Chapter 13 Cord
BY THE TIME I text Dante the address of where to find Smyth’s body and clean myself and my axe up in the kitchen, Asher is dressed and respectable again, minus a couple of buttons on his shirt. He doesn’t say anything about what happened earlier, though I can practically feel his thoughts.
It’s just as well because I don’t know how to explain my actions. I won’t go so far as to call it a mistake, but it was definitely ill-advised, especially since it likely gave him the wrong idea.
Not that I didn’t enjoy it.
I did.
Perhaps too much.
And that’s the problem.
Because if I’m being honest with myself, I’d like it to happen again. And soon.
I’d forgotten how good it felt to be inside him. How good it felt to kiss him. To feel him coming apart.
To taste his blood.
I don’t know what possessed me to attack him like that. And it was an attack. I couldn’t stop myself. All I knew was that I needed him. Immediately.
We’re almost back to Manhattan and he still hasn’t said anything. I glance over at him and can see a peek of bare flesh where he’s missing buttons.
“Sorry about your shirt,” I murmur.
He turns and meets my eyes. “I’m not.”
My cock twitches and I have to force myself to think of something else. Anything other than the feel of his body moving with mine. The taste of his lips. The sound of his moans.
Jesus, get a hold of yourself.
All too soon we’re in front of his building. I double-park out front and turn to him. “Thanks again…for the information.”
His lip curls up in a smirk. “If you need anything else, you know where to find me.”
And then he’s out of the car and disappearing into the building. I stare after him for a moment, my brain at war with my dick. Part of me wants to follow him upstairs and pick up where we left off.
That’s the part that says to hell with tomorrow, let’s just live for today. Lose ourselves in the kind of debauchery we were always so good at.
The other part–the rationale part–knows what a bad idea that is. It would be good for a while, then things would end up just like they were before. I don’t care how much Asher claims he’s changed, I know him.
And I don’t think I have the strength to leave him a second time.
I turn the car around and head home, where a hot shower and long nap await me.
? ? ?
I sleep the rest of the day away, awakening after sunset. Since I haven’t heard anything from Dante, I assume I’m free tonight to head over to Brooklyn and check out the area around Giovanni’s.
The dinner rush hasn’t quite picked up yet as I park and make my way down the street toward the restaurant.
I do a quick trip around the block to check out the alley, not expecting to find anyone there yet, then cross the street to the coffee shop where I met Luca the other day.
Since I’m the only customer in the place, I grab a coffee and claim the same table by the window. And then I settle in to watch.
Foot traffic starts to pick up around eight, with several couples heading into the two restaurants on this block, Giovanni’s at this end and Nicko’s at the other.
I don’t spot anyone lingering around outside, though I can’t see the alley.
Chances are if they’re waiting for workers to get off, they won’t show up until closing time.
From the sign I saw on the door of Giovanni’s, that’s ten o’clock on a weekday.
Around nine-thirty I leave the coffee shop and head across the street, rounding the block and entering the alley. Other than a couple of kitchen workers on a smoke break outside Nicko’s, it’s deserted. I make my way down to the middle of the block and settle in behind a dumpster to wait.
The alley is dark, only a single light above the back doors to the restaurants, so I’m well-concealed.
After several minutes a light sweeps over the alley as a dark van pulls up behind Nicko’s.
I flatten myself against the wall as the driver cuts the lights.
For a few minutes nothing happens, then I hear the squeak of a door opening.
It could just be here picking someone up after work, I rationalize. I discard that theory when two men emerge and start walking up the alley. They’re not the same ones from Luca’s picture, which throws me off. Are there more than two of them?
They don’t look particularly threatening, just your average street thugs, but then I catch their scent when they pull even with me.
Vampire.
I let them pass just to see what they’re up to when the back door to Giovanni’s opens. Luca appears holding two large garbage bags. He walks over to the dumpster and lifts the lid to throw the bags inside when the two men make a move toward him.
“That’s far enough,” I say as I step out behind them. They stop and turn, and now all eyes in the alley are on me.
“Go back inside, Luca.”
He glances between me and the two men, then nods and ducks back into the restaurant. The two men look at each other, then the taller of them narrows his eyes at me. He’s on the wiry side, maybe an inch shorter than me, with a nose that looks like it’s caught a few punches.
“Who the fuck are you?” he demands.
I ignore the question. “What are you doing here?”
“None of your fucking business,” the shorter one snaps. He’s got a little more weight on him, though it looks like he’s kind of soft around the belly. My guess is he’s a lightweight. The only way these guys are kidnapping people is sheer bravado.
“Looks like today’s your lucky day. I’m making it my business.”
“Do you know who we are?” the taller one asks.
“I don’t really give a shit.”
“You will,” the shorter one growls then pulls out a knife and makes a move toward me.
I’ve spent the last thirty-plus years training for situations like this.
