by L Ann
Morgan sat stiff and unyielding. When she felt Taz’s breath against her ear, she tensed further.
“It’s like cuddling an iceberg,” he murmured, amusement threading through his voice. “Relax.”
“We are not cuddling,” Morgan snapped and tried to pull away.
Taz laughed. “Sure we are.” He looked around the dark room and tightened his hold on her. “It’s almost romantic. Well, apart from the dust, the cold, the mud and the blood.”
“Stop it.”
“All right, I’m sorry.” As he spoke, he raised his hands and kneaded her shoulders.
“What are you doing now?” she demanded.
Taz paused, looking down at the top of her head with a pensive expression. What was he doing? “No ulterior motives, Anna, I promise. There’s no point in trying to make it back in this rain, so we’re stuck here until it stops or slows down. We might as well just relax.” He resumed his ministrations, working at the tense knots in her shoulders and the base of her neck until he heard her sigh and the tension in her posture lessened.
“Yes,” she conceded. “But if you try anything, I will shoot you.”
They lapsed into silence and Taz continued to rub and knead at her shoulders. When he saw her head droop forward, he drew her back until she was leaning against his chest, shifted into a more comfortable position himself and closed his eyes, hoping it would reduce the pounding in his own skull.
~*~
“Come on, I’Ane, wake up.” Morgan jabbed Taz’s arm with a finger, watched until his eyes opened then stood up, brushing her hands down her still-wet jeans.
“You’re dressed? That can’t be comfortable.”
“I’ve been in worse.” She waved a hand toward the door. “The rain has stopped, and dawn’s about four hours away, we need to get moving. “ She paused and grinned at him. “I can’t wait to get back to Shadowfall and see Hamish’s face when we tell him about his car.”
Taz groaned. “Don’t remind me.” He rose to his feet, stretched and moved past Morgan to stand by the door. “How about this? We sneak back into Shadowfall, clean up, get another car from Cam in the motor pool and get back out there. Find Raven whatsername.”
“Sneak into Shadowfall? Right, because that will happen.” They exited the shack and headed back down toward the road. “It’s just delaying the inevitable.”
“Are you trying to be an asshole?” Taz swung to face her. “Or does it come naturally?”
“I’ve been taking lessons from you.”
Taz didn’t respond, instead focusing on hauling himself up the final few yards and taking a careful look and smell around to ensure the Rroma hadn’t returned, then turned to watch Morgan scramble upwards. When she was back on the roadside, he set off without a word at a quick pace, leaving Morgan to catch up.
~*~
After trudging wearily back into Shadowfall forty-five minutes later, caked in dirt and car debris, it was impossible for them to make it to the elevators without notice. They ignored attempts of both customers and staff to attract their attention and entered an elevator car with audible sighs of relief.
“You know Hamish and Zuron will know we’re here before we get back to your suite?” Morgan broke the silence.
“I know.” His tone of voice told her he was in no mood to talk and she lapsed back into silence, broken only by the swish of the doors as they opened and closed at various floors before reaching theirs.
Upon reaching the suite, Taz opened the door and stepped back to allow Morgan to enter first, then closed and locked the door behind them.
“I need a drink”, he muttered and headed toward the bar.
Morgan watched him, frowning at the rips in the back of the t-shirt he was wearing. “Take your shirt off,” she told him.
Taz tossed a questioning glance at her over his shoulder as he poured a drink. “Why?”
“You’re still bleeding.”
He shrugged. “I’ll live.”
“If there’s anything embedded in your back and the skin heals over, it’ll have to be cut out,” she replied. He gave another shrug which had Morgan almost grinding her teeth. “For chrissake, I’Ane, take the damned shirt off.”
“Taz,” he murmured, complying finally and tossing the shredded and bloodied t-shirt onto the bar. “My name is Taz.” He shot her an irritated look and downed his drink in one gulp.
When he made no attempt to move away from the bar, Morgan heaved a sigh and crossed the room to stand behind him. Up close she could see at least three large pieces of metal, and numerous smaller bits, sticking into the flesh of his back. “Why didn’t you say something?” she demanded.
