Hellhound (Supernatural #1)

23: Staring into Tartarus

Villain, noun.

1. a cruelly malicious person who is involved in or devoted to wickedness or crime.2. a character in a play, novel, or the like, who constitutes an important evil agency in the plot.

***

Great, I had found the guy Tate was looking for.

How was it that the most defenseless person always found the bad guy? It was like a rule of the universe. Or at least Hollywood. With a little bit of luck - though I didn't seem to have any at all at the moment - Tate might come in here with everyone else, rescue me and kill him. Hopefully, that would happen any moment now. All I had to do was wait and keep buying time for myself.

The realistic part of my brain knew this was the end.

"Who's this?" Lockheart asked the Aussie behind me. His eyes were on me though. They were calculating but calm, like there wasn't a pack of werewolves running through his lair of evil.

"I found her walking around, looking a little lost. She says she's from the local high school's newspaper."

The man behind the desk stared at me with those icy blue eyes. It was like he could tell I was about to bullshit my way out of this before I had even said a word. Like a teacher marking a test of a student they knew had never studied a day in their life. But I felt that if I stayed quiet for too long, I would give myself away anyway. I wasn't supposed to know they were all criminals.

And thus I said, very dignified, "I am! I was hoping to do a piece of Pulse because everyone at school is talking about how amazing it is. Maybe I could even interview you!" It came out as if I had just had a light bulb moment.

"Do you know who I am?"

So far, he seemed to believe my lie, which was great. Even if he didn't believe any of the lies I was spewing, he played along with them for now. Which was nice of him; make the innocent victim believe she was getting somewhere and then kill her when she least expects it. It all bought me time, or rather, it bought Tate time to find me. Mentally, I was kicking myself for having moved away from the elevator. I should have waited and trusted everyone was fine and too busy killing people to make much noise. Even though I had always imagined mass killings to be quite the noisy affair.

"Well," I started, trying to sound embarrassed, "There wasn't much I could find on the internet about the ownership of the club." Total lie but I figured if it was run by a big-time criminal, they wouldn't advertise it. "But, considering you are asking the questions, and you are wearing the fancy suite, I figured you must be the owner. Or co-owner."

"Quite the investigating journalist. However, I have never met a journalist without a notepad," Lockheart said, folding his hands together like an evil mastermind. Was this when he ended our understanding - the one where I lied and he pretended not to know and play along? Was this where it all ended? If so, considering I was part of the good guys, someone ought to burst through the door pretty damn soon and save me. Another rule of the universe.

"Mine is in the car. I tried ringing the buzzer but no one answered. The door was open so I was hoping to find someone. If you agree to the interview I can run up and grab my stuff real quick."

Finally, the icy blue eyes left me and moved to the man behind me. Although I couldn't see it, I just knew the gun hadn't been put away. It might not be pressed against my head but it could still shoot me. It had me nervous; it would have had anyone nervous.

"What do you think?" Lockheart asked. Obviously, he wasn't addressing the question me.

"I think she's with the others. It seems a bit random to have chosen this floor to walk around on, don't you think?"