Chapter 34 #2
Teddy Bear left, and my jaguar vision returned to the books. After just a minute of close inspection, I saw one that jutted out from the others in its row. The author was that Temple nutjob Clyde Blunton—a red flag in itself—and the title was The Purebreed Revolution.
Sliding the shelf’s glass door back, I took hold of the book’s top and began easing it from among its neighbors.
A mechanical clunk and whirr went off somewhere behind the shelving, and the entire unit creaked open a fraction at the side.
I opened it wide enough to step through and drew my Colt, chambering a round.
Steep, narrow steps carpeted in burgundy led down to a basement level. They were bathed in dusky lighting from a handful of bulbs above. Keeping my weapon pointing downward, I slunk along cautiously, conscious of floor creaks alerting any lurking coven members to my presence.
Once on the basement level, the smells of sweat and blood grew thick. A dozen cubicles lined the left-hand side, their grimy lime-green hospital curtains drawn. On the opposite side, bare brickwork, and a large black desk covered in what looked like logbooks and scattered stationery.
There was around a foot of space between each cubicle curtain and the floor. I crouched and peered beneath into the first one, to see bare female legs splayed on a stained mattress.
Drawing the curtain slowly so it wouldn’t scrape on the rod, I was met by a sight that set my blood boiling.
A girl, no older than fourteen, dressed only in a tank top and panties, lay drooped on her side, a look of utter hopelessness on her face.
Upon seeing me, she jolted upright, her eyes soaked in misery and fear.
I held a finger across my lips and tapped my police badge with my gun barrel. Speaking soft as cotton, I said, “Police. You’re safe now, I promise. How many girls are here?”
“Eight or nine now, I think,” she said in a shaky whisper. “It changes a lot.”
“What’s your name?”
“Rachel.”
“Rachel, I’m Detective Pierce. Is it just you girls down here?”
She shook her head and pointed in the direction of a sturdy-looking steel door on the far wall. “There’s a vampire. Stays in that office. Makes sure we stay here. Welcomes customers, gives us food and water.” She paused, tears brimming over her lower lashes. “But only when we… do things for him.”
I nodded, glaring at the door, keen to meet the vampire in question.
And seriously fuck up his day.
I took out my phone. “I’m calling this in. Rachel, can you get the other girls together and get up to the bar area? I left the door open. My partner’s up there. He’s a giant grizzly. He’ll protect you until the cavalry arrives.”
She nodded but stared at the office door with bulging eyes. “But… if he comes out…” Her whole body quaked.
“I’m more dangerous than any vamp, believe me. I’ll take care of him. You just get the girls out of here as quietly as you can.”
She got on the move and soon almost a dozen girls scampered up the stairs. I called it in once they were out of harm’s way, no longer giving a fuck if the scumbag in the office heard me.
“Pierce, badge number 8974. I need multiple ambulances and cruisers at Latona’s Bar on Buxton Avenue. Victims are young girls. Send as many female staff as you can. And bring plenty of blankets—”
The office door banged open, its chunky metal cracking the brickwork. Mexican Mariachi music blared from the office radio, its upbeat repetitive lyrics sung between joyful trumpet blasts and rampant guitar strums.
Mucha alegria!
Mucha alegria!
Mucha alegria!
And there, broad as the door frame, was the creep in charge. He had the classic V-shaped, professional bodybuilder look, all shown off in a tight, black T-shirt and jeans. He’d shaved and gelled his hair into a punk-rock mohawk.
Fuck him and his steroids. I could knock him out with one blow if I wanted. The little bug was over half a foot shorter than me. He could wear the handcuffs, or he could eat silver.
The vamp scanned the empty cubicles and scowled, circling his neck, and clenching his fists.
His voice was grating, his glare midnight black, as he asked, “What the fuck you think you’re doing, pig?”
“Arresting you.” I shrugged, training my Colt on his chest. “Or killing you. Choice is yours.”
He flashed a wild grin, tongue tracing the tip of one fang. “You! You’re the one from the news.” Cracking his knuckles, he bellowed a guttural laugh. “And I thought today was going to be dull. Now I get to kill the hero cop himself. Conrad will be pleased.”
“You do realize I’ve got a Colt 45 pointed at your chest?”
He stripped his T-shirt off in one well-rehearsed move and beat his granite pecs. “Then come, police man, take aim and fire. It’s not a difficult shot. And you know you want to.”
I couldn’t figure out if this guy was soft in the head or had a death wish.
