1 Chapter 1
The one drawback of being the owner of Dave’s Bar was having to close it up the six nights it was open.
David Johnson closed and locked the heavy oak door and glanced at his watch in the light of the neon sign of the bar. A little after three in the morning. And pouring rain.
“Shit,” he muttered. Apparently the weather man had been right after all. Lightning flashed in the distant horizon. Unusual weather for December in Southern California.
He fingered his suede jacket. With the rain coming down as hard as it was, he’d have to run to his truck to avoid getting completely drenched, and even then he’d be pretty damn wet. The suede would be ruined.
Grimacing, Dave reopened the bar door while shrugging out of his jacket. He hung it on the coat hook just inside and relocked the door.
His pickup truck was the only vehicle left in the strip mall parking lot. He made a run for it and nearly skidded on the wet asphalt. Reaching the truck at last, he slipped his hands into the front right pocket of his jeans and pulled out his truck keys.
A loud crack of thunder startled them right out of his hand.
“Shit,” he said again. He squinted down at the ground and saw them under the truck next to the front driver’s side wheel. He crouched down. His red muscle T-shirt had already soaked through and stuck to his skin. Any minute his teeth would start chattering.
He dropped to his knees to reach for the keys, and lightning flashed overhead. Looking out from under his truck, he spied three shadowy figures across the parking lot. He couldn’t see very clearly, but he thought they were men. One lay prone, and another knelt beside him, dealing blow after blow to the man’s head. The third man stood and directed repeated kicks to the man lying on the asphalt.
“Hey!” Dave yelled, but if they heard him they ignored him. He stood and went to the other side of his truck, stopping to grab a crowbar out of the truck bed. He hurried to them. “Hey, stop!”
The man standing froze in the act of kicking. “This isn’t your business, mister.”
“Yeah? Well, I’m making it my business. I’ve already called the cops,” Dave lied. He should have, of course. Would have even, maybe, if he’d actually had a cell phone. It was one of those stupid parts of modern life he had yet to adapt to. He only had land lines. He’d get one someday, he always promised. It would have come in handy just then. He waved the crowbar.
The man crouched next to the one on the ground pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up around his head and scrambled up. “Let’s go.”
“We can take this guy,” the kicker said with an ugly snarl on his face. Dave hadn’t gotten close enough to make out their features very well, but he thought they were both in their mid-twenties.
“I’m out of here,” his accomplice said, and ran away, his feet sloshing in the puddles.
Dave took a step forward, brandishing his weapon.
“Dickhead,” the assailant swore and then followed his buddy.
Dave watched them for a moment to make sure they were really leaving. When they didn’t come back, he hurried to the man on the ground.
“Hey, pal, you okay?”
The man lay face down, so Dave turned him over and cradled him in his arms. Rain splattered his face. His breath caught in his throat.
Holy shit, the guy was beautiful. Just a kid, really. Pale white with long, dark lashes. Black eyeliner. A tiny diamond stud on the left side of his nose. A little silver cross in his right ear. Thick shoulder-length black hair was plastered to his skull.
Dave frowned, glancing briefly at his attire. He had on black pants and a T-shirt, combat boots, and a black trench coat. Even his nail polish was black.
Nail polish?
Oh right. Dave nodded. The kid was Goth.
The kid groaned and opened his eyes, blinking rapidly. Dave strained to see by the parking lot lights what color eyes he had. Would they be blue or brown?
Gray. Deep, gorgeous, pewter gray. Dave’s chest constricted. For a moment his world tilted
“Hold on. I’ll get you to the hospital,” Dave assured him.
“No,” he whispered. Closed his eyes briefly, opened them, and focused his killer gray eyes on Dave. “No hospital. Please.”
“Are you sure? Those guys beat the crap out of you.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m okay. H-help me up.”
Dave stood and reached down to help the kid up. He swayed a bit, and Dave held him. “You don’t think anything’s broken?”
“Nah,” the guy said, feeling his ribs under his trench coat. “Just a little unsteady.” He had a slight lilt to his voice, but it was so faint, Dave couldn’t quite place it.
