Destined to Live (The Death Eater Series Book 2) Read online

  Zane! Help me! she screamed inside her head. As if in answer, the image of her mother’s gun lying in the bedside drawer came.

  She threw her arm out, reaching for the nightstand, as Bill struggled to free himself from his jeans. Panic pushed her faster as she squeezed her thighs together against his prying hands, his drunken mind not focusing on anything above her waist. Shoving a knee down hard on her legs, he fought to pry them open, threatening to hit her again as she struggled. Her muscles weakened and gave in, just as her fingers reached the edge of the drawer.

  The old sliding mechanism groaned, and Bill’s head shot up as her fingers dipped inside. Frantically searching for the firearm, Vega continued to struggle against his hands and body. The dumbfounded look on his face faded into rage just as she felt the butt of the gun. He jerked her to the side, and she missed the chrome plated grip, something small and cylinder shaped coming out instead.

  He grunted, finally pushing himself against her, trying to capture her hands once more. His scent was repulsive, anger and the sickness of his mind mixing with the odor of his unwashed body. When Vega thrust her hips, bucking wildly as she battled against him, he struck her again. In the darkness, his aim was poor, and his hand landed against the back of her skull.

  She raised her hands, meaning to claw at his face, and realized what she had pulled from the drawer. Still gripping the object, Vega’s thumb touched the top, finding the plunger up. Without knowing if the needle contained drugs or saline, she thrust it forward in blind haste, just as he struggled to force himself inside her. The needle popped, the skin protesting its violent intrusion, and she pressed down on the top.

  “What the fu—” Bill screamed as he jerked away.

  Vega scrambled to the side, attempting to run past him, completely unsure of what she had done. Just as she scurried toward the door, his fist caught her dark hair, making her tumble. Landing hard on the floor, her scalp screamed with pain as the hair was torn from its roots.

  Bill leaned downward, a shadowed figure in the dark. “I’ll kill you for that,” he whispered in a hoarse voice as he yanked her up.

  “Bill, stop! Think about what you are doing. Please, don’t hurt me. Please, don’t do this.” Vega begged, realizing her attempts to fight had failed, making matters much worse. Her hands dug into the fabric of the cheap robe, holding it tight around her as she cried.

  “I’ll kill…you. You…dumb—” His hand fell away as he stumbled, and his voice faded to nothing. A strange sound filled the room, as if he were choking, but couldn’t open his mouth. He fell in a slump at her feet.

  Vega ran. The sound of Bill’s suffering drove her away and pulled her back all at once. Flinging open the door, she paused, a sick curiosity overcoming every instinct. As if controlled by some madness, she halted, her hand rising to the light switch.

  In the flood of luminance that filled the room, Bill’s body shook and jerked. His eyes rolled into the back of his head as his teeth snapped together in loud clicking noise, barely audible over the stuttering rasp coming from his throat.

  He’s swallowing his own tongue. He’s having a seizure from the drugs. This is an overdose, and the son-of-a-bitch is dying. He’s dying, and he’s either going to bite off his own tongue or swallow it. Vega’s thoughts were jumbled, but filled with glee, completely unlike when her mother had fallen. She was glad Bill was dying and glad she had been the cause.

  Slowly, she walked toward him. Some irrational part of her mind whispered that he could be faking, though she knew that no one could act out a death scene quite so well.

  “The man is no George Clooney,” she spoke aloud no one at all.

  Rounding the spot where he flopped in spasms, she smelled the foul odor of his bowels releasing, and she wrinkled her nose. Sighing, she remembered there was no one left but herself to clean up the mess and continued to her destination. In the open drawer, she found the suspected paraphernalia of a lifelong addict and dealer. Carefully pinching the long rubber tourniquet between her fingers, she carried it to where Bill lay.

  Standing over him, she felt powerful. Somewhere deep inside, she knew she should feel shame and grief, maybe even remorse. Yet, she felt nothing more than a sensation of pride that she had survived him, her body and mind still intact.

  Suddenly, the desire to kick him as hard as she could skirted her thoughts, but the sane part of her refused. No point in hurting him now, he’s not even conscious, he’s as good as dead. Bruises don’t matter to corpses.

