Mr. X looked over his shoulder before getting behind the wheel. The prostitute he'd killed was lying across a storm drain, her heroin-saturated blood seeping into the sewage system. The dear girl had even helped him with the needle. Of course, she hadn't been expecting 100 percent pure H.
Or having enough of it pumped into her vein to put a moose into a deep nod.
The police would find her by morning, but he'd been very neat, just like before. Latex gloves. Hat pulled down over his hair. Densely woven nylon clothes that should leave no fibers.
And God knew, she hadn't struggled at all.
Mr. X calmly started the engine and eased out onto Trade Street.
A fine shine of anticipatory sweat broke out above his upper lip. The arousal, all the adrenaline pumping through him, made him miss the days when he could still have sex.
Even if the vampire had no information to give, the rest of the evening was going to be enjoyable
He'd start with the hammer, he thought.
No, the dental drill would be better. Under the fingernails.
That should wake the male right up. After all, there was no sense torturing the unconscious. Like kicking a corpse, that would just be an aerobic workout, and even then, only a mild one. He should know.
Considering what he'd done to his father's body when he'd found it.
From the back he heard a flopping sound. He glanced over his shoulder. The vampire was moving under the blanket.
Good. He was alive.
Mr. X looked back out to the road and frowned. Leaning forward in his seat, he gripped the wheel.
Up ahead, there was the flare of brake lights.
Cars were stopped in a line. A bunch of orange cones were set out. And blue and white flashes announced a police presence.
An accident?
No. A roadblock. Two cops with flashlights looking into cars. A sign that read, Intoxication Checkpoint.
Mr. X hit his brakes. He reached into his black bag, took out the dart gun, and fired another two into the vampire to keep the noise down. With the windows darkened and the black blanket as cover, they had a shot at making it through. As long as the male didn't move.
When it was Mr. X's turn, he put the window down as the cop approached. The man's flashlight hit the dashboard, casting a glow.
"Evening, Officer." Mr. X assumed a pleasant expression.
"You been drinking tonight, sir?" The cop was your basic middle-aged nobody. Doughy around the middle. Fuzzy mustache that needed a better trim job. Gray hair poofing out from under his hat like a weed. He had all the aspects of a sheepdog except for the flea collar and the tail.
"No, Officer, I have not."
"Hey, I know you."
"Do you?" Mr. X smiled more broadly while eyeing the man's throat. Frustration made him think of the knife he had in the car door. He reached down and ran his finger over the handle, soothing himself.
"Yeah, you teach jujitsu to my son." When the cop leaned back, his flashlight swung to the side, hitting the black bag in the passenger seat. "Darryl, come meet Phillie's sensei."
While the other cop ambled over, Mr. X checked to make sure the bag was zipped up. No sense flashing the dart gun or the nine-millimeter Glock he had inside of it.
For a good five minutes, he made nice-nice with the boys in blue while fantasizing about the ways he could shut them up.
When he finally put the minivan in gear, he discovered the knife was in his hand and almost in his lap.
He had some serious aggression to work off.
Wrath stared hard at the blurry contours of the single-story commercial building. For the past two hours, he and Rhage had been watching the Caldwell Martial Arts Academy, waiting to see if it got any nocturnal action. The facility was located at the far end of a strip mall, on the edge of a stretch of woods. Rhage, who had cased the place the night before, estimated it was about twenty thousand square feet in size.
Plenty big enough to be a center for the lessers.
The parking lot ran down the front of the academy, and there were about ten to fifteen spaces on one side. There were two entrances. Double glass doors in front. Side ingress with no window. From their vantage point in the woods, they could see both the empty lot and the ways in and out of the building.
The other sites had been dead ends. The Gold's Gym hadn't yielded anything other than a revolving membership of steak-heads. It closed at midnight, opened at five A.M., and had been quiet for the past couple of nights. The paintball arena was the same, just an empty building from the moment it closed its doors. The best bets were the two academies, and Vishous and the twins were across town at the other one.
Although lessers could go out in the day, they did their hunting at night because that was when their targets moved around. As dawn got close, the society's recruitment and training centers were often used as places to congregate, but not always. Also, because the lessers shifted locales fre-quently, one spot could be hot for a month or a season or a year and then be deserted.
