The Nightlife: London (Urban Fantasy Romance) (The Nightlife Series)

by Luedke, Travis

  She caught his eyes and his concern. “It doesn’t hurt you. You probably don’t even notice or feel anything.” He had noticed, but it wasn’t painful, and she seemed to give something back, that zing of static every time she touched him.

  “So, why is this important now? You’ve been keeping it secret for weeks.” He stared directly into her teardrop eyes that never once showed an ounce of remorse.

  “I will be away for a time, and I cannot be here to help. You must admit that you have a habit of getting into … situations.”

  He nodded. There had been many situations recently.

  “I don’t want you to …” She paused, measuring her words carefully. “If you need me, I may be able to help, in some ways. But you must be careful.”

  “Stop dancing around it and say what you mean.”

  “Be careful. Think before you act. There is much that we can do, together. Yet, apart, we are a liability to each other. Do you understand?”

  “Maybe, if you stopped giving me this ancient Chinese secret shit, I might understand. I think you’re saying that I could hurt you somehow?”

  “Yes, that is part of it. We will talk of this more when you join me. Keep in touch. I must know what you’re doing, preferably before you do it.”

  So that was the extent of her big revelation. He knew he wouldn’t get any more from her until later. When the student is ready, the teacher will appear, or some kind of guru crap.

  He tapped his skull. “I got the Urvashi direct line.”

  She kissed him full on the mouth. “Too bad there’s no time …” He sensed her desire slipping through their bond. She wanted one for the road, but she also needed to leave, now.

  “I’ll have to make it up to you when I get to Moscow, in the summer.”

  She laughed. It was a rare thing to see her let loose in genuine laughter, she was so reserved. Sometimes it felt like dealing with the statue of a woman.

  “You’ll be following me much sooner than you think.”

  He stood and walked with her out the door, and down the hall to his own suite. “Tell Renault I’ll miss him.”

  She chuckled again, and gave him a parting smile as she flowed towards the elevator.

  * * * *

  “Eh, Luis, how’s business down in that pisspot you call a country?” Bresnik grinned over the long-standing argument with his friend Luis Almendros, disputing whether Colombia or Albania harbored worse living conditions.

  “S’not so bad. At least they let us have guns. I got more guns in my closet than a British SWAT team.”

  “I’ll betcha do, mate. But you know how it is, when they outlaw guns, only outlaws carry guns.”

  Luis chuckled. “So, what’s up? I know you don’t call me long distance to talk about the fucked up weather you got over there. It’s like seventy degrees here. I think I got a sunburn.”

  “Shut it! We’re drowning in fucking snow. Next year I’ll go south for the winter, grab some of them brown girls ya got with them giggly asses.”

  “You getting tired of all those anorexic white bitches. Girls be lookin’ hungry.”

  “Too much rabbit food. Listen up, mate. I heard one of the cartels had a problem in Vegas a couple months back. Got three men killed, all toasty out in the desert.”

  “Funny you should mention that. I know this cabron Abel. He’s got a real hard-on to find out who killed his brother, Juan Carlos. ‘Bout two months ago, in the desert north of Vegas, and the mothafuckers burned the bodies.”

  “Ah yeah? Well, I can tell ya who did it. Better yet, I can show ya. Got it all on video.”

  “Pinche puta madre!”

  “You tell Abel to bring his traquetos. I’ll show ‘em the video. Shit, I can probably find the bastards too. They’re right here in London. But I don’t do this for free. What’s it worth to ya?”

  “They’re all dead, all of ‘em. I got thirty grand if you set it up.”

  “Now you got yourself a deal.”

  * * * *

  Chapter 12

  “He’s stupid. Like a little boy led around by his cock. If not the leech, surely Urvashi will kill him.” Katya sat on the couch in their two-bedroom apartment, scrolling through emails on her smartphone.

  “And what do you care?” Ivan strolled out of the shower, dressed for another night scouring the bars and clubs for a hint of Michael Jamison. The overpowering scent of aftershave followed in his wake.

  Katya sat quiet for a moment, thinking about the question she’d rather not face. She didn’t exactly care, but, she couldn’t understand what Aaron saw in that monstrous blonde. “I’m just sayin’.”

