Damned and Dangerous (Damned and Dangerous Quartet Book 2) Read online

  Before her, the two spirits became less transparent, their color less washed out.

  The pink and purple on Jenny’s head brightened and the gold of Gloria’s curls was less muted. It was also easy to tell her dress was white with red and green holly on it.

  “Holy shit!” Her words were a low whisper.

  “You’ve got that right. You did something right for once, voodoo-witch.”

  Sorsha growled, unhappy that the perfect reunion between the mother and daughter might be ruined, and turned toward Ray. She prepared to lay into him about calling her a witch once more—especially one who dealt with something as dangerous and ancient as voodoo—but the words froze in her throat as she saw who stood next to the spirit who liked getting on her nerves.

  “Larz.”

  Damned and Dangerous

  Damned and Dangerous Quartet

  S.D. Hegyes

  Damned and Dangerous

  Damned and Dangerous Quartet (Book Two)

  Restless spirits. Mysterious roommates. Death threats. Sorsha's life is back in hell.

  Seeing spirits and telling loved ones about their dead doesn’t pay the bills. If Sorsha doesn’t want to return to Shaded Glade, she’ll need to find a roommate. Fast.

  Enter Larz Kazal, an attractive young man who isn't what he seems and knows more about Sorsha's past then even she can remember. He promises to teach her if she can bring herself to trust him, but she's been burned so many times, she's wary to do it again. She'll have to though because a child murderer is on the loose, one Sorsha made a promise to find and bring to justice, and Larz might be the key.

  No one ever mentioned how hard the phantom gig might be.

  WARNING:

  Damned and Dangerous is the second book in the Damned and Dangerous Quartet, a slow-burn paranormal romance about a young woman who can see ghosts... Yes, like that kid in The Sixth Sense and the supernatural world she finds herself diving into. If you like kick-ass heroines, sexy men, and all the monsters that go bump in the night, prepare to sink your teeth in.

  Want to learn more about S.D. Hegyes and her upcoming releases? Sign up for her newsletter to keep up to date on all the latest news.

  Copyright © 2020 by Brimstone Books

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be constructed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Text © by S.D. Hegyes

  Cover © by Fantasia Cover Designs

  Artwork © by Ricky Gunawan

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  To anyone who has trouble remembering.

  And thinks it’s bullshit.

  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

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  About the Author

  Also by S.D. Hegyes

  1

  The damned heels would be the end of her. Sorsha limped into the bathroom and yanked the offending high heel off her foot with a heavy sigh of relief. She hobbled over to the sink to examine the damage.

  Clear pus oozed from a popped blister on her heel. With a sigh, Sorsha cleaned it up and covered it with a bandage she pulled from her purse.

  The bathroom door opened once more as she finished throwing out the bandage wrapper, and a woman a head shorter than Sorsha entered. Her head swiveled until her eyes landed on Sorsha.

  “There you are. I was starting to get worried about you.”

  Sorsha gave her a tight-lipped smile. “Parties aren’t really my thing, and these heels? Less so.” She gestured to her foot.

  “Ouch. First time wearing heels?”

  “You know me, Irene. I wear boots to work. I’m tall enough as it is without adding heels to the mix, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m gangly as a newborn deer in these things.”

  Irene laughed. “Yeah, I noticed. I also noticed how many drink offers you’ve had all night.” She nudged her friend and coworker with a wink.

  “Fools. A lot of them. I’m not interested in dating anyone.”

  Neither are they, darling,” Irene reminded her with a grin. As Sorsha shook her head, she changed the subject. “You’re always wearing boots. You never get dressed up. Why are you anyway?” Irene turned toward the mirror and checked her makeup, pulling a tube of lipstick from the clutch tucked under her arm. She re-applied a liberal amount to her full lips and smacked them together. A satisfied smile crossed her face, and she blew her reflection a kiss.

  “Company policy.”

  “Oh?” Irene grinned. “So, you did get my memo?”

  Sorsha’s gaze snapped to her friend’s face. “You sent me that?”

  Of course, I did. How else was I going to get you dressed up for a party?”

  “I hate you.”

  Irene’s grin widened. “You love me.”

  Sorsha rolled her eyes. “Would anyone think me rude if I went barefoot the rest of the evening?”

  “Sorsha, you’re already labeled a weirdo. You wear combat boots to work rather than sneakers. I’d say you’re already considered crude.”

  Sorsha snapped her fingers. “Good point.”

  “Of course, this is a company Christmas party, and even some of the big-wig CEOs are here, so I wouldn’t advise it.”

  “Of course they are. It’s a holiday party.”

  Why they’d host a holiday party at Wagers was beyond her though. It wasn’t that it was a bad place--just that there were other, better places to host a company party besides a bar.

