Stifled (Summoned Book 2) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  STIFLED

  by Rainy Kaye

  Summoned, #2

  www.summonedtheseries.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  The book may not be reproduced in whole or part, by any means, without the permission of the author. Making or distributing electronic copies of this book constitutes copyright infringement and could subject the infringer to criminal and civil liability.

  Copyright © 2014, Rainy Kaye.

  All Rights Reserved.

  First Edition.

  Credits

  Cover Design: Kris Wagner https://www.facebook.com/digitalgunman

  Model: Adam Jakubowski https://www.facebook.com/LadyJakubowsky

  Photographer: Marcin Rychly https://www.facebook.com/karrdepl

  When Syd starts yelling my name from the back of the house, dread sinks my heart. Life as I have known it for the past three months is over. I was really hoping she wouldn't find anything. At least, not for a while. Maybe a few years. Preferably never.

  I suspect I'm going to get the short end of this discovery.

  With a sigh, I push from the living room chair and trudge down the hallway. My mind grapples for excuses why we can't possibly leave our little nest here in Naples, Italy, but I got nothing. Nothing besides the fact I would rather snort wasabi than return to the US right now. A lot of unpleasant things happened there.

  I open the door to our bedroom. Syd looks up from her desk to the right, wild gleam in her eyes like she's a pirate who just plundered the booty.

  She thrusts a stack of papers at me. “Read this!”

  I hesitate, then take the print outs and scan over them.

  She twists her office chair back and forth. “So, what do you think?”

  “Looks like you stuck your finger down the throat of a thesaurus until it heaved,” I say.

  She pauses, mouth open. Then she yanks the papers from me and throws them down on her desk. She starts to say something, but her grandmother shouts from the other room.

  “Five minutes!”

  Syd narrows her dark eyes, made up with loads of black makeup, and tilts her head so that her chin-length bleach-blond hair falls over the side of her face.

  “Tell her I'll be there when I'm done gagging the thesaurus,” she says with a biting tone, but she's not angry.

  Not truly angry, anyway. The last time Syd became truly angry, she clunked her uncle upside the head with a purse full of rocks.

  I'm unscathed. So far. I grin and exit the room, heading down the hall toward the kitchen.

  Grandma is frying eggs in a skillet. The kitchen is warm and humid, and rich with the scents of breakfast. Pretty sure cinnamon rolls are baking in the oven.

  This woman rocks.

  She glances at me, then nods toward the dining room. “Set the table, Dim.”

  I reach up for the cabinet. Syd barges into the kitchen, waving the stack of papers.

  “I'm telling you, I found her,” she says, tossing her report on the counter. “There's another one!”

  Grandma flips pancakes from a griddle onto a plate. “Another one what?”

  “Another jinn!”

  “Ah,” Grandma says, coolly.

  Syd throws her hands in the air. “Why aren't you people more excited?”

  “So it's a girl,” I say, placing silverware on top of the stack of plates.

  “Yes, Dim.” Syd puts her hand on her hip. “It's a girl. Not all jinn have to be male, you know. Stop being—”

  Before I find out what I'm being, Zoe crowds into the small kitchen.

  She shoves up behind Syd, peering around her at the papers, and says, “You mean you found an actual jinn, not another one. We never found a jinn before.” She shoots me a look with far more disdain than a nine year old should be capable of. “He's not even scary enough to be one.”

  I roll my eyes. That's me: the most unintimidating criminal on the planet. At twenty-three, I've given up on ever reaching six feet. My dirty-blond hair is usually in my face thanks to some punk-rocker style that just kind of happened. Like most of my life. The only thing that makes anyone second-glance me is my duster jacket, but most people assume I'm going for a look. I'm not. The jacket just hides a lot of weapons.

  “We don't know if the jinn are actually scary, Zoe. They probably look like normal people.” Syd taps her grandmother's shoulder. “Grandma, I'm going to check up on our houses in the US. Have you heard anything about Larry?”