Mucha alegria!
Mucha alegria!
Mucha alegria!
The chipper Mariachi scream seemed to rile him. “Come on, hero. Take me down. Think of the fun I had with those girls—”
Bang! Bang! Bang! I gave him a burst of three right where he’d asked for them… and they pinged off him.
Whizz! I ducked for cover behind the large desk as the bullets ricocheted around the room.
What in hot fuck!?!
He stalked toward me, completely unhurt, fangs lengthening as he grinned. “What’s wrong, police man? Gun malfunction?”
Bang! I gave him another hollow point straight—and I mean straight—between the eyes. Then I again had to duck as the bullet whizzed off him and into the brickwork.
Fuck it. I hurriedly holstered my Colt and ripped my vest and shirt off, readying in boxer stance. My animal was roaring inside me, ready to come out.
The motherfucker salsa danced closer.
Mucha alegria!
Mucha alegria!
Mucha alegria!
As he moved to the happy rhythm, I caught a glimpse of a faint blue sheen glimmering across his skin. Like a forcefield from a sci-fi movie.
Except this shit was real. He was using some powerful magic. I needed to even things up. “Jac—”
The vamp flew, thumping me straight in my mouth and sending me reeling into the back wall. I held my palm to my aching teeth and looked at it. Drenched in blood.
He charged at me again, swinging blows left and right. I ducked and weaved, waiting for the best moment to strike.
Wham! I popped him in the jaw with a vicious left jab that would have floored anyone in New Nebraska.
With this fucker though, nothing. His blue sheen flickered, and he grabbed hold of my neck, catapulting me about ten feet. I soared into the small office and smashed into a table that exploded into splinters. The shards of wood spiked into my skin as, woozy, I clambered to my feet.
Smack! He clocked me with a right hook that blurred one eye. My jaguar was raging, desperate to get out, but I couldn’t muster the strength or focus to shift. And what could claws really do against this impregnable fuck?
Mucha alegria!
Mucha alegria!
Mucha alegria!
He grabbed my shoulders face on, smirking as he rasped, “How does it feel to be the prey for a change?”
Like shit. I was getting my ass handed to me. “Jackie, where the fuck are you!?!” I called, gasping and half blind.
“Giving up already? That’s not the shifter way.”
Wham! I headbutted him right on the nose. The knock did more damage to me than him. I collapsed to one knee, swiping, and stabbing at his midriff with the claws that had stretched out from my fingers. The blows just bounced off.
“That’s the spirit,” he snickered, before grabbing me in a bear hug and using me as a battering ram against the wall.
Boom! The bricks flew apart in clouds of dust and grit, covering my face and filling my lungs. I staggered to my feet, coughing, my whole back numb from the impact, as I tried to get my bearings. We were in the basement of the adjoining business—some kind of workshop.
I was grabbed again and thrown along a work counter laden with tools, they clanged and battered off me and onto the floor as I skidded the entire length, smacking my head on a large iron bench vice at the end, before falling off and thudding onto concrete.
Groaning, I managed to get to my knees before he belted me across each cheek with a monkey wrench. I sank back down to my ass as he stood over me, a swaggering blur. Savoring his dominance.
I was gonna fucking die.
But all I could think of was never seeing Serenity again. I wouldn’t be there to protect her. I’d failed her. Going to the grave knowing that would hurt worse than the death blow.
This freak had kicked my ass, and he was barely even breathing heavier as he said, “This ethereal armor is made from ancient Fae magic, so don’t feel too bad. You never had a chance.”
Fae magic, on a vamp? What the fuck? Coughing and spluttering dust and broken brick, I supposed it didn’t matter anyway.
This was it. The end. At least Serenity would have Hunter; he’d take care of her.
Crouching beside me, his clammy palm stroked my locks as he goaded me. “You know, dead hero, Conrad’s going to take back that little human friend of yours and keep her in a place just like this. Forever. Maybe I’ll be her jailor.”
This motherfucking piece of shit. My jaguar tattoo on my right arm pulsed fiercely, as if electrified. I looked down and saw, through the blood haze, that it was glowing, the yellow eyes bright as lightning bolts. It felt like my arm had a life of its own. And the wrecking power of a sledgehammer.
“Nothing to say, eh? Say goodnight then.”
I mumbled nonsense, exaggerating how fucked up I was, and beckoned him even closer.
He mocked me as he moved his face so close to mine, our noses brushed. “Speak up, police man. These’ll be your famous last words.”