  Ivan snorted with a knowing smile. “He’s not like the others. You can sense it. You can smell it. You can feel it.”

  “Go ahead, sniff his crotch all you like. I’m just sayin’ he don’t know what he’s got into. The boy’s in over his head.”

  “I think you see the skin of a young man, but you don’t see the thing he’s become. Be thankful he is reasonable. He could take your head off with his hands. Give him some attention. Maybe he will take Michelle’s head off for you.” Ivan laughed, a full-throated chuckle.

  “Cha! He’s ready to get his leg over every time he looks at her. Can’t get enough of his ruddy leech.”

  “Won’t stop him from fucking you. I see how he looks at you.”

  “Shut up! I’m not letting his cock anywhere near me. You know what happened to Kristina! She’s so hooked on that bastard Dmitri, she won’t even take my calls.”

  “Katya, we’re not saints. If there is a God, I doubt we are in his plans. Don’t be quick to judge. Aaron is dangerous, but he’s not so bad, for a leech. And we both know he’s nothing like Dmitri, not yet. If Urvashi gets in his head, who knows what he’ll become.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Urvashi spent years with Dmitri, and look at him.”

  “So it’s all her fault? Dmitri is a murderer and worse, he has Kristina and his bloody harem. How is that Urvashi’s doing?”

  “She is everywhere in our world, Katya. Her Majesty manipulates everyone. Did you ever stop to think why we hunt Jamison? So he killed a woman. We have all killed, many times.”

  “You know exactly why. They are monstrous. They have no respect for life. Vampires should all be killed.”

  “The same could be said of us.”

  She snorted. “Have some more vodka, get your head straight.”

  Ivan laid a hand on her shoulder. “Think about it. Koren’ uchenia goriek, dah plod yego slodok.” The roots of learning are bitter, but the fruit is sweet.

  She pulled his hand off her shoulder. “I’ll give you something sweet – srat’ tebe v rot.” Shit in your mouth.

  He just laughed and threw her coat at her. “Come, the night is for hunting.”

  * * * *

  “Another night wasted.” Aaron had grown tired of trolling strip clubs and bars for the elusive Michael Jamison. This hole-in-the-wall was one of the seedier clubs. Place hadn’t been cleaned in a decade. He thought he saw a cockroach skitter across the asbestos-tiled floor, zigging and zagging to the beat of the shitty strip-dance music. “Somebody needs to fire that DJ.”

  Bored, Aaron watched with sidelong glances as a bald man walked in the door accompanied by fat American tourist who could barely stay upright. The bald one, the more sober by far, helped his friend into a seat before he fell over.

  “Hey! Let’s get a drink over here!” Baldy waved over a waitress and whispered something in her ear. She kissed him on the lips as if they knew each other well. She turned and signaled to one of the topless dancers floating around the bar looking for a mark.

  The woman smiled and made a beeline straight for the pair of men. The waitress immediately rounded up three more girls who all swarmed the table.

  Fascinating.

  Aaron watched, perplexed, as the women focused their attentions on the tourist, who was so trashed he could barely speak. Matter of fact, he looked more than
drunk, he looked completely faded on something stronger.

  Ivan grunted and glanced at the spectacle that held Aaron’s attention. “Is a common scam in London. The bald man is not his friend. They probably met in another bar an hour ago.”

  Aaron began to grasp what was going on as he watched one of the girls cramming her breast in the drugged man’s face, while the other three girls rummaged through his pockets, cleaning him out. The bald man watched the fleecing of his buddy and smiled with bright white teeth.

  Michelle added her piece. “This happens all over Europe. Especially with the tourists.”

  Katya chimed in. “He buys the guy a drink, slips him a Micky, and whamo, here they are. The fool won’t remember a thing. He’s probably getting paid to bring fools like that in here every night.”

  Aaron shook his head. “Isn’t that illegal?”

  Katya scoffed. “Sure, but it’s legal to charge for each and every lap dance. He’s getting four at a time.”

  Michelle laid her hand over Aaron’s. “The charges will equal his credit limit.”

