DARK VENGEANCE, Part One

by Reinke, Sara

  Like us, Brandon said. He wanted her to say this; needed her to say it, more than anything in that moment, he needed to cling to these words, this admittance—this vow. Like you and me. That’s what we are. We’re pair-bonds.

  Lina turned to him. No, Brandon.

  He stared at her, wounded, stricken…but not entirely surprised. The only true dismay came from realizing that she’d come to understand the truth, too, that he hadn’t been able to disguise what was happening from her.

  Her eyes had grown glossy, and as he watched, a tear slipped down her cheek, leaving a glistening trail against her skin. I don’t think we’re like that, Brandon. Pair-bonds, I mean.

  He reached for her. Lina, listen to me. I can fix this. I just need to go back to California. I’ll go back on the Wellbutrin. I’ll be able to handle it again. Everything will be just like it was before, and we can…

  No, Brandon. She shook her head.

  He stared at her, stricken and anguished. What are you saying?

  Oh, Brandon. She touched his face, a fleeting caress that only made her shudder with more choked-back tears. I just want you to be happy.

  No, he pleaded, seizing her hand. He knew what she was doing, what she surely meant to do, and for a helpless, childlike moment, he thought if he could just keep physical hold of her, her hand fiercely clapped between his own, then he might not lose the last, tenuous vestiges of his hold on her heart, either. No, no, please, Lina, I’m sorry. I’ll never hurt you again. I promise, Lina—I swear to God. Things just went too far tonight, but it won’t happen anymore. I won’t let it. Please, I love you.

  That should have fixed things. It always had in the past between them, whenever things had become too difficult or contentious between them, those three simple words had always, immediately dissolved the tension.

  She pulled away and he stood. Lina, please, he thought helplessly, damning his inability to speak to her, cry out after her, beg her aloud. His own eyes suddenly burned, and his throat constricted down to a stricken pinpoint. Don’t do this!

  Oh, Brandon, she whispered, miserably. It’s already done. I…I think it must have been all along.

  When she uttered a sob, it was silent to him, but he could see it in her face, the tremendous heartache and sorrow. Clapping her hands to her mouth, she wheeled, not giving him the chance to touch her again or beg her anymore. Lina rushed from the lanai, leaving him alone in the darkness, his own tears spilling helplessly, his heart crushed beyond measure.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  By the time Lina woke the next morning, Brandon was gone. She’d known it in the pit of her stomach from the moment she opened her eyes; a sick, sore knotted sensation that left her vaguely nauseous. She sat on the side of the bed for a long moment, her disheveled hair hanging in her face, with one hand pressed to her belly as the urge to vomit seemed to grow more insistent. She’d cried herself to sleep. Apparently, that emotional anguish had taken its toll.

  “I don’t know what’s going on with that boy,” Latisha remarked of Brandon as Lina limped into the living room and sat down slowly at the breakfast bar. Latish had just started a pot of coffee. Ordinarily, the heady aroma would have whetted Lina’s appetite, but that morning, it only made her stomach roil all the more.

  “Jackie woke me up this morning all upset, saying he was gone,” Latisha continued. “Took the rental car, left a note. Here, see for yourself.”

  She said this with a disgusted sort of air, as if biting back a ‘see? I told you so’ while handing Lina a slip of paper. Lina unfolded it in hand, and felt the warmth of fresh tears.

  Hey, Jackson —

  It’s been so good to see you again, to meet Valien and your friends, but something has come up and I think it’s best if I leave. Please tell your mother I said thank you for her hospitality, and let Lina know I’ve taken the car. I’ll text you, explain things, as soon as I can.

  — Brandon

  Brandon’s handwriting was normally neat, nearly to a fault, but in the note, he’d written messily, his printing crooked and rushed.

  “He left you stranded here,” Latisha said. “What, does he think you’re just going to flap your arms and fly out of here when you’re done visiting?”

  “I’m not stranded, Mama.” Lina folded the note again and pushed it across the breakfast bar, back toward her mother. “And he didn’t leave, not by his choice anyway. I told him to go.”

  To her credit, Latisha managed to look genuinely surprised. “What happened?”

  “We had a fight last night.” With her arms wrapped around herself, Lina stood and walked to the lanai doorway.

  “You want to talk about it?” Latisha’s voice had lost some of its bitter venom, growing quieter, more gentle.

  “Not really,” Lina said. She wasn’t surprised to see Brandon’s bag gone, but the realization of what this meant—of what she’d done—made her blink against tears all over again. It’s over, then. We’re through.

  And for the first time, she wasn’t so sure that was a bad thing. The night before, when he’d pinned her down against the bed, she’d felt intimidated by him, all-too aware of his predatory potential, the incredible, preternatural strength in his body, his grasp. In that moment, she’d understood what it meant to be completely helpless, at another person’s mercy—and that this other person might not be necessarily inclined to grant it.