  Dropping the tourniquet next to him, Vega whispered, “Guess this makes you my bitch, now.”

  Bill’s body stopped jerking, and his eyes rolled back into place, glassy brown pinpoints in the bloodshot orbs. The stillness of his chest and shallowness of his cheeks made him appear much older than he had in life. For a moment, Vega almost felt sorry, but then her eyes trailed to his still exposed and flaccid member. The rolling disgust almost caused her to vomit as she bent down, her hand reaching toward him. Nearly touching his flesh, her fingers shook, and she jerked her arm back.

  With a sob, she cried out, “I can’t do it, I can’t touch him. Not there, not anywhere. I can’t touch the body and not lose my mind.” Yet, she couldn’t leave him that way without someone suspecting something.

  Running from the room, Vega tore into her dresser. Jerking on whatever pajama pants and tank top she could find, then threw her ratty robe back over them. She checked her face in the mirror. The fading red mark on her cheek wasn’t clear enough to be recognized as a handprint, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Leaving her room, she ran to the kitchen and grabbed up the phone. Almost forgetting what she’d originally gone to get, she snatched up the wet towel that had fallen from her hair in the struggle. She stepped back into Bill’s room, feeling more capable of the task at hand, once she was fully dressed.

  Stooping down, she wrapped the towel around her hand, positioned it over the body, and closed her eyes. Using her unwrapped hand to tug up on his open fly, Vega shoved Bill back inside his pants, gagging the entire time. The vile taste of dry heaving only made her heave more, until finally, she finished.

  Falling backward, tears in her eyes from retching, she took deep, gasping breaths. Her fingers dialed the phone without thought, and she waited for the answering voice on the other end.

  “Clay County 911. Please state the nature of your emergency,” the woman’s voice sounded bored.

  “My…my mom’s boyfriend isn’t breathing. I think he’s dead! Oh god, I think he overdosed. Please send help. I don’t know what to do.”

  ****

  “What did you do?” Eurynome’s voice boomed in the darkness.

  The chains that held Zane imprisoned tightened, stretching his limbs out in a torturous embrace. As his muscles and bones strained and cracked, he bit down on his cheek, tasting blood but refusing to scream.

  “Answer me, you little fool!” the greater demon roared.

  Zane grinned, his smile revealing bloodstained teeth as he watched the death eater stalk back and forth in front of him.

  Over the years, the demon had stopped appearing as the monstrous brute he had been, and had taken on the stature of a human man. Despite the white-blond hair that flowed down his broad back, the chiseled jaw, and impressive height and muscle tone, the look of a feral beast still glared outward from onyx eyes.

  Another twist of the chains, and Zane could no longer hold back the agonizing scream. With sweat dripping off his dark locks and down his sallow face, he struggled against his bonds until he could no longer withstand the hell his efforts brought. Saving her had taken all his power. Sending the image of the gun in the night stand had sapped every ounce of it away. His body could no longer resist. Slumping forward, his chin resting on his bare chest, he let the tears fall.

  “Save your tears, boy. They have nowhere to fall here, except into pits of fire, where they will sizzle like the flesh of the damned. Unless, you want to know those fires personally, tell me what you did.”


  The word was a harsh and bone dry whisper, “Nothing.”

  Eurynome eased closer, his massive claws sliding outward from long thin fingers. “Nothing! You did nothing! I felt the shift in the void, boy!”

  Anticipating the next round of pain, Zane gritted his teeth. No escape. Never an escape from the pain. Vega! Images flashed in his mind, thirteen women’s faces danced in front of him, illuminated by the flames. The orange and yellow light from the blaze fell on their hair and reflected in their eyes. The many faces of Vega, the body changed but the spirit and the name remained the same. My love, give me strength, for I am faltering. It’s been too long, and I am so tired.

  The sharp tip of the talon drew the line over his heart, cut into the flesh of his belly, and ended in a sharp puncture at his hip. The smell of blood rose up in the air.

  Eurynome screamed, “You got through! You cheated! You can’t see her! You can’t go to her! You can’t speak to her! It’s against the rules.”

