CHAPTER ONE
WEDNESDAY
Expensive perfume, old leather, high-end cigarettes. The scent of wealth wrapped around Jaxon like a lover's legs when he opened the door to King Hall. He smiled as he climbed the steps to Maxime, the most exclusive club on the East coast. Sanctuary. A club where he would soon become a full member, with all the perks that entailed.
"Jaxon." As he entered the study, a man grabbed his hand. "Sorry to hear about your problems with the IRS. Good luck with that audit."
"Brad." Jaxon frowned as he shook the man's hand. "I'm not being audited."
"No? Good. You don't need that on top of prostate issues."
"There's nothing wrong with my prostate." Jaxon gritted his teeth. "Where did you hear this?"
"Um." Brad glanced around. "Sean might have mentioned it in conversation."
Sean Hartman. Jaxon looked across the room to see the man sitting in the best seat in the house, puffing his alleged high-priced cigar. Last time Jaxon heard Sean running his mouth, he bragged a 'master cigar artist' in Cuba concocted and named a blend just for him. Especial Sean. And, according to the pompous little prick, only eighty were rolled and sold for one hundred dollars a stick.
Smelled like workout socks on fire.
Jaxon pushed down a flare of anger and grabbed a drink from a passing server. Sean had been doing his best to spread lies about Jaxon throughout the club these past few weeks. Jaxon needed the support of his fellow members, needed their votes to get the full membership. He didn't need rumors going around about his monetary affairs or his health.
Not going to let asshole Sean ruin his evening. He'd ignore him and talk to other club members. Schmooze, campaign for votes. Jaxon turned, but too late.
Sean caught him staring. He crooked his index finger, motioning Jaxon over. Like some kind of royalty, beckoning his subject.
Though in his mid-thirties, same as Jaxon, Sean didn't work. His family had a butt-load of cash and not having to put in time at a day job meant he had hours to spend socializing at Maxime. No one sat near him today. Ran everyone off with that smoking piece of shit in his mouth.
Screw it. Might as well go talk to the guy, get it over with. Jaxon forced a smile, walked across the room and sat in the chair opposite Sean. "How's it going?"
"Positively wonderful." Sean leaned forward, teeth bared, a shark about to rip into its dinner. "The board will make their decision soon for the newest full member. Have you got your Entry Fee yet? Hear you have a gemstone worth several million dollars. Is that true?" Sean tipped his glass and watched Jaxon over the rim.
Fucker. Sean knew Jaxon didn't have the required Entry Fee, the other prerequisite to becoming a full member. He must have talked to Paul Roland. Even if he was the president of Maxime, Paul could never pass up the opportunity to gossip.
"Almost." Jaxon matched Sean's lazy tone and leaned back, taking a sip of his drink. Yuck. Scotch. A beer would go down better. A craft beer, from one of the local breweries. But the members sipped liquor here in the study, so he went along with the tradition.
"It's taking some effort to get a hold of it, but I'm enjoying the hunt. The harder something is to get, the more it's treasured, don't you agree?"
Sean shrugged. "No. Maybe for people like you, struggle is noble. My family and I enjoy all the luxuries we can."
Jaxon curled his hand into a fist and slid it by his side, out of sight. When he joined Maxime as a limited member six years ago, Sean behaved cordially towards him, even friendly. When a spot opened for full membership four months ago and Jaxon announced his application, it was as though a switch flipped.
Sean put on a show for the members, smiling and patting Jaxon on the back, but when they were alone, he hurled subtle, then not-so-subtle insults. Jaxon had ignored him, but now that the guy starting talking shit to other members, messing with his chances for full membership – time to slap him down.
Jaxon leaned forward, keeping his voice low. "What the fuck, Sean? You've been ragging my ass about becoming a full member since I was selected for consideration. You're already a full member; we're not in competition. You got a problem with me, spit it out."
Sean's fake smile faded and his brows drew together. "I don't want to see inferior blood brought into our organization. Your family is, beg your pardon, your family was lower class. So many allegations concerning the Turkovic's business dealings."
The whiskey burned down his throat and Jaxon repressed a shudder. Why did Sean give a shit about his history? The Turkovics and the Hartmans never tangled. And plenty of Maxime members had skeletons in the family closet. The guy couldn't be this pissed about old business that didn't affect him.
"My family is dead. And I'm not them. I don't run their jewelry business anymore." Jaxon kept his face impassive. Don't let the bastard see he was getting to him. "I'm a CPA for Dunleigh, Rockledge and Associates, a totally legitimate corporation."
"Still." Sean frowned, looked into his glass and swirled the contents as he spoke. "Those stories of mob connections. It runs in the blood."
Jaxon tapped his foot, fighting to stay calm. "Get off my case. No one in my family was ever convicted of a crime. And why all of a sudden this bullshit?"
"You lied. You gave a false last name when you joined as a limited member. Jaxon Leppard." Sean curled his upper lip. "What kind of name is that? You think you're some kind of jungle animal?"
"No, you asshat." Jaxon slammed his glass on the table, sloshing the dark liquid onto the surface. "Leppard comes from one of the greatest rock bands you've probably never even heard of. I took a new name for a fresh start. Lots of people did after The Annihilation. I wanted to disassociate from the Turkovic name. President Roland knows who I am, who my family is. Was."
"You joined months before The Annihilation, with your 'rock star' name." Sean made finger quotes in the air.
"So I was ahead of my time. There are plenty of other guys here with shady family histories. Yours, for instance. The Hartmans have a charming reputation." Jaxon snorted. "Was that your grandfather who fleeced little old ladies out of millions of dollars, selling condos in swamp land in Florida? Bet you're doing the same thing today."
Sean stood, his face flaming red. "Great grandfather. Alleged. Never proven. Where did you get that information?"
"I have sources. You judge me for my family history, I'll hold you to yours."
"Thief."
"Swindler."
"Gentlemen. Is there a problem?" President Roland dropped into the chair next to Jaxon, cigarette in one hand, and whiskey tumbler in the other.
Sean sat back down and he and Jaxon straightened to attention.
"No problem, sir. A friendly debate over a soccer game," Sean said.
"Ah. Always good to root for your team. How are you gentlemen doing?"
"I'm doing well, thank you." Jaxon angled himself toward Roland to block Sean. "Getting ready for the Chosen One Ceremony."
"Should be interesting. Several of you in the running. Rumor has it, you'll be presenting us with a valuable gem to add to our vault."
"I plan to, yes."
"But he doesn't have it yet." Sean leaned forward. "I hear O'Shaughnessy has a classic Bentley Continental to present, worth one million dollars."
If he shoved on the table between them with his foot, Jaxon reckoned, it would slam right into Sean's knees. Asshole would scream like a girl.
"I'll have the gemstone, valued at three million dollars. That will give me points."
"Good." Roland patted Jaxon on the knee. "Luck to you. You're a fine asset to our group. It'll be my pleasure to give you the full membership." He rose. "Business to tend to. I'll see you boys later."
Sean stood again the minute Roland turned the corner. "Don't put your ass groove in that chair. You won't be selected for the full member spot. Your chances of procuring that stone are slim to none, anyway."
"Because?"
A feral smile stretched Sean's lips. "If you could get it, you'd have it by now."
True enough. Jaxon wished to hell he'd never told Sean that the emerald was in a hiding place. A spot not impossible but hard to get to. At least he hadn't given away the exact location, because, for whatever reason, Sean had turned from casual friend to back-stabbing enemy.
"For your information, I plan to have the stone in my hands on Saturday night."
"Sure you will. Hey, what's that sound I hear?" Sean cupped his ear. "Is it… yes, it is! The fat lady singing. It's over for you. You don't have the stone, and you don't have a way to get it. I can tell by looking at you. You're a lying sack of shit."
"I've got it covered. I'm getting that rock." Fighting like hell to keep from punching Sean, Jaxon yawned and stretched out his legs. "If you're not using that chair next to you, slide it to the side, would you?" He hooked his foot on a leg of the chair and pulled it toward him. "I have a friend coming over to help me rehearse my acceptance speech."
He scanned the room, saw their newest limited member and winked at her. Roxanne, or Rachel, or Raquel. Something like that. Attractive woman, in her late forties maybe, older than he usually dated. But the gleam in her eye said she knew how to have fun.
Rashida. That was her name. She smiled in return and Jaxon watched with smug delight as Sean's face reddened again.
"You will not get that membership. I swear to God, I'll do whatever it takes to make sure." Sean dropped the stub of his cigar in Jaxon's drink and stormed off.
Head pounding with suppressed fury, Jaxon watched Sean go. He'd won this round, but if he couldn't get that emerald, it wouldn't matter. Though not in the official rules, unspoken protocol said, those who applied for full membership and failed, left Maxime. One spot came open a year ago, and after the Chosen One Ceremony, he'd watched those not selected slink away, defeated warriors exiting the battlefield.
Tension coiled in his gut, and King Hall, his calming refuge, suddenly felt claustrophobic. The old building had been trashed during the riots, then refurbished years ago to resemble a nineteenth century high-class London gentleman's club, and named after a favorite local author. The upstairs contained an enormous library, various rooms for private meetings, and the study, where members met for casual drinking and conversation. Downstairs held a fitness club with a weight room, whirlpool, sauna, massage rooms, and a full kitchen and banquet room.
Unlike clubs of earlier years with their restrictive policies, men, women, and most anyone who paid the yearly fee of ninety thousand dollars could join as limited member. Full membership only opened when one of the twelve full members left the area or died. Plenty of men and women were content to stay limited members, more than happy to enjoy the lesser benefits. Anything to give them pleasure and help them forget the horrific event six years ago that changed life in America forever.
Since The Annihilation, citizens of the Secure States of America needed distraction. In 2020, a group, never identified or caught, deposited a substance containing the Malik virus into the United States' water supply, killing hundreds of thousands of Americans and leaving masses more brain damaged. Two classes of people now occupied the country. Damaged Citizens, or DCs, lived among the rest of the population of Unchanged Citizens, or UCs.
