The Watcher Read online

  Copyright © 2018 by Angelica Markus

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, email the author, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the email below.

  Angelica Markus

  [email protected]

  angelicamarkus.com

  Edited By: Cherry Editorial

  I dedicate this book to God, my creator, who has been faithful to me and has given me my true inspiration…my daughter, Julianne.

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgements

  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 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  I am grateful for my daughter, Julianne, who has always supported me, for her amazing imagination. Without her, this book wouldn’t be possible.

  Thank you to my mother, Ketty, who was always a fan of Star Wars and Indiana Jones, and has encouraged my creativity for years. Her unconditional love and support has meant the world to me.

  Thank you to my father, Eduardo, who’s always taught me to be strong, all those martial arts movies were the best. Your love for reading has carried down to me. I miss you so much. Rest in Peace.

  Thank you to my cousins, the games we played as kids opened doors for me.

  I want to thank, Jennifer Merrigan Hathcoat, the most thoughtful editor and friend anyone could ever ask for.

  I appreciate my friends who have come and gone, to those who have stayed and aged like fine wine. My friend Gina, the memories we share are priceless. When I think of NY…I think of you.

  I am grateful for my dearest friend Gavin, who is one of the kindest people I know. Your support all these years have encouraged me.

  Thank you to the men who supported, not the ones who left me in the dust.

  I will always be thankful of the women who cried with me and laughed with me.

  I am grateful to have lived most of my life in NYC. A city that truly never sleeps.

  Chapter 1

  Spellbound

  “I dislike death. However, there are some things I dislike more than death. Therefore, there are times when I will not avoid danger.” The words of the Chinese philosopher, Mencius, describe me well, and ever since I could remember, my Uncle Shu has quoted him. In the presence of light and darkness in this world, darkness seemed to always follow me. An unwelcome friend, who I often ended up defeating, but tonight I felt something was wrong. The butterflies in my stomach and the warning in my heart told me not to take this job, but the money was enticing. My name is Skye Davenport, and I am a thief. My twin brother Christian is my partner, an elite hacker, who can circumvent any security system. In less than an hour, we will deliver the stolen information and get paid. By this time tomorrow night, we should be sipping Bahama Mamas on the white sandy beach of Paradise Island. A long overdue vacation.

  I fell in love with bikes at the age of sixteen. Now, I am twenty-five years old, and I still relish the thrill of riding fast on a two-wheeled beast. I went over the speed limit, heading southbound on the FDR Drive, attaining 90 mph. The scenic highway runs along the East River at the edge of Manhattan with three lanes in each direction. My valiant brother is on his black BMW bike, a few feet behind me. The deep throaty sound of the exhaust was music to my ears, and the chilled wind was not gusting, but sighing, making my ponytail flutter. I sped up, lane splitting between the cars driving slowly. During the zigzag motions, I left enough room for Christian to follow.

  My heightened sense of danger gives me the ability to see the perilous future. I see visions or quick flashes of danger, involving anyone near me. The best part of my gift is that I can change the future. Prevent it. Affirming that destiny and fate are not set in stone. Christian once told me, he would follow me into the depths of hell because he knew I would be able to get us out of it. If only that were true, sometimes I wasn't quick enough to save those around me, but I would sacrifice my life for my brother to be safe.

  We entered a short, partial covered tunnel on 42nd Street with the United Nations Headquarters above us. Across the river was the view of Long Island City, Queens. I hugged the lane tightly on the turns, gripping the handlebars with my fingerless gloves. After passing 16th Street, I overlooked the horizon from a distance that showed the splendor of the city. The light of the enlarged full moon illuminated over the Williamsburg Bridge and glistened over the Hudson River.

  “Hao mei ah,” I sighed in Chinese. (Beautiful.)

  A construction sign with bright lights was alerting drivers of lane closures due to road work. Half a mile ahead was bumper-to-bumper traffic. I rather take the streets to my destination than to be stuck in traffic on the highway. I squeezed the front brake, pressed the rear brake gently, and the speed of my silver Ducati abated as I made a smooth, sharp turn to exit the FDR Drive.

  The New York City streets had traffic at one o'clock in the morning, but at least it was moving. We made a right-on Houston Street, heading west, toward Broadway. The road looked like a divided highway with two lanes in each direction. It was like an obstacle course trying to get from one block to the next, and potholes of every size were impossible to avoid. Taxis drove reckless, and pedestrians seemed to ignore they exist, especially the drunk ones.

  We entered the East Village, which has a vibrant nightlife, trendy restaurants, and flashy boutiques. The unpredictable traffic lights brought us to a standstill. Crossing in front of us was a irritated young couple. They lashed out—oblivious to their surroundings.

  The young woman seemed to be enjoying the fury she was causing her boyfriend with a wolfish smile. He dragged her across the street. Her black dress lifted, revealing jiggly cheeks, and a crimson G-string. The crowd outside a bar at the corner of First Avenue stared at the ludicrous scene. I knew my brother was enjoying the show as he loudly chuckled from behind.

