Dreams in the Dark (Destroyers Book 2) Read online

  Dreams in the Dark

  By A.R. Case

  Dreams in the Dark

  By A. R. Case

  Book Two of the Destroyers series

  Copyright © 2019 by A.R. Case

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Amazon Digital Services, LLC.

  ISBN 978 1090644251

  Acknowledgements and Author notes:

  Special thanks to my beta readers. I’m very glad you loved Indy. To the Revisionaries crew, many, many thanks for putting up with the swearing and first-person format, I know that wasn’t your preferred style.

  To my Michael, thank you for the late-night chuckles – when Indy did or said something particularly stupid – and early morning coffee. I don’t know what I’d do without you.

  To my girls, you are and always will be my inspiration and the dearest people in my heart. I hope you will always go after your dreams with gusto whatever they are and will be. And, thank you both for giving me my wonderful grandchildren. Moreover, I’m so blessed to have been there for both births.

  Despite being book two of the Destroyers series, it isn’t necessary to read “Down in Blood” first. Some names will be familiar but this story stands by itself. This is a work of fiction. The people aren’t real and any similarities to persons living or dead are just that, similarities. Any messes are mine. I try to use my Google-fu for good, just kidding. Yes, I looked up where you can legally own a flame-thrower and much more. For my next trick, I think I’ll look up everything I can about FBI operations. That should make some people very interested …

  Author page: https://www.arcaseauthor.com

  Also by the author:

  Down in Blood (Destroyers series, Book 1)

  Amazon Digital Services, LLC

  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07GD741B5/

  Dead in the Water (DeSantos Trilogy, Book 1)

  Amazon Digital Services, LLC

  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B079L4VTWZ/

  Coming in 2019: DeSantos book 2

  Reviews:

  Dead in the Water

  “I found this book was hard to put it down.”

  “OMG really amazing story. Major suspense with romance and a sexy biker. Oh yes, most excellent!!! Page Turner … love love it!”

  “This book sets up an interesting mystery with some twists and turn. It was refreshing to see a romance with a single mom of a teenager.”

  Down in Blood

  “So good had me hooked at first chapter … Love tough bikers. And a happy ending most don’t get.”

  “The story line was excellent very fast paced good start to a new series.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1: Fool

  Chapter 2: Midnight

  Chapter 3: Soft

  Chapter 4: Basalt

  Chapter 5: Black

  Chapter 6: Frost

  Chapter 7: Masks

  Chapter 8: Pink

  Chapter 9: Heartburn

  Chapter 10: Talk

  Chapter 11: Critters

  Chapter 12: Independence

  Chapter 13: Sugar

  Chapter 14: Paint

  Chapter 15: Pins

  Chapter 16: Boxes

  Chapter 17: Property

  Preview of Down in Blood

  This takes place approximately six months after “Down in Blood.”

  Chapter 1: Fool

  Indy

  You’d think I’d learn.

  I thought I learned when I was nineteen. Still had peach fuzz on my ass for fuck’s sake. No kidding on that. Turn fifty, when that shit gets wiry and gray, and you’ll know that a man is never too old to be the dumbest fool.

  She was trouble. Fucking trouble. From the school marm glasses to fuck-me pumps. That look when she walked in, looked a little lost, a little hard, and just a little angry. Tight pants, curves you only get from motherhood, and a tattoo. It was fresh. Still had the plastic wrap on it. She should have been home or somewhere safe, rather than knocking back cheap ass tequila at Ol’ Dick’s Pit Beef and Beer.

  I was there with Vega, my best girl. We were auditioning a new dancer she pointed out to me two nights ago at a rival strip bar. As a partner at the local joint, I was best at talent selection. We made good money because I only took the best. They were all dancers first, strippers second. We hired the ones that had dance talent that went beyond taking their clothes off. The girl we were waiting on wasn’t up to the job. I could tell by the way she came on to me, and the looseness of her moves.