Both groups adjusted to their new normal, and life went on.
Immediately after The Annihilation, the government seized control of the country. Order was restored, but many freedoms taken away. Jobs were assigned, microchips implanted, cameras posted everywhere.
Citizens still lived with fear that another mass attack, of a different kind, could happen any time. Refuge in a refined and privileged club like Maxime, gave members, Jaxon included, a sense of desperately needed peace and order. Inside King Hall, they could shut out the rest of the world and create their own reality. Well worth the hefty yearly fee. He'd been able to cover it so far, thanks to a decent salary and an inheritance, but the inheritance would run out soon. He needed the full membership, needed the money-making opportunities that came with that level, so he could stay in Maxime.
And if terror struck again, he'd be ready. The real appeal of full membership with Maxime was, luxury underground bunkers, ready for use, at a hidden site not far away. Full members and their family were guaranteed safe, comfortable living, should the unthinkable happen again.
Another disaster would happen, Jaxon knew. He planned to be one of the safe. Along with a young man he swore to protect. He'd made a promise to a dying woman and he intended to keep it.
Jaxon drew in a breath. Right now he craved fresh air, open space, and loud music. A street fair he'd seen advertised would work to meet those needs. Rising, he set his empty glass on a table and strode from the room, not making eye contact with anyone. He should get on with his campaign to drum up admission votes, but he couldn't stay a minute longer. Not today.
Thankful for the set of casual clothes he kept in his car, he clicked the doors open as he hurried across the parking lot. If, no when he became full member, he'd have a locker to store clothing and toiletries.
Fucking Sean. Not going to ruin my evening. Not going to ruin my life.
All he needed to do was get that damn stone, and Jaxon had a plan. One that meant he'd have to face another man that used to be a friend. But time was running out, and so were his options.
****
Music from the jazz trio rolled over Jaxon like warm water, helping his shoulders ease down a notch. He flicked his wood and silver lighter and ran his thumb over the abalone guitar inlay. A gift, from his father. Dad said he got it from a famous rock star, but the old man lied a lot. Embellished, not lied his mother use to say. Smiling when she did, sometimes rolling her eyes too.
Good idea, coming here. Clear out his brain. Work on how he'd approach his old friend Riley.
Warm weather in Bangor, Maine brought out a good size crowd at the street fair. Sixty-two degrees in the early evening, with a light breeze blowing the scent of hot dogs, cotton candy, and fried doughy crap his way. Everyone out spending money on food, alcohol, and cheap doo-dads the vendors peddled. Half of the people wanting to be entertained by the performers, the other half trolling for action, trying to get laid.
A juggler wandered around tossing flaming balls, musicians strolled, playing various instruments, a woman in a skin-tight fluorescent dress performed card tricks, while engaging and distracting the people. Distracted people were effortless marks.
Jaxon shook his head. Where did that thought come from? He gave up stealing long ago. Tension, making him fall back into old thought patterns. But damn it, how easy it would be to snatch a wallet, or dip his fingers inside a purse and lift out a few bills, the way he used to do years ago, with Riley and the gang. Jaxon's fingers itched with the urge to try. It would be a cinch to remove a billfold from these party people.
Like that.
Jaxon blinked.
A blur, so smooth he barely noticed. A wallet, sliding from a jacket pocket, into thin air? No, it couldn't be. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. Stress playing tricks with his eyes. But his former thief instincts sprang to alert.
Someone in this crowd was picking pockets. No one he could see, but it was happening. There. A woman, absorbed in a conversation with her friend, her purse hanging carelessly on her shoulder. The beaded handbag moved, maybe from a gust of the wind, but then the clasp on top opened.
He stared as a sparkling coin purse seemed to float from the bag, unzip, and paper money appeared in the air one second, then disappeared the next. He saw no hands, only the slightest movement. Unless he'd been watching for it, as an ex-thief, he wouldn't have seen even that.
Jaxon lit his cigarette and continued to watch the phenomenon move through the crowd. A jacket lifted slightly from where it hung on a vacated chair, the wallet opened, then returned. Subtle moves, but not his imagination.
Taking one last drag on his cigarette, he stubbed it out and rose, then casually walked toward the latest movement and leaned against a brick wall. A purse under a chair opened and in two strides he was on it, reaching down with his hand, brushing a solid, warm body.
"Shit." A muffled curse sounded.
The invisible thief shoved him and Jaxon almost lost his balance.
Then, where nothing had been but air, a young woman appeared, dressed in a purple bodysuit that hugged her curves. Her light brown hair was pulled into a ponytail, with purple tips on the ends. Scars ran along one side of her neck and up her cheek. He looked into violet eyes gone wide with surprise, then grabbed her arm.
She stared at him for a second, then jerked the arm he held. "Let go."
"I won't hurt you. I just want to talk."
"I don't." She pulled again, but he held fast.
Jaxon turned as a woman tapped his shoulder. "Hey, what are you doing at my table?"
"I'm just…" He swiveled back to his captive as she struggled in his grip.
"I said let go of me."
"Are you bothering that girl?" The woman planted her hands on her hips, chomping on a wad of gum that had turned her mouth blue.
"No, I need to talk to her."
"Yes, he's bothering me." His prisoner squirmed.
The woman took a step closer. "I don't think she wants to talk to you. Get your paws off her before I call the cops."
Uh-uh. No cops. Jaxon released his grip and raised his hands. Smiled his innocent, charming smile and faced the woman again. "No need for that. We'll take our conversation elsewhere."
The gum-chomping woman rolled her eyes. "I doubt that. You gorgeous hunks, think you're God's gift. Wake up." She leaned in even closer and stared at Violet. "Honey, just because your face is messed up doesn't mean you have to take crap from any man." She grabbed her purse from under the chair. "I'm joining my friends over there. My karate friends. He bothers you anymore, you yell. We'll come running." She spun on her high heels and click-clacked away.
Jaxon watched her go and when he turned back, the girl in purple was gone. He should vacate the vicinity too. He didn't need to call attention to himself, and if anyone here noticed their missing money, they might remember the face of the man who grabbed a young woman. He faded to the back edges of the crowd and leaned against a wall, watching. She was still here, he sensed her.
There, a ripple of a coat hanging over a chair. The wallet inside appeared, opened, and was tucked back in. He pushed off from the wall, ready to swoop and grab, when the invisible woman appeared again. She smiled, stuck out her tongue, and – as he stepped toward her – she faded into the night air.
Fuck. Jaxon leaned back, his mind spinning. Invisibility. Now that would come in handy getting a stone off an island. His plan just changed to include a woman with purple eyes.
****
Jaxon tossed his jacket to land on the hook inside his hall entryway, missed, and cursed as he picked it off the floor. Annoyance still ate at him, even after two beers and a hit of a joint a kind soul had shared with him when he'd relocated to the other side of the festival. He'd mostly accepted the offer for a hit of the joint because he liked the lady's lipstick. Glow in the dark. She extended an invitation for more intimate contact with her lips, but his earlier conversation with Sean put his mood too low to rise to her offer.
Fuck that Sean. Asshole knew nothing. Jaxon wasn't his family; he was his own person and had just as much right to belong to Maxime as anyone else. All he needed to do was get the Entry Fee, the emerald his brother Alen had stashed in the Bahamas island of Azure Paradise Cay.
Years ago, getting to Azure Paradise Cay would be no problem. Fly in, grab the rock, fly out. But since The Annihilation, the Secure States of America was quarantined by a satellite shield. To contain the Malik virus, the government said. No one allowed to enter the country and only select people allowed to leave.
When the shield went into effect, wealthy citizens snapped up private islands in the Bahamas, the Florida Keys, and other offshore land belonging to the Secure States. Azure Paradise Cay was one of those, sold to a mega-dollar company, who turned the place into a luxury resort and charged a hefty fee for real estate. The islands used special shields, which only owners could access by having their microchips programmed.
After a short-lived period of riots when the shield first went up, and after protesters were gassed and left on the streets, a new kind of uneasy order ensued. But soon, free air and shuttle bus travel went into place, and planes and busses evolved to move fast and frequently. Getting around the country became easy, and the protests died down. Not everyone agreed with the changes made, and many were unhappy, but they accepted the situation.
Years before The Annihilation, when the shit hit the fan with the Turkovic family and the rival Santini family, Alen had moved to Azure Paradise. The island had been owned by a wealthy man, at the time. Alen found a small cottage to rent, bought a failing restaurant, and turned it into a thriving business. He decided he liked island living and stayed there the rest of his life, despite his family's pleas to come back and join them.
Smart guy. The war between the two families ended up killing most of their members, and the only woman Jaxon had ever loved.
He shook his head to clear the memories. Not going to go there. That was long ago. Five years – ancient history. Everyone changed since The Annihilation. Like he told Sean, he wasn't the only one to switch his name up in order to ditch his past. Even those years with his old buddy Riley and the gang… Not going to go there either.
Now was the only time that mattered and time was not on his side. The decision about the new full member would be made in less than two weeks. If Jaxon didn't have an object of great value as an Entry Fee, even if he had a ton of votes, he was out of the running.
He had to get that spot. Only full members received access to the formulas Maxime had devised to make a lot of money, legally, on the stock market. The old guys in Maxime, they'd worked out a system over the years to play the market just right. Never went crazy to call attention to themselves. Just enough to make them rich.
And he needed to assure he'd have one of the twelve suites in the underground survival silo. Toby, his dead fiancé's nephew, would be his responsibility if there was another disaster, and Jaxon swore he'd take care of him.
Like they had a telepathic link, Jaxon's phone rang. Toby, calling from his group home on a Vidseetalk line. The kid liked seeing Jaxon in person. Kid. He'd be sixteen soon.
"Hey Tobes, how's it going?"
