The man reached up from the floor where he’d curled into the fetal position still clutching the family jewels. Faster than Lawrie could register, the bag of ice disappeared between his legs.
“What is your fucking problem, woman?” He glared at her. “In all my years I’ve never met a woman who picked fights with strangers.”
“You were coming at me,” she snapped. “What did you think, I’d just stand there and let you hit me? I wasn’t letting you get the drop on me.” Taking the bag of ice now offered her, she tried to place it on her hand without crying, but she hurt too damn much to keep the tears from leaking.
“You broke my nose. I was bleeding like a bastard.” He grunted when another bag of ice was lowered onto his face.
“I know. That’s why you were coming for me. Ow. Ow. Ow. You wanted revenge.”
“Bloody hell! I wanted a napkin to stop the bleeding.”
Chapter Three
“I’m sorry,” the psycho blonde mumbled.
“As you should be.” Reade opened his eyes to see her kneeling beside him, giant tears rolling down her face and a bag of ice resting on top of her hand, the one he was sure she’d broken on his cheekbone.
Swallowing loudly, she took a deep, shaky breath. When she lifted the ice, her hand trembled. “Oh God.” She carefully replaced the bag all the while puffing out quick breaths.
“And what do we have here?” Two red snakeskin boots appeared beside Reade’s head. “Looks like someone got the shit kicked out of him by a girl.” Garrison squatted, bringing his giant grin into Reade’s line of vision. “I told you to get a better pickup line.”
This was turning out to be the worst night of Reade’s life. He had not been in a bar brawl in more years than he could remember. In fact the last one had occurred before he’d left Ireland, which was well before these United States were even penal colonies.
He’d never been beaten by a woman. Never.
More importantly, he’d never been taken by surprise.
That may not have been entirely true. He certainly hadn’t seen the vampire coming at him. That was a complete surprise. But other than that one time, he’d never been unaware of a potential attack. Not until tonight.
The little psycho beside him had not only bested him, but she’d pretty much ended any thoughts he had about fucking her or any other woman this evening.
He lay on the floor praying the pain radiating up into his gut would go away and that his balls would stop throbbing so he could get up off the floor.
To make matters worse, Garrison pulled out his phone and took pictures.
“Oh, that’s a perfect one to text to the gang. Smile, please.” The flash on the camera phone went off.
The only thing Reade could do to console himself was enjoy watching her whimper in pain. He only wished her knee hurt, too.
“If you two can make it up off the floor, the next round is on me.” The bartender stared down at them, holding a towel in one hand and a beer glass in the other. “I’ll even give you the good stuff.” He laughed.
“I knew you’d given me crap.” Reade groaned as he tried to raise himself off the floor. “Sewage would taste better.”
The bartender laughed again. “Wouldn’t know. Never drink sewage.”
Garrison hoisted Reade onto his feet. “Man, I wish I’d gotten here sooner.”
“You missed a good show,” the bartender said. “What’ll you have?”
“Whiskey. Neat.” Garrison stepped around Lawrie. “The good stuff.”
Reade collapsed onto the barstool and repositioned the ice between his legs, hopeful he still had two balls.
“Would you like me to help you up, firecracker?” Garrison asked Lawrie.
“Don’t touch me.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Garrison made a show of stepping well around her. “Don’t want to become another of your victims.”
Lawrie remained on the floor. Her body now shook. Reade surmised she’d never felt that kind of pain. Served her right, though watching her suffer was no longer comforting. He may have been a ruthless bastard, but he wasn’t cruel.
“You’d better at least take that ring off before your finger swells.” Reade winced and adjusted the bag of ice at his temple, trying to keep his left eye from seeing double.
Nodding, she moved the bag of ice. Her hand was already bruised and swollen, and quite obviously broken in several places. “Oh, my God,” she whimpered and gasped. Several quick, shallow breaths followed.
Garrison let out a low whistle. “That’s a bad break. Did that happen when she broke your nose or your cheek?”