I’ve honed my technique and worked on my speed until, when I want them to, my movements can appear like a blur to the human eye.
Granted, these guys aren’t human, but neither are they at my level.
It’s a fact that becomes all too obvious when I snatch the guy’s wrist, twist the knife away, then yank him hard into my fist. He bends over and grabs his jaw, moaning.
The taller one looks around, confusion replacing his scowl. “What the fuck?”
I pocket the knife and grin. “You were saying?”
The shorter recovers himself and scowls at me. “You’ll regret that.”
I punch him again, catching him with an uppercut that causes him to nearly bite his tongue in half, judging by the trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth.
“Knock it off or I’ll get serious,” I tell him. If they weren’t snatching innocent people, I’d almost find them comical. Still, inept or not, they’re up to no good and I’m going to find out who they’re doing it for, because it’s obvious these two aren’t the brains of the operation.
“Now I’m going to ask you some questions and I expect answers. Understand?”
The shorter one spits blood on the ground. “Fuck you.”
“You’re not helping yourself. You can either answer me, or I’ll let my boss question you. He’s a little less patient than me.”
That last part is bullshit. Dante has always given me free reign because I don’t dick around with niceties when getting information.
“We only answer to one boss, and it ain’t yours,” the taller one declares.
“Is that so? And just who is this boss of yours?”
“We’re not telling you nothing,” the shorter one says.
“Suit yourself.”
I reach for my phone when the shorter guy gets his second wind and rushes me.
I meet his momentum with my fist and put something extra behind it, knocking him to his ass then shoving him onto his back and bringing my heel down on his neck.
, cutting off his air. He gasps and tries to push my foot away, but I just lean on him harder.
“Stay down.” His partner makes a move toward me, so I smile at him, letting my blood teeth drop so he knows what he’s dealing with. “You want some of this, too?”
He pulls back and shakes his head. Obviously his loyalty to his buddy doesn’t extend to getting his own ass kicked.
“You two just earned a trip to see my boss.”
“You’re making a big mistake,” he warns.
I snort as I pull out my phone and hit Dante’s number. He answers on the second ring.
“I figured I wouldn’t hear from you tonight.”
Yeah, me neither, I don’t say. “I got a pickup for you. The alley behind Giovanni’s restaurant in Brooklyn. Send a van.” No way am I putting these two in my car.
“This have anything to do with that picture you sent me?”
“It does.” I glance down at the guy under my boot, who’s looking a lot less lively now. In fact, he’s not even struggling to breathe anymore. Yes, even vampires have to breathe, though we won’t die if we don’t. It just gets damned uncomfortable. “I want in on the interrogation.”
“After what you did for me today, you can do whatever you want. I’ll have someone there in fifteen minutes.”
I hang up and slip the phone back in my pocket.
“Is he dead?” the tall guy asks, looking warily at his partner.
Seriously, who transitioned this guy? He doesn’t seem to know anything. “How long have you been in the Clan?”
“Clan?”
It dawns on me then–these guys could be unsanctioned.
Outliers.
Shit.
Outliers are vampires created outside the Clan using the old method of draining a human to death and feeding them vampire blood.
Creating a vampire that way is hit or miss at best. Of the ones who survive it, half become feral and have to be put down.
That’s why the Clan abandoned that method of transition centuries ago.
Now they use mages and potions, and every transition has to be approved by the Black Guild, whoever the fuck they are.
To my knowledge, no one’s ever actually seen them.
Rumor is they’re so old they rarely leave their fortress of solitude in Europe.
Creating an unsanctioned vampire is a death sentence for anyone caught doing it, and a black mark on the Guild in whose territory it occurs. It’s one thing when it’s a one-off, like a vampire falling in love with a human and transitioning them without the permission of the Clan.
Unfortunately, this sounds like the opposite; someone creating their own organization of Outliers to challenge the Clan. The last time I can remember this happening was in New Orleans about eight years ago. It took their Crimson Guild a year to run down and destroy all the members of that outbreak.
If that’s what’s happening, Dante’s going to shit a brick. Finding out who’s behind this will become priority number one.
“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll let me go,” the tall guy threatens again.
“Yeah, that’s not going to happen. Do you have any idea how much trouble you and your boss are in?”
“You can’t take him. He’s–”
“What? Immune? Invincible? Made of starlight and fairy dust? Sorry, asshole, creating unsanctioned vampires is a death sentence.”
“You have to catch him first,” he declares defiantly.
“Don’t worry. We will.”
The van with Dante’s men pulls into the alley. I heave the now unconscious vamp to his feet and drag him back to the van while one of Dante’s men slips a pair of charmed zip cuffs on the other one.
“I’ll meet you there,” I tell them before heading down the street to retrieve my car, hoping we were able to catch this before it got out of hand, though something tells me that’s wishful thinking.