  Vega ruled the dance floor, as usual. She was silk to watch. One hundred percent sex, plus two percent sass, and just enough sweetness and steel to turn down a stint in Atlantic City for her man. Her and TomTom were living together. He was trouble too, but Vega loved him. Because he worshipped her, I let it slide. But his heart was too big for a girl like Vega who had so much potential. She’d make bank in a bigger market. TomTom would get eaten alive, and they’d implode. Here, they had a chance for the miles, but she’d never see the world. That worried me. Worried me that TomTom saw that and worried. Not much you can do to change stupid twenty-something love.

  Love is trouble.

  Like the girl my eyes wandered back to. Another shot was tipped back. A slight wince at the bitterness, then pucker as the lime hit. Then there was a smile for the bartender, and a shake of the head. Two, and she was done. Took a water instead. Okay, brains and trouble. The shit was getting deeper, and I couldn’t breathe. I turned my frustration into moves. Herding close on Vega, cutting Carrie, or whateverthefuckhernamewas off from the circle. It was a dick move, especially with TomTom at the bar.

  Every time I did this, his eyes got a little crazy. We were brothers of the cut, but me, with my nomad patch, was odd out. Sure, I got respect. I’d earned that. But that didn’t mean I was a part of anything. Sometimes all I had to ground me to this life was my anger and frustration. I felt it brewing, poking at me. Goading me into doing something fucking stupid, like start a fight with a brother … or fuck a schoolteacher.

  That shit wouldn’t fly. My life was too … complex is a benign word, and the wrong one. Volatile was good, but not accurate. I was a rock for my girls. Not one had a hard life unless they cut me out. Complicated sounded like a fucking chick-flick cop out. No, I was always hungry. The gut gnawing, blue ball yearning for something to fill me up. Pull in someone clueless and they’d get eaten from the inside out by that monster.

  Carrie took the cut as a signal to turn on the slut. She sandwiched me between her and Vega. My dick was just at Vega’s crotch and I could feel soft tits against my back.

  Can’t say that shit didn’t turn me on, because it did. Vega was superstar gorgeous, smelled good always, and the girl behind me was grinding her cunt on my ass.

  It fed the hunger. It grew teeth.

  Vega moved away from my dick, so I turned and gave it to Carla-maybe. It was hard against my jeans, and she was dry-humping me like a fucking queen. Took a lot of concentration to keep the song in my head.

  The girl, Carrie-I-hoped, was tall, but as we turned, I caught sight of the short school teacher talking to French. He had a beer gut, and about ten years on me. At least twenty, if not more, on the school teacher. She laughed at something he said. It was sweet and genuine. Not forced.

  Hell, maybe she was a biker groupie, not a school teacher. School teachers didn’t slam back tequila. My dick went softer despite C-whatever riding it. I stepped back so she wouldn’t notice. Then I turned up the difficulty of our dance, focusing on testing her ability to dance at the level Fantasies demanded. Vega immediately matched my moves.

  Moves Carla couldn’t keep up with. Audition over. She coul
d take off clothes somewhere else. The song ended, and I kissed both her then Vega on the cheek to thank them. And walked over to the bar next to French.

  I bumped his elbow as I signaled to the bartender. It caused him to spill just a small amount of beer as he tried to take a drink. “Sorry, man,” I said, as the mountain he was turned on me.

  He looked me up and down. I ignored it, and went on to do something stupid. “Hello pretty lady,” I said to the schoolteacher.

  “No poaching, Indy.” French growled. Ladies, and my brothers on two wheels, called me “Indy.” Mostly because that was my handle since my dad gave it to me at fifteen. But most women breathed it in a soft breeze of air, thinking of renegade archeologists with a crooked smile, and a fear of snakes. I liked it when they did that.

  I gave him the side-eye. “Didn’t see a sign.”

  Yes, I’m a dick, screwing over a brother like that. Take one look at French, then take a look at me, and anyone can tell you who stands a better chance at getting laid. He knew it, knew what I was doing, and knew my reputation.

  “She’s not a dancer.” He grunted under his breath.

  She heard it. One eyebrow twitched up for a second. It gave me an opening.

