Hold Me Closer, Necromancer - Lish McBride [7]
Frank opened the trunk so Ramon and I could throw our boards in. I reached up to shut the trunk door and caught a movement in the shadow of a nearby building. A man was walking toward me. A big man. Of course, I’m not that tall, so a lot of guys make me feel short. But I think this guy would make most people feel puny. He was tall, muscle-bound, and man-pretty. I bet he spent a lot of time in the gym standing in front of the mirror checking his abs or bouncing his pecs. He was also tan and moved like one of those guys you see in the commercials for the military where they’re climbing rock walls and running down beaches. The kind of dude you don’t want to get in a bar fight with.
He moved up close to me, not totally in my face, but definitely in my personal space. I was beginning to see a pattern emerging. I could see Frank and Ramon watching.
“Are you Sam?” he asked.
The way today was going, I didn’t really want to answer. But I also couldn’t think of anything else to say, so I said, “Yeah.”
“I’ve been sent by Douglas Montgomery.”
“You say that like I should know who that is,” I said.
He grinned at me—not so much a grin as a flash of teeth. “You should.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t,” I said.
“Then I guess you should find out.”
“No, I’m good. My dance card is full, but I’ll check with my secretary. Ramon?”
“Booked,” Ramon said.
I fixed on the big guy’s brown eyes and tried not to flinch. “Tell your boss to get back to me in a few months.” Then I did something stupid. Well, something stupid besides shooting my mouth off. I turned my back. A sound came from behind, a bit of a growl, low and deep, and then my feet left the ground as he clobbered me with a fist that felt like an SUV. The jolt of pavement followed, a hammer blow before I started to roll. I curled my arms to cradle my head. I skidded along the parking lot, grateful for my hoodie and jeans, knowing that I would be hurting soon anyway. Another strike hit my back, and whatever it was, it hurt like hell. Like sharp, burning hell.
A hand grabbed me by the sweatshirt and lifted me up. I spun like a top, and the grip shifted to my throat. Not good.
The man loomed in front of me again, looking pissed. He pulled me in close, right up to his face. His nostrils flared in and out as he breathed, as if he were taking in all the smells around us. His pupils dilated. Probably from an adrenaline rush. I didn’t think this guy had the best self-control. I held still, ignoring the aching of bruised muscles and the burning in my back. What had he done to me?
I hung there and tried my best to radiate calm. Fear would only make it worse, I was sure of it, and I couldn’t get angry because this guy could wipe the floor with my carcass. So I dangled there in pain, pretending to be calm, and waited for him to make his next move.
“You even smell a little like him,” he said, his voice going throaty.
Disturbing. Was it good to smell like someone else? I reached out cautiously and put my hands over his, leveraging for a bit of breathing room. “Like who?” I choked out. Buff Guy had a fierce grip.
“Like the grave,” he said, not really answering my question. “Like cold death.”
“Thanks,” I said. Creepy, creepy, creepy. I didn’t add that he smelled like meat. Not that I could. Apparently, choking helped me keep my mouth shut and mind my manners. I wished he’d put me back down. Or that Ramon and Frank would rush him from behind. Then he’d have the opportunity to strangle all of us. I needed to get bigger friends.
“And blood,” he said. “You smell like blood.”
My pulse began to speed up despite my attempts to stay calm. This huge guy was talking about my blood, and he looked really, really happy about it. But I wasn’t going to just hang here and die in the parking lot of Plumpy’s.
I yelled in his face with all the air I could get and grabbed tighter onto his wrists, kicking whatever