As Darius had been dead for only a few days, Wrath was hoping the society hadn't moved on yet.
He felt for his watch. "Damn it, it's almost three."
Rhage shifted against the tree he was behind. "So I guess Tohr isn't showing up tonight."
Wrath shrugged, hoping like hell the subject would get dropped.
It didn't.
"That's not like him." Rhage paused. "But you're not surprised."
"No, I'm not."
"Why?"
Wrath cracked his knuckles. "I took a piece out of him. When I shouldn't have."
"I'm not gonna ask."
"Wise of you." And then for some absurd reason, he tacked on, "I need to apologize to him."
"That'll be a surprise."
"Am I that awful?"
"No," Rhage said without his usual bravado. "You're just not wrong that often."
Candor was a surprise coming from Hollywood.
"Well, I sure as hell did a number on Tohr."
Rhage clapped him on the back. "Lemme tell you, as someone who offends folks regularly, there ain't much that can't be fixed."
"I brought Wellsie into it."
"Not a good idea."
"And how he feels about her."
"Shit."
"Yeah. Pretty much."
"Why?"
"Because I"
Because he'd felt like an idiot trying to pull off even a sliver of what Tohrment had managed to do so successfully for two centuries. In spite of Tohr's calling as a warrior, he'd sustained a relationship with a female of worth. And it was a good, strong, loving union. He was the only one of the brothers who'd been able to do that.
Wrath thought about Beth. Pictured her coming up to him, asking him to stay.
Man, he was desperate to find her in his bed when he got home. And not because he wanted to take her. It was because then he could sleep beside her. Rest a little, knowing that she was safe and with him.
Ah, hell. He had a terrible feeling he was going to have to stick around that female. For a while.
"Because?" Rhage prompted.
Wrath's nose tingled. A faint whiff of sweetness, like baby powder, floated by on the breeze.
"Get out your welcome mat," he said, opening his jacket.
"How many?" Rhage asked, pivoting around.
The sounds of sticks snapping and leaves rustling softly broke the night. Got louder.
"Three. At least."
"Yee-haw."
The lessers were coming straight at them, through a clearing in the woods. They were loud, talking and walking without care, until one of them stopped. The other two pulled up, shut up.
"Evening, boys," Rhage said, sauntering out into the open.
Wrath took the stealth approach. As the lessers circled his brother, crouching, drawing knives, Wrath skirted around the edge of the trees.
Then he reached out of the shadows and plucked one of the lessers off the ground, starting the fight. He slit its throat, but there was no time to polish off the kill. Rhage had engaged two, but the third was about to nail the brother in the head with a baseball bat.
Wrath fell upon the undead Sammy Sousa, taking it down to the ground and stabbing it in the throat. Juicy, strangled noises bubbled up into the air. Wrath looked around, in case there were more or his brother needed help.
Rhage was doing just fine.
Even to Wrath's poor eyesight, the warrior was a thing of beauty when he fought. All fists and kicks. Rapid motion. Animal reflexes. Power and endurance. He was a master of hand-to-hand combat, and the lessers hit the ground again and again, the length of time it took them to get up growing longer and longer.
Wrath went back to the first lesser and knelt over the body. It writhed as he went through its pockets and took all the ID he could find.
He was about to stab it in the chest when he heard a shotgun go off.
Chapter Twenty-nine
"So Butch, you gonna hang around until I get off tonight?" Abby smiled as she poured him another Scotch.
"Maybe." He didn't want to, but after a couple more he might change his mind. Assuming he could still get it up while he was drunk.
With a shift to the left, she looked behind him at another guy, shooting the man a little wink while flashing some cleavage.
Covering her bases. Probably a good idea.
Butch's cell phone vibrated on his belt, and he grabbed it. "Yeah?"
"We've got another dead prostitute," Jose said. "Thought you'd want to know."
"Where?" He leaped off the bar stool like he had somewhere to go. Then sat back down, slowly.
"Trade and Fifth. But don't come over. Where are you?"
"McGrider's."
"Ten minutes?"
"I'll be here."
Butch pushed the Scotch away as frustration tore through him.
Was this how he was going to end up? Getting drunk every night? Maybe working a PI or a security job until he got fired for being a derelict? Living alone in that two-room apartment until his liver kicked it?