Toby's face lit up like it always did when he saw Jaxon, and Jaxon's heart clenched, like it always did when he saw Toby. The young man looked so much like his aunt, Lacey.
"It's going good, Uncle Jax. We went to the zoo today. Saw monkeys. They're loud, and they stink."
In the background, Jaxon saw adults of various ages sitting in chairs. Toby was in the rec room. Jaxon had first visited Caring Hearts, six years ago, after The Annihilation. Toby's mother had been affected by the Malik virus and knew she was dying. She was determined to make sure her special needs son had a good home. As godfather, Jaxon went with her. They both deemed the facility worthy.
Since the Malik virus caused brain damage in so many American citizens, the government opened and supported many group homes. Toby's condition was congenital, but he was given access to the same resources as victims of the virus. Caring Hearts in San Diego had been Toby's residence for the past six years.
"Monkeys are pretty stinky. Did you climb in the cage with them?"
Toby laughed. "No"
"Did you swing from the trees like they do?"
Toby shrieked with delight. "No. We can't do that."
"I know. I'm messing with you. You feel okay? Everything going good?"
"I had a cold, but I took my medicine and it's gone."
Heart clenched again. Jaxon wanted to see Toby, in person, but the staff at Caring Hearts agreed, it wouldn't be good for Jaxon to visit frequently. The few times he did, Toby behaved badly afterward, confused by the change. And though Jaxon brought up the possibility of his godson coming home with him, that scenario wouldn't work. Toby needed structure, and routine, or he became agitated. The best thing for Toby right now was to be around others like him and socialize, and to get the top-notch medical care and education that the facility provided.
And Jaxon wasn't daddy material. He'd been in a shitty place in life when Lacey's sister had called him in desperation and asked him to go with her to Caring Hearts. Because he'd promised Lacey, Jaxon went. Once Jaxon met Toby in person, the reality of his commitment scared the shit out of him. But their weekly conversations endeared him to the kid. They grew closer each year, and Jaxon now determined to fully honor his promise to Lacey.
If there was a crisis, Jaxon had already informed the Caring Hearts administration, he'd snatch up Toby immediately. Which meant he had to have a safe place to bring the kid. So far, he hadn't come up with a way to get onto Azure Paradise Cay and retrieve that stone, which would guarantee a protected home for them both.
But a conversation several weeks earlier had lit a spark.
Riley had called him for a favor and though the guy said he wasn't up to anything, Jaxon heard that particular tone in his voice. Like in the old days when they had a hot job lined up; excitement, mixed with a tinge of caution. Why else would Riley want those camera feeds from the middle of nowhere?
Lots of the jobs they used to do weren't technically illegal. Riley was a super hacker. He figured out ways to take money from offshore accounts belonging to people who wanted to keep their assets hidden. He'd skim a little here, a little there, but not so much that anyone would complain. And who were those crooks going to tell, anyway?
His old friend said he was wasn't working on a job now. Bullshit. Riley was the world's best hacker. Started out robbing the rich of their valuables, then moved on to cyber-crime. Jaxon followed, up until Riley went solo years ago. Decided to break up their gang, the Cyber Pirates. To distance himself from Jaxon and the others. Said he was tired of working with everyone, wanted to do his own thing, and would catch up with Jaxon one day.
He never did.
Jaxon had heard news, that Riley had gotten caught, went to prison, gotten out, and had went straight, working for some government agency. But not one phone call, text, or email. Jaxon wandered the country, went back to college for a year, and then dropped out. Lost. When he happened on Maxime, he jumped at the opportunity to join.
Then The Annihilation happened. With so many dead or brain damaged, Maxime waived their membership fees for several years, and even sent Jaxon back to college to get his accounting degree. Said they could use a guy like him who was good with numbers. Maxime leaders recognized his hunger, his desire to succeed. They helped him get a job, and gave him responsibilities working with the club treasurer. When a position opened for full membership, Jaxon was the first to put in his application.
He'd planned to contact Riley for help, hit him up for cash. If Jaxon came up with a huge bunch of unaccounted-for money, he could bribe his way onto Azure Paradise Cay. But after tonight, another idea brewed, and he should visit Riley in person to present it.
Jaxon pulled out his phone and tapped it. A cop Jaxon dated years ago unwittingly shared her app with him, which he now used when he wanted to find someone. Illegal as hell, but handy when needed.
If someone invented a way to make themselves invisible, he could use that to get onto the island. Whatever outfit that girl at the fair had on must be something new that thieves were wearing, to make them blend into the crowd. He'd done a quick online search while he sat at the fair and found nothing. But new technology sprung up every day. Too bad an invisibility suit hadn't been around when he was active in the con game.
Riley would be interested in a way to disappear. No matter what he said during their last conversation, he'd be interested. Jaxon would give him that information, in exchange for Riley's help. They'd find that girl again, together. Between Invisible Girl and Super Hacker Riley, he'd figure out a way to get onto that island.
CHAPTER TWO
Violet dumped her bag on the kitchen table, then plopped into a chair, blowing out a breath. Close call. How the heck did that guy spot her? She always moved carefully, making sure no one had eyes on her before she snatched and grabbed. This dude snuck up and put his hand on her before she knew it. Thankfully, a few concerned citizens still existed and one came to her rescue. More like curious citizens. Concerned, curious, didn't matter. She'd got away.
So why did she act all sassy and let him see her again? Anytime she became visible in a crowd she risked detection. Because it was fun teasing him, showing off. Especially to a, what did that woman call him, a gorgeous hunk. And that he was.
Bad girl.
Smiling, she peeled away the skintight bodysuit. Not the most comfortable clothing, but necessary. When she activated her power, her stealth mode, objects in direct contact with her skin became invisible. The one-piece, snug-fitting outfits worked the best. Long sleeves and pants for winter, short for the summer. No chance of an article of clothing being seen. Any items she wanted to carry, that needed to stay hidden, had to touch her skin, so she tucked her car key and the money she grabbed down her shirt.
Yay for cleavage! Limited storage though, which kept her out of trouble, kept her from taking too much. Like tonight, she had gotten caught up in the excitement of knowing someone had watched her. Could have worked that place another hour. But she'd learned from experience, stay too long and someone in the crowd would pick up on her presence.
Snag a little money, get in, get out. No one noticed a few bills missing. She'd come up with this rule when she first started picking pockets. Don't swipe a lot from any one person. Not enough to hurt them. If they even noticed their money was missing they'd be annoyed, but not likely to start a commotion.
And she would never, ever leave anyone broke.
For too many years, she'd been poor. Her family wasn't destitute, but they didn't have a lot of money. Didn't bother Violet or her sister Daisy, until their parents got Violet into a prestigious school in the next county. Violet was a smart kid, and her parents wanted her to have the best education, so they sent her to that snooty private academy.
Violet was from the ghetto, as far as everyone there was concerned. She endured listening to her classmates laugh at her out-of-style clothes, her peanut butter and jelly lunches, and her jewelry from the dollar store. She cried quietly in her room every night, not wanting to disappoint her parents, who scrimped and saved so Violet could attend that awful place.
Violet shuddered. Not going to go down that path tonight. Think about her successful evening instead. The people at the fair, with their fancy cars and manicures that cost more than her rent, they could afford to donate a few dollars to her personal project, Operation Beast to Beauty.
Outdoor festivals were a sure thing for plenty of cash. After the massive Credit Card Hack of 2018, many small merchants wouldn't even take credit cards, so visitors carried cash to events like the street fair. A four-day run at one of these and she'd score a thousand dollars, if all went well.
Violet turned on the light in her bathroom, avoiding the mirror. Stupid scars. Since she'd been burned and disfigured, she had to suffer that grade-school humiliation all over again, on a different level. Had to try to ignore the pitying looks sent her way, and shut out the whispers and nervous giggles when people caught sight of her face.
She flicked the light out, then emptied her stash on the kitchen table and counted. A thrill of elation made her hop up and down. On the rug, though, so she didn't stomp the floor. Not much insulation between these cheap, old apartments, and her downstairs neighbors banged on the ceiling if she made too much noise.
Yes! She'd done it! With this last haul, she had enough money. All her work finally paid off. Now she could take the next step in Operation Beast to Beauty. Scars removed, and a few more tweaks to make her beautiful, like her sister.
Violet glanced at the picture hanging on the wall. One of the best days of her life. Their whole family took a trip to the beach, and their parents insisted the girls pose for a photo. Daisy and Violet made the same face at the same time, crossing their eyes and puckering their mouths like a fish. Mom didn't keep that picture, but Violet loved it.
Soon, she'd look just like Daisy, and she'd follow in her sister's footsteps and start modeling. Then would come the mega-huge salary and the other perks that went along with that career. Opportunity not only knocking at her door, but barging in and grabbing her in a bear hug.
Money meant a new life. A life without the danger of living in a crappy place, and a life where she was treated well. Since the Malik virus messed up so many Americans, anyone who wasn't perfect, or at least normal, was treated like a DC. With her scars, everyone assumed she was damaged. She'd had to beg for the job as sales clerk at Fancy Pants Lingerie, had to take a humiliating aptitude test.
One day she overheard her manager talking on the phone, saying she only hired Violet because some customers would feel sorry for her and buy more. And, some of their other clientele, the more hateful ones, enjoyed treating the help with disdain. Looking down on a disfigured clerk would give them malicious pleasure.
Violet almost quit that day, but knew she'd have to find another job if she did, and couldn't bear the thought of more demeaning interviews. And Fancy Pants was owned by a woman who believed in giving back to the community, and set up programs for women with mastectomies. Even though the manager was a total bitch, at least the owner had ethics.
A tap at the door pulled her out of her dark thoughts, and she looked at the clock. Right on time. She opened the door.
"Hey, old man."
"Hey, crazy girl."
The standard greeting she and her neighbor exchanged.
"Come on in."