Taz twisted, craning his neck to try and view his own back, then snorted. “I’ve had worse.”
Morgan punched his shoulder. “You’re an asshole. Sit down while I clean you up.”
“I’m taking a crash course,” he turned to wink at her, “from the second best.”
Morgan shook her head. “World’s Worst Asshole is a title you can keep.” She pointed at the floor in front of the couch. “Sit.”
“Yes, ma’am!” Taz paused long enough to refresh his drink, and then did as she requested. “Answer a question?” he said as Morgan went to work.
“Depends on what it is,” she replied, easing one shard out of his back.
“What made Morganna Morgan the hit-woman?”
Morgan’s hands slowed to a stop, and she frowned before moving on to the next shard. “Instead of becoming one of those pampered ‘waiting for a mate’ Necuno women, you mean? Lucky break, I guess,” she shrugged and pre-empted his rebuttal. “I know that’s not what you mean. Honestly? I don’t know. I imagine it was decided at my birth since I’ve been nothing else.”
“I think… OW!” Taz jerked then yelped with the sudden, sharp extraction of one of the deeper pieces. “I think I can identify with that,” he finished.
“I don’t doubt it.” She rested her hand on his shoulder for a second. “This one is going to hurt.”
“Worse than being called a world class asshole?”
“I thought you wore that badge with pride?” She twisted and tugged at the metal embedded in his back, drawing a hiss of pain from Taz. “You need to keep still,” she told him. In response, he wrapped each arm around her legs positioned to each side of him and leaned forward a little.
“Okay, go,” he told her and braced himself.
It took two or three minutes of – in Taz’s mind – utter torture before there was a wet sucking sound and the piece came free.
“Jesus H… mother fu…” he clamped his mouth shut with an audible click, sucked in a deep breath and turned his head to look at her over his shoulder. “Any more?”
“Nothing as bad,” she tilted her head to one side. “That one is bleeding like a bitch though.” She reached around him and scooped up a box of tissues from the coffee table and blotted at his back with them before continuing to pull out the remaining bits of debris.
Ten minutes later, she leaned back and stretched. “There… done!”
Taz tipped his head back until it rested on the edge of the couch’s cushioned seat, between her thighs and looked up at her.
“You’re bleeding all over the couch,” she told him.
“That’s why Shadowfall employs housekeeping staff,” Taz replied. “It’ll add to the dirt you’re already covering it with.” He unwrapped one of his hands from her leg and brushed it across the filthy denim she wore. “We should head out to Ikon and see if we can find this Raven woman before sunrise.”
“Shower and a change of clothes first,” Morgan argued, nudging him forward with her knees so she could stand.
“We could share a shower and conserve water?” Taz offered with a grin. “I’ll wash your back if you wash mine?”
“Thanks, but no.” She disappeared into the guest room to clean up and change.
~*~
Ikon’s Empire sat on the southwestern corner of the 2200 block on Blanchard and 2nd Avenue. Outs
ide it was reminiscent of one of the old Mom and Pop grocery markets. An awning adorned storefront, its large bay windows and double glass-front doors were now painted over in a shade somewhere between dark red and violent, sporting the I-prominent club name in humongous gold-flake.
“This place is a holdover from the Grunge era,” Taz explained as they cruised by in search of a strategic parking spot. “I talked to Cam when I ordered the car. Word is that Pearl Jam and Nirvana played here before they hit the big time…
“And speaking of hits, we hit the jackpot,” he added, nodding to their left. A familiar yellow cab sat on the street’s left side, its front bumper showing unmistakable signs of recent crash damage.
“Excellent,” Morgan murmured in response. “They must be here for the same reason we are. Why don’t we go introduce ourselves?”
“Nothing would please me more.” Taz smiled and pulled their SUV into the curb in the middle of the block. Both took a moment to check the clips in their handguns and situate additional weapons before exiting the vehicle.
“Got an idea… a suggestion,” Taz said as they neared the club. “We should maximise our chances. Split up. I’ll take the back entrance.”