He'd never been one for plans, but maybe it was time he made some.
"You didn't like that one?" Abby said, framing the shot glass with her breasts.
Reflexively, he reached for the damn thing, brought it to his lips, and tossed it back.
"That's my man."
But when she went to pour him another, he covered the top with his hand. "I think I'm done tonight."
"Yeah, right." She smiled when he shook his head. "Well, you know where to find me."
Yeah, unfortunately.
Jose took longer than ten minutes. It was a good half hour before Butch saw the detective cutting through the crowd of drinkers, a grim figure in his casual clothes.
"Do we know her?" Butch asked before the man could sit down.
"Another one of Big Daddy's. Carla Rizzoli. A.k.a. Candy."
"Same MO?"
Jose ordered a vodka straight up. "Yup. Throat slit, blood everywhere. There was some residue on her lips like she'd been foaming at the mouth."
"H?"
"Probably. The medical examiner's going to do the autopsy first thing tomorrow."
"Anything found at the scene?"
"A dart. Like you'd shoot an animal with. We're having it analyzed." Jose polished off the vodka with a quick tilt of his head. "And I heard Big Daddy's pissed. He's looking for revenge."
"Yeah, well, hopefully he'll take it out on Beth's boyfriend. Maybe a war will drive that bastard out of hiding." Butch set his elbows onto the bar. Rubbed his achy eyes. "Goddamn it, I can't believe she's protecting him."
"Man, I never saw that one coming. She finally picks someone-"
"And he's a total lowlife."
Jose looked over. "We're going to have to call her in."
"I figured." Butch focused his eyes by squinting. "Listen, I'm supposed to meet her tomorrow. Give me a crack at her first, will ya?"
"I can't do that, O'Neal. You're not-"
"Yeah, you can. You just schedule her for the day after."
"The investigation is moving forward-"
"Please." Butch couldn't believe he was begging. "Come on, Jose". I've got a better shot than anyone at getting through to her."
"Why's that?"
"Because she watched him almost kill me."
Jose looked down at the grotty bar top. "You've got one day. And nobody'd better find out, because the captain will have my head. Then no matter what, I gotta interrogate her at the station."
Butch nodded while Abby came dancing back over with a Scotch bottle in one hand and a liter of vodka in the other.
"You're looking dry, boys," she said with a giggle. The message in her lusty smile and her vacant eyes was getting louder, more desperate, as the night crawled to an end.
Butch thought of his empty wallet. His empty holster. His empty apartment.
"I gotta get out of her," he muttered, sliding off the stool. "I mean, here."
Wrath's arm absorbed the shotgun's load, and the impact twisted his torso like rope. He went with the force of the hit, spinning to the ground, but he didn't stay down. Moving fast and low, he got the hell out of the way, not giving the shooter a chance to nail him again.
The fifth lesser had come out of nowhere. And it was packing a heavy load in that sawed-off.
Behind a pine tree, Wrath quickly took stock of the injury. Nothing too deep. Some skin and muscle stripped off his biceps. Bone was intact. He could still fight.
He took out a throwingstar and stepped into the open.
And that was when a tremendous flash of light illuminated the clearing.
He leaped back into the shadows. "Aw, Christ!"
Now they were all in for it. The beast was coming out of Rhage. And the shit was going to hit the fan.
Rhage's eyes glowed white as headlights as his body mutated in a ghastly display of tearing and ruptures. Something horrible took his place, its scales glistening in the moonlight, its claws slicing through the air. The lessers didn't know what hit them as the creature attacked with a full set of fangs, going after them until their blood ran down its huge chest in a river.
Wrath stayed back. He'd seen this before, and the beast didn't need help. Hell, if you got too close, you were liable to get a body trim.
When it was all over, the creature let out a howl so loud, the trees bowed away, their branches blown asunder.
The slaughter was absolute. There was no hope of getting any identification off the lessers because there were no bodies. Even their clothes had been consumed.
Wrath stepped into the clearing.
The creature swung around, panting.
Wrath kept his voice low and his hands at his sides. Rhage was in there somewhere, but until he came out again, you couldn't assume the beast would remember who the brothers were.
"We're cool," Wrath said. "You and me, we've done this before."