Alphons wheeled his chair inside. "What's new with you?"
"Same old same old. Going to work, hanging out here, watching lousy movies."
"Except for when you go out in the evening, come back late, and sneak in quiet." He raised his voice, the tone heading to pissed-off range.
Violet turned and headed to the kitchen, away from his piercing gaze. She liked that Alphons looked out for her, and paid attention to what was going on in the apartment building. The downside of having an observant neighbor with sharp senses; he knew her comings and goings.
"Not like it's any of your business, but I meet with friends sometimes. Have a date now and then. Got to have a little excitement in my life, you know?" She pulled a bag from the fridge and put it on the coffee table.
"Not so much fun selling pretty underwear to the rich ladies?" Alphons still frowned, but lowered his voice.
"Yeah, it's loads of fun." Working at Fancy Pants also let her eavesdrop, and learn where the high society ladies hung out. More important, where their purses would be. Where they ate lunch, shopped, any spot that distracted them and allowed her easy access. "That job is boring as hell."
And being looked at like some kind of freak, being treated with the same disdain she'd put up with in school, got old real fast. But she had to work, and the lingerie store was the lesser of many evils.
Alphons wheeled to where she stood in the small living room. "If you hadn't faked your test scores, you could work at something that exercised your brain." He reached up and tapped her head. "Still be going to medical school."
She pulled away. "Yeah, burning myself out with stress, getting ulcers and heart disease. I'm taking a break now. One day, I'll go back. I never should have told you that story. See if I get you drunk again."
"You been smoking too much, girlie. I was the one brought over that wicked good tequila, and got you drunk. We had us a time that night, didn't we?" His mouth curved into a half-smile.
Hell yes they did. She'd never tasted anything better. They'd started with margaritas but the flavor of the tequila was so good, they ended up just doing shots. She'd learned a little about his past and told him a lot about her life that night. Not everything, thank the Lord.
Now he constantly razzed her about purposely dumbing down when she took the aptitude tests. She'd been in med school when the world turned upside down and afterward, once the government stepped in and set up new protocols, everyone took aptitude tests. Then, each UC was assigned a job to replace the dead and the Damaged Citizens.
She knew she should do her part, for "the betterment of mankind," their national motto. Knew she should finish her schooling and continue on with even more. But after that night, after making that horrible mistake that turned her into a monster, she couldn't continue with college. How could she be a doctor and take care of others when she couldn't even take care of herself?
Stern government men in suits had sat with her in a cramped, hot room one day, and went over her test results. Why were they so low? When she'd applied to med school, she had high scores and continued to get excellent grades each semester.
She faked her original scores on med school admittance, she claimed, and cheated off a now-dead roommate the whole time. She couldn't continue the lie and had to drop out.
Told them with the additional stress of her family being killed and her disfiguring accident, she couldn't continue on with medical school. Hung her head and cried in shame. Not hard to fake those tears. She was ashamed of herself, just not for that reason.
"Hey, is that a new gel cushion on your chair?" Violet asked, changing the subject.
"Sure is. I splurged, got this fancy model. Like sitting on a cloud. Supposed to keep my backside cool in the summer and warm in the winter."
"About time you spent your big bucks."
He snorted. "Yeah, I don't know what to do with all my money."
Whatever Alphons did with his pension, he didn't spend it on himself. Lived like her, in this run-down building, just getting by. When she made it to the big time, she'd yank him out of here and set him up somewhere nice. In a place where he could reach everything from his chair, and get in and out of the bathtub without it being a major, dangerous ordeal.
"Let's talk business. You got what I want?"
"Right here. A fresh batch I call Blissed Out. Easy," he cautioned as she grabbed the bag. "They're fragile."
Mushrooms, now legal, were harder to find than illegal drugs. Growing them required patience and a gentle touch, and no two batches ever turned out the same. Drug manufacturers preferred the ease of cooking more stable pharmaceuticals.
Violet acted as a test subject for her neighbor, in return for free product. But only with the mushroom strains that helped her sleep and turn off the dreams. She wouldn't test the hallucinogenic varieties. No trips to la-la land for her.
She also provided him with leftover food from her dinners, which she would have done, anyway. But she never told him that.
"Sweet." She sniffed the bag and purred in appreciation. "And here's your chow. I whipped up beef stew this week. Came out pretty damn good. See? This is how I spend my evenings. Not doing anything you need to worry about."
"You understand, I realize you likely fib to me all the time. You know that, yes? I wish you would tell me what you're up to. I do worry about you."
Violet bit her lip to keep a grin off her face. Her Swedish neighbor spoke English, but sometimes his sentences came out the slightest bit off. Still, she loved listening to the man talk. His accent reminded her of music, and his slow smile helped her remember that kind people still existed on the Earth.
"I don't know what you're talking about. Pipe down a minute and let me concentrate on that sound."
He cocked his head. "What is that?"
"A drip. It only happens now and then. I think my kitchen faucet leaks."
"Let me take a look."
Before she could stop him, he rolled into her kitchen and pushed himself out of his wheelchair to grip the edge of the sink.
Oh Lord. Craning her neck, she checked to make sure he'd locked his wheels to keep the chair from shooting out from under him.
Stay put, don't move.
If she followed her instincts and dashed in there to help him, he'd be pissed as all get out. Guys did not like to feel incapable. She stayed put, gritting her teeth. "I'll call the landlord, get a plumber. Don't worry about it."
"I could fix this, with help from you. Not that hard. Don't call that bastard of a landlord. He'll put you off for weeks and then do a half-assed job. Try to see you naked when he comes in. I think he's a prevert."
"Pervert."
"What did you call me?"
"The word. It's pervert not prevert."
"Whatever."
True enough, the landlord struck her as creepy, but Violet didn't want to impose on her kind-hearted neighbor. And, she didn't want to cause the flush of overexertion she saw on his face as he wheeled to her.
"Have you been taking your medication?" She snatched his wrist off the armrest. "Your pulse is racing. You're not taking your meds. What's the matter with you? You make it this far in life, survive a career on the police force and a national catastrophe, then kill yourself doing something stupid."
"You're killing yourself with drugs."
"All I do are the 'shrooms you bring me. They help me fall asleep. I don't do any heavy stuff."
"Bullshit. I saw the wrapping from a package of Lightup in your trash."
Ah. That explained the change in his attitude recently and the worried, angry looks he shot her way. Damn it, she should remember to hide shit before he came over; the man used to be a cop. Of course he'd scrutinize everything in her place.
Should have shredded that packaging, anyway. How stupid could she be? Had she put it into the outside dumpster in one piece?
"What are you doing, snooping in my trash? I wasn't doing Lightup. I was repackaging it to sell. Don't change the subject." She dropped his wrist, harder than she should. "Do you need me to get your meds refilled? I still have pull with the docs at the university. I can get you a discount."
"Don't need a discount. I have money." He raised his chin.
Violet planted her hands on her hips. "Then why are you living in this dump?"
"Same as you. Saving for future endeavors."
Yeah, Alphons was sharp. She told no one of her plans, but he picked up on the fact she had goals. No use dumbing it down around him, like she did everyone else, since he knew she went to med school. And since he used those ex-cop skills to pry into her life.
"You'll get in trouble selling drugs. Everyone gets caught, even a smart cookie like you. I know you grew up poor and don't want to live that way again…"
"How do you know I grew up poor?" She didn't reveal that part of her past to anyone.
"You talk a lot when you're drunk." He grabbed her hand. "Don't sell that shit and promise me you won't touch Lightup. It's a one-way ticket to the cemetery. I'd miss your cooking if you died."
Much as she wanted to promise, she couldn't. Once upon a time, Violet loved Lightup. The drug produced a special kind of high, incredibly addictive. Nothing stimulated the senses like Lightup. Nothing. It gave a sense of euphoria, with no hangover or after-effects. But the same as most toxic substances, it destroyed the internal organs if used enough.
Whatever genius came up with the formula for Lightup had wicked good timing. The drug was out on the market almost immediately after the Annihilation, allowing a temporary escape from reality for those who couldn't cope.
She'd recently stumbled across a block of it by weird accident. Coming home from a productive evening at a concert two weeks earlier, cruising along in stealth mode, she'd seen a car door open. On the back seat, big as you please, sat a brick of Lightup. Before good sense overrode sheer wonder, she snatched it and ran.
At home, she opened the block and dipped her finger in for a test, reeling from the memories, as the bitter taste of the drug hit her tongue. Oh yeah, it was the real thing. Dollar signs flashed in front of her eyes. She bought a scale and a role of aluminum foil. With a scented bandana over her face, and desire for the blissful high waging war with the agony of how the drug ruined her, she spent a night listening to jazz and repackaging the block. The next night, she took the foil packages to the nearest dance club and sold out in three hours.
But dealing drugs wasn't her thing. She wasn't afraid of getting caught. Her disappearing act ensured she could escape. She couldn't handle looking into the eyes of the buyers. Same as hers had been not that long ago. Hopeless, bleak, the eyes of souls who had given up on finding joy in life and looked for it in chemicals instead.
And having that block of Lightup in her home proved a test of ultimate self-control. The mere smell of it triggered memories of those last few months of med school. Cooking it over a Bunsen burner in the lab, pouring it through a sugar cube into a glass of orange juice, she and her friends raising their glasses in a toast. Then, out to play for the night.
While she couldn't promise she wouldn't do it again, she could swear on her mama's grave that Lightup wouldn't kill her. It had taken enough from her already; it would not take her life. This time, Lightup was her bitch. The drug had given her a nice chunk of money to reach her goal.
"Don't worry, I won't turn into a junkie. I've got plans for my future." She squeezed his hand, gently. Though Alphons never told her, she suspected arthritis troubled his joints and tried to be careful with her touch. "I'll live long past you, old man."
And live well. A shiver of anticipation tickled Violet's spine. Time to make a call. Take the next step in Operation Beast to Beauty.