“I said…” I let my words trail off into babbles.
“What? Come on, let’s hear it.” He wheezed laughter. “You thought you were so fucking cool, didn’t you? Come on, what did you just say, dead man?”
Wham! I hammered a savage uppercut into his chin with my jaguar tat fist, shattering his magic armor like a busted window pane. The shimmering blue fell away, fizzling out as I gripped his throat and said, “Nobody threatens my mate.”
With that, I lanced my claws deep into his eyeballs, driving them back into his brain and caving his skull in with my bare hands. He died screaming.
Mucha alegria!
Mucha alegria!
Mucha alegria!
Panting, coughing, vision still fuzzy, I clambered up, steadying myself on the workbench. I looked down at my jaguar tat. The titanic power was fading, as was the glow. It still felt wired, strong, but nothing like before. Bryce was right: the strangeness never ended in New Nebraska.
The music cut off, and Teddy Bear stumbled over the heaps of broken bricks, his revolver drawn.
He lowered it upon seeing me. “Fuck me, laddie. You’ve been having mad squabbles down here.
” His head jerked back when he saw my battered body.
Then he stared down at the dead sack of shit slumped on the concrete.
“No way. Someone almost took you out, one on one? Who the fuck was that guy?”
Limping against the wall, still trying to catch my breath, I blurted out, “Check his wallet.”
Teddy Bear began rifling through the corpse’s jean pockets.
“The girls, the girls”—I was still fatigued from the ass whipping I’d taken—“are okay?”
He spoke from the side of his mouth. “Cavalry’s all upstairs. Whole street’s cordoned off. Those lassies are all safe”—he turned and gave me a rare warm smile—“thanks to a certain jackass.”
“It was nothing.” That was twenty-four carat bravado. I felt like hammered shit.
“The bartender?”
Teddy Bear grinned sheepishly and shrugged. “Well, I was following the plan, when all of a sudden all those poor kids flooded the bar, terrified, I, uh, lost my temper a wee bit.”
“How wee?”
“Eh, I put his head through the grand piano. Twice. It wasn’t a melodious tune, I can tell ya.”
I sucked air in deep, my vision was starting to return fully, my heartbeat thumping hard but steadily slowing. “You fucking killed him?”
“Oh, ‘you fucking killed him’ says the one squashing skulls in,” he replied, kicking the corpse over and opening the flaps of the wallet he’d found. Staring into it, he spoke with a tinge of shame in this tone. “Let’s just agree that things got out of hand. We’ll both try harder in the future.”
“You’re a blockhead, you know that?” But fuck it, I was alive, and too sore to argue.
“Aye, so my wife tells me. Funny”—he looked down at the dead vamp and his stupid fucking haircut—“he doesn’t look like a Raphael. More like a Chad or a—”
I sighed. “It’s a fake ID, for fuck’s sake.”
“Really?” He plucked it from between the folds and shoved it in front of my face. It was a bar-operating license, with Dead Guy’s photo on it. “Then why is his last name Marchand? Not exactly incognito, is it?”
I clasped his hand and looked at the print. Raphael Marchand. I’d just offed one of Conrad’s relatives. Hopefully a close one.
“Pocket that ID, Teddy. Let’s see what else we can find before forensics drown us in red tape.”
We scoured the whole area with jaguar eyes and bear nostrils.
Teddy Bear was rifling through the journals as I searched the cubicles, kicking over each mattress in turn. Those girls must have suffered so much on these grimy slabs of creaking springs and crimson.
“Oy! Tiger, your mate, the human, remind me of her name?”
“Serenity. Why? What you got?”
He held up a paperback-sized journal. “Looks like a certain vamp’s thoughts on her. And plenty of them.”
I strode over and took the book, my jaguar delving into the pages as I flipped. Jackpot. This told me more than any coven underling ever could have.
“I think you’re right. Fucking good job, Teddy.
I’ve got to get back to my brother’s for now.
Can you catch a lift back with one of the cruisers?
And distract the lieutenant with some bullshit while I make a swift exit?
I haven’t got the patience for that prick right now.
” I slipped my upper clothes back on, grimacing at the various parts of my body that were swimming in aches and fresh scars.
“Aye, I’ll bullshit him, no bother.” He chuckled. “I learned from the best, remember?”
I hid the journal under my shirt, zipped up my vest, and wove hurriedly through the throngs of emergency workers.
Serenity deserved to see what Conrad wrote, any information he might’ve revealed that could protect her.