The beast's chest pumped up and down, nostrils quivering as it sniffed the air. Glowing eyes fixated on the blood running down Wrath's arm. A snort came out. The claws lifted.
"Forget it. You did your thing. You're fed. Now, let's have Rhage back."
The great head shook back and forth, but its scales started to vibrate. A high-pitched protest breached the creature's throat, and then there was another flash.
Rhage fell naked to the ground, landing face-first in the dirt.
Wrath ran over and dropped to his knees, reaching out. The warrior's skin was slick with sweat, and he was shaking like a newborn in the cold.
Rhage shifted at the touch. Tried to lift his head. Failed.
Wrath took the brother's hand and squeezed it. The burn on reentry was always a bitch.
"Relax, Hollywood, you're good. You're doing good." He took off his jacket and gently covered his brother.
"You're just going to hang here and let me take care of you, dig?"
Rhage mumbled something and curled into a ball.
Wrath flipped open his cell phone and dialed. "Vishous? We need a car. Now. You're kidding me. No, I gotta move our boy. We just had a visit from his other side. But you tell Zsadist not to fuck around."
He hung up and looked at Rhage.
"Hate this," the brother said.
"I know." Wrath moved the sticky, blood-soaked hair out of the vampire's face. "We're going to get you home."
"Didn't like seeing you shot."
Wrath smiled softly. "Clearly."
Beth stirred, burrowing deeper into the pillow.
Something wasn't right.
She opened her eyes just as a deep male voice broke the silence. "What the fuck do we have here?"
She bolted upright. Looked frantically to the sound.
The man towering over her had black, lifeless eyes. A harsh face with a jagged scar running down it. Hair that was practically shaved it was so short. And long, white fangs that were bared.
She screamed.
He smiled. "My favorite sound in all the world."
She clamped a hand over her mouth.
God, that scar. It ran down his forehead, over his nose, across his cheek, and back around to his mouth. The tail end of the 5 distorted his upper lip, pulling one side into a permanent sneer.
"Admiring my artwork?" he drawled. "You should see the rest of me."
Her eyes darted to his broad chest. He was wearing a skintight, long-sleeved black shirt. On both his pecs, small rings were evident beneath the material, as if he had his nipples pierced. As she looked back up at his face, she saw he had a black band tattooed around his neck and a plug in his left earlobe.
"Pretty, aren't I?" His cold stare was the stuff of night-mares, of dark places where no hope could be found, of hell itself.
Forget the scar, she thought. Those eyes were the scariest thing about him.
And they were fixated on her as if he were sizing her up for a shroud. Or for some sex.
She moved her body away from him. Started looking around for something she could use as a weapon.
"What, you don't like me?"
Beth eyed the door, and he laughed.
"Think you can run fast enough?" he said, pulling the bottom of his shirt free from the leather pants he had on. His hands moved to his fly. "I'm damn sure you can't."
"Get away from her, Zsadist."
Wrath's voice was a sweet relief. Until she saw that he had no shirt on and his arm was in a sling.
He barely looked at her. "Time to go, Z."
Zsadist smiled coldly. "Not willing to share the female?"
"You only like it if you pay for it."
"So I'll flip her a twenty. Assuming she lives through the sex."
Wrath kept coming at the other vampire, until they stood nose-to-nose. The air crackled around them, supercharged by their aggression.
"You're not touching her, Z. You're not looking at her. You're going to say good-night and walk the fuck out of here." Wrath removed the sling, exposing a bandage on his biceps. There was a red blush in the center as if he were bleeding, but he looked ready to take on the other man.
"Bet you're pissed you needed a ride home tonight," Zsadist said. "And that I was the closest one with a car."
"Don't make me regret it more."
Zsadist took a step to the left, and Wrath went with him, using his body to shield her.
Zsadist chuckled, a deep, evil rumble. "You're actually willing to fight for a human?"
"She's Darius's daughter."
Zsadist's head snapped to the side, those black pits of his probing her features. After a moment, there was a subtle softening in his brutal face, a drop in the sneer. And then he made a point to tuck in his shirt while looking her in the eye. As if he were apologizing.
Wrath did not step off, however.
"What's your name?" Zsadist asked her.
"Her name's Beth." Wrath put his head into the path of Zsadist's vision. "And you're leaving."
There was a long pause.