  Aaron wondered how many men would be willing to max out their credit limit for Michelle, how many times she had done it without the slightest twinge of guilt.

  Katya gave voice to the same. “Betcha got a lot of experience cleaning out a bloke’s bank account.”

  Michelle grinned with all her teeth.

  Ivan rummaged through his coat pockets and came up with a twenty pound note and a wry grin. “Is this enough?”

  Katya punched him in the arm. “Knock it off!”

  He and Ivan both chuckled. Michelle merely raised her eyebrow, perhaps waiting to see how serious he was about the proposition.

  “She’ll clean ya out of more than twenty. Give ya cardiac arrest, that one.” Katya looked at Michelle and back to Ivan, dead serious, a clear warning.

  Aaron sighed and broke the tension by changing the subject. “We need to be doing something different, this is pointless.” He scanned the room again, finding absolutely nothing of interest besides the poor sap that would soon have his credit card charged to the hilt.

  “At least the vodka isn’t watered down.” Ivan slugged another shot, tapped the glass on the table, and smiled at Aaron.

  Might as well be water the way Ivan knocked it back. It seemed the Russian could drink his own weight in vodka.

  Michelle stared at Ivan, a hint of something in her eyes. Was that a flirt? Invitation? She winked at him. “Jamison has a woman, a bloodslave by now. He has little use for a place like this.” She looked around, bored. “We should return to the Albanians.”

  Katya shook her head, a mocking grin on her face. Aaron sighed again. No matter what Michelle said, the wolf had issue with it.

  The she-wolf leaned towards Michelle. “Might as well give them your ass for free. Go back, and you’ll find yourself trussed up in a truck headed for Italy, sold to the highest bidder. Besides,” she nodded towards Aaron, “he said the Albanians didn’t know anything.”

  Michelle glowered at Katya. “I know how to make men talk.”

  Aaron recalled Michelle doing unspeakable things to unfortunate Gestapo agents she enticed into the basement of a townhouse in Paris. Aaron still remembered the sound of their screams. Michelle wasn’t kidding. He caught Michelle’s flash of anger with Katya, and her intent to lash out, a split second before she moved.

  He snatched Michelle’s wrist in a strong grip. “Please, this isn’t solving anything.”

  Glaring at both women, he tried not to hurt Michelle as she growled in irritation. He caressed her cheek, and he poured his love into a delicate kiss. Finally, she ceased fighting him. “We need to try something new that doesn’t involve the Albanians.”

  Ivan poured himself another shot, but Katya swiped it off the table and swallowed it whole. He looked at her sideways and offered his suggestion. “We need to know more about the woman he killed. We should look at her autopsy.”

  Ivan obviously wasn’t drunk. Aaron began to appreciate the Russian’s sharp intelligence. “That’s a good idea.”

  Aaron dialed into his direct line to Urvashi. {{How’s it going? Your sexy golden ass catch frost-burn yet?}}

  Michelle eyed him, a spark of irritation in her eyes. She was so damn intuitive. She always seemed to know when he was chatting with Urvashi in his head.

  His master came back to him after a few seconds. {{I am busy. What do you need?}}

  Must be something seriously wrong in Moscow, he had never felt her so edgy. {{We need to look at the autopsy from the murdered bank teller. Can your contacts get it for us?}}

  {{There’s nothing I can do at the moment. You must handle this. The man in charge of the case is Detective Sergeant Billings. You have lots of help, deal with it.}} She snapped off their link without so much as a goodbye.

  Dismissed like a fucking minion.

  Michelle’s irritation had intensified during his silent conversation with Urvashi. It seemed he could hardly please either of the women in his life, their needs and desires pulled him in two directions at once.

  Ivan poured another shot and swallowed it down. Damn lush.

  This wasn’t how Aaron wanted to spend his winter, playing referee between alcoholic Russian werewolves and Michelle, or placating Michelle’s insecure jealousies. Miami sure would be nice right about now.

  Aaron shrugged. “Urvashi can’t help us. How do you propose we get our hands on that autopsy?”

