His Every Desire by Shiloh Walker

where he’d found his sister all those years ago, but instead of Carly lying on the floor, naked, beaten, the evidence of a rape still on her thighs, it was Tracy…Emery.
    And not as he was so used to seeing her, with that short, sophisticated coif of pale blonde hair and a thin exotic face. No.
    It was her as he’d seen her earlier, with thick waves of mink brown, her mouth lush and full in the soft curves of her face.
    Closing his eyes, he flopped back on the bed, pressing his palms against them. He had to keep her safe.
    You will…
    His hands fell away and he sat up, scowling at the pale misty form hovering on the chair by his bed. Carly’s ghost had come to him that very first day after she’d died.
    Grainger’s men had been watching her apartment and when he had gone in there, they’d seen him. They’d called Grainger, apparently, because as Carly had whispered in his ear Run, Grainger had been driving to the apartment. Joel, called Marc then, had slid out the window to the balcony and monkeyed down to the balcony below, working his way down ten stories, sweating and scared to death. As he’d hit the street, he had heard the voice shouting overhead and he’d looked up, seeing one of the men he’d seen with Grainger before.
    He’d taken off running. At the intersection ahead, he’d seen Grainger’s black Porsche as it came flying around the corner and Joel had ducked down the alley to his left, running for his life.
    And Carly had continued to whisper to him.
    He didn’t actually see her form for a long time, but her ghost was with him almost constantly as he grew up. She’d been taking care of him for so long—even after she’d moved away from home. Mama had been too busy getting laid or getting high…
    They’d killed Mama, too.
    Joel knew that, even though it had been made to look like an accident. When he’d tried to go home after running away from Grainger, Carly had whispered to him again. He’d gone home anyway…or tried to. And found ambulances and police cars surrounding the small, ratty apartment.
    He’d disappeared after that.
    Nobody was likely to notice another twelve-year-old punk on the streets of New York, and he’d done okay. When he was eighteen, he’d taken his the test for his GED and passed with flying colors, then joined the Army with one goal in mind.
    To become a tough enough bastard to handle Vincent Grainger.
    It had all been so simple. He could handle Grainger. Could kill him. Happily.
    What wasn’t simple was Emery. How did he tell her that Grainger was awake?
    How did he handle letting her know what he had done? Killing Grainger was one thing—and he would kill him.
    But the things he had done to move closer to Grainger, that was different. He’d turned into a fucking criminal, barely a step above Grainger.
    That was the part that wasn’t so simple.
    Jerking his mind out of the past, he stared at Carly’s surreal form, hovering on the edge of the seat as though she was just sitting down for a break. “What’s wrong, Carly?” he asked tiredly.
    She laughed. The sound was hollow, as though it came from some distant tunnel and it echoed. “Wrong? Why does something have to be wrong, Marc?”
    “My name is Joel,” he said wearily. “Marc Baker is long gone, Sis.”
    She sighed, and the sound was desolate. The room seemed to chill and Joel rubbed his arms. “Gone…just like me,” she said forlornly.
    “Carly…”
    “No. No. I’m fine. Hell, for the most part, I’m more than fine. I don’t have any bills, I don’t have to worry about gaining weight…granted, I can’t eat anything, but it’s not a bad trade-off.” She laughed softly. “I’m better off dead than I ever was alive. Too bad I had to leave you alone.”
    Silence fell and Joel tried to figure out what in the hell to say, if there even was anything to say. Staring down at the sheet that covered his legs, he closed his hand around it, wishing that somebody had killed Grainger long, long