  “Unbelievable, these people have no shame,” I grumbled.

  I just need my brother to keep up with me. We are almost in SoHo. The man waiting for us is called Fernan, and he is anxious to get the flash drive. Apparently, it's extremely important to him since he is willing to pay us $300,000 to steal the information on it. It required a month of research, planning, and tracking Nicholas Cangin to retrieve it. We blindsided Mr. Cangin tonight, in his Long Island mansion, while he vacations in Italy, and we copied an encrypted file of his money transactions. He is an organized crime tycoon, a corpulent tyrant that has a hunger for wrecking people's lives.

  Instantly, I sensed danger...I saw a vision of a young man with a spiky blue Mohawk, wearing high leather boots over his tight black jeans, and a Marilyn Manson tee-shirt. He was jaywalking while the traffic light was still green. My motorcycle collided into his body at a speed of 50 mph. It crushed his left side, breaking his neck as he hit the ground, and sending my body flying across the other side of oncoming traffic. Christian tried to avoid the accident. He lost control of his bike, sliding across to the right, and into a parked car.

  At the end of my visions, it always took a couple of seconds to get my concentration back. I blinked hard, removing my double vision. I glanced at the rearview mirror that was shaped like the edge of a spear with a chrome skeleton on it. I switched into the right lane and swiftly slowed down, but the rapid deceleration of the bike made it skid. I kept the rear brake applied. It continued to skid with little fishtailing until it came to a complete stop. My brother followed closely behind me.

  The young punk crossed safely in front of us. “Ni shi bai chi!” I yelled at him in Chinese. (You are an idiot!)

  He reached the narrow-cemented walkway that divided the road from both directions. His bloodshot eyes turned to look at me. The thick, black eyeliner around his lids made him look like a raccoon. He stared at my silver helmet with intimidation. It had an electric blue skull painted on it. The rigid teeth covered the bottom of the helmet.

  He had no idea his insignificant life could have ended just a few seconds ago, his eyes marveled at my Ducati Diavel. I gave him the middle finger, and he returned the gesture with his black painted fingernails. He ran across the street to the Goth club, where more punks lined up outside, waiting to enter the cryptic scene.

  A taxi beeped behind us, three consecutive times, for us to move. I sped up—only to stop at a red light.

  “That's New York for ya,” I murmured, shaking my head.

  Christian pulled over next to me and opened the face shield on his helmet. It had the ski mask of Jason Voorhees, the character of Friday the 13th, painted on the front of it.

  “Skye are you alrig
ht?” he asked.

  I opened my face shield. “This is the only city in the world that gives me road rage. I am actually a very passive person,” I raised my voice in anger.

  “Sure, you are, especially when you have PMS,” he snickered.

  I smiled broadly, remembering how annoyed I get at him when the time of the month comes. I glanced up to see the light had turned green. I quickly pulled down my face shield and sped up.

  I enjoyed my job and the adrenaline of stealing, but unfortunately, the hardest part of our job was getting paid. Our business deal with Fernan happened to take place over the phone, and it was conducted by our friend Sebastian. It was a year ago, we met Sebastian Renouf in Central Park, that night my brother stole his lighter, and we have been watching him since. He is a vampire. Not the first we have encountered, and we don't trust their kind. They try to hide their existence from humanity, but they can't hide from my brother. He can watch people by touching objects they have owned or used. At any moment of the day, he can see what they see through their eyes. You can say we are a pair of freaks, but we do make a good team.

  40 Greene Street seemed to be vacant. We parked our bikes in front of the grey cast-iron building. I took off my helmet, and my left side ribcage hurt.

  “Damn, huh,” I grunted.

  Christian got off his bike and approached me. “Are you hurt?” he asked, taking off his helmet.

  His short, dirty-blonde hair was a mess, sticking up on the sides. His sideburns were long, ending at a sharp point, and he wore his hair combed back. He brushed his fingers through his thick strands, trying to make himself look presentable. The bottom of his left eye was swollen and turning black and blue. The blow he received an hour ago, didn't seem to faze him.

  “I think some of my ribs are broken,” I said, rubbing them.

  “I told you I had him,” he complained.

  “Oh, yes, what was I thinking? You could have handled that giant that was throwing your body around like a rag doll…all by yourself.”

  Christian's brows drew together, and he bit his lower lip.

  I intervened trying to save my brother's pretty face from being smashed in. A man three times his size was going to kill him. He managed to hit me on my ribcage with a bat before I knocked him out.

  I wanted to remove the worry in his pale golden eyes. “I'll be fine,” I spoke with assurance.

  “It's a good thing we heal quickly,” Christian said, fixing his hair again.

  As I get off the bike, I glanced up and noticed the tall black windows. “Look up,” I whispered.

  “Great, that's all we need,” he said, glancing up.

