The Reaping: Language of the Liar by Angella Graff Read Free Book Online

house.  And this guy was trying to ask her out?  She was getting more creeped out by the minute.  Why had he been passing by?  Why now?  Why this corner?  “Do you live around here?”
    “Not really.”  He kicked one foot up on the side of the café’s low iron gate and rested his arm across his knee.  “But I spend some time here every now and again.”
    Dorian felt rage hidden in a well in the pit of her stomach begin to bubble.  “Really?  So like when you’re stalking young women?”
    She expected him to get defensive, but instead he threw his head back and laughed.  “You could say that.”
    Her hackles raised and she leaned forward across the table.  “I don’t know who you think you are, or what the hell you want from me…”
    “Is that any way for a woman of the cloth to talk?” he goaded.
    Her face went fiery red.  “I am not a woman of the cloth.”  Her voice was low, heated, spitting mad.  “And if you think for a second that I’m going to tolerate some man harassing me, you’ve got another thing coming.”
    He laughed at her again, fueling her rage.  “Do I?  Another thing, is it?  How’s a wee thing like you gonna stop me?”
    “Oh believe me, you have no idea what I’m capable of.”  The words came from nowhere, some hidden vault of anger in her mind, and with it shot out white-hot anger.  The cup sitting near her clenched knuckle toppled over, sending the remaining contents spilling onto Lennox’s shoe.
    Dorian let out a horrified gasp while Lennox dropped his other leg and leaned toward her.  “Ah there it is.  I knew it.”
    Shaking, she reached out her hand to touch the cup, but couldn’t bring herself to make contact.  “There what is?”  The words came out a whisper.
    “The power.  See, sometimes our tracker is off and it leads us in all kinds of wonky directions.  But I had a feeling that day at the bank, we were spot on.”
    Dorian’s head was spinning, and she brought her hands up to her face.  Everything seemed too loud, too bright, and her breath was coming out in harsh gasps.  “I need… I’m…”
    His hand darted across, and when his skin touched hers, it felt like a static shock.  He pulled back, his eyes wide, and his head shook from side to side.  “We need to get you out of here.”
    She wanted to fight him, to resist, but she was barely aware of anything as he yanked her up from the table.  His hand grabbed her by the sleeve, and he pulled her around the corner and into a building.  They were halfway up the second story flight of stairs before she came to herself, and she froze, yanking her arm away from him.
    “What do you want with me?”
    “I want to help.”  His voice was sharper now, nothing like the flirtatious guy she’d met in the church the day before.  She didn’t have to know him to know he was dangerous.
    There was no immediate escape.  He let her keep her arm free, but she knew if she tried to run, that would be it.  Her best bet was to keep calm, to keep focused, and to look for an exit plan.  She still had her phone on her, at least.  He hadn’t bothered to take that, or her purse.
    They reached the third floor landing, and she realized they were in some apartment building.  It was older, the light fixtures modernized, but using the same hardware as when it was first built.  The wallpaper was yellowed, peeling in most places, and the carpet was worn down to wood and cement.
    The hallway smelled a bit like a fish market, and Lennox dragged her to the end, stopping in front of a door where either a number nine or six—she wasn’t sure—was sitting on its side.  He reached into his pocket and pulled out an old brass key, shoving it into the lock and giving it a turn.
    The door creaked open and he yanked her inside.
    Dorian didn’t know what to expect.  Maybe something out of some Serial Killer Handbook with plastic lined walls and furniture.  Maybe a sort of dungeon with blacked out windows and