Where The Numinous Awaits

Ch. 23: Legend's Deadline

August 31 | Day

The pitcher of blood wobbled on the serving tray as I juggled with my phone to answer the incoming video call. "Hello?" I whispered, glancing around to make sure I was alone.

Brody Hartfeld's leering mug filled the screen. Then, without a word, he turned the camera to show the five dragon shifters of my street racing gang. They were bound and gagged on their knees on the floor of his chop shop. My heart plummeted to my feet, cold sweat beading my forehead.

I had approached Director Van der Woodsen on the sports boat and asked for an advance on my paycheck, but my request was denied. "I wish I could help you, Mr. Liang, but an advance requires approval from the Overlay Affairs Financial Department. It won't be received within the timeframe you've suggested," he had declared.

"Tick tock, tick tock, Legend," the drug dealer laughed.

"I told you via text I'll get you your money!" I growled fiercely.

Hartfeld hung up the phone in my face. Another attempt to get my parents to loan me the money had also failed. I didn't know how I would cough up fifteen-thousand dollars before midnight.

I stormed into the shed and slammed the serving tray down on the countertop. "Fuck!" I shouted. Delilah grabbed the pitcher before it hit the floor. Her testy expression warned that my volatility wasn't appreciated, and I scrubbed a hand over my nose and mouth.

"Get it together, Legend. Come on, baby, get it together," I murmured, pacing.

The vampire poured a glass of blood as she studied me. "What's your deal?"

"Nothing. Leave me alone." I turned my back to her.

I felt a whoosh of wind, and she was suddenly in front of me again. My hand flew to the gun at my hip, but it wasn't there anymore. Holding up the weapon, she took a sip from her cup as she coolly appraised me.

"You're the weakest link," she decided.

I laughed bitterly. I was the weakest link? What had made me that way? I wanted to blame my upbringing. I wanted to blame my brothers for teasing me relentlessly, my father for treating me like I wasn't his son, my mother for being weak-willed. I had been mentally, physically, and emotionally abused throughout my childhood. That had to be somebody's fault, and it sure as hell wasn't mine.

I was in this mess because of the cops cracking down on street racers and prompting me to seek other illegal means of making money. It was Brody Hartfeld's fault for being a heartless son of a bitch and applying undue pressure when all I needed was more time. But it was me! It all came down to me. I was the weakest link.

"Hell, maybe I am. That's what twenty-five years of trying to fit in, while telling yourself you don't belong, gets you," I snorted.

Delilah lifted her head in a subtle nod.

All at once, I could see the ways my family had tried to embrace me, even believing my lies without interrogating my stories to get to the truth. I thought about the elaborate birthday party that had been a show of love from my parents. So what they had also mixed business with family time. They had at least made time for me. Why hadn't I been able to see it before?

"Yo, I've gotten myself into some deep shit," I whispered in horror.

Delilah crossed her arms, swirling the residual in her glass. "Your partners don't know."

"Don't you dare fucking tell them!" I snapped.

"What could I possibly tell them?" Her Alabama drawl lilted with bemusement. "You're paranoid. I smell your fear. What's at stake?"