  Sorsha had worked for the Thirst Blood Donor Center, which she and Irene lovingly called the TBDC, for over two years and avoided the higher ups every chance she got. She didn’t want or need their attention.

  She had no doubt they knew who she was and what she did for TBDC as a database administrator, but she’d never met any of them face-to-face, and she hoped to keep it that way.

  The highest member she interacted with at TBDC was the manager, Mr. Coville, who insisted she call him by his first name, Brad. She remembered when Brad and Irene applied for the management position. Brad had been there longer and had more managerial experience, so he got the job.

  The lack of promotion hadn’t bothered Irene. She claimed she was happier as a phlebotomist. It still bothered Sorsha that ever since he’d been hired, Brad abused his rank as manager to threaten and blackmail the other women at the office into dating him. She didn’t want to imagine what might occur after those dates or how many women felt the need to sleep with him to keep their jobs.

  The thought made her growl, and Irene laughed. “You must be thinking about Brad with that scowl on your face.”

  “I just don’t get how he hasn’t been fired for sexual harassment yet.”

  “No one will turn him in? Come on.”
Before Sorsha could stop her, Irene grabbed her arm and dragged her off the counter and toward the door.

  “Hey! Wait!” Sorsha yanked her shoe back on and snapped up her purse, which was all Irene gave her time for, as she dragged her from the bathroom, no small feat for a woman so much shorter than her, and stopped near the bar.

  There, Irene turned and faced the room. The rest of their coworkers mingled with each other—some on the dance floor and some off.

  “Look,” Irene demanded, gesturing to the floor.

  The bartender stopped at their end of the bar and took their drink orders. Once she had a beer in her hand, Sorsha looked where Irene pointed. She bit her tongue to keep from groaning. “Irene, you know I hate Brad. What’s the point of this?”

  “I’m showing you something. Relax.” She waved her hand at Sorsha and pointed once more. “Who is Brad standing next to?”

  “Um. . . Regina?” Sorsha wasn’t sure if it was a serious question.

  Irene nodded. “Regina is a great phlebotomist. She’s good with her patients, and she’s fast. She gets done in about half the time I do, and all without rushing. However,” Irene paused and took a sip of the fruity concoction she’d ordered. “Everyone knows Regina has a worthless bastard of a husband who leeches off her without ever lifting a finger. No amount of telling her she’s better than him and deserves better will get her to leave him, right?”

  Sorsha nodded. She’d even tried talking to Regina about it on more than one occasion, and while Regina might agree during the conversation, the fight left her when she stood before her husband, and she remained in the same one-sided relationship.

  “Regina has her own ways of caring for herself. She cheats on her husband to resolve her intimate issues with him. It’s her revenge. I don’t understand it. Brad was the first person to help her, and she may be the only woman who sees him willingly.”

  Sorsha snorted. “There are so many better men out there than Brad.”

  Irene copied her action. “Says the woman who refuses to date.” She grinned at her. “Then there’s me.”

  “You?”

  Irene nodded and took another sip of her drink. “Brad sees me as off limits. I’m a trust fund gal. I don’t have to work, but I like the job, and I like what I do. It’s how I’ve convinced my stepfather to become one of TBDC’s largest shareholders. Even if I screw up my job, I’m secure, but Brad’s not. He won’t touch me for that reason.” She shrugged her shoulders. “His loss.”

  Sorsha gave the shorter woman a once-over. Irene always reminded her of a dark-skinned Jessican Rabbit, but tonight, with the skin-tight red dress she’d chosen with a split up to her hip, it was especially obvious.

  Irene had large assets her partners drooled over: lips, ass, and tits. She was thin and curvy. Her golden-brown eyes popped with the way her bleach-blond curls framed her face. Everyone stared when Irene walked into a room, even if she were wearing scrubs.

  Sorsha frowned. “What about me?” She was scared to know, but she knew Irene would tell her either way, so she might as well ask.

  Irene laughed. “You are an enigma to everyone here at work—myself included sometimes. You do realize you hardly say more than five words to anyone? I know you don’t mean anything by it.” She tilted her head from side-to-side with her lip pouted. “More or less.”

  There was nothing but truth in the statement. She looked at Irene and her eyebrows rose. “And?”

  “Don’t you think you should smile more?”

  Sorsha rolled her eyes. “You did not just use that line on me.”

  “You know it, baby.” Irene winked at her to show she meant no harm. “But seriously, you don’t talk much about anything to anyone. I’m still not certain how we started talking.”

  “You came over to me on my first day and would not leave me alone. You made it seem like you would die if I didn’t talk to you, and no matter how rude I was to you, you were nice to me. Frankly, I was a bitch, and you still put up with me.”

  “Much like today.”

  “Hey!” Sorsha grinned and gave her coworker a playful push that threw her off balance. “Oops. Sorry.” Sorsha helped her straighten. “You’re going to regret all those drinks in the morning.”

