Jericho Read online

  Reno hand signalled to the Jimmie and four warriors waiting in reserve and the big vehicle rolled silently forward.

  In two groups, one dogging the other but staying out of sight, Jericho and Reno once again staggered down the middle of the deserted road.

  Blood still splattered Jericho’s black t-shirt and it was fucking fresh. He didn’t do drugs and hadn’t drank any booze – hell not a lot lately – so the irresistible fresh scent of blood would definitely draw out any wayward souls who might want a quick, clean feed. No doubt a treat in these parts.

  It didn’t take long, only two streets over and three Grunts surrounded them – the raw stench burning their noses – as an unholy cackle cut into the silence.

  Well now, if it wasn’t Pasquale, Sandro’s brother. They had turned together instead of killing each other as they had sworn to do if it ever happened. Jericho purposely drawled, “Hey Pas, long time no see. How’s it hanging?”

  “Just fine. You slumming? Surely, even you can do better than this lowly neck of the woods.”

  Pasquale held his glamor rather well except his old cracking voice gave it away. There was always something that revealed a turned Vamp if one looked closely enough. Tall, well built and obviously well fed, Pas appeared strong and youthful, – his face unlined and shoulder length silver hair shining with vitality.

  That was a fucking big neon tell.

  Only blood from a child or young person could revive a centuries old turned Vamp like Pasquale especially if his basic diet was tainted blood.

  As his rage grew, Jericho’s blue eyes swirled with purple. “Hear about that murder the other night? I heard it was a tall Vamp with silver hair that took out a whole family.”

  “Hey Jericho, wasn’t me. I don’t roll like that. Keep to the fallen and addicted.”

  “Uh, huh. Except, I heard it from an eye witness and they pretty well described you.”

  “Could've been my brother. You know we look alike. He’s got silver hair too.”

  Reno rolled his eyes at the turned Vamp who was more than willing to throw his own brother under the bus to get his ass out of trouble. Pure snake this one.

  Jericho paced around Pasquale. “Maybe it was both of you working together.”

  “Don’t roll like that, Jericho, I’m telling you. Keep to myself, I don’t mix with Sandro. He’s a fucking pig and won’t stop for no one.”

  “Good to know.” Jericho nodded as if agreeing. “So you pinning everything on him then? Your own brother?” Jericho’s tone turned nasty, telling he wasn’t buying Pasquale’s story. As a turned Vampire, he’d do anything to save his own ass and continue draining and killing whomever he pleased. Beside him, he nudged Reno and all hell broke loose.

  Conn, Zulu and Rad worked on the three Grunts as Reno kept six, letting Jericho take on Pasquale. They rounded on each other, Pas cutting up Jericho’s shoulder and Jericho snaking in with a fist or two to the face and neck, striking so fast Pas’ head bobbled around.

  Famous for his hand-to-hand skills, Jericho pummelled Pas until he tried to vapor. “Uh, uh, you’re not going anywhere.” He drove his fist directly into Pas’ chest, fingers on fire and reaching for the heart.

  In pain, Pasquale hideously shrieked while shoving away. Deep gashes from his blacked claws opened fresh wounds across Jericho’s chest as heavy lines of blood dripped off his massive pectorals and gushed down well-defined abs.

  At sight of so much blood, Pas froze to stare with evident longing.

  Claws smeared with Jericho's Jinn blood, his black tongue flashed out, but he did not slurp.

  “Go ahead. Try it.” Jericho urged as he moved around trying to get closer. “My blood’s no different. It’s only a myth perpetrated to keep blood suckers off my kind.” He wore a cynical, smirking expression to confuse the creature as he moved in closer still, shifting on the balls of his feet.

  “I’m not stupid. No one has ever tasted Jinn before. Your kind is poison. Are you saying that isn’t true?” Dark eyes alight with hope – was it possible he would be the first to taste Jinn blood? Jinn blood could be a true gift. He could sell access to the highest bidder. Greed and envy blazed in his glowing red eyes as his long lizard tongue lolled out – his lips so thin they were barely smudges on skin.

  As the wheels turned in Pas’ mind, Jericho smirked.

  A distracted Pasquale was a dead Pasquale.