  “No,” Grandma says, her back to us still. “I'm sure he's hiding out somewhere, the last of my cowardly children.”

  I pick up the stack of dishes and turn for the dining room. “He likely will stay hidden, too. Doesn't know I'm not. . .”

  I don't finish my sentence, because I never know how to put it into words. Besides, everyone in the room knows what I am and, moreover, what I am not. They probably understand it better than I do. All I know is, when I was fifteen, I was forced into a strange type of servitude, killing and kidnapping on behalf of a multimillionaire named Karl Walker. We called it the genie bond. Three months ago, Syd managed to do the unthinkable—free me.

  I went from living alone in the heart of Phoenix, Arizona working as a criminal mastermind to setting the breakfast table in a two-bedroom house shared with three other people. In Italy.

  Life is weird. Mine is downright bizarre on a good day. A bad day has me damn near foaming at the mouth to kill people. Or, it did. It was part of that whole genie bond thing.

  Not a fan of it.

  From the kitchen, Syd says, “Yes, I'm sure Larry thinks you're still hunting him. You did bash him up pretty good, Dim.”

  “I just tried to break his arm,” I say. “You took a bag of rocks to his skull.”

  Syd leans in the doorway, hand braced on the jam. “If I recall, he was strangling you.”

  “I was giving him a false sense of security.” I head back into the kitchen, nudging her shoulder as I pass. “I had it handled.”

  “Uh-huh. Is that the story?” She runs her fingers through my hair and gives me a playful little grin.

  “Knock it off,” Grandma says ,as she pushes past us with the platters of food.

  “I want orange juice.” Zoe swings her feet from where she sits on the counter next to Syd's papers. “Sydney, can you pour me some?”

  “Do it yourself.” Syd grabs a potholder and opens the oven.

  I was right. Cinnamon rolls. Score.

  Zoe frowns and then gives me an expectant look. Syd insists we shouldn't coddle Zoe. She's probably right, but Zoe was kidnapped, held hostage, and then released to discover most of her family had been murdered.

  I kind of feel guilty about it, since I did it and all.

  “You would've been a lousy jinn,” she says, hopping down to the floor.

  “Genie,” I say.

  Syd places the tray of cinnamon rolls on the counter, slams the oven shut, and turns to me. “Human. You're human.”

  “Poppycock,” I say.

  Zoe giggles as she pours orange juice into a glass. I snatch up Syd's papers and flip through
them again. I would like to read the report. Honestly. But two sentences in, and I have to be resuscitated.

  My deathly boredom must show on my face, because Syd frowns and yanks the papers from me. “Thanks for the encouragement.”

  I trail her into the dining room. “It's great. I'm just not exactly thrilled that I have to go kill more people.”

  “No one mentioned anything about killing,” she says, taking a seat and pulling up to the table.

  I drop down in the chair next to her. “Yeah? And how do you plan to free this jinn? Ask her master nicely?”

  She tosses a few pancakes on my plate. “I don't know anything about her master. He might have dozens of kin to take the master bond if he dies.”

  “Even better,” I say, reaching for the butter dish. “I get to go BTK on a family line until one agrees to free her. Let me just go sear off my fingerprints again, and I'll be on it in a jiffy.”

  Syd lowers her eyes and voice. “It's not like that.”

  I shut my mouth. I'm being a jagoff, but I get cranky when people expect me to go on a murdering spree. I do have other hobbies. Or would like to, anyway.

  Zoe licks her fork. “What's BTK?”

  Syd gives me an exasperated look, then turns to Zoe. “He was a serial killer who killed entire families.”

  “The BTK killer seared off their fingerprints?” Zoe picks up the syrup bottle, flips it over her plate, and squeezes like it's an empty tube of toothpaste.

  “No, that has nothing to do with the BTK killer. Karl removed Dim's fingerprints before some jobs,” Syd says. “We talked about this, remember?”