  Ivan looked Katya up and down, checking out her faded jeans and bulky leather coat, and then Michelle. As usual, Michelle wore her hunting outfit, an itsy-bitsy black cocktail dress with a hint of ass cheek showing, and a creamy tan leather coat with knee-high black boots. She could have just stepped off the fashion runway onto the cover of a magazine.

  “Michelle could get it.” Ivan winked at her.

  Michelle grinned, showing a hint of fang. “Oui. I know many ways to get what I want.”

  Katya guffawed. “It’s always about shagging, eh? The blood rushes to the prick and the grey matter stops functioning.” She tapped on Ivan’s skull.

  Ivan grinned like a predator with his broad jaw full of white teeth. “I make up for blood loss with vodka.”

  * * * *

  Chapter 13

  “I came all the way across the ocean with my boys, ready to take these bitches down, and you don’t know where to find them?” Luis leaned into Michael Jamison’s face with a sneer of irritation. The overpowering stench of the Colombian’s fetid, meat-eating breath washed over him. Mike felt like gagging, right after breaking the man’s neck.

  Fists clenched, the adrenaline of the hunt surging through his body, strengthening his limbs, Mike fought down the urge to kill this stupid little man. Just a little longer and these men would solve his problems. Just another day or two.

  Oh how he wished he had never purchased that stupid pistol and brought attention to himself. Mike had always carried a gun, ever since his Special Forces days in Iraq. Running the private eye business, you never knew when you might need a gun to get out of a tight spot. But it was high time he learned to manage without. It’s not like any of these fucks could take him down.

  Gritting his teeth, he spoke slow and easy to make sure the idiots understood him. “They’re not far, we will find them soon.” Breathe in, breathe out, calm, cool, let the rage float away. “Bresnik has seen them here, in Soho.”

  Luis turned on his friend. “So, if you saw them, where the fuck are they?”

  Bresnik sat back in his squeaky office chair, relaxed, smirking. “Nicky saw the Russian at a liquor store not two blocks away. He is parked there now, waiting.”

  Luis snapped his fingers. “Abel, ven.” The Colombian stepped into the office, at the ready. “Vete con dos hombres por la tienda. Nicky esta por alla, esperando los putos.” Abel nodded.

  Luis turned back to Bresnik. “How do you know the Russian will show up again?”

  Bresnik snickered. “He is Russian. They bathe in vodka.”r />
  Mike found the whole idiotic exchange aggravating. These fools couldn’t stake out a women’s bathroom. He wondered how the cartels and mafia functioned with such gross incompetence. No surprise these men end up in dead or in prison, they’re too stupid to get away with the shit they do.

  Mike stood up to go. “I will find him. Give Nicky my cell number. As soon as he sees the Russian, or any of the others, have him call me directly.” He made for the door with the intense need to leave the room before he broke somebody’s neck. These men made his bloodthirst boil in his gut.

  “Hold up.” Bresnik stood and followed him out the office door and down the hallway. “What did you find out about the blonde? I want to know more about her. She had on over four thousand pounds in that dress and fur, probably more with the boots. A very expensive whore, wouldn’t you say?”

  Mike almost ripped Bresnik’s arm out his socket when the man grabbed him at the elbow. The bastard didn’t realize he was seconds from death. Breathing to find some calm, Mike hesitated. He didn’t want to go down this road, enmeshed in all this dirty cartel maneuvering. He just wanted Aaron and Michelle to go away, permanently. But Bresnik might need a little extra motivation if the going got tough, something to keep him focused on the target.

  “I can tell you she’s loaded. Has a mansion in Paris. My best estimate is she’s worth double digit millions. She inherited it all from her grandmother.” Mike suspected Michelle’s grandmother was actually an alter ego of Michelle herself. There probably never was a grandmother. He reassured Bresnik. “I’ll tally it up for you in an email.”

  Bresnik’s eyes gleamed with greed. The man was sickeningly transparent and predictable. “Any family that will come looking for her?”

  “Nope. She is completely alone in the world. The man with her, Aaron, they just met a few months ago. If the two of them disappeared tomorrow, no one would care apart from her bankers.”