"Yeah. Sure. Whatever."
Zsadist strode over to the door, moving with the same lethal prowl Wrath did. Before he left, he stopped and looked back.
He must have been truly handsome once, Beth thought. Although it wasn't the scar that made him unattractive. It was the hellfire inside of him.
"Nice to meet you. Beth."
She let her breath out as the door closed and the locks flipped into place.
"Are you okay?" Wrath asked. She could feel his eyes running over her body, and then he gently put his hands on her. "He didn't he didn't touch you, did he? I heard you scream."
"No. No, he just scared me. I woke up and he was in the room."
Wrath sat down on the bed, still passing his palms over her as if he didn't believe she was okay. When he seemed satisfied, he pushed his hair back. His hands were shaking.
"You're hurt," she said. "What happened?"
He put his good arm around her and pulled her against his chest. "It's nothing."
"Then why do you need a sling? And a bandage? And why are you still bleeding?"
"Shhh." He put his chin on the top of her head. She could feel his body trembling.
"Are you ill?" she asked.
"I just have to hold you for a minute. Okay?"
"Absolutely."
As soon as his body calmed, she pulled away. "What's the matter?"
He took her face in his hands. Pressed his lips to hers. "I couldn't bear it if he'd taken you away from me."
"That guy? Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere with him." And then she realized Wrath wasn't talking about a date. "You think he was going to kill me?"
Not that she couldn't see how that might have been possible. So cold. Those eyes had been so cold.
Instead of answering. Wrath's mouth came down on hers. She stopped him.
"Who is he? And what happened to him?"
"I don't want you near Z again. Ever." He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His touch was tender. His voice was not. "Are you listening to me?"
She nodded. "But what-"
"He walks into a room and I'm in the house, you come and find me. If I'm not around, you lock yourself in one of these rooms down here. The walls are made of steel, so he can't materialize inside. And don't ever touch him. Not even inadvertently."
"Is he a warrior?"
"Do you understand what I'm telling you?"
"Yeah, but it would help if I knew a little more."
"He's one of the brothers, but he's nearly soulless. Unfortunately, we need him."
"Why, if he's so dangerous? Or is it only toward women?"
"He hates everyone. Except maybe his twin."
"Oh, great. There are two like him?"
"Thank God for Phury. He's the only one who can get through to Z, although even then, it's not a sure thing." Wrath kissed her forehead. "I don't want to scare you, but I need you to take this seriously. Zsadist's an animal, but I think he respected your father, so he may leave you alone. I just can't take any chances with him. Or you. Promise me that you'll stay away from him."
"Okay." She closed her eyes and leaned into Wrath. His arm came around her, but then he shifted back.
"Come on." He pulled her up to her feet. "Come to my chamber."
When they walked into Wrath's room, Beth heard the shower shut off. A moment later, the door opened.
The warrior she'd met before, the movie-star-handsome one who'd been stitching himself up, came out slowly. He had a towel wrapped around his waist, and his hair was dripping. He moved as if he were eighty, as if every muscle in his body hurt.
Good lord, she thought. He didn't look at all well, and there was something way wrong with his stomach. It was swollen, like he'd swallowed a basketball. Unsure what to make of his midsection, she wondered whether his wound was infected. He looked feverish.
She glanced at his shoulder and frowned when she could barely see a mark. It was as if the injury had occurred months ago.
"Rhage, man, how we feeling?" Wrath asked, leaving her side.
"Belly hurts."
"Yeah. I can imagine."
Rhage swayed as he looked around the room, eyes barely open. "Going home. Where my clothes?"
"You lost them." Wrath put his good arm around his brother's waist. "And you're not leaving, you're crashing in D's room."
"Am not."
"Don't start. And we're not waltzing here. Will you lean on me, for Christ's sake?"
The other man sagged, and Wrath's back muscles tightened as he absorbed the weight. The two of them slowly made their way out to the landing and then into her father's chamber. She stayed at a discreet distance, watching as Wrath helped Rhage slide into bed.
As the warrior leaned back against the pillows, his eyes squeezed shut. His hand moved to his stomach, but he winced and let it fall to the side, as if the slightest pressure were torture.
"Feel sick."
"Yeah, indigestion's a bitch."
"Do you want some Turns?" Beth blurted out. "Alka-Seltzer?"