WEDNESDAY
Expensive perfume, old leather, high-end cigarettes. The scent of wealth wrapped around Jaxon like a lover's legs when he opened the door to King Hall. He smiled as he climbed the steps to Maxime, the most exclusive club on the East coast. Sanctuary. A club where he would soon become a full member, with all the perks that entailed.
"Jaxon." As he entered the study, a man grabbed his hand. "Sorry to hear about your problems with the IRS. Good luck with that audit."
"Brad." Jaxon frowned as he shook the man's hand. "I'm not being audited."
"No? Good. You don't need that on top of prostate issues."
"There's nothing wrong with my prostate." Jaxon gritted his teeth. "Where did you hear this?"
"Um." Brad glanced around. "Sean might have mentioned it in conversation."
Sean Hartman. Jaxon looked across the room to see the man sitting in the best seat in the house, puffing his alleged high-priced cigar. Last time Jaxon heard Sean running his mouth, he bragged a 'master cigar artist' in Cuba concocted and named a blend just for him. Especial Sean. And, according to the pompous little prick, only eighty were rolled and sold for one hundred dollars a stick.
Smelled like workout socks on fire.
Jaxon pushed down a flare of anger and grabbed a drink from a passing server. Sean had been doing his best to spread lies about Jaxon throughout the club these past few weeks. Jaxon needed the support of his fellow members, needed their votes to get the full membership. He didn't need rumors going around about his monetary affairs or his health.
Not going to let asshole Sean ruin his evening. He'd ignore him and talk to other club members. Schmooze, campaign for votes. Jaxon turned, but too late.
Sean caught him staring. He crooked his index finger, motioning Jaxon over. Like some kind of royalty, beckoning his subject.
Though in his mid-thirties, same as Jaxon, Sean didn't work. His family had a butt-load of cash and not having to put in time at a day job meant he had hours to spend socializing at Maxime. No one sat near him today. Ran everyone off with that smoking piece of shit in his mouth.
Screw it. Might as well go talk to the guy, get it over with. Jaxon forced a smile, walked across the room and sat in the chair opposite Sean. "How's it going?"
"Positively wonderful." Sean leaned forward, teeth bared, a shark about to rip into its dinner. "The board will make their decision soon for the newest full member. Have you got your Entry Fee yet? Hear you have a gemstone worth several million dollars. Is that true?" Sean tipped his glass and watched Jaxon over the rim.
Fucker. Sean knew Jaxon didn't have the required Entry Fee, the other prerequisite to becoming a full member. He must have talked to Paul Roland. Even if he was the president of Maxime, Paul could never pass up the opportunity to gossip.
"Almost." Jaxon matched Sean's lazy tone and leaned back, taking a sip of his drink. Yuck. Scotch. A beer would go down better. A craft beer, from one of the local breweries. But the members sipped liquor here in the study, so he went along with the tradition.
"It's taking some effort to get a hold of it, but I'm enjoying the hunt. The harder something is to get, the more it's treasured, don't you agree?"
Sean shrugged. "No. Maybe for people like you, struggle is noble. My family and I enjoy all the luxuries we can."
Jaxon curled his hand into a fist and slid it by his side, out of sight. When he joined Maxime as a limited member six years ago, Sean behaved cordially towards him, even friendly. When a spot opened for full membership four months ago and Jaxon announced his application, it was as though a switch flipped.
Sean put on a show for the members, smiling and patting Jaxon on the back, but when they were alone, he hurled subtle, then not-so-subtle insults. Jaxon had ignored him, but now that the guy starting talking shit to other members, messing with his chances for full membership – time to slap him down.
Jaxon leaned forward, keeping his voice low. "What the fuck, Sean? You've been ragging my ass about becoming a full member since I was selected for consideration. You're already a full member; we're not in competition. You got a problem with me, spit it out."
Sean's fake smile faded and his brows drew together. "I don't want to see inferior blood brought into our organization. Your family is, beg your pardon, your family was lower class. So many allegations concerning the Turkovic's business dealings."
The whiskey burned down his throat and Jaxon repressed a shudder. Why did Sean give a shit about his history? The Turkovics and the Hartmans never tangled. And plenty of Maxime members had skeletons in the family closet. The guy couldn't be this pissed about old business that didn't affect him.
"My family is dead. And I'm not them. I don't run their jewelry business anymore." Jaxon kept his face impassive. Don't let the bastard see he was getting to him. "I'm a CPA for Dunleigh, Rockledge and Associates, a totally legitimate corporation."
"Still." Sean frowned, looked into his glass and swirled the contents as he spoke. "Those stories of mob connections. It runs in the blood."
Jaxon tapped his foot, fighting to stay calm. "Get off my case. No one in my family was ever convicted of a crime. And why all of a sudden this bullshit?"
"You lied. You gave a false last name when you joined as a limited member. Jaxon Leppard." Sean curled his upper lip. "What kind of name is that? You think you're some kind of jungle animal?"
"No, you asshat." Jaxon slammed his glass on the table, sloshing the dark liquid onto the surface. "Leppard comes from one of the greatest rock bands you've probably never even heard of. I took a new name for a fresh start. Lots of people did after The Annihilation. I wanted to disassociate from the Turkovic name. President Roland knows who I am, who my family is. Was."
"You joined months before The Annihilation, with your 'rock star' name." Sean made finger quotes in the air.
"So I was ahead of my time. There are plenty of other guys here with shady family histories. Yours, for instance. The Hartmans have a charming reputation." Jaxon snorted. "Was that your grandfather who fleeced little old ladies out of millions of dollars, selling condos in swamp land in Florida? Bet you're doing the same thing today."
Sean stood, his face flaming red. "Great grandfather. Alleged. Never proven. Where did you get that information?"
"I have sources. You judge me for my family history, I'll hold you to yours."
"Thief."
"Swindler."
"Gentlemen. Is there a problem?" President Roland dropped into the chair next to Jaxon, cigarette in one hand, and whiskey tumbler in the other.
Sean sat back down and he and Jaxon straightened to attention.
"No problem, sir. A friendly debate over a soccer game," Sean said.
"Ah. Always good to root for your team. How are you gentlemen doing?"
"I'm doing well, thank you." Jaxon angled himself toward Roland to block Sean. "Getting ready for the Chosen One Ceremony."
"Should be interesting. Several of you in the running. Rumor has it, you'll be presenting us with a valuable gem to add to our vault."
"I plan to, yes."
"But he doesn't have it yet." Sean leaned forward. "I hear O'Shaughnessy has a classic Bentley Continental to present, worth one million dollars."
If he shoved on the table between them with his foot, Jaxon reckoned, it would slam right into Sean's knees. Asshole would scream like a girl.
"I'll have the gemstone, valued at three million dollars. That will give me points."
"Good." Roland patted Jaxon on the knee. "Luck to you. You're a fine asset to our group. It'll be my pleasure to give you the full membership." He rose. "Business to tend to. I'll see you boys later."
Sean stood again the minute Roland turned the corner. "Don't put your ass groove in that chair. You won't be selected for the full member spot. Your chances of procuring that stone are slim to none, anyway."
"Because?"
A feral smile stretched Sean's lips. "If you could get it, you'd have it by now."
True enough. Jaxon wished to hell he'd never told Sean that the emerald was in a hiding place. A spot not impossible but hard to get to. At least he hadn't given away the exact location, because, for whatever reason, Sean had turned from casual friend to back-stabbing enemy.
"For your information, I plan to have the stone in my hands on Saturday night."
"Sure you will. Hey, what's that sound I hear?" Sean cupped his ear. "Is it… yes, it is! The fat lady singing. It's over for you. You don't have the stone, and you don't have a way to get it. I can tell by looking at you. You're a lying sack of shit."
"I've got it covered. I'm getting that rock." Fighting like hell to keep from punching Sean, Jaxon yawned and stretched out his legs. "If you're not using that chair next to you, slide it to the side, would you?" He hooked his foot on a leg of the chair and pulled it toward him. "I have a friend coming over to help me rehearse my acceptance speech."
He scanned the room, saw their newest limited member and winked at her. Roxanne, or Rachel, or Raquel. Something like that. Attractive woman, in her late forties maybe, older than he usually dated. But the gleam in her eye said she knew how to have fun.
Rashida. That was her name. She smiled in return and Jaxon watched with smug delight as Sean's face reddened again.
"You will not get that membership. I swear to God, I'll do whatever it takes to make sure." Sean dropped the stub of his cigar in Jaxon's drink and stormed off.
Head pounding with suppressed fury, Jaxon watched Sean go. He'd won this round, but if he couldn't get that emerald, it wouldn't matter. Though not in the official rules, unspoken protocol said, those who applied for full membership and failed, left Maxime. One spot came open a year ago, and after the Chosen One Ceremony, he'd watched those not selected slink away, defeated warriors exiting the battlefield.
Tension coiled in his gut, and King Hall, his calming refuge, suddenly felt claustrophobic. The old building had been trashed during the riots, then refurbished years ago to resemble a nineteenth century high-class London gentleman's club, and named after a favorite local author. The upstairs contained an enormous library, various rooms for private meetings, and the study, where members met for casual drinking and conversation. Downstairs held a fitness club with a weight room, whirlpool, sauna, massage rooms, and a full kitchen and banquet room.
Unlike clubs of earlier years with their restrictive policies, men, women, and most anyone who paid the yearly fee of ninety thousand dollars could join as limited member. Full membership only opened when one of the twelve full members left the area or died. Plenty of men and women were content to stay limited members, more than happy to enjoy the lesser benefits. Anything to give them pleasure and help them forget the horrific event six years ago that changed life in America forever.
Since The Annihilation, citizens of the Secure States of America needed distraction. In 2020, a group, never identified or caught, deposited a substance containing the Malik virus into the United States' water supply, killing hundreds of thousands of Americans and leaving masses more brain damaged. Two classes of people now occupied the country. Damaged Citizens, or DCs, lived among the rest of the population of Unchanged Citizens, or UCs.