  To Zane, the greater demon sounded like a petulant child as he stomped and yelled out his accusations. Laughing, he raised his swirling blue eyes and taunted, “Cheated? Come on now, old friend. Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black? You’ve cheated every step of the way.”

  With a roar of indignant rage, Eurynome fisted his thick fingers in Zane’s dark hair, yanking his head back until the muscles of his neck strained. “You will pay for that!”

  Blood and spittle showered into the demon’s face as Zane cackled. “I think I’ve been paying for Vega’s life for a long time now, Eurynome. Isn’t that my part in your little game?”

  The demon’s eyes narrowed, a look of pure evil smearing across his handsome features. “Then she will pay for that.”

  The house was once again quiet, the body had been hauled away, and the lies had worked. She’d called Bill’s sister in Colorado, needing to somehow cleanse herself of responsibility by doing one good thing. There’d be no funeral. They had been surprised he hadn’t done himself in before then. They’d come. No funeral and no fanfare.

  Cold chills snuck up Vega’s spine. She couldn’t help feeling as if someone knew her deadly secrets, and they were waiting for her, eyes watching her every move. The guilt of her misdeeds teased at the rough edges of her mind, promising she’d pay for the lives she had taken.

  With shaking hands, she gripped the coffee cup, smelling the rich aroma rise up in the steam as tears drip down from her cheeks. “Murderer. Sinner. You’re going to hell,” she whispered to her reflection in the dark liquid. Hard to believe that, only hours before, she’d been sitting in the same spot waiting for the sunset with Bill screaming for food. Now, the sun had risen, the purple horizon bringing a new dawn, and Bill was dead.

  “Dead and gone,” she told the darkened face.

  A nightmare, it’s all a nightmare. I’m going to wake up and Mom’s going to be screaming at the door. Bill’s going to be drunk at ten in the morning and cussing about her spending all his money. They can’t be dead. This can’t be real. I can’t be a murderer. A part of her wanted to get up from the stool, where’d she’d been sitting for hours, and go to their bedroom. If I just open their door, I’ll see them. They can’t be gone. As terrible as they were, they can’t be dead. I can’t be a murderer.

  Slowly standing, she tried to stop the uncontrollable shaking of her limbs. In her mind, Vega saw them, passed out across the bed snoring loudly. Reassuring herself they’d be there, she took a single step, but could go no further. Caught in a state of immobility, her mind rendering her body useless as it warred between what she wanted to believe and the truth, Vega stared down the hall to the closed door.

  The police had asked her if she’d had a place to stay, afraid being in the house where her mother and Bill had died would be too much. She’d lied, saying that she was fine, but she’d call an aunt and go there. At the time, it had not seemed necessary, and she hadn’t really had an aunt to go to. Yet, in that quiet moment between denial and reality, she wished more than anything she had somewhere else to be.

  The crashing waves of emotion made her reel, and she turned back to the stool too quickly. Her vision darkened as the dizziness brought the harsh taste of bile to the back of her throat. Feeling as if she were falling, Vega threw out her hand, searching for something to help keep her balance. The whole world seemed as if it were trying to swallow her as her temperature rose and a cold sweat broke out all over her body.

  A voice rose up from the abyss surrounding her, driving into her mind like nails in a coffin. Her mother’s face, angry and covered in blood, swam before her eyes. The mouth curled into a horrible smile as the deadpan eyes drilled into Vega’s.

  “You killed me! Now you want to stand here and feel sorry for yourself. I’m dead, and you want your mommy!” Diana’s harsh voice felt like shards of glass cutting deep.

  Vega opened her mouth to scream, but a shrill ringing took the place of her voice. The shock of the sound drove away the darkness, leaving tiny golden glints of light to dance before her eyes. The sickness was nearly overwhelming, as she clamped her mouth shut against it. It took a full minute for her mind to understand why the ringing continued.

  Realizing that it was only the phone, she took a depth breath and slumped back down on the stool. Physical and emotional exhaustion compounded all at once, beating against her like heavy rain stinging her mind and body. Out of reaction, she answered.