  Zoe stares at me over the syrup bottle, still upside down in her grasp. Her plate is turning into a sticky pool.

  I reach across the table and grab the bottle from her.

  She narrows her eyes. “I like a lot of syrup.”

  “I hope you also like a sugar coma,” I say. “Eat some eggs.”

  “They have cholesterol,” she says, matter-of-fact.

  I shake my head and dig into my pancakes.

  “So, why do people keep genies?” Zoe dunks her finger into her plate of syrup and dabs her tongue. “I mean, they don't have magic or anything.”

  “We throw great parties,” I mutter.

  “We don't know if they have magic or not,” Syd says, reaching for the platter of bacon, then glances at me. “You're not a genie.”

  Zoe straightens in her seat. “If Dad and Uncle Larry and Uncle Phil spent so much time looking for the jinn, then why don't we know anything about them?”

  Syd's eyes glaze over. I'm pretty sure Zoe has asked her these questions at least a dozen times already.

  Her reply is measured: “They weren't looking for just any jinn, Zoe. They were looking for Dimitri.”

  “Oh.” Zoe purses her lips and stares at me, then goes back to eating.

  Grandma speaks from the head of the table. “Where is this jinn located?”

  “Well, judging from the kills I've been tracking,” Syd says, “I think she's around San Diego.”

  I drop my fork and groan. I haven't had a good experience in San Diego yet. Something tells me that won't be changing soon.

  Zoe pushes around her plate filled with syrup and a half-eaten soggy pancake. “Can we go to Sea World? That's in San Diego, right? ”

  “Not a chance,” I say. “Your sister and I are going alone.”

  Syd's expression perks up. “We're going then?”

  I glance at her, then slump down in my chair. I'm not going to win this discussion. Syd has been working her ass off for the last three months tracking crimes to locate a jinn, a real one. Now that she believes she found one, she isn't going to let it go. Maybe I'll get lucky, and we'll discover the murders are just run-of-the-mill homicides. Never seems to quite work out that way, though.

  Silverware clinks against plates as everyone eats without speaking. After a minute, I raise to my feet and take my dishes to the kitchen to rinse them.

  Maybe I should be enthusiastic about finding the jinn, but I'm not. The genie bond made me more than a little deranged. I can only imagine whatever jinn we find will have the same unsound tendencies, and I would rather us not be on the receiving end of that. None of this will deter Syd, though.

  I grab a cinnamon roll, then head down the hall.

  Time to pack and get this show rollin'.

  ***

  After seven hours stuck in the air in a big metal tube, three hours in New York on a layover at the JFK International Airport terminal, and four hours in the air in a smaller metal tube, Syd and I finally land at Sky Harbor Airport in Phoenix. The sun has set by the time we claim our luggage and find a taxi.

  I help the cabbie throw our suitcases into the trunk, then I slide into the backseat with Syd. She gives the cabbie directions to her house.

  As the taxi turns onto the road, Syd settles back against my shoulder. "You know, the Hohokam valley natives created a bunch of canals to irrigate their crops. After they left, settlers moved in and used those canals to start a new civilization. That's where the name comes from. Phoenix. A city built over the ashes of a dead one."

  “That's great, Syd,” I say, blandly, “but I'm a little more concerned about the future than a history lesson at the moment. I'm not even entirely sure what the plan is.”

  “Reach the target before she does.” Syd stretches lazily. “I figure we can chill tonight, then we'll head out in the tomorrow.”

  I nod and cover a yawn with the back of my hand. It might be morning in Italy, but after eleven hours traveling, I'm fit to drop.

  Out the windshield, familiar roads and brown buildings. And palm trees. Lots and lots of palm trees. In the back of my brain, I'm torn between tingly nostalgia and racing terror. Like being back in this city is also being back into the life I barely escaped.

  But Karl is dead. So is his heir, who had all sorts of unsettling plans for me.