  “Maybe, but they are good tonight! On top of that, I may even get laid this evening.”

  “You always get laid,” Sorsha pointed out.

  Irene winked at her. “Doesn’t stop me from trying.”

  “Honey, no one could resist your charm.”

  Irene clutched at Sorsha’s arm. “You’re not so bad yourself tonight.” She leaned closer and whispered, “I like your style.”

  Sorsha glanced down at herself. She didn’t have Irene’s hourglass figure, but the dress she wore revealed what little curves she did have. Her long black hair was pulled back into a braid. She wore bright red lipstick and enough mascara to enhance the gray in her eyes. It was one of the few feminine things she did according to Irene. She felt awkward in the dress short enough to give anyone a view of her underwear should she bend over.

  The bar the TBDC had chosen for the holiday party was down the road from the center itself and a popular hangout for the two women after work on Friday evenings.

  Irene dragged Sorsha in to help her pick up partners for the weekend. Sorsha hadn’t the time or the energy for a man, as she often told Irene, and always left as soon as her friend scored.

  Irene laughed and patted Sorsha’s shoulder. “Come on. We’re not getting any younger lurking here.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Sorsha said.

  “Pft. You’re such a party-pooper. Have a little fun, will you?”

  “I have lots of fun.” Sorsha grinned and lifted her beer to her lips. “Go. Get yourself a lover.” She shooed Irene away, giving the shorter woman a push.

  “Thanks.” Irene winked. “Wish me luck. I’m going to find someone to dance with. This is a party after all.”

  “Indeed.”

  Music thrummed through the air. A live band played on a small stage near the front end of the bar, and Sorsha swayed to the beat. She closed her eyes with a smile.

  “What are you doing over here all alone?”

  Sorsha groaned. She knew who it was, but she looked up to confirm, praying she might be wrong at least once. No such luck on her part. Before her stood Brad, one of the coworkers she and Irene had spoken of.

  “My feet hurt, and I have blisters.” She watched him in her peripheral vision to see how he’d react to such news. She had a pretty good idea, but she was willing to find out just how sleezy he wanted to be.

  He gave her a cocky grin, unaffected by her jibe. “I can help you out with that. How about another drink?”

  She arched a brow at him and replied, “I don’t need or want a drink, but I especially don’t need or want one from you.” She frowned and crossed her free arm over the one holding her beer, taking a sip from the bottle to emphasize her words.

  “What would it take to get you in my bed tonight, Sorsha?”

  “What would it take to get you to leave me alone, Brad?” She narrowed her eyes at him, no longer in the mood to put up with him. She could feel power welling up within her, whispering in her veins, but she ignored it and pushed it down.

  His eyes widened.

  She nodded and pulled her pinkie from her beer to point at him. “There it is,” she said with a laugh. “The realization you screwed up. Good night, Brad.”

  She walked away, not caring when he said, “You’re just some bitch anyway.”

  “And you’re an asshole. Glad we know each other so well.”

  She expected that to be the end of their conversation. It surprised her when he grabbed her elbow and spun her toward him. Her drink, only halfway gone, sloshed over her. She gasped before looking at Brad with murder in her narrowed eyes.

  “You have five seconds to let go of me,” she said in a cold voice. She knew her eyes had changed colors as a thousand tiny whispers rang in her blood and power rippl
ed through her, making her shake.

  He didn’t get the memo. Instead, he continued trying to drive his point home while holding her. “You don’t get the right to talk to me that way, bitch.”

  He stumbled backwards as Sorsha yanked her hand back, curling her fingers into a fist, and punched him square in the jaw. Her eyes burned with anger.

  “I told you no, and as if that wasn’t enough, I then told you to let me go. You’ve ignored me and disrespected me. Leave me alone. Last warning.”

  “Sorsha,” he said, rubbing his jaw, but then he blinked and closed his mouth as another man came within his peripheral vision.

  “Is there a problem here?” the man asked, his rich voice full of authority and calm.

  “No,” Brad said, his voice almost a squeak.

  “Fuck, yes, there is!” Sorsha snarled. She had no idea who the stranger was, and she barely spared him a glance as she glared at Brad. “This asshole has been chasing me for months, and I’ve been turning him down. Tonight, I’m miserable wearing fucking torture devices on my feet and not in the mood for his stupid games. When I turned him down again, he had the audacity to call me a bitch—twice, mind you—and then this. . . this. . . ass-clown has the gall to touch me when I refused him again.” Sorsha’s voice never rose, but there was enough steel in her words, she might as well have been yelling. Brad flinched at every new accusation.

  The stranger looked her over where she stood panting for breath. “You’re shaking. Did he hurt you?”

  She blinked at him. “What? No. I’m resisting the urge to murder him.” She scoffed and gestured to Brad. “That man couldn’t hurt a fly if he tried. He’d piss himself first.”