  “He-o,” her voice dragged as if she had been sleeping or as if she were too weak to properly annunciate.

  A professional and chipper voice replied, “Hello. May I speak to Ms. Vega Schwartz?”

  Assuming it was someone from the police station, Vega answered, “This is her.”

  “Ms. Schwartz, my name is Elizabeth Lance, and I am with the law firm, McEwan, MacDughlas, and Drehmel. I am very sorry to hear about your loss. Ms. Drehmel is handling your mother’s estate, and we need you to come down to the office whenever you have a moment. I understand this is a very difficult time for you, so there’s absolutely no rush.”

  “Look…Mrs. Lance. I know my mother owed a lot of people money and stuff, but I have nothing. I’ve got a lot going on, her boyfriend just committed suicide here last night, and I have nothing to give.” She paused, sobs wracking her body as the words made everything that much real. “I…can’t pay you. I’m sorry.”She started to pull the phone away from her ear, but the shock in the voice on the line made her pause.

  “Ms. Schwartz. Wait! No, you must understand. There is no debt. Ms. Drehmel would like to discuss the matter of your inheritance.”

  “My what? You must be mistaken.”

  “I am not allowed to discuss it in detail, as I am not the executor of the estate, but I assure you, there’s been no mistake.” The woman sounded as if she was becoming a bit annoyed or perhaps questioning Vega’s mental capacity.

  “Umm…okay. How’s ten o’clock sound?”

  “That will be just fine, Ms. Schwartz. I will let Ms. Drehmel know to expect you in about an hour. Have a nice day.”

  “Yea…thanks.” Vega hung up the phone and stumbled down the hall in a state of pure distress. Without much thought to her appearance, she pulled on a pair of jeans and a Volbeat t-shirt before slipping her socked feet into her favorite Chucks. Without a thought to her disheveled raven hair, she grabbed her purse and keys, and left the house.

  Her thoughts on the drive downtown were a scattered collage of blood, death, murder, mysterious inheritance, and worries about where she’d live once the landlord came to collect the rent. With her mother and Bill gone, there’d be no drug money to pay the bills. In the worst of her moments, radio blaring Rhianna’s “Stay”, she talked to Zane.

  “I wish you were real. I wish you could be here. I’m so afraid. I don’t know what to do, and I can’t understand what I’ve done. I’m a monster, Zane. I need you.” Crying and snotty, she dug through her purse, searching for the tissues she’d placed there the day of her mother’s funeral. When she look
ed back up through tear-blurred eyes, she saw the sign and slammed on the brakes.

  Straightening her face, and smoothing the wrinkles out of her t-shirt, Vega stepped from the car and crossed the sunlit parking lot. The cool air from the lobby hit her with full force, causing goose bumps to trail up her arms. Taking a deep breath, she ignored the strange glances from the people around her, and moved toward the front desk.

  The receptionist looked overtop her horned rim glasses with disdain, “Can I help you?” The bored and unpleasant tone implied that she’d rather Vega go away.

  “Um…. I have a meeting with Ms. Drehmel.” Vega looked around, hoping the office would be close, so she could escape the hard blue eyes of the woman in front of her.

  Turning her head toward the computer screen, the woman held up her finger, displaying one perfectly manicured nail painted in blood red. With a few quick key strokes, she glanced back up, her face instantly changing to a more pleasant demeanor.

  “Ms. Schwartz, of course. Please take the elevator and go up to the second floor.” The woman’s false smile spread wider as she added, “Have a great day.”

  Vega shook her head in disgust, flipped up her middle finger, and strode away. Thankfully, the elevator was empty as she stepped inside, and the short trip to the second floor only made her slightly woozy. She hated elevators. In fact, she hated small places all-together.

  The chrome doors sprang open, carrying her distorted reflection into the slots at the side, and Vega stood staring directly into a large office. Behind a curved counter that wrapped around the front, a pretty brunette sat smiling, patiently awaiting her arrival.

  Vega moved through the waiting area, filled with comfortable looking leather chairs already half-full of people. In a hushed tone, she informed the brunette, “I’m Vega Schwartz. Here to see Ms. Drehmel.”