Both vampires looked over at her, and she felt as if she'd intruded on the moment.
Of all the stupid things-
"Yeah," Rhage muttered as Wrath nodded.
Beth walked back to her purse and decided on Alka-Seltzer because it had aspirin in it for his aches. She went into Wrath's bathroom, grabbed a glass, and did the plop-plop, fizz-fizz thing.
When she returned to her father's bedside, she offered the glass to Wrath. He shook his head.
"You'll spill less than I will."
She flushed. It was so easy to forget he couldn't really see.
She leaned over Rhage, but couldn't reach his mouth. Hiking up the robe, she climbed onto the mattress and knelt next to him. She felt awkward being so close to a naked, virile man in front of Wrath.
Considering what had happened to Butch.
But come on, Wrath had nothing to worry about here. No matter how sexy the other vampire was, she didn't feel any heat as she sidled up to the guy.
And he sure as hell wasn't about to come on to her. Not given the kind of shape he was in.
She gently lifted Rhage's head and put the edge of the glass to his beautifully shaped lips. It took him five minutes to sip the liquid down. When he was finished, she started to get off the bed. She didn't get far. With a great lurch, he pitched over onto his side and put his head in her lap, throwing one muscular arm around behind her.
He was seeking comfort.
Beth didn't know what she could really do for him, but she put the glass aside and stroked his back, running her hand over his fearsome tattoo. She murmured things she wished someone had whispered to her when she felt ill. Hummed a little for him.
After a while, the tension left his skin and bones. He began breathing deeply.
When she was sure he was out cold, she carefully extracted herself from his grasp. As she turned to meet Wrath's gaze, she braced herself. Surely he'd know there was nothing-
Shock stilled her.
Wrath wasn't mad. Far from it.
"Thank you," he said hoarsely. The bow of his head was almost humble. "Thank you for caring for my brother." He took his sunglasses off. And looked at her with total adoration.
Chapter Thirty
Mr. X tossed the Sawzall on to his workbench and wiped his hands on a towel.
Well, hell, he thought. The damn vampire was dead.
He'd tried everything to wake the male up, even the chisel, and he'd made a mess out of his barn in the process. There was vampire blood all over the place.
At least cleanup was easy.
Mr. X walked over to the double doors and threw them open. Straight ahead, the sun was coming up over the far ridge, lovely gold light spilling across the landscape. He stood back as the interior of the barn was illuminated.
The vampire's body exploded into flames, the pool of blood underneath the table going up in a cloud of smoke. A soft morning breeze carried the stench of incinerated flesh away.
Mr. X stepped into the morning glow, looking at the mist that hung over the back meadow. He wasn't prepared to declare failure. The plan would have worked if he hadn't come up to those cops and had to plow the extra darts into his captive. He just needed to get back out there again.
His jones for torture had a serious case of the blue balls.
For the time being, though, he had to cool it with the prostitutes. Those fool cops were a good reminder that he wasn't working in a vacuum. That he could be caught.
Not that getting tangled up with the law would be anything other than an inconvenience. But he prided himself on the smoothness of his operations.
Which was why he'd chosen the whores as bait. First, he figured if one or two turned up dead, it wouldn't cause an uproar. They were less likely to have family mourning them, so there wouldn't be added pressure on the police to nail a suspect. As for the inevitable investigation, there was a ready pool of suspects, thanks to the pimps and lowlifes who worked the back alleys. There were plenty for the police to chose from and chase after.
But that didn't mean he could get sloppy. Or overuse Whore Valley.
He went back in the barn, put his tools away, and headed for the house. He checked his messages before going to shower.
There were several.
The most important of which was from Billy Riddle. Evidently, the guy had had a disturbing interaction the night before and had called just after one A.M.
It was good that he was seeking comfort, Mr. X thought. And probably time that they had a conversation about his future.
An hour later, Mr. X drove to the academy, opened its doors, and left them unlocked.
The lessers he'd ordered to report in started to arrive shortly thereafter. He could hear them talking in the hall next to his office, their voices low. The moment he came up to them, they quieted down, looking at him. Dressed in black fatigues, their faces grim, there was only one whose coloring had yet to fade. Mr. O's brunette brush cut stood out, as did his dark brown eyes.