“My cheek.” A sharp jab shot from Reade’s left cheekbone straight to the bridge of his nose. His vision was blurry. He tossed back the whiskey in one mouthful. “Pour me another.”
Uncontrollable shaking wracked Lawrie’s body, and she panted like an overheated puppy.
Reade couldn’t bear to watch her. In the last hour he’d wished several things—from her mouth being magically clamped shut to her growing a set of balls that had been permanently kicked inward, but when it came down to it, he’d never had it in him to watch a woman cry, let alone suffer in pain.
He dropped his ice bag from his face and lifted the other from his lap before kneeling beside her. “Let me see it.”
She shook her head and tried to move away, but he trapped her where she sat, ensuring she had no leverage to knock him over, no room to pull a punch, and absolutely no use of her knees or feet.
Not wanting to add to her agony, he gently gripped her wrist. When she tried to pull back, he didn’t yield. He touched the ring on her middle finger and she winced. On either side of the gold her skin bulged, swelling up and over the mound of string wrapped around the underside of the ring.
“What’s with all the string?” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a switchblade.
“It’s too big.” She squeezed her eyes shut and rocked back and forth, forcing Reade to tighten his hold on her.
“I see that. Whose was it before you got your hands on it?” Reade slid the tip of the knife along the string, being very careful to keep her hand still. The last thing they needed was for her to start bleeding.
The fact that he hadn’t fed in two days, had been beaten by a lovely, though clearly unstable woman and was struggling to heal his own wounds already meant his self-control was teetering on a precarious edge. Adding a free flow of blood to the mix would make it near impossible for him to maintain any amount of civility.
“My dad’s.” She sniffled.
Reade’s entire body tightened. The last time he’d seen this ring it was on the hand of its original owner. A man Reade trusted with his own life.
Lawrie clamped her teeth together and sucked in a long breath. “It’s all I have left of him.”
He could barely keep from shaking. All these long years of fruitless searching, and Lawrie Tyrone simply appeared at a bar. She smelled so much as she had the last time he held her. If memory served him, and he knew it did for he’d replayed it at least a million times, he was the last one to hold her before her father died.
Reade saw the vision of her sleepy baby face as he laid her in her little pink princess bed. He’d rocked her until she drifted off to sleep.
Lawrie Tyrone was no baby any more.
He gently sliced through the wad of string. “It’s a good thing it’s so big. It might save you from losing the finger.”
Her eyes opened wide. “What?”
“Well, if the ring doesn’t come off, I’m betting that finger will.” He tugged at the broken string, pulling a few strands free and she hissed. “Loss of circulation usually leads to amputation.” After he slipped more string out the ring began to move.
Lawrie’s pulse pounded against Reade’s fingers. “I can’t lose my finger. I…I need it.” Her mouth hung open.
He gingerly slid the ring from her finger. “I assume you do, Lawrie.” He held it up, studying the inscription. “N
ice lion’s head. Dad’s name was Lawrence?”
She snatched the ring away with her good hand, pocketing it faster than any pickpocket he’d ever met. “Yes. I was named after him.” She blew gentle puffs of air at the dented skin where her ring had been.
Garrison sat back on his stool, his attention clearly focused on Lawrie. “So, that’s Lawrie with a W, then?” He locked gazes with Reade.
She nodded, still whimpering about her hand.
Reade knew instantly that he and Garrison were wondering the same damn thing. After more than twenty years of searching for Lawrence’s heir and having to accept they might never know the truth, how could Lawrie Tyrone simply walk into a bar?
Sweat beaded on her forehead. Her heart continued to beat alarmingly fast.
She sat before him, her mouth open, brows furrowed, pain etching her face.
Reade turned her hand over to look at her knuckles. He was completely perplexed at how such a small hand could break his nose and then his cheekbone, but somehow these dainty little fingers had done just that.