Both groups adjusted to their new normal, and life went on.
Immediately after The Annihilation, the government seized control of the country. Order was restored, but many freedoms taken away. Jobs were assigned, microchips implanted, cameras posted everywhere.
Citizens still lived with fear that another mass attack, of a different kind, could happen any time. Refuge in a refined and privileged club like Maxime, gave members, Jaxon included, a sense of desperately needed peace and order. Inside King Hall, they could shut out the rest of the world and create their own reality. Well worth the hefty yearly fee. He'd been able to cover it so far, thanks to a decent salary and an inheritance, but the inheritance would run out soon. He needed the full membership, needed the money-making opportunities that came with that level, so he could stay in Maxime.
And if terror struck again, he'd be ready. The real appeal of full membership with Maxime was, luxury underground bunkers, ready for use, at a hidden site not far away. Full members and their family were guaranteed safe, comfortable living, should the unthinkable happen again.
Another disaster would happen, Jaxon knew. He planned to be one of the safe. Along with a young man he swore to protect. He'd made a promise to a dying woman and he intended to keep it.
Jaxon drew in a breath. Right now he craved fresh air, open space, and loud music. A street fair he'd seen advertised would work to meet those needs. Rising, he set his empty glass on a table and strode from the room, not making eye contact with anyone. He should get on with his campaign to drum up admission votes, but he couldn't stay a minute longer. Not today.
Thankful for the set of casual clothes he kept in his car, he clicked the doors open as he hurried across the parking lot. If, no when he became full member, he'd have a locker to store clothing and toiletries.
Fucking Sean. Not going to ruin my evening. Not going to ruin my life.
All he needed to do was get that damn stone, and Jaxon had a plan. One that meant he'd have to face another man that used to be a friend. But time was running out, and so were his options.
****
Music from the jazz trio rolled over Jaxon like warm water, helping his shoulders ease down a notch. He flicked his wood and silver lighter and ran his thumb over the abalone guitar inlay. A gift, from his father. Dad said he got it from a famous rock star, but the old man lied a lot. Embellished, not lied his mother use to say. Smiling when she did, sometimes rolling her eyes too.
Good idea, coming here. Clear out his brain. Work on how he'd approach his old friend Riley.
Warm weather in Bangor, Maine brought out a good size crowd at the street fair. Sixty-two degrees in the early evening, with a light breeze blowing the scent of hot dogs, cotton candy, and fried doughy crap his way. Everyone out spending money on food, alcohol, and cheap doo-dads the vendors peddled. Half of the people wanting to be entertained by the performers, the other half trolling for action, trying to get laid.
A juggler wandered around tossing flaming balls, musicians strolled, playing various instruments, a woman in a skin-tight fluorescent dress performed card tricks, while engaging and distracting the people. Distracted people were effortless marks.
Jaxon shook his head. Where did that thought come from? He gave up stealing long ago. Tension, making him fall back into old thought patterns. But damn it, how easy it would be to snatch a wallet, or dip his fingers inside a purse and lift out a few bills, the way he used to do years ago, with Riley and the gang. Jaxon's fingers itched with the urge to try. It would be a cinch to remove a billfold from these party people.
Like that.
Jaxon blinked.
A blur, so smooth he barely noticed. A wallet, sliding from a jacket pocket, into thin air? No, it couldn't be. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. Stress playing tricks with his eyes. But his former thief instincts sprang to alert.
Someone in this crowd was picking pockets. No one he could see, but it was happening. There. A woman, absorbed in a conversation with her friend, her purse hanging carelessly on her shoulder. The beaded handbag moved, maybe from a gust of the wind, but then the clasp on top opened.
He stared as a sparkling coin purse seemed to float from the bag, unzip, and paper money appeared in the air one second, then disappeared the next. He saw no hands, only the slightest movement. Unless he'd been watching for it, as an ex-thief, he wouldn't have seen even that.
Jaxon lit his cigarette and continued to watch the phenomenon move through the crowd. A jacket lifted slightly from where it hung on a vacated chair, the wallet opened, then returned. Subtle moves, but not his imagination.
Taking one last drag on his cigarette, he stubbed it out and rose, then casually walked toward the latest movement and leaned against a brick wall. A purse under a chair opened and in two strides he was on it, reaching down with his hand, brushing a solid, warm body.
"Shit." A muffled curse sounded.
The invisible thief shoved him and Jaxon almost lost his balance.
Then, where nothing had been but air, a young woman appeared, dressed in a purple bodysuit that hugged her curves. Her light brown hair was pulled into a ponytail, with purple tips on the ends. Scars ran along one side of her neck and up her cheek. He looked into violet eyes gone wide with surprise, then grabbed her arm.
She stared at him for a second, then jerked the arm he held. "Let go."
"I won't hurt you. I just want to talk."
"I don't." She pulled again, but he held fast.
Jaxon turned as a woman tapped his shoulder. "Hey, what are you doing at my table?"
"I'm just…" He swiveled back to his captive as she struggled in his grip.
"I said let go of me."
"Are you bothering that girl?" The woman planted her hands on her hips, chomping on a wad of gum that had turned her mouth blue.
"No, I need to talk to her."
"Yes, he's bothering me." His prisoner squirmed.
The woman took a step closer. "I don't think she wants to talk to you. Get your paws off her before I call the cops."
Uh-uh. No cops. Jaxon released his grip and raised his hands. Smiled his innocent, charming smile and faced the woman again. "No need for that. We'll take our conversation elsewhere."
The gum-chomping woman rolled her eyes. "I doubt that. You gorgeous hunks, think you're God's gift. Wake up." She leaned in even closer and stared at Violet. "Honey, just because your face is messed up doesn't mean you have to take crap from any man." She grabbed her purse from under the chair. "I'm joining my friends over there. My karate friends. He bothers you anymore, you yell. We'll come running." She spun on her high heels and click-clacked away.
Jaxon watched her go and when he turned back, the girl in purple was gone. He should vacate the vicinity too. He didn't need to call attention to himself, and if anyone here noticed their missing money, they might remember the face of the man who grabbed a young woman. He faded to the back edges of the crowd and leaned against a wall, watching. She was still here, he sensed her.
There, a ripple of a coat hanging over a chair. The wallet inside appeared, opened, and was tucked back in. He pushed off from the wall, ready to swoop and grab, when the invisible woman appeared again. She smiled, stuck out her tongue, and – as he stepped toward her – she faded into the night air.
Fuck. Jaxon leaned back, his mind spinning. Invisibility. Now that would come in handy getting a stone off an island. His plan just changed to include a woman with purple eyes.
****
Jaxon tossed his jacket to land on the hook inside his hall entryway, missed, and cursed as he picked it off the floor. Annoyance still ate at him, even after two beers and a hit of a joint a kind soul had shared with him when he'd relocated to the other side of the festival. He'd mostly accepted the offer for a hit of the joint because he liked the lady's lipstick. Glow in the dark. She extended an invitation for more intimate contact with her lips, but his earlier conversation with Sean put his mood too low to rise to her offer.
Fuck that Sean. Asshole knew nothing. Jaxon wasn't his family; he was his own person and had just as much right to belong to Maxime as anyone else. All he needed to do was get the Entry Fee, the emerald his brother Alen had stashed in the Bahamas island of Azure Paradise Cay.
Years ago, getting to Azure Paradise Cay would be no problem. Fly in, grab the rock, fly out. But since The Annihilation, the Secure States of America was quarantined by a satellite shield. To contain the Malik virus, the government said. No one allowed to enter the country and only select people allowed to leave.
When the shield went into effect, wealthy citizens snapped up private islands in the Bahamas, the Florida Keys, and other offshore land belonging to the Secure States. Azure Paradise Cay was one of those, sold to a mega-dollar company, who turned the place into a luxury resort and charged a hefty fee for real estate. The islands used special shields, which only owners could access by having their microchips programmed.
After a short-lived period of riots when the shield first went up, and after protesters were gassed and left on the streets, a new kind of uneasy order ensued. But soon, free air and shuttle bus travel went into place, and planes and busses evolved to move fast and frequently. Getting around the country became easy, and the protests died down. Not everyone agreed with the changes made, and many were unhappy, but they accepted the situation.
Years before The Annihilation, when the shit hit the fan with the Turkovic family and the rival Santini family, Alen had moved to Azure Paradise. The island had been owned by a wealthy man, at the time. Alen found a small cottage to rent, bought a failing restaurant, and turned it into a thriving business. He decided he liked island living and stayed there the rest of his life, despite his family's pleas to come back and join them.
Smart guy. The war between the two families ended up killing most of their members, and the only woman Jaxon had ever loved.
He shook his head to clear the memories. Not going to go there. That was long ago. Five years – ancient history. Everyone changed since The Annihilation. Like he told Sean, he wasn't the only one to switch his name up in order to ditch his past. Even those years with his old buddy Riley and the gang… Not going to go there either.
Now was the only time that mattered and time was not on his side. The decision about the new full member would be made in less than two weeks. If Jaxon didn't have an object of great value as an Entry Fee, even if he had a ton of votes, he was out of the running.
He had to get that spot. Only full members received access to the formulas Maxime had devised to make a lot of money, legally, on the stock market. The old guys in Maxime, they'd worked out a system over the years to play the market just right. Never went crazy to call attention to themselves. Just enough to make them rich.
And he needed to assure he'd have one of the twelve suites in the underground survival silo. Toby, his dead fiancé's nephew, would be his responsibility if there was another disaster, and Jaxon swore he'd take care of him.
Like they had a telepathic link, Jaxon's phone rang. Toby, calling from his group home on a Vidseetalk line. The kid liked seeing Jaxon in person. Kid. He'd be sixteen soon.
"Hey Tobes, how's it going?"