  We could not say it, but we were both thinking it, “Vampires.” Every vampire we had come across with our ventures, had black windows in their homes. It prevented UV rays from entering.

  “After this, I am going on vacation,” he reminded himself, aloud.

  My brother hated dealing with vampires as much as I did. The only positive thing about it was their wealth...they could afford us.

  “Me too,” I said and smiled.

  “If we make it out of here alive,” he said and chuckled.

  “Trust me—we will.”

  I secured my helmet to the bike and unzipped my black motorcycle jacket. We were fully prepared for battle. Our leather vests concealed sharp weapons and daggers made of plastic, undetectable by metal detectors. I would make sure Fernan's head comes off before he can hurt my brother.

  “What are you wearing?” Christian asked, widening his eyes as he stared at my chest.

  “What? It's a corset with a leather vest.”

  I looked down and noticed my cleavage. My ponytail felt loose. I pushed my hair back and tightened the band around my long, platinum-blonde hair. I had dyed it six months ago, and I enjoyed being a white blonde. A big change from my natural brown hair.

  “You wouldn't happen to be wearing that for Sebastian?” he asked, and deviously grinned, arching his right eyebrow.

  “I don't know what you are talking about,” I said, narrowing my eyes with a quizzical expression. “I always look good,” I said boldly.

  I knew Sebastian didn't fancy me, but my attraction for him was noticeable to my brother. I guess it was the way my body language changed when he was near. I hated that my brother knew me so well.

  I changed the subject quickly. “So, what's going on in there?”

  Christian secured his helmet to his bike. He fixed the thick belt around his black motorcycle pants and bent down to brush the dust off his black Nike, high-top sneakers. His hip hop style was unique, leaning toward the futuristic style of fashion with sleek lines, and he loved shopping more than I did. He grabbed Sebastian’s gold lighter from the inside of his black leather jacket and rubbed it.

  “He is here—looks like a party,” he said.

  We approached the door. It had a large, silver fleur de lis that encircled the number 40. Christian pressed the doorbell, and it opened. I smelled patchouli incense coming from the inside.

  “Are you ready?” I asked.

  “Always,” Christian responded, nodding his head.

  Beige marble walls and floors surrounded the lobby. It looked like a security area from an airport with a metal detector a few feet away from us and an x-ray generator to scan objects. Two-armed security guards walked toward us. Another guard was sitting and watching the images of the surveillance cameras behind a glass wall.

  “I need to see your ID's,” the guard with tousled, ash-blonde hair and tattoos asked us.

  His amber eyes looked at me with curiosity. He wore black cargo pants and military boots that concealed sharp weapons. The sleeves on his black shirt were rolled up. His right wrist had a black fleur de lis tattoo, and his left forearm had a black and red dragon. At least he was human. Vampires cannot have tattoos, they heal quickly, and the tattoos fade within hours.

  We handed our drivers licenses to him, and he passed them through a small slot to the man behind the glass wall.

  We put our metal belongings in a small tray, and they passed it through the x-ray machine. I walked through the metal detector, and I made it beep. The pale security guard that looked like a wrestler with short, black hair approached me with his hand-held detector. It buzzed when it reached my jacket pocket.

  “It's a flash drive,” I said and stared at his broad shoulders.

  His well-fitted, black vinyl jacket was zipped up to the top of his wide neck, and it reached his shinbones. I peered down and noticed his steel toe boots were squared, and probably a size 14.

  “Show it to me,” he demanded in a raspy voice.

  I opened the button on my jacket pocket and the little satchel it was in. He was pleased to see it. I noticed right away the color of his dark brown eyes changed to a light shade of golden then back. It was subtle, and normally a human wouldn't notice, but I was aware of how vampire eye's color changed...depending on their mood.

  “Here you go,” the blonde guard said and gave us back our ID's.

  They must have taken pictures of our identification, but we never use our real names or address. Even our vehicles were registered under various aliases. We put our metal belongings back in our pockets.

  The blonde guard walked toward the wall and punched numbers into a keypad. A scanner popped up, and he put his thumbprint on it. Trance music pumped through the large metal doors that opened slowly in front of us.

  “Fernan is waiting for you in the back,” the security guard said, holding the thick metal doors open by the touch of a button.

  “It's a club,” Christian whispered in my ear.

  “This building must be soundproof,” I said in a low voice.

  We exited a dark hallway and entered an enormous ballroom. I was astonished by what I saw. Gold Corinthian columns surrounded the open circular room that was three stories high. The dome shape ceiling had the night starlit sky painted on it with a black silhouette of a city around the edges. The lighting effect made each star twinkle as some shooting stars passed by. Colorful mosaic tiles covered the walls and had beautiful patterns on them. The extravagant carved wood furniture, the embroidered designs on the vibrant silks, and the velvet fabrics made it look like we were in a genie bottle. It had a Moroccan feel to it, and the Gothic crowd was sipping drinks from dark blue glasses—most likely blood.