Page 5 of Possess Me! (I Want You To)

He didn’t know it yet, but he had just become my golden ticket.

This wasn’t going according to my sisters’ plans. The chaos that would ensue would be memorable to say the least. If I was a better man, I’d feel bad about what I was about to do. But I wasn’t. Death had taken the last of my empathy and I had my own agenda to attend to.

* * *

Pinkie sat at the bar for over two hours with what I could only assume was his friend. Despite her dark hair, general air of judgmental punk-ish-ness, and the fact her wardrobe was better than his was, she wasn’t as interesting as him. She was too loud, too quiet, too…something. Something I couldn’t name, but seemed to be a personality trait for every person ever.

I didn’t understand the easy way she bunched her fingers in the back of his hair and pulled him close. They shared a single glass of tequila, abandoned martini glasses scattered beside them. Despite the fact I’d been staring, neither had noticed me. Too caught up in their conversation as I leaned against a pillar at the end of the bar, my arms crossed. I could hear their voices over the noise, echoing through the ever-present fog in my mind.

Freedom was like that sometimes.

Foggy. Directionless.

With Lydia I’d always had a purpose. A mission. No matter how fucked up it was. And on the rare occasion she didn’t have a task for me, I’d been commanded away. The Nothing sucked me back in, the void slipping its icy fingers around my disjointed existence.

This was what they’d meant when they dubbed the term the “living dead.”

This was why what had been done to me was considered a curse.

“Luca.” The dark-haired woman shoved at Pinkie’s shoulder, her pale eyes wide and ringed with smudged eyeliner. “You didn’t.” The entire time they sat they’d been discussing what seemed to be a popular TV show. After a few minutes, I’d tuned them out. Finally. Something interesting was happening.

Luca.

Derived from the Latin name Lucas.

Meaning: Bringer of Light.

An interesting name for a man that had doom and gloom written all over his sunny face.

“It doesn’t matter now, anyway.” Luca shrugged then downed the rest of their shared glass. The woman smacked his arm in retaliation, and I cocked my head, interested to see what he’d do next. Against my better judgment I was curious. He was my golden ticket after all. Manipulating him would be easier if I could find out what made him tick.

What had he done that caused her to act so aghast?

Did it have something to do with the painting he’d swapped for my talisman?

He’d probably stolen it. That level of skill was hard to come by.

Maybe the painting had been hers.

Curiosity tingled at my fingertips and I clenched my hands into fists to abate it. If I listened long enough, maybe I could use this to get what I wanted from him.

“It’s done. It’s gone. Done-zo. Gone-zo. Whatever way you want to put it.” Luca signaled the bartender for another drink, glaring at his friend till she rolled her eyes and slid another bill across the counter to pay for his drink. Was he poor then? “Besides, apparently it was ‘hideous’ and ‘looked like it had been created by a kindergartner with finger paints.’”

So he’d been trying to sell the painting. Didn’t mean it hadn’t been stolen, but it was becoming more likely he’d created it himself. He was even more interesting than I’d first thought. This conversation was enlightening to say the least. Bargaining chips were swiftly falling into place. If he was struggling financially then I had my in.

Money was always an excellent motivator.

“It wasn’t hideous. Fuck that bitch.” The woman smacked him again, and I watched Luca throw his hands up to block her anger. With a swiftness that was entirely unexpected, and clearly practiced, he reached over and viciously pinched the skin above her elbow in retaliation. The familiarity of the interaction made me wonder for a moment. Siblings maybe?

No.

I hoped not anyway. That would complicate things.

Besides, they looked too different to be blood related.

Luca was all willowy muscle. Gangly and fairly tall—though not ridiculously so. He had long fingers, long legs, a long throat that bobbed as he swallowed. Sweat glistened in the hollow at the base of his neck and my teeth began to ache with the need to bite the vulnerable sliver of skin. I wanted to sink myself inside him, make him wear my marks like a necklace. A paper trail of brutality, bruises strung like pearls.

Yes.

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