Page 7 of Too Cursed To Kiss
“Okay, the sunglasses can stay,” I yielded with a groan. “Now, let the hell go of me.” I shook—well, attempted to shake my wrist.
He was taking his sweet time letting go. I kicked under the table to help him make up his mind. A muscle feathered in his cheek, but he didn’t flinch. After a few more seconds, his fingers loosened, and I ripped my hand out of his grip, rubbing my wrist.
I’m a big girl at five-eleven and change, and I work out.Pinning me could be done. Tyre could do it with one of his bowling pin arms, but this guy didn’t have the bulk. Maybe the virus, or whatever it was, was making me weak. Still, damn. Dangerous as hell.
“So, this ring.” I opened my purse, ready to focus on something other than my imminent death or him effortlessly incapacitating me. “Who does it belong to—and why does it glow?” I asked, plucking the taped package out and examining it. I glanced over at the bar. Jules was doing the register count. It wouldn’t be long before I’d be bank bound. I set the taped packet down and rummaged in my purse for my phone. It was a quarter to three. Damn, I’d probably missed the pizza.
“It is mine, and you appear to have awakened it. Which is curious,” he replied, reaching for the packet. I grabbed it before he could touch it. My reflection in his glasses was hollow-eyed with watery-grave hair. I twirled strands, hoping for a curl to take, and ran the back of my hand against my rough lips. Water would be good soon if I could keep it down.
Fiddling with the bubble wrap, I asked, “If it’s yours, what was it doing under the sink?”
He paused, sitting back. “It was stolen from me. You don’t look… well. Are you feeling well?”
“Yeah, I feel like crap, thanks for asking. Did you know it was under the sink?” This was turning out to be an interview. I needed a pen and paper. I turned the taped packet over and pulled the ring out. It was as ugly as I’d remembered. The whole ring didn’t glow, only the cracked red stone.
“No. You should give it to me and then rest.” He peeled off a glove and rubbed his chin as if in contemplation. The long pale fingers stroked the five o’clock shadow with a delicacy that was distracting.
“How did you know it was in my purse?”
His fingers rubbed in mesmerizing circles. “The ceramic and the water hush its call. With you, it calls out to me again, which is intriguing. But that is the glow. Are your questions done now? You’re wasting my time and putting yourself in danger. You’re obviously ill and need my help.”
“The ring talks to you?” I cocked my head, not believing what I was saying. Was he crazy or was I, for asking? I turned the ring over. The thing was gargantuan, and the band was etched with symbols.
“Talks, no. But it knows its owner.”
The room tilted. I blinked, gripping the table, trying to hold it together and keep the details straight.
“You mean you. You’re the owner, right?” I slid toward the edge of the booth. This guy was obviously cray cray. Maybe there’d be pizza left.
“Give me the ring. Please?” The way his bottom lip softened on that last bit was concerning. All I could think of was rose petals.
Holding up my hand, I shoved the ring onto my middle finger. By some miracle, it slid snuggly over my knuckle and fit perfectly. When I stood up, the stone flashed red, but the glow faded like the last firefly in a forest.
“You should not have done that.” He exhaled the words while rubbing his forehead like I was giving him a headache.
I tugged at the ring to pull it off, but now the metal was icy cold. My breath caught, and my throat went dry. “Tight fit.” I laughed as the room swam. I got the damned thing off and shoved the ring back into my purse, but now my hand on the table was the only thing holding me up.
“You’ve made a grave error in putting that on. I think it is best if your questions end now…” Clove-smoke’s voice trailed off, the echo now reverberating in my head. His ungloved fingers caged my wrist like a cat on a mouse. I froze like the prey I was, as his snake-like pink tongue uncoiled and slid down my forearm.
CHAPTER FIVE
Vibrations rocked me with a distant rumble. Everything ached. I groaned, my eyes as foggy as my brain. Blinking twice, there was nothing but black, and the air was tight like I was in a closet or a box. Terror ripped through me. I flexed the numbness out of a hand and tentatively reached out, connecting with plush firmness.
Holy crap, I was in the trunk of a vehicle.
Wait. I could be dreaming.
I pinched myself, and it hurt.
Okay, not dreaming.
I’d been waiting for pizza at The Signet with Mr. Clove-smoke. He’d wanted the ring in my purse. Then he licked me? I slumped back into the dark tomb, sucking in quick breaths.
“Help! Let me out of here,” I yelled, kicking at the walls and being rewarded with the dull echoes of soundproofing.
I scrabbled around, feeling for a latch. The lining of the trunk was soft and sensual, like velvet. Who lines their trunk in velvet? My mind raced through the list of possibilities as Iabandoned hope of finding anything sharp or latch-like. There was no sign of my purse, and the emergency twenty-dollar bill, a couple of hair ties, and a lip gloss in my pockets were not useful for breaking out of a trunk.
What exactly does one do swaddled in dread and trapped in a pitch-black trunk? They hurl insults that no one can hear. I was getting really creative by the time the car stopped, and the trunk creaked open. “You louse-infested, troll-hearted cocktail sausage peon of filth…”
