Blood Hunt by Lucienne Diver Page B

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    â€œI’m a bounty-hunter,” Neith told him, flashing me a glance daring me to contradict her. “And Ms. Karacis here is a private investigator. You really don’t know about the murders?”
    â€œ What murders ?” he asked, clearly frustrated.
    Viktor Ramone was a big man. With his work-boots, jeans and serviceable shirt, he looked far too blue-collar and work-a-day for the Hollywood Hills. He looked maybe like a stuntman or stunt coordinator…until you got to the mullet. I didn’t know how he expected to be taken seriously with that. But then, Dogg the Bounty Hunter rocked a mullet, and I didn’t see too many people underestimating him.
    â€œThe Roland boys killed their parents,” she said baldly. In her Oxford English spoken with her melodic accent it came out sounding a lot less harsh somehow than if I’d said it.
    â€œAllegedly,” I added, for form’s sake. And in case it made him more apt to talk. “The entire L.A. police department is looking for them. We want to find them first.”
    â€œBut…why?” he asked, face scrunching in bafflement.
    â€œWhy do we want to find them or why did they kill their parents?”
    â€œEither,” he said. “Both?”
    â€œFirst, because it’s our job. Second, we’d like to ask them the very same question. And you—what happened here?” I’d answered his questions. Only fair I got in some of my own.
    Neith took a step closer, as if to intimidate him into answering, but I didn’t think that was going to be necessary.
    â€œI was just heading out the door when they showed up out of nowhere,” he said, eyes still a bit glazed over and wide with sincerity. “They didn’t call first. Nothing. I told them I was running late, but Ian practically pushed me back inside. His eyes were…not right. I thought he was maybe on something—crack or meth or…I don’t know. Then Richie stepped in and closed the door behind us, leaning against it. I’m twice their size, but something felt off about the whole thing. People can do anything hopped up on drugs, you know? I told them they had to go, that I was on my way to a set, but they wouldn’t leave. Ian asked if they could stay, but not like he was asking , if you know what I mean. When I tried to force the issue, Richie said something strange. I’m not even sure it was English. And then I woke up to you in my place and…all this.”
    He gestured to the mess. “I mean, the pizza boxes are mine, but the rest…”
    â€œYou woke up fighting. What did you expect to find?”
    â€œNightmares.”
    â€œCan you be more specific,” Neith asked, microfocusing on him, taking another step forward until she was right in his personal space. He stepped back and she moved with him.
    â€œWhoa, babe, boundaries ,” he said to her, taking another step. He waited to see if she’d advance again, and when she didn’t, he went on. “It’s all fading now. And it wasn’t that clear to begin with. You know, kind of like a Michael Bay film—all action and explosions, very little storyline. There was blood and violence and…stuff. And there was a man…or…something. He didn’t look like any guy I’ve ever seen. His skin was white, but not like albino-white, where it’s really more pale pink. More like birch-bark white. And he had flaming red hair. His eyes were… I’m not a words guy. They were, like, agony and pain and bat-shit crazy all rolled into one, if that makes any sense. Like, worse than Charles Manson’s shark-eyes.”
    He stopped, swallowed hard and waited for us to show some sign of sympathy or understanding. We both nodded.
    â€œAnd he was wrapped all in chains. They cut into him in places and in others the skin was rubbed clean away… He was screaming something, but I don’t know what. And there was