Toby's face lit up like it always did when he saw Jaxon, and Jaxon's heart clenched, like it always did when he saw Toby. The young man looked so much like his aunt, Lacey.
"It's going good, Uncle Jax. We went to the zoo today. Saw monkeys. They're loud, and they stink."
In the background, Jaxon saw adults of various ages sitting in chairs. Toby was in the rec room. Jaxon had first visited Caring Hearts, six years ago, after The Annihilation. Toby's mother had been affected by the Malik virus and knew she was dying. She was determined to make sure her special needs son had a good home. As godfather, Jaxon went with her. They both deemed the facility worthy.
Since the Malik virus caused brain damage in so many American citizens, the government opened and supported many group homes. Toby's condition was congenital, but he was given access to the same resources as victims of the virus. Caring Hearts in San Diego had been Toby's residence for the past six years.
"Monkeys are pretty stinky. Did you climb in the cage with them?"
Toby laughed. "No"
"Did you swing from the trees like they do?"
Toby shrieked with delight. "No. We can't do that."
"I know. I'm messing with you. You feel okay? Everything going good?"
"I had a cold, but I took my medicine and it's gone."
Heart clenched again. Jaxon wanted to see Toby, in person, but the staff at Caring Hearts agreed, it wouldn't be good for Jaxon to visit frequently. The few times he did, Toby behaved badly afterward, confused by the change. And though Jaxon brought up the possibility of his godson coming home with him, that scenario wouldn't work. Toby needed structure, and routine, or he became agitated. The best thing for Toby right now was to be around others like him and socialize, and to get the top-notch medical care and education that the facility provided.
And Jaxon wasn't daddy material. He'd been in a shitty place in life when Lacey's sister had called him in desperation and asked him to go with her to Caring Hearts. Because he'd promised Lacey, Jaxon went. Once Jaxon met Toby in person, the reality of his commitment scared the shit out of him. But their weekly conversations endeared him to the kid. They grew closer each year, and Jaxon now determined to fully honor his promise to Lacey.
If there was a crisis, Jaxon had already informed the Caring Hearts administration, he'd snatch up Toby immediately. Which meant he had to have a safe place to bring the kid. So far, he hadn't come up with a way to get onto Azure Paradise Cay and retrieve that stone, which would guarantee a protected home for them both.
But a conversation several weeks earlier had lit a spark.
Riley had called him for a favor and though the guy said he wasn't up to anything, Jaxon heard that particular tone in his voice. Like in the old days when they had a hot job lined up; excitement, mixed with a tinge of caution. Why else would Riley want those camera feeds from the middle of nowhere?
Lots of the jobs they used to do weren't technically illegal. Riley was a super hacker. He figured out ways to take money from offshore accounts belonging to people who wanted to keep their assets hidden. He'd skim a little here, a little there, but not so much that anyone would complain. And who were those crooks going to tell, anyway?
His old friend said he was wasn't working on a job now. Bullshit. Riley was the world's best hacker. Started out robbing the rich of their valuables, then moved on to cyber-crime. Jaxon followed, up until Riley went solo years ago. Decided to break up their gang, the Cyber Pirates. To distance himself from Jaxon and the others. Said he was tired of working with everyone, wanted to do his own thing, and would catch up with Jaxon one day.
He never did.
Jaxon had heard news, that Riley had gotten caught, went to prison, gotten out, and had went straight, working for some government agency. But not one phone call, text, or email. Jaxon wandered the country, went back to college for a year, and then dropped out. Lost. When he happened on Maxime, he jumped at the opportunity to join.
Then The Annihilation happened. With so many dead or brain damaged, Maxime waived their membership fees for several years, and even sent Jaxon back to college to get his accounting degree. Said they could use a guy like him who was good with numbers. Maxime leaders recognized his hunger, his desire to succeed. They helped him get a job, and gave him responsibilities working with the club treasurer. When a position opened for full membership, Jaxon was the first to put in his application.
He'd planned to contact Riley for help, hit him up for cash. If Jaxon came up with a huge bunch of unaccounted-for money, he could bribe his way onto Azure Paradise Cay. But after tonight, another idea brewed, and he should visit Riley in person to present it.
Jaxon pulled out his phone and tapped it. A cop Jaxon dated years ago unwittingly shared her app with him, which he now used when he wanted to find someone. Illegal as hell, but handy when needed.
If someone invented a way to make themselves invisible, he could use that to get onto the island. Whatever outfit that girl at the fair had on must be something new that thieves were wearing, to make them blend into the crowd. He'd done a quick online search while he sat at the fair and found nothing. But new technology sprung up every day. Too bad an invisibility suit hadn't been around when he was active in the con game.
Riley would be interested in a way to disappear. No matter what he said during their last conversation, he'd be interested. Jaxon would give him that information, in exchange for Riley's help. They'd find that girl again, together. Between Invisible Girl and Super Hacker Riley, he'd figure out a way to get onto that island.
CHAPTER TWO
Violet dumped her bag on the kitchen table, then plopped into a chair, blowing out a breath. Close call. How the heck did that guy spot her? She always moved carefully, making sure no one had eyes on her before she snatched and grabbed. This dude snuck up and put his hand on her before she knew it. Thankfully, a few concerned citizens still existed and one came to her rescue. More like curious citizens. Concerned, curious, didn't matter. She'd got away.
So why did she act all sassy and let him see her again? Anytime she became visible in a crowd she risked detection. Because it was fun teasing him, showing off. Especially to a, what did that woman call him, a gorgeous hunk. And that he was.
Bad girl.
Smiling, she peeled away the skintight bodysuit. Not the most comfortable clothing, but necessary. When she activated her power, her stealth mode, objects in direct contact with her skin became invisible. The one-piece, snug-fitting outfits worked the best. Long sleeves and pants for winter, short for the summer. No chance of an article of clothing being seen. Any items she wanted to carry, that needed to stay hidden, had to touch her skin, so she tucked her car key and the money she grabbed down her shirt.
Yay for cleavage! Limited storage though, which kept her out of trouble, kept her from taking too much. Like tonight, she had gotten caught up in the excitement of knowing someone had watched her. Could have worked that place another hour. But she'd learned from experience, stay too long and someone in the crowd would pick up on her presence.
Snag a little money, get in, get out. No one noticed a few bills missing. She'd come up with this rule when she first started picking pockets. Don't swipe a lot from any one person. Not enough to hurt them. If they even noticed their money was missing they'd be annoyed, but not likely to start a commotion.
And she would never, ever leave anyone broke.
For too many years, she'd been poor. Her family wasn't destitute, but they didn't have a lot of money. Didn't bother Violet or her sister Daisy, until their parents got Violet into a prestigious school in the next county. Violet was a smart kid, and her parents wanted her to have the best education, so they sent her to that snooty private academy.
Violet was from the ghetto, as far as everyone there was concerned. She endured listening to her classmates laugh at her out-of-style clothes, her peanut butter and jelly lunches, and her jewelry from the dollar store. She cried quietly in her room every night, not wanting to disappoint her parents, who scrimped and saved so Violet could attend that awful place.
Violet shuddered. Not going to go down that path tonight. Think about her successful evening instead. The people at the fair, with their fancy cars and manicures that cost more than her rent, they could afford to donate a few dollars to her personal project, Operation Beast to Beauty.
Outdoor festivals were a sure thing for plenty of cash. After the massive Credit Card Hack of 2018, many small merchants wouldn't even take credit cards, so visitors carried cash to events like the street fair. A four-day run at one of these and she'd score a thousand dollars, if all went well.
Violet turned on the light in her bathroom, avoiding the mirror. Stupid scars. Since she'd been burned and disfigured, she had to suffer that grade-school humiliation all over again, on a different level. Had to try to ignore the pitying looks sent her way, and shut out the whispers and nervous giggles when people caught sight of her face.
She flicked the light out, then emptied her stash on the kitchen table and counted. A thrill of elation made her hop up and down. On the rug, though, so she didn't stomp the floor. Not much insulation between these cheap, old apartments, and her downstairs neighbors banged on the ceiling if she made too much noise.
Yes! She'd done it! With this last haul, she had enough money. All her work finally paid off. Now she could take the next step in Operation Beast to Beauty. Scars removed, and a few more tweaks to make her beautiful, like her sister.
Violet glanced at the picture hanging on the wall. One of the best days of her life. Their whole family took a trip to the beach, and their parents insisted the girls pose for a photo. Daisy and Violet made the same face at the same time, crossing their eyes and puckering their mouths like a fish. Mom didn't keep that picture, but Violet loved it.
Soon, she'd look just like Daisy, and she'd follow in her sister's footsteps and start modeling. Then would come the mega-huge salary and the other perks that went along with that career. Opportunity not only knocking at her door, but barging in and grabbing her in a bear hug.
Money meant a new life. A life without the danger of living in a crappy place, and a life where she was treated well. Since the Malik virus messed up so many Americans, anyone who wasn't perfect, or at least normal, was treated like a DC. With her scars, everyone assumed she was damaged. She'd had to beg for the job as sales clerk at Fancy Pants Lingerie, had to take a humiliating aptitude test.
One day she overheard her manager talking on the phone, saying she only hired Violet because some customers would feel sorry for her and buy more. And, some of their other clientele, the more hateful ones, enjoyed treating the help with disdain. Looking down on a disfigured clerk would give them malicious pleasure.
Violet almost quit that day, but knew she'd have to find another job if she did, and couldn't bear the thought of more demeaning interviews. And Fancy Pants was owned by a woman who believed in giving back to the community, and set up programs for women with mastectomies. Even though the manager was a total bitch, at least the owner had ethics.
A tap at the door pulled her out of her dark thoughts, and she looked at the clock. Right on time. She opened the door.
"Hey, old man."
"Hey, crazy girl."
The standard greeting she and her neighbor exchanged.
"Come on in."
Alphons wheeled his chair inside. "What's new with you?"
