Page 74 of Demon
It was just before closing when I heard a heavy rumble from the street outside, the characteristic growl of a Harley prowling. I watched the door for what seemed minutes, my heart fluttering against my chest and then shunting to a stop as the tall, dark-haired frame of Fury sidled in. He flashed me a grin, empty of any other meaning than friendliness.
“Is Tez around?” he asked, propping himself onto a bar stool in front of me and turning to look at a girl pulling her knickers off down long slender legs.
“Just gone to the cellar to change a barrel. No Demon tonight?”
Fury turned back to me, his eyes scanning my face, and then his eyebrows pulled together to compliment a frown.
“You not seen him, Ciara? I thought you too were inseparable these days?”
I bit my lip, concentrating on the pinch of skin rather than my throat thickening with emotion.
“No. I popped back home after the rally. Been busy finishing uni assignments. Haven’t seen him for a few days.” It wasn’t really a lie. But whatever it was, Fury had seen right through it.
“You two been arguing, huh?”
“Not really. Demon is busy dealing with something right now.”
“Demon always is. He’ll be ‘reet in a few days.”
I tried to smile, to appear normal, but I couldn’t get the corners of my lips to move. Fury’s hand moved over the top of mine. A gentle touch. Reassurance, nothing more.
“Hell, he nearly got us all killed at Noise over you, Ciara. He’s an unstable bomb, that’s for sure. But he loves you. Any dipshit can see that. Give him a few days to calm down. Demon’s a complicated guy.”
“Hey Fury,” Tez greeted him warmly, raising his hand to slap him on the back and then dropping it before he made the fucker of all fuck ups. Back patches. Even I knew not to touch one.
In front of me I heard a conversation about bikes, some sort of part, an issue with a clutch, some other boring talk about mechanics and tweaks here and there to God knows what. But now my lips twitched at the sides, and the heavy weight in my stomach lifted slightly. Fury’s words massaging the turmoil in my brain.
*****
The big, dark car caught my eye as I pulled up in the street, mounting the curb and hearing the crunch of my wheel trims. It was much more expensive than the haphazard row of rust buckets and the untaxed cars which were scattered along the roadside. Incredibly shiny, someone had taken ages to polish every speck of dust off it. And its windows were tinted glass, a status symbol.
I grabbed my bag, dashing out of my little red car before slamming the door and locking it. Something about the car in this street spelt bad news. Drugs, probably. I certainly wasn’t hanging around to find out.
The front door opened easily tonight, not quite properly pushed back into the swollen frame after the person before me had come in or gone out. It made it easier to dash into the safety of the big Victorian terraced house, ramming the swollen wood back into its frame. I breathed heavily, my heart thumping in my ears.
The house was quiet, most of its occupants asleep. As I climbed the stairs, I could hear the heavy drone of a television in the attic rooms. The only thing disturbing the silence. Apart from a sudden creak of a floorboard, just beside my room. I recognised the sound; I stepped on that same spot many a time, and it would make the old house sound like it was coming alive or complaining at the very least. The door was open ajar. Demon. My heart leapt back into its beat, but not fear this time, excitement, a desperation to see him again, to run my hands through his thick hair, and wrap my legs around him.
I pushed the door open, determined that I was not just going to melt into his arms. He owed me an apology for being a dick. I would take that from him first and then… but it wasn’t Demon. But men. In black jackets and black trousers. And shaved heads. And dark eyes. They turned, as if startled by my presence, then moved to the side. He was there, right in the middle. Shorter than the rest, stockier. He raised his right arm, waving the stub of what was left of his hand towards me.
Marek Nowak.
“Hello beautiful Ciara. Long time. Your face has heeled well. But I think you need something to balance it out.” He pulled a leather glove over his left hand.
Too warm for gloves in early summer. I swallowed slowly, looking around, counting, thinking.
Chapter Thirty Six
Demon
The kitchen table was swamped with paper. Drawing after drawing after drawing. Swirls of darkness and tortured souls, demons and death. And Ciara. It had been four days.
Kinobi whimpered, nudging my left arm with her nose.
“All right, girl, I’ll take you out.” I dropped the pencil reluctantly on the drawing in front of me, staring at it for a few seconds longer. She stared right back, her eyes piercing mine, challenging me, drawing me in.
Fuck, what was I doing? No one like her had ever walked into my life before. Or driven into my life more accurately. And nearly into me. But from that very first moment, when I walked towards her battered little car, full of the usual rage and it dissipated at the sight of her, I knew she was something else.
And now here I was, wallowing in my own self-pity, with every passing second risking losing her.