Morgan nodded. “Give me your cell number, just in case,” she said, pulling her phone out of a pocket.
Taz told her his number, taking a quick look to ensure the cell was in the ringtone setting before flashing her a parting smile. A fast trot took him down the half block, a turn rightward, and into an alley behind the building. A minute later, he stood at Ikon’s ear entrance. An entrance which led to a small kitchen he saw once he’d snapped off the doorknob and entered.
His sudden presence caused a few predictable, curious stares from the kitchen staff of two, but no challenges. And, in the next moment, he was wading through the interior’s eclectic standing-room-only crowd to take up a position at the rear – an area in which to watch without attracting unwanted attention.
Like the outer appearance, Ikon’s interior was a combination - a blended venue of part bar and grill, part café and part club. Here and there, through gaps in the forest of bodies, Taz saw tables and chairs two-deep along the walls, a U-shaped bar and a dance floor and stage. A glance at the door identified both an opening to a set of stairs, most probably to a second, lower level, and Morgan’s initial entry. After brief eye contact, they took in the ‘lay of the land’ – building structure, interior set up, avenues of entry and potential exits, and the clubs patrons. One obvious advantage was that the ratio of Humans to Vampire was high enough on the side of the latter that it would mask their scent from the Rromas.
That done, Morgan caught his attention with a tug to her right earlobe and the two began to thread their way toward one another. They met somewhere near the bar’s middle.
“I don’t see anyone who even looks Rroma, let alone pick up their scent,” Taz said, throwing a look over Morgan’s shoulder. “But there’s a set of stairs by the door.” He raised a finger in a ‘waitaminute’ gesture and grabbed the arm of a passing server. “Got a question,” he said, ignoring the server’s impotent attempt to disengage herself. “What’s downstairs?”
After a long slash of belligerent silence, Taz released her. “Tattoo and body artist, the screen room, bathrooms…”
“Thanks,” he executed an exaggerated bow.
“Jerk,” the waitress muttered under her breath, frowning over her shoulder as she melted into the crowd.
Taz moved closer to Morgan so that she could hear his lowered voice over the buzz of the bar’s patrons. “You know they’re gonna recognise us the moment we get down there. So how do you want to play this?”
“The only way we can.” She opened the top three buttons on her blouse, displaying a cleavage that Taz found it difficult to drag his eyes away from, pulled the band out of her hair so it fell in inky waves around her shoulders, popped a stick of gum into her mouth that she had pulled from a pocket and wrapped her hands around his left bicep. Lifting herself up on tiptoes, she widened her eyes and pouted her lips as she leaned into his side.
“Baby, please,” she said in a high breathless voice. “I want matching tattoos. I want everyone to know we belong together.” Her eyelashes fluttered. “If you loved me, you would!” She tugged on his arm, pulling him toward the stairs.
“An Academy Award performance,” Taz whispered, with a choked laugh. Then louder. “Matching tattoos? Babe, if that’s what you want, then that’s what you can have.” He gave her backside a hard swat, grinning at her strained but successful attempt to hide her displeasure.
“They’re close,” he said, sniffing the air as they started down the stairwell, prompting both to move their hands to within easy reach of their weapons beneath their jackets.
“I’ll take the left,” she murmured.
“So what kind of ink were you thinking?” Taz carried on, flicking off the safety on his pistol as she spoke. “Trespassers will be shot?” He chuckled at the dark look she threw at him, knowing she was aware he was referring to Las Vegas again.
“Be thankful I didn’t heed my first instinct and raised my sights a little higher,” Morgan countered and moved away from him as they reached the bottom landing.
Their senses hadn’t lied. The Rromas, four of them, were approaching the stairs. They had the young female Vampire in question sandwiched between them – one in front, on point, one on each side and one bringing up the rear. The former came to a stumbling halt as his eyes met Taz’s and he jerked his weapon – a sawn-off double barrel 12 Gauge – from beneath his long coat. To make the situation that much harder, a trio of innocents chose that moment to emerge from the ladies’ restroom directly into the line of fire.
