and nodded to Nate, then dipped back inside. Talia climbed in and scooted to the middle of the seat. The door opened on the other side and the badass climbed in with elegant grace, despite his muscles. These guys were something else. As the limo screeched away from the curb Nate slammed the back door.

  “Who’re you?”

  “Talia Irizarry. And you’re Nate.”

  “Only Darik uses that nickname. Call me Nathaniel.”

  She turned to the badass. His left hand was on his pant leg, a silver wedding band glinting in the dim light. “So what happened? And…who’re you?” He wanted to know how she’d gotten to be in the back seat of their car, with his friend shot up and bleeding out in another one.

  She looked down at the red blood darkening on her hands, thinking how it could have been hers. Only she wouldn’t have survived because the guns were aimed at her head. She would never have known she’d even been shot. Her life would have been over in one split second all because she wanted some ice cream. She sighed.

  “I’m the woman who’s gonna return a favor.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Having a party, Mr. Sheppard?” the security guard asked.

  “Good evening, Richard,” smiled Dontae. “Just a few friends who want to enjoy some of the best Scotch the world has to offer.”

  “Send me down a glass?” Richard laughed.

  “I’ll do better than that. I’ll send you down a bottle.”