Chapter 7
SEVEN
He had to give Easton some credit. He’d done a pretty good job putting together the greediest, wealthiest, shittiest group of vampires the syndicate had to offer. And dangling a golden anchor in front of them?
No wonder he hadn’t run off. He thought he could make everything he owed back and more in a single night.
In fact, half the people gathered in the parlor, cigars and expensive synth in hand, were rumored to be owed money from Easton.
It was a bold move, inviting everyone to one event.
Luis doubted he would’ve been brave or stupid enough to do that if he didn’t have a once in a lifetime opportunity at his fingertips.
Frankie.
Luis sat in the leather armchair by the fireplace, her sales package clutched in his hands. A sick feeling rolled through him as he stared down at her glossy image. She’d been reduced down to a handful of pages, a photograph, and a few vials of blood.
None of these people cared about her degree in pre-Great War arrant history.
No one would ask her if she liked living in United Washington, or what she wanted to do with her life.
They didn’t care about her hopes, insecurities, or the nightmares she needed guarding from.
To the people milling about the richly decorated room, she was nothing more than an exquisitely rare meal.
Luis worked hard to keep his face blank as he glanced around the room. His competition lingered by the bar, lounged on couches, and clustered together in a fairly decent representation of the loyalties within the syndicate.
Those from rival families avoided each other. Allies shared drinks, despite the fact that they’d soon be in competition, and the lone wolves huddled with their body guards. All of them steered clear of him.
Every single one of the contestants brought an entourage, big or small.
He was the only vampire in the room entirely on his own.
Still, vanishingly few dared to meet his eye as he scanned the room.
Some possible contestants had scurried out as soon as the lights came up in the ballroom, either because the price was too steep or because they took one look at him and decided it just wasn’t worth it.
Everyone else, however…
What would these fuckers do for a taste of a golden anchor?
He should’ve known. He shouldn’t have let her run away from him. And he damn well should’ve thrown her over his shoulder and carried her out when found her in the bedroom.
He’d worried about the consequences of breaking a contract, but nothing, absolutely nothing in a contract besides imprisonment and death could’ve been worse than this.
His vision blurred as he looked back down at the beautiful, fake-looking headshot in his hands.
She’ll never be free.
Not in the “once you’re in the syndicate, there’s no leaving” kind of way, and not even in the way he originally meant. A golden anchor was far more valuable than their namesake. It wasn’t just because they tasted good. It was because they were a status symbol.
The more she was seen as being desired, the more she’d be worth. And the more she was worth, the more precarious her position became.
All due to a harmless genetic quirk that made her blood a little too sweet for her own good.
She’d never be able to walk the streets unguarded again. Whatever life she’d thought awaited her after this didn’t exist. She’d be in danger every moment of every day if she didn’t have protection.
It’d never been an option to lose before. Now he knew he’d die before he let that happen.
She didn’t belong to any of these fucks. She was his. End of fucking story.
The only problem was that he hadn’t bitten her yet. He’d been waiting, biding his time, trying to find a way to hold onto the illusion their conversations had woven. He was too attached to how comfortable she was with him. He thought he had time.
Now his hesitation bit him in the ass. No one, certainly not anyone in the room, would respect his claim without a bite. Not now.
Jaw firming, Luis tucked the envelope into his tuxedo jacket’s inner pocket and stood up from his seat. Eyes immediately swung to him, but he ignored them all as he stalked out of the parlor. Finding a decently private spot a ways down the hall, he pulled his phone out of his pocket.
His brother picked up on the second ring.
“What’s wrong?” The question came with a long-suffering sigh, which Luis didn’t think he’d completely earned.
Usually he’d ham it up a little, maybe give Milo something to really be annoyed about, but he was too agitated for his normal levity. Watching more groups of vampires pass his hiding spot on their way to the parlor, where they were supposed to pay their entry fees, he growled, “I need your help.”
“Are you in jail again?”
“No,” he answered, rolling his eyes.
“Have you been shot?”
“Also no. I need you to—”
Clearly in one of his surlier moods, Milo pressed, “Has it ever occurred to you that I might be too busy to pull your ass out of the fire?”
Offended, Luis protested, “I haven’t even done anything to—”
“You’re on a whiny baby assignment. How could you possibly need my help?”
“If you’d let me explain,” Luis dragged out. When his little brother didn’t immediately jump in with more of his incredibly enlightening commentary, he let out a breath. “Listen, man. I need your help. I really need it.”
Milo paused. In a much sharper voice, he asked, “What kind of trouble are you in?”
“Not me,” he answered, slinking back into the shadows of the alcove he’d occupied. Resting the back of his head on the wall, he peered out a curtained window to see the moonlit landscaping of the rental property.
I should’ve run with her, he thought bitterly. We’d be halfway home by now, and she’d be safe.
Trying to focus, he told his brother, “I need you with me. I can’t tell you why, but it’s to help a woman.”
“One of your playmates?” Milo had never approved of his casual relationships, and it came through loud and clear.
It was his staunch belief that a vampire ought to only have one true mate — or two, in the case of their parents — not for any high moral reason but because their lives were so dangerous that casual liaisons put innocent people at risk.
Luis had never agreed with him on that point until now.
“No,” he answered, scowling at shrubbery. “A friend of mine. She’s in way over her head and I can’t get her out of this alone.” Knowing it’d make it impossible for his softy of a little brother to say no, he added, “She’s arrant, Milo. From a small town, too. Just like Mama.”
There was a long stretch of silence before Milo let out a gusty sigh. “Tell me where.”