She’d been lucky it wasn’t worse. Vampire bones were considerably stronger than human bones, strongest of any creature. How she managed to break his face was perplexing at best and terrifying for sure.
Was it possible that twenty years after the incident she was still experiencing residual side effects? Could there still be cells of vampire blood living inside her?
She seemed to be full of mysteries, sneak attacks, fists of fury, and being the little girl who’d gone missing more than two decades ago, everything about her made him very curious. Where the hell had she been all this time?
“Looks like you broke three knuckles and a finger or two.” When he softly squeezed each finger, she inhaled sharply. “Won’t be able to use this hand for a bit. I hope you’re ambidextrous.”
“I’m not.” She swiped the back of her other hand at the tears rolling down her cheeks.
“Maybe you should see a doctor,” the bartender suggested.
Reade glanced up to find the man leaning over the bar.
She shook her head. “No. I’ve got to get home.” Trying to stand, but not quite stable on her feet, she stumbled forward.
“Gonna be tough to ride your bike with that hand,” the bartender said.
“Easy.” Reade caught her and lifted her onto the barstool. “Try your fruity whatever it is.” He slid the drink toward her. “Might help calm you, though if I were you, I’d try something a lot stronger.” He carefully placed the bag of ice on her hand and downed the shot of whiskey waiting for him before pressing his own bag of ice to his cheek.
“A bike? You rode that thing in here?” Garrison leaned back and looked at the ten-speed propped near the door. “A bike. Don’t you own a car?”
She shook her head again.
“Well, at least you won’t be a danger on the roadway.” Garrison looked her over, then faced forward, watching her in the mirror with the casualness of a centuries-old vampire.
In order to heal his injuries Reade would have to feed. He’d just been reminded of why vampires fed every night. He closed his eyes against the pain in his face. Had he simply fed like he should have, the pain would be far less and his wounds would already be healing.
Instead, he’d been slightly obsessed with replaying the events from twenty years ago, searching for some clue that would help answer the questions of where Lawrie Tyrone had gone and what Raymond had been up to all these years.
This was why he never came to Central City. Whenever he did, he could think of only that night, which inevitably led to bad decisions.
They sat quietly for a few minutes. Reade caught Lawrie peering at him through a curtain of hair. When he watched her in the mirror across from them, he saw she was doing the same thing to Garrison.
If she wasn’t looking at either of them she was making a valiant attempt not to hyperventilate each time she looked at her hand.
“Well, seems I was wrong,” Garrison said.
“Clearly.” Reade motioned for the bartender to fill his glass.
“Who knew?”
“I did.” Reade had always known Lawrie was alive. He’d made a solemn promise to Lawrence to protect his little girl, a blood pact.
“I thought you were crazy.” Garrison’s gaze met his in the mirror.
They’d all thought he was crazy for his constant attempts to get The Guard to consider a rescue mission. He’d been told countless times that she was dead, but he knew differently. He knew the truth because that night he’d sworn to protect her life with his own, and if he was still alive, she had to be.
“Several questions still remain.”
Reade nodded.
“The Guard will want details of the last two decades.”
Garrison was right. The Guard would be very suspicious and rightfully so. Lawrie had been all of three years old when her father was killed. That was plenty of years for Raymond to program her to be something he wanted, something her father would have hated. Something that could destroy The Guard.
“Their new product has to be something much more potent.” Garrison’s voice was a deep whisper.
“Agreed.” Reade studied Lawrie’s face as he listened to Garrison. Though she was clearly in pain she was still quite beautiful.
Her blue eyes looked like glass. Her skin was perfect, pale as his, like she’d never been in the sun. Platinum tresses hung down her back, nearly to her waist. They draped over her breasts like silk. He was back to imagining his mouth on her skin.
She had certainly grown up since the last time he’d seen her. He tried to picture her as the little girl she’d been, the one whose laugh was contagious, even to vampires. But he couldn’t seem to conjure that memory with her sitting beside him.