  I run a hand across my face and try not to think anymore. About anything. Free or not, something tells me that in a few hours, I will be doing what I do best and hate most: tracking and killing.

  ***

  Syd's house is a large, modern home decorated by an interior designer. I would recognize that devil's work anywhere.

  For some reason, I miss my house, even though it belonged to Karl. I wouldn't mind swinging by and hanging out there, but I'm sure it has been swept through by authorities investigating his death. They are probably baffled how his mansion outside of the city was sent sky-high.

  Luckily, until Syd's grandmother hooked me up, I didn't exist on record. No one knew I worked for Karl. My slate is clean.

  The real trick will be keeping it that way. I will have to delay the killing part of this plan as long as possible.

  Syd walks around the main area to flip on lights and check windows.

  She returns to the living room, bag hooked over her shoulder, and says, “I'm going to wash up and get some sleep.”

  I trail her down the hallway to the master bedroom. Inside, past floor-to-ceiling columns, rests a four-poster bed with a metal canopy. I can't wait to crawl under those covers, sink into the mattress, and pass the hell out.

  Syd grazes her hand over my crotch as she strolls toward the on-suite bathroom.

  Change of plans.

  I stalk after her, my delicious, sexy prey. She is standing next to the archway leading into a stone walk-in shower, stripping off her clothes and dropping them to the floor. I cross the room, pull her close, and bury my face in her breasts.

  She laughs and wraps her arms around the back of my neck. “Want to take a bath with me?”

  I pull back to look at her, then follow her gaze to the stone steps leading up to an enormous tub. On either side are more of those columns. Unlit candles and folded white towels sit on the stone surround.

  Can't say the thought would have ever crossed my mind, but I do like the idea of a slippery, naked Syd.

  She saunters over to the tub and runs the faucet
, ass bare and bent over. Syd is equal parts smart, stubborn, and sex-on-legs. And, somehow, she's all mine. Just another aspect of my life I'm not quite sure how it happened, but I'm afraid to question too much. I might find the mistake. Like someone accidentally called the wrong lotto numbers and by chance matched my ticket.

  As much as I want to bang her on every piece of furniture and twice on the kitchen counter, reality sets up. We need to get some shuteye. Morning will be here soon, and then we will be heading out on our next adventure.

  ***

  Most road trips make me nervous. Most road trips end with me killing or kidnapping someone or, at least, blowing up a building. Even though this expedition might get mucked-up too, I'm relaxed, drinking coffee from a convenience store and watching the dark road ahead.

  Syd sits in the passenger seat, filing her nails. Instead of the usual thumping, whirring, grinding industrial music blaring in the car, we sit in silence. It's nice. Comfortable. Like we don't need to talk.

  Except Syd starts talking.

  “I can't wait 'til we get there,” she says, without looking up from her hands, “and find out why this guy is on the jinn hit list.”

  I give a half-smile. For someone who was nearly killed by the genie bond, her enthusiasm is kind of cute. And disturbing.

  “Sure you don't just want a normal life, Syd?”

  She scoffs. “Do you know me?”

  “Oh, yeah,” I say with a sly glance at her. “Biblically. On the seventh day, Dimitri knoweth Syd, and it was good.”

  “That's supposed to be the day of rest.”

  “We rested afterward,” I say.

  She cracks her window open, letting in a small stream of warm air. “Besides, you knowethed me on the first day. Who'd have guessed a few months later we would be on the road to stop a jinn from killing?”

  “Lucky us,” I say. “How did you figure this guy is the next target, anyhow? You couldn't even keep up on my victims.”

  “Ah, but you and Karl were sneakier.” She places the nail file in the center console. “What I did was, I watched the local newspapers for all the major cities. Homicides that didn't make national news. Woman found dead in her car on the side of the road sort of thing.

  “Then I went onto social networks and searched the profiles of these people. I started compiling lists of overlapping friends, planted them on maps of where they're from and where they live. I was in a toss up between two people for the last one, and I was right. So now there's only one left.”