  “How do you know if she is?” I said, then turned on the charm, “Do you dance?”

  That got a cute, but flustered, “Maybe, but not very well,” out of the pretty lady.

  She was shy. damn. More of a challenge. My dick perked up. French used his bulk to push me out of eye-line with her. He began his convo with how he didn’t dance well either. Self-depreciation is one thing you don’t want as your first topic with a woman. It’s no wonder he’s celibate.

  I got my beer. It was a bottle, not in a glass like French. Bottles make it harder to spill, and ten times harder to fuck with because it’s in your hand. It’s a decent weapon if needed. I walked the long arc around French, and took position to her far side. She tracked me the entire trip, turning in her seat to watch both French and myself. She had a bottle, too, and smartly kept it in hand.

  The tat on her upper arm was big, based on the wrapping. It was at that smeared ink, blood, and ointment messy phase. “How long have you had the wrapping on?”

  She glanced down. Because her glasses were out of the way and her face was toward a light, I caught a hint of blue eyes that contrasted with the dark brown of her hair. There were also freckles. I hadn’t noticed those, but this close, damn. “An hour, maybe less. Fin did it.”

  Ah, Fin, the club’s artist. Not the first choice of school marms, or practically anyone who wasn’t club. Mainly because Fin didn’t just ink anybody. You had to have a referral.

  “How do you know Fin?” French asked.

  “I buy leather from Betty Jo.” She blinked at French like he’d just asked her why two comes after one.

  Leather. I scanned her from head to ... Oh. Those fuck-me pumps were custom. As in completely custom. The kind you show off. You couldn’t buy them off the rack if you tried. Immediately I knew who she was. Internally I cursed. This was the famous Edie Krupps. Designer of everything. Betty Jo did a mean bit with leather, but this girl, correction, woman, did it all. Cosplay costumes, shoes, clothes, you name it. Hell, she even designed armor. Armor, which she would sketch in great detail, and then get Fin to forge.

  My assumption was confirmed when Vega walked up. She was sweaty from dancing yet another song, and did that girly, scream-hug thing when they see someone that they don’t expect, but are really happy to see.

  “Oh my God, Edie! What are you doing here?

  Edie smiled, and said something I didn’t catch.

  “Well Fin and Betty Jo need to drag you out more often. You belong here with us misfits. But you really should wear that bustier you showed me last week. It would go great with your red shoes.”

  French’s eyes lit up at the word “bustier.” If I were an honest sort, I’d admit mine probably did, too.

  Vega stopped her sizing up of Edie’s outfit when she saw her footwear.

  “Are those new?”

  All eyes in the vicinity travelled down.

  The fuck-me pumps weren’t as flashy as some I’d seen on my strippers. They were a classic style with a hard edge that teetered between sexy and dangerous. Their unique, carved look melded with a metal overlay. A platform at the toes kept them from being steep. They had a barely four-inch heel that was sexy as hell. The girls paid almost a full night’s pay for their Krupps. But damn, every penny was worth it. Each pair was custom built for the girl. They didn’t rub often, and if they did, Edie would fix them so they didn’t. Frankly, she didn’t charge enough for them. I knew designers in New York and Vegas who charged thousands for custom pairs that fit poorly. Edie’s were just as good, if not better.

  And, just like that I was in trouble. Because when I saw potential I could exploit, shape, direct, whatever it was I did that made my girls famous; my dick would just go soft and let my brain work.

  Until now. Damn.

  Edie

  I knew I shouldn’t be out. But going home wasn’t on the agenda tonight. Why? No freaking clue. Maybe it was Betty Jo’s enthusiasm, or Fin’s gruff jokes, or just magic. Whatever it was, I wanted more.

  That wasn’t me. I never wanted people. Well, okay, not never, but really? People are scary. There’s always someone who wants to take advantage of you. There’s some guy or girl who just gets in your face, and thinks faster than you do. For someone like me, who lives only partially in the real world, and mostly in art and fantasy, that’s torture. Life is supposed to be pretty. It’s supposed to be fairy tales with human-sized magical beings who have power beyond your wildest imaginings. Some are light and beautiful, and some are the dark fae who kidnap unsuspecting morals, and trap them in their world. That was the world of me. Not the everyday Edie Krupps.

