Heart and Soul by Jackie May (interesting novels to read txt) 📕

sigh. Okay, reader, I’m going to admit something, but you can’t roll your eyes, and I definitely don’t want to hear you say “Duh!” Here it is: I think with Jay I’ve been a little…selfish.

I know, I know, shut up. It’s just that I’ve been so focused on wanting him and enjoying the way he wants me, that I haven’t ever stopped to think about him in a way that’s not still all about me. Does that even make sense?

I want to do something—I need to do something—that’s just for him, nothing about me. Something that’s, like, all thoughtful and shit, I don’t know. I have no idea what that could be. Well, actually, a thought occurs to me that I do know something he really likes, but the idea makes me gag. Bleh! There’s no way in hell I’d ever love somebody enough to go there.

Ew. Forget it; being thoughtful is the worst.

At the end of the dance, Russo ramps into a rock song with a flourish of hands that whips the drums into a frenzy and the horns screaming. The crowd responds with a burst of applause for an old classic they know well. As they clap to the beat, Russo conjures a fedora and a harmonica, which he seems to make love to with his mouth.

“What, now he’s the Blues Brothers?”

“Believe me,” Jay says, “this brings the house down at cop parties.”

Finishing a wild intro with the harmonica, Russo takes a breath and talks to the beat of the audience’s clapping. “I’m so happy to be here tonight. Glad to be here in your wonderful city.”

Several shouts of Amen! ring out. The rhythmic clapping has grown to a deafening thunder.

“I have a little message for you all. Something to tell every woman and every man and every whatever the hell else is out there.”

Huge uproar of approval. Some laughter.

“What I have to say can save the whole world, and what I have to say is this…” Russo strikes a dramatic pose as he begins singing with a strong, sassy voice. “‘Everybody. Needs somebody.’” He throws his hands out to the crowd, inviting them to join in. “‘Everybody. Needs somebody…to love.’”

Someone to love, the crowd shouts in unison.

“‘And I need you, you, you.’” Russo points his finger, redirecting his spotlight onto a beautiful young sorceress. She responds with her best shimmy and shake, but it’s not enough to tempt Russo. He points his finger at another woman—a busty werewolf—and she goes to work, grinding her body against him. While appreciative, Russo is still not satisfied, and he moves on to other women, roaming through the crowd with his spotlight as he belts out the rest of the song. “‘Everybody needs somebody, and I need you, you, you.’” Each time he rejects a woman, the crowd goes crazy with growing anticipation.

Hillerman elbows her way to my side. “I think we had a bite. Two guys at the bar—both demons. Haven’t taken their eyes off Russo since he came in.”

“Has anybody? Besides you, I mean.”

“One of them used a phone to send a text. When a response came back, he showed it to the other guy, and now they’re both headed for the exit.”

“They’re leaving? Did we strike out?”

“What do you think? They want a sorcerer with a dark side, not Frank Sinatra.”

“He’s fine. Power is power.”

Russo’s done teasing women. As the ghost band kicks into high gear, he turns his finger, sending the spotlight across the room to glare off the black shades of Special Agent Hillerman. “‘Everybody needs somebody, and I need you.’”

At first, Hillerman is cluelessly trying to shield her eyes from the piercing light. Then all at once she understands, and her face turns deep red, and the only thing she can think to do is turn her back to him. The whole club bursts into a loud, collective gasp. It’s inconceivable that he could be rejected.

Russo plays up his reaction, reeling back on his heels, clutching his heart as though he’s been stabbed. The instruments mimic him, slipping out of key and out of tune, like they’re being strangled. The audience laughs and starts to cheer for Russo to rebound.

Hillerman’s mouth moves with strings of silent curses. “Turn it off,” she growls at Elle. “Shut him down, now.”

“Sure thing. You got it.” Elle snaps her fingers.

Russo receives the idea, snaps his own fingers, and two werewolf men leap to his side and rip off their shirts. The crowd loses its shit, shaking the walls. The drums come to life with a conga line beat to which the werewolf strippers thrust their pelvises. Strutting, Russo leads them toward Hillerman.

Russo cracks an imaginary whip, and she is jolted by a very real force around her waist. When he pulls on the invisible rope, her feet drag across the floor. It’s helpless to resist, and she knows it, but even still she looks to me and begs, “Shayne.”

I smile. “Do it for your country.”

A forceful tug from Russo spins Hillerman around and into his arms. The crowd cheers his victory. With reluctant grace, Hillerman allows him to lead her into a brisk Mambo. The shirtless werewolves grab partners of their own, and soon the whole place is dancing to the same spontaneous choreography, like a movie musical. Elle is falling over with delighted laughter.

“Elle! How’s this working? I thought they had to be willing.”

“Willing and/or drunk,” she responds. “We’ve got plenty of both.”

“But Hillerman is neither. I thought you couldn’t force somebody.”

“That’s true, and I do feel her resisting, but…”

“But what?”

“You’re not going to believe this, but there’s another part of her that’s not resisting. It’s like there are two separate wills inside her. One wants to crawl into a hole and die right now, but the other part of her is encouraging my power.”

“She’s going to kill us both when this is over.”

“I’m telling you, Shayne. I’m not forcing her. I’m just feeding her the dance moves, and she’s going along with it.”

It’s hard to hear over