“Sorry, ladies,” Taz yelled and threw his body to the floor in a flying shoulder roll, sending the trio ass-over-heels in a flurry of flailing arms, legs and startled squeals.
Morgan ignored the ensuing chaos and made three rapid shots in quick succession – starting with the one who had pointed the shotgun at them. Even as she downed three out of the four, she was moving toward the remaining one at speed, but Taz got there first. He placed himself between the girl and the wide-eyed Rroma and jammed the muzzle of his Beretta into the Vampire’s forehead.
“You may live through this yet,” Taz told him. “Just tell me which one of you assholes drove the taxi tonight.”
“Fuck you, Pureblood,” the Rroma spat.
“Bad attitude.” Taz smiled and pulled the trigger, decorating the wall, floor and several cowering patrons with blood, bone and brain matter.
“Oh no, you don’t!” Morgan caught the girl’s arm as she made to dash past them and hauled her back around. “We want to talk to you.”
“I’ve got nuffin’ to say to you!” she spat at Morgan, who laughed.
“Wrong answer.” In one smooth move, she had the girl pinned by the throat to the wall of the corridor. “You have two options. You tell us what we want to know, or I start removing body parts.” With her free hand, she drew out a sharp knife from a side pocket of her jeans. “And I can keep you alive for hours. By the time we’re done you’ll be living as a torso and begging to tell me everything I want to hear.” She tapped the girl’s throat with the blade. “Make your decision.”
“Make it easy on yourself,” Taz told her, waving a hand to indicate her former escort. “I can guarantee we’ll be a lot more accommodating than the Marx Brothers would have been.”
“They…” she faltered, struggling against Morgan’s grip, “… told me someone was after me, to kill me for what I know. About something that happened in Spruce Street Park. Guess they were right because here you are.”
“I got a newsflash for you, sweet stuff. They weren’t taking you out for dinner and a movie,” said Taz. “Didn’t your Sire teach you anything? Rromas are the original cheap dates. Their idea of a goodnight kiss is a gang bang and a snapped neck.”
“If killing you was our plan, you would have been down there with them,” Morgan
added. She shifted her grip from throat to arm and half-dragged the woman into the nearest room. “Out!” she demanded, waving her gun at the two men who froze at her entrance.
“Police business. Everything is under control,” Taz told them, and everyone within sight and earshot, utilising a trick he’d picked up over the years. People tended to shy away and avert their attention when the cops came into play, which all but guaranteed that no one would be able to give the true SPD an accurate description of himself or Morgan.
And speaking of John Law. “We might want to do this elsewhere. Another few minutes and the uniforms will pull up out front.”
Morgan flashed him a smile. “We only need a minute here.” She released her grip on the woman and allowed her to drop into a chair. “You have a maximum of three minutes before the police arrive. If I don’t like what you say, they will find you with the murder weapon and your prints all over it. When they arrest you, they’ll throw you in a room with a small window and dawn is only a couple of hours away.” She glanced at the wall clock. “Talk.”
The woman’s eyes shifted from Morgan to Taz, filling with mute appeal. Morgan grasped her chin and forced her attention back. “Don’t look at him, focus on me. He’s not the one you need to worry about right now.”
“The Rromas,” she gave in. “They wanted to know about the Human, Mal – the film student.” She paused again to glance past Taz, toward the stairs. “They wanted me to tell them how he knew where to be in the park when something happened. They didn’t say what that something was, I don’t think I’m supposed to know.”
“You sent Salman to the park at that particular time. Who’d you set that up for?” Taz asked.
The look of fear in her eyes was sudden and tangible. “Please don’t ask me that. You don’t understand. He’s… he’ll find me. He’ll kill me.”
“And if you don’t tell us, we’ll kill you. It’s a lose/lose situation for you.” Morgan sounded bored. “Now, I’m having a bad week, so if I were you I’d save myself the suffering and just tell us already.” She ran a thumb along the blade and showed the younger woman the blood. “You want me to carve pretty pictures into your skin?”