  You’re thinking, this girl is so naive. Maybe, but at least I’m happy in that world.

  Feeling happy and safe, I went where Betty Jo said her and Fin would be later. It was a local place. There was award-winning pit beef on hot summer nights, a bar, and a lot of iron around it. Iron as in cars, bikes, you name it. Some classic, some crap. Almost all of it was loud and dirty. For an overgrown pixie like me, I think the dirt made it okay. It somehow made all the iron safe.

  I wasn’t feeling safe right now though. French was great in that fluffy, would you marry me, way. But the other guy. No. He was a dark fae in the flesh, the kind who stole you at midnight and you never came back. You became lost in a land where you could pass through mirrors into caves filled with monsters and thorns that ate you.

  In a word, he was gorgeous. Not pretty. No. He was rough, male, wiry, dangerous, inked, beautifully edged, and I was lost. He turned on the charm and I felt it. Like a magnet, or glamour, or something unexplainable. It was there. My entire future was sucked into it, and altered.

  Yeah. Stupid me. This is why I don’t go out.

  Then I felt it turn off. He’d looked at the bad girl pumps I hadn’t had a chance to name yet, and that pull just went poof!

  It hurt. Vega saved me. She kept me distracted by asking all sorts of questions and oohing and ahhing over my creation. I had to stop thinking about magic, and start thinking about rent.

  “Can you make me a pair just like those? I could use them with the Saturday night crowd.”

  “For your shows, I’d go just a bit higher, with a narrower heel. It would showcase your legs. These are too heavy for your lines.” To help, I dug out my sketchbook.

  Within minutes, I had almost forgotten about my dark fae. I was changing the design of my current shoe to something a bit more bad, a lot sexier, and wholly impractical.

  Vega had to dance in these, so I changed the curve of the heel to allow her more balance. It wasn’t quite right. I’d have to narrow it slightly and add a bit of support running through it. There would be problems if they snapped mid-dance and killed one of my best clients. I’d never eat again, let alone have my tiny cabin. While I was c
ertain I could live in the woods, there was no electricity, no workshop, and nothing for me to cover my creations so they wouldn’t disintegrate during the first big storm. For their sake, I kept a roof.

  It kept me distracted for more than a few minutes. But, I could still smell My dark fae. He wore something a hell of a lot more subtle than cheap drugstore brands. I couldn’t place it, despite my embarrassing obsession with the Macy’s men’s cologne counter. It was mixed with just enough of good-smelling man sweat to make it interesting, and I froze, because it wasn’t just my imagination. His heat was at my back. It felt so wonderful. There it was again. My heart skipped. I wanted to cry because I knew, somehow knew there was no future without him. This was my mate, and I was losing my chance.

  There’re times when you’re a teen, your hands get sweaty, and you’re convinced that this is the one, but really? It’s just your stupidity. You go out on a limb to slide your hand to that spot where, if they could just move a smidge and brush your fingers, that thing happens. That sweet flush. This was the same, but more was at stake. It was keener, like a hole had been carved in my chest.

  I leaned back.

  In a single snap of magic, my world went still. The bar was all around, but that aching urge to create, the thing that grew into a rampage if I didn’t draw or sculpt or build or sew, it went quiet.

  The storm of noise, the people who might or might not be good, the insecurities, the activity so many reached for because they were lonely, all of that turned insignificant. Because for that moment, I was safe. The heat at my back protected me in this bubble of wonderful rightness. I didn’t have to fake my smile to Vega. It came from that quiet and it felt good.

  It’s not that I didn’t like her, it’s that there was just too much going on for someone who can’t fully live in the real world. For Betty Jo and Fin, I was happy to pretend for a little while that I could be a part of the big world. As soon as it was polite, I planned a lightning retreat to the calm space where I worked. Creating my art really isn’t calm at all, but that’s a whole different thing than People.