  Jericho’s fist slammed into the front of the turned Vamp’s chest, driving through withered tough flesh and bone only this time his fingers curled securely around the heart as he pulled it free and tossed it once again to Reno.

  Skin bealing on his wrist – it didn’t heal as quickly this time and felt like his hand was in a fucking meat grinder. He snapped his arm out several times as if to throw off the pain.

  His team stepped in, working the cleanup, leaving no trace of the dead Grunts, the turned Vamp or their presence. Jericho wanted to be the one to share Pas’s demise with his brother, Sandro.

  On the way home, riding shotgun as Reno drove to the compound, Jericho felt good. He liked to get that kind of scum off the streets and Sandro was next.

  The Jimmie followed the vehicles. All the warriors inside were jacked up.

  Kimy, the driver, dumb as a stump but faster than the other three, grunted. "It was like a fucking ballet and I ain't never seen one of them before."

  Rod, in the backseat behind Kimy, agreed. "Real smooth, never seen it done so well."

  "Hell Rod, that's our fucking King out there takin' those fuckers down. I don't like it." Simmy scowled and crossed his arms over his massive chest.

  The big Polynesian in the passenger seat grunted. Pretl was his name. He didn't speak often, but when he did the others listened. "King says I fight. Who says no? They workin' wit what they got. An it be real good. Real good."

  CHAPTER 6

  One Week Later

  Below in the command center, Jericho, Reno and Zulu settled in around the large conference table. Caleb and Conn adjusted the wall screen at the far end of the room for the incoming call from Dr. Juravinsky. A world-renowned human doctor and scientist of the brain who specialized in amnesia. He was tough to pin down and pricey too. This fifteen-minute consult with the good doctor cost several thousand Euros.

  Caleb and Conn joined them at the table as a small man, wearing black glasses with a ring of grey hair edging over his ears, appeared on the big screen. “Dr. Juravinsky here.” Not an imposing figure, he was slight of build and small too close together brown eyes squinted when he spoke.

  “Jericho Sullivan. Appreciate you taking the time, Doctor.” Jericho leaned forward in his chair, hands flat on the table top, deep blue eyes drilling into the small man.

  “Let’s proceed then. I have read the file you sent. This is not a diagnosis but only hypothesis. In that regard, I believe this patient has a concussion and is now suffering from what is termed Post-Concussion Syndrome or PS.

  “PS occurs when the patient suffers longer term symptoms after an initial brain injury and is linked here with Retrograde Amnesia. In this case, the patient has difficulty recalling any pre-injury memories. Symptoms should reach peak at six weeks, although there are studies indicating it could take as long as a year for full recovery.

  “In many of these cases the brain structure is not damaged. The patient must rest with no stress or anxiety. You may find the patient experiencing what is commonly termed ‘islands of memory’. These often compound confusion as they are ghost memories of past events. It in no way means the patient’s memory is returning because it is merely a symptom of Retrograde Amnesia.

  “Any questions?” Dr. Juravinsky peered out at them, and then squinted down at the big gold watch on his left wrist.

  “Yes. If she rests and stays calm what are the odds that she’ll remember everything?” Jericho contained his fear. Normally, he didn’t experience fear, but now waiting for an answer, the good doctor held the power to blow that powder keg wide open. Abe had to recall he
r life eventually. Find out who she was and get the fuck outta his house and his life so he could return to the way it was. His heart pinched.

  Almost desperately, he needed to find a way back to the way things were before. Cause it wasn’t damn well like that now. He was in total disarray, thinking only of Abe every moment of every fucking day. She never left his mind. And he had yet to figure out exactly what she was. Not one of them could read her mind either – some barrier around it impenetrable. Another first for fuck sake.

  “We still do not know the full extent of simple injuries such as concussion. So, there is no easy answer to your question.”

  Jericho leaned forward. The doctor gave them nothing to reach for. “Is there anything we can do for her? Can we help her remember?”

  “Yes and no. This patient must not suffer pressure to recall. That is essential. Recent studies indicate music helps in some way. If that is all, I have another appointment.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Juravinsky. This has been very informative.” Conn cut the video link.