"Same old same old. Going to work, hanging out here, watching lousy movies."
"Except for when you go out in the evening, come back late, and sneak in quiet." He raised his voice, the tone heading to pissed-off range.
Violet turned and headed to the kitchen, away from his piercing gaze. She liked that Alphons looked out for her, and paid attention to what was going on in the apartment building. The downside of having an observant neighbor with sharp senses; he knew her comings and goings.
"Not like it's any of your business, but I meet with friends sometimes. Have a date now and then. Got to have a little excitement in my life, you know?" She pulled a bag from the fridge and put it on the coffee table.
"Not so much fun selling pretty underwear to the rich ladies?" Alphons still frowned, but lowered his voice.
"Yeah, it's loads of fun." Working at Fancy Pants also let her eavesdrop, and learn where the high society ladies hung out. More important, where their purses would be. Where they ate lunch, shopped, any spot that distracted them and allowed her easy access. "That job is boring as hell."
And being looked at like some kind of freak, being treated with the same disdain she'd put up with in school, got old real fast. But she had to work, and the lingerie store was the lesser of many evils.
Alphons wheeled to where she stood in the small living room. "If you hadn't faked your test scores, you could work at something that exercised your brain." He reached up and tapped her head. "Still be going to medical school."
She pulled away. "Yeah, burning myself out with stress, getting ulcers and heart disease. I'm taking a break now. One day, I'll go back. I never should have told you that story. See if I get you drunk again."
"You been smoking too much, girlie. I was the one brought over that wicked good tequila, and got you drunk. We had us a time that night, didn't we?" His mouth curved into a half-smile.
Hell yes they did. She'd never tasted anything better. They'd started with margaritas but the flavor of the tequila was so good, they ended up just doing shots. She'd learned a little about his past and told him a lot about her life that night. Not everything, thank the Lord.
Now he constantly razzed her about purposely dumbing down when she took the aptitude tests. She'd been in med school when the world turned upside down and afterward, once the government stepped in and set up new protocols, everyone took aptitude tests. Then, each UC was assigned a job to replace the dead and the Damaged Citizens.
She knew she should do her part, for "the betterment of mankind," their national motto. Knew she should finish her schooling and continue on with even more. But after that night, after making that horrible mistake that turned her into a monster, she couldn't continue with college. How could she be a doctor and take care of others when she couldn't even take care of herself?
Stern government men in suits had sat with her in a cramped, hot room one day, and went over her test results. Why were they so low? When she'd applied to med school, she had high scores and continued to get excellent grades each semester.
She faked her original scores on med school admittance, she claimed, and cheated off a now-dead roommate the whole time. She couldn't continue the lie and had to drop out.
Told them with the additional stress of her family being killed and her disfiguring accident, she couldn't continue on with medical school. Hung her head and cried in shame. Not hard to fake those tears. She was ashamed of herself, just not for that reason.
"Hey, is that a new gel cushion on your chair?" Violet asked, changing the subject.
"Sure is. I splurged, got this fancy model. Like sitting on a cloud. Supposed to keep my backside cool in the summer and warm in the winter."
"About time you spent your big bucks."
He snorted. "Yeah, I don't know what to do with all my money."
Whatever Alphons did with his pension, he didn't spend it on himself. Lived like her, in this run-down building, just getting by. When she made it to the big time, she'd yank him out of here and set him up somewhere nice. In a place where he could reach everything from his chair, and get in and out of the bathtub without it being a major, dangerous ordeal.
"Let's talk business. You got what I want?"
"Right here. A fresh batch I call Blissed Out. Easy," he cautioned as she grabbed the bag. "They're fragile."
Mushrooms, now legal, were harder to find than illegal drugs. Growing them required patience and a gentle touch, and no two batches ever turned out the same. Drug manufacturers preferred the ease of cooking more stable pharmaceuticals.
Violet acted as a test subject for her neighbor, in return for free product. But only with the mushroom strains that helped her sleep and turn off the dreams. She wouldn't test the hallucinogenic varieties. No trips to la-la land for her.
She also provided him with leftover food from her dinners, which she would have done, anyway. But she never told him that.
"Sweet." She sniffed the bag and purred in appreciation. "And here's your chow. I whipped up beef stew this week. Came out pretty damn good. See? This is how I spend my evenings. Not doing anything you need to worry about."
"You understand, I realize you likely fib to me all the time. You know that, yes? I wish you would tell me what you're up to. I do worry about you."
Violet bit her lip to keep a grin off her face. Her Swedish neighbor spoke English, but sometimes his sentences came out the slightest bit off. Still, she loved listening to the man talk. His accent reminded her of music, and his slow smile helped her remember that kind people still existed on the Earth.
"I don't know what you're talking about. Pipe down a minute and let me concentrate on that sound."
He cocked his head. "What is that?"
"A drip. It only happens now and then. I think my kitchen faucet leaks."
"Let me take a look."
Before she could stop him, he rolled into her kitchen and pushed himself out of his wheelchair to grip the edge of the sink.
Oh Lord. Craning her neck, she checked to make sure he'd locked his wheels to keep the chair from shooting out from under him.
Stay put, don't move.
If she followed her instincts and dashed in there to help him, he'd be pissed as all get out. Guys did not like to feel incapable. She stayed put, gritting her teeth. "I'll call the landlord, get a plumber. Don't worry about it."
"I could fix this, with help from you. Not that hard. Don't call that bastard of a landlord. He'll put you off for weeks and then do a half-assed job. Try to see you naked when he comes in. I think he's a prevert."
"Pervert."
"What did you call me?"
"The word. It's pervert not prevert."
"Whatever."
True enough, the landlord struck her as creepy, but Violet didn't want to impose on her kind-hearted neighbor. And, she didn't want to cause the flush of overexertion she saw on his face as he wheeled to her.
"Have you been taking your medication?" She snatched his wrist off the armrest. "Your pulse is racing. You're not taking your meds. What's the matter with you? You make it this far in life, survive a career on the police force and a national catastrophe, then kill yourself doing something stupid."
"You're killing yourself with drugs."
"All I do are the 'shrooms you bring me. They help me fall asleep. I don't do any heavy stuff."
"Bullshit. I saw the wrapping from a package of Lightup in your trash."
Ah. That explained the change in his attitude recently and the worried, angry looks he shot her way. Damn it, she should remember to hide shit before he came over; the man used to be a cop. Of course he'd scrutinize everything in her place.
Should have shredded that packaging, anyway. How stupid could she be? Had she put it into the outside dumpster in one piece?
"What are you doing, snooping in my trash? I wasn't doing Lightup. I was repackaging it to sell. Don't change the subject." She dropped his wrist, harder than she should. "Do you need me to get your meds refilled? I still have pull with the docs at the university. I can get you a discount."
"Don't need a discount. I have money." He raised his chin.
Violet planted her hands on her hips. "Then why are you living in this dump?"
"Same as you. Saving for future endeavors."
Yeah, Alphons was sharp. She told no one of her plans, but he picked up on the fact she had goals. No use dumbing it down around him, like she did everyone else, since he knew she went to med school. And since he used those ex-cop skills to pry into her life.
"You'll get in trouble selling drugs. Everyone gets caught, even a smart cookie like you. I know you grew up poor and don't want to live that way again…"
"How do you know I grew up poor?" She didn't reveal that part of her past to anyone.
"You talk a lot when you're drunk." He grabbed her hand. "Don't sell that shit and promise me you won't touch Lightup. It's a one-way ticket to the cemetery. I'd miss your cooking if you died."
Much as she wanted to promise, she couldn't. Once upon a time, Violet loved Lightup. The drug produced a special kind of high, incredibly addictive. Nothing stimulated the senses like Lightup. Nothing. It gave a sense of euphoria, with no hangover or after-effects. But the same as most toxic substances, it destroyed the internal organs if used enough.
Whatever genius came up with the formula for Lightup had wicked good timing. The drug was out on the market almost immediately after the Annihilation, allowing a temporary escape from reality for those who couldn't cope.
She'd recently stumbled across a block of it by weird accident. Coming home from a productive evening at a concert two weeks earlier, cruising along in stealth mode, she'd seen a car door open. On the back seat, big as you please, sat a brick of Lightup. Before good sense overrode sheer wonder, she snatched it and ran.
At home, she opened the block and dipped her finger in for a test, reeling from the memories, as the bitter taste of the drug hit her tongue. Oh yeah, it was the real thing. Dollar signs flashed in front of her eyes. She bought a scale and a role of aluminum foil. With a scented bandana over her face, and desire for the blissful high waging war with the agony of how the drug ruined her, she spent a night listening to jazz and repackaging the block. The next night, she took the foil packages to the nearest dance club and sold out in three hours.
But dealing drugs wasn't her thing. She wasn't afraid of getting caught. Her disappearing act ensured she could escape. She couldn't handle looking into the eyes of the buyers. Same as hers had been not that long ago. Hopeless, bleak, the eyes of souls who had given up on finding joy in life and looked for it in chemicals instead.
And having that block of Lightup in her home proved a test of ultimate self-control. The mere smell of it triggered memories of those last few months of med school. Cooking it over a Bunsen burner in the lab, pouring it through a sugar cube into a glass of orange juice, she and her friends raising their glasses in a toast. Then, out to play for the night.
While she couldn't promise she wouldn't do it again, she could swear on her mama's grave that Lightup wouldn't kill her. It had taken enough from her already; it would not take her life. This time, Lightup was her bitch. The drug had given her a nice chunk of money to reach her goal.
"Don't worry, I won't turn into a junkie. I've got plans for my future." She squeezed his hand, gently. Though Alphons never told her, she suspected arthritis troubled his joints and tried to be careful with her touch. "I'll live long past you, old man."
And live well. A shiver of anticipation tickled Violet's spine. Time to make a call. Take the next step in Operation Beast to Beauty.