One thing was certain. His balls and his cock had survived her attack. He shifted in his chair.
Garrison’s voice brought him out of his thoughts. “Sounds like they might be weeks, possibly days from production.”
“Can’t let that happen.” Reade dropped his other bag of ice into his lap. Might as well cool things now. No sense in letting his imagination get the best of him. That’s what landed him in this position.
“This certainly changes things.” Garrison smiled. “Can’t believe our luck. Could get the exact details tonight.”
“Seems odd how our luck always involves me taking one for the team,” Reade said, remembering the last time they’d been paired up to do reconnaissance work.
Garrison laughed. “Yeah, well, you’re a good front man.”
Lawrie turned her chair. “I have to go.” She reached for her bike.
Garrison’s hand went to the back of her seat, spinning her around to face the bar. His gaze locked with Reade’s in the mirror. “This is going to require all your strength. You’ll need to do whatever it takes to heal.” He nodded toward Lawrie. “A little tit for tat.” He smiled.
Reade had twice considered the option of drinking from Lawrie earlier, once when he walked into the joint and saw the beauty sitting alone at the bar and later when she wouldn’t shut up. But then he thought better after she’d attacked him the first time, and not because he hadn’t wanted to hurt her because God, how he’d wanted to snap her in two.
But having seen the ring’s emblem, he knew he needed her alive more than he needed to teach her a lesson.
Lawrie stared into the mirror. Her teary blue eyes blinked at Reade, and he noticed how she nibbled her lip. Sitting between the two vampires, she appeared smaller and more fragile than before, though he was no longer foolish enough to believe her weak.
The strangest urge to pull her into his arms and care for her wounds, to wipe away her tears and somehow bring a smile to her face flooded Reade’s mind. He considered the many ways he’d make her smile.
The ice was proving to be no match for his imagination. He forced his mind to remember the battle that left her father dead. Those images made it quite easy to cool his desire.
“I rea
lly should go,” Lawrie said to the mirror. Her gaze shifted from Reade to Garrison.
“What’s your hurry?” Garrison grinned, and although it was one of his more playful expressions, it was laced with menace. “I’m simply dying to know what my friend did to provoke an ass kicking.”
Lawrie turned to Reade. “I apologize. I never should have done that.”
Reade raised his eyebrows. “No. You shouldn’t.” His voice was huskier than before.
“I said I was sorry.” She forced the words through gritted teeth, and Reade wasn’t sure if it was a display of pain or anger.
“Are you actually irritated with me for not being pleased you’ve apologized? You attacked me. Twice. I have every right to be angry.” He turned sideways to look at her.
Garrison came to stand between them, keeping his hand on her chair and placing his foot up on the footrest, thus pinning her legs and ensuring both men’s nether regions remained safe from attack. “Do you want Reade to forgive you?”
“I…well, I don’t plan to ever see him again so I guess I don’t honestly care.” She tilted her chin up and met Reade’s gaze.
“Well, now, that’s an honest answer.” Garrison chuckled. “But you do owe him.”
“What?” She shrugged Garrison’s hand off her shoulder. “I apologized. I misunderstood his intent and made a mistake. I don’t owe him anything. Well, maybe I could help with his doctor’s bill.” Her voice cracked, and Reade had the feeling her suggestion worried her.
Garrison shook his head. “He’s not seeing a doctor.”
“Well, then I’d say we’re even.” She cleared her throat.
“How do you figure?” Garrison waved the bartender over. “Another round, and bring her a whiskey instead of that girly drink.” He narrowed his eyes. “No swill either.”
The bartender set a shot glass in front of Lawrie and poured another round.
“I…I…offered to pay…” She looked confused.
Garrison removed the bag of ice from Lawrie’s hand and trailed his finger from her wrist up her middle finger and back down. “He saved your finger. Without him you might have lost that middle finger, a finger we all know is very important.”
Her Vampire’s Promise Page 2