  Cal got up to grab an old iPod and stuff the connection into a laptop. He tapped a couple of keys and unplugged it, then grabbed a big plastic docking station with speakers built in. It was really old, but somehow he knew Abe wouldn’t care. “Be right back. Gonna set this up for Abe. For her music therapy.”

  As soon as he stepped from the room his trusty jacked to the max android tablet – he simply called it his roid – beeped several times. Back in minutes, he grabbed it, fingers flying over the screen. Without lifting his head, he said, “Got Intel on the cabin where we found Abe.” He flipped through another couple of screens as all eyes around the table watched, waiting intently.

  “Cal?” Impatience overcame Jericho. He was not in the mood to wait. For anyone.

  “Uh yeah, boss. Sorry. One Andora Buonetti owned it for many years. Forty-three years to be exact. She died about three weeks ago aged eighty-nine, in her sleep at Wainesboro hospital. In her will, cabin and 15 acres of land was deeded to an A. Evergreen. Who apparently…” Caleb swished through a couple more screens then read intently. “There are no A. Evergreen’s in her age category.”

  Sheepishly, he admitted, “I guessed our female to be about 24 to 27 years. Please don’t tell her I said that. She might be younger and there’s nothing worse than guessing a female is older, man.”

  Cal dropped his eyes to the screen. “Coming up empty on A. Evergreen; she doesn’t exist. At least I can’t find her. The last name, Evergreen, is very rare. Less than forty of them in the country. Huh, who’d a thought it, man? None of them are under the age of 60 either.”

  Brows quirked high, Jericho demanded, “What exactly do you mean this A. Evergreen doesn’t exist?”

  “I mean no nothing, Jericho. No license, no SSN, no medical records, no credit cards. A big fucking fat nothing. No tech shit either, no cell, no internet, and no online accounts at all. I’ll go deeper.”

  “Do that.” Jericho nodded. “As for tonight. I want you, Conn, and Zulu in place early. We’re out of here by seven thirty.”

  Everyone nodded agreement.

  Con’s laptop beeped and he tapped the keyboard. The security cameras outside had picked up movement. “Gentlemen, Matilda and Sir Randalph just arrived.” The big Scotsman smiled widely. “Gah, he’s put on weight, a wee dram or two. Might even be tae large tae walk. I for one am nae picking him up.”

  Zulu frowned. “I thought Matty was getting rid of him?” In his tribe, dogs were for eating. Not that they did often, there was too much else at hand and much tastier too. He winked at Conn.

  Jericho shot Zulu a hard stare. The big tribal warrior grinned.

  Conn lifted his head, an even bigger grin splitting his face. “Matilda is pulling Sir Randy in a wee red wagon.”

  Reno chuckled.

  A fleeting smile lifted both corners of Jericho’s mouth. He actually missed the old bastard.

  Music blared. For Abe, Cal immediately put together a playlist on an old iPod in a speaker dock with what he called oldies, but goodies with a few new beats mixed in. Joe Cocker was currently singing his heart out to Up Where We Belong. Then Rhianna and Eminem kicked in – female sizzling away and her man not giving a shit. The Boys are Back In Town. Life is a Highway. After that, it looped to another playlist with more of the same.

  Her mood light, Abe danced around the open kitchen, determined not to let anything bother her today. With the back of a wooden spoon, she blended sugar and butter in a large bowl until it was creamy. Next flour, raisins and tons of chocolate chips. No nuts. Rad didn’t like nuts so no peanut butter either.

  It was Abe’s way of thanking him. Rad often went out of his way for her, whether it was a sandwich or stocking up on English Breakfast tea; cookies never failed to pay back.

  She loved to cook and bake. Had no idea who taught her, but it soothed her ragged edges. After a week of bedrest, doing absolutely nothing, not one bit of memory returned. On the back of her head, the lump finally disappeared, but it was still a bit tender. All in all, she felt good.

  And completely bored to death. Bored with her own company. Bored trying to remember. It was too depressing doing the same old with no results so instead she got busy. Besides, when she wasn’t thinking about her predicament, her thoughts squarely centered on Jericho Sullivan.

  That had to stop too.

  It was pitiful the way she sizzled and ached between her legs when he sauntered into the room, or the way her body responded to his voice, breasts perking up, lips tingling and panties always growing damp.

  What kept her insane response to him centered when she veered too deeply into Jericho’s effect on her, she asked herself two simple questions. Both grounded her completely, right back into the black hole of her forgotten life.

  What if she was married?

  Had a husband who was out there searching for her?

  Abe accepted it was a very real possibility and not some childish game to keep her mind occupied. A possibility that left her cold inside.

  To her way of thinking, she had no right to let what she felt for Jericho get so close to the surface. Totally trapped inside the cage of her mind with no memory of her people or her past, it was frightening that she enjoyed Jericho as much as she did. He was good company, smart, intelligent and had a wickedly dry wit.

  She liked him. And he was pure male eye candy. She loved to watch his muscles ripple along both arms and across his broad shoulders under the usual black silk shirts or t-shirts that seemed to be his standard dress. Jeans always black, tightly hugged his incredible butt and massive thighs. Or the way his black hair fell about his shoulders, casting his face in deep shadows, making him appear ominous. Yet, she found him kind and thoughtful. Sweet even.

  Music blaring, Tom Cochrane belting out, ‘Life is a highway, I wanna ride it all night long…’ as Abe danced around, no idea anyone was coming when the back door flew open. She screamed and then started laughing. A tall female attempted to heave a bright red wagon into the kitchen – possible except for the obese dog sitting in it.

  The female, a true beauty in a quiet way, turned and gaped at her, ear turned to the loud music. Her mouth a big sour O.

  Abe stopped the music with a tap on the iPod. “Sorry, Sorry. Let me help.” Rushing over, she pulled on one side of the wagon as the tall female tugged hard on the long wooden handle. Finally, the wheels turned and it trundled inside, but not enough to close the door.

  Abe snickered when the tall female pulled out a wooden plank from underneath the wagon, bracing it on the edge, as a ramp for the dog. Was she crazy? She wore a sweet pair of jeans that fit like a glove, a white t-shirt with a black shirt over top and nice beige leather pumps. Abe envied the female's clothes, making a mental note to somehow get her own.

  Behind Abe, moving quietly Rad strangled out his version of a snicker. A recognizable short irritated huff from Zulu told they all considered this female crazy about her massively overweight dog.

  Cal thund
ered up the back stairs, hitting the kitchen with a big grin.

  “Welcome home, Matilda.” Jericho entered behind Caleb, glancing at Sir Randalph ensconced in – of all fucking things – a red wagon he made a mental note to get rid of immediately. He refrained from snickering, making another mental note to talk with Abe about both snorting and snickering. It was unseemly for a female and catching.

  “And, of course, thank you, I think, for bringing him home. Is he too fat to walk?”

  The basset hound whined softly as if deeply hurt. At least 10 pounds overweight, his short stubby legs bowed outwards and gobs of extra skin layered his ankles. Stubby legs were the bane of his existence as they didn’t allow him access to sleep on furniture he couldn’t get up on. Beds were also in the same category. Wanted, needed and pined for, but never to be.

  “Hell, he needs walking. A lot.” Rad grunted.

  Sir Randy growled, perched in the red wagon, big brown eyes turned to the wall completely ignoring everyone. The tell was his fat spotted tail rapidly thumping.

  Matty’s brown eyes locked onto Abe. A frown creased her forehead, eyes revealing surprise and curiosity. “I thought Fi and El were here.”

  Conn supplied, “They’ve been gone two days now shopping. Dishes, furniture and decorating stuff. Jericho wants everything new.”

  Brows arched, Matty’s rich brown eyes remained on Abe, swamped by a black t-shirt. “Hmmm. Jer?”

  Realizing he neglected introductions, he introduced Matty and Abe. Clearly, it was a shock for Matty to find a female obviously living in his home.

  Smiling tentatively, she said, “Please call me Matty.” Pretty brown eyes immediately darted back to Jericho as if waiting for his cue. Not receiving one, she once again eyed Abe.

  Jericho bent down, scooped the dog into his arms and set him on his feet. The dog groaned loudly. Dirty beige with large random black spots, the fat tips of his ears dragged on the ground and big brown eyes with the skin below hanging to show wet red flesh only added another layer of personality to his long narrow face. He was way beyond ugly. But in that, there was also certain beauty.