  I was afraid of him, she thought as she thought of him leaning over her, his black eyes empty, devoid of any thought or emotion, filled only with the bloodlust, raging and desperate.

  If I bite you now, I won’t be able to stop, he’d snapped—not the Brandon she knew and loved, but someone different; something different. He’d been one of the Brethren in that moment, a stranger to her.

  The realization of this was too much for her to bear. The tension in her stomach that had been growing ever since she’d roused suddenly swelled, and she tasted a sudden, salty flood of saliva in her mouth. With a gulp, she whirled clumsily about, one hand on her belly, the other darting to her mouth, and bee-lined for the bathroom. She barely made it, managing to close the door behind her before doubling over the toilet and retching. Her stomach was empty, and all that came up was thin, frothy vomit, but it came in such powerful, wrenching waves that when it had finally passed, Lina knelt on the floor for a long moment, shuddering.

  “You alright in there?” she heard Latisha call.

  “Yeah, Mama.” With a low groan, Lina reached up and pawed at the handle, flushing the toilet. She stumbled to her feet, then went to the sink to splash water on her face, rinse the tangy flavor of bile out of her mouth.

  “Are you sure?” More than curious, Latisha sounded worried.

  “I’m fine,” Lina called back, this time forcing some cheer into her voice, a smile onto her face as she opened the door. “I’m fine, Mama.”

  The TV was on, and as Lina crossed into the living room, she paused, glancing toward the screen.

  “…we’re bringing you live updates from the scene of a gruesome discovery on the waterfront—the bodies of two men found brutally murdered in the early hours of the morning,” a reporter was saying, as a video shot rolled from a crime scene near an industrial concrete sea wall that had been cordoned off with yellow plastic tape.

  Lina could see several police cars and investigation unit vans, lights flashing in the background, and a bevy of both uniformed and nonuniformed officers moving back and forth. Among these, she caught sight of Elías Velasco walking in and out of frame. He looked tired to Lina, as if he’d been dragged out of bed after a long, restless night, and hadn’t had time to shave or stop for a cup of coffee.

  “There’s no getting away from that mess anymore, I guess,” Latisha remarked from behind her. Lina turned and found her standing by the couch, her bathrobe tied loosely over her nightgown, a pink terrycloth turban on her head. Like Lina, she’d been watching the news report, and shook her head, looking unhappy. When she looked toward Lina, her expression softened. “A
re you sure you’re okay? It sounded like you were getting sick in the bathroom a minute ago.”

  “I’m fine, Mama.” Lina took up the remote control and thumbed the TV off.

  “I’m sorry about Brandon, honey,” Latisha said after a long, quiet moment. “Really, I am.”

  Lina snorted, tossing the remote onto the coffee table. “Save it, Mama. I know how you felt about him, and me being with him. Believe me, you made it abundantly clear.”

  She said this last with a bitter edge to her voice, because she was pissed off and exhausted and there was no one else around to vent her pain and frustration at besides her mother. She immediately regretted it, and sighed heavily. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

  As if sensing this, understanding somehow, Latisha offered her no argument or rebuttal. Instead, she said: “I’m sorry, too. I never meant you to feel pressured. I just want you to be happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

  Lina, who had said these very words to Brandon less than six hours earlier, closed her eyes. “I know, Mama,” she murmured unhappily. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, too.

  ****

  Elías’s condo fronted a powdery white stretch of residential beach, the sort of oceanfront real estate that most retirees or timeshare-holders dreamed about snatching up. At first sight of it, Lina wondered and worried if she’d misread his address, or the GPS on her phone had malfunctioned. But then she’d recognized his car in the driveway and pulled the rental car alongside, cutting the engine and leaning forward to peer out the windshield.

  Wow, she thought.

  As she climbed the steps to a wrap-around patio, she could feel the warm press of sunshine on her skin, comfortably contrasted by a cool breeze off the water. She could smell the sea, a metallic sort of fragrance heady in the air, and hear the crashing rush of waves tumbling ashore. Decorative sea grass, as high as her waist in some clusters and stands, waved in the breeze, rustling drily, soothingly. A scattering of gulls cut overhead, chasing each other toward the water.

  Wow, she thought again, because she would damn near have killed for a place like this of her own, if only for the view from his deck alone.

  The sliding glass patio door had been left open, and she poked her head curiously past the vinyl vertical blinds to peer into the living room. “Detective Velasco?” she called.

  It was a small apartment, the living room separated from the adjacent kitchen by a short counter. Down a hallway on the left, she could see three doors. Not a big place at all, which was why, when she received no reply to her call, she frowned, puzzled.

  “Detective?” she said again, more loudly, as she stepped inside. With the sound of the waves somewhat muted now, she heard something she’d previously missed—a muffled whap-whap-whap sound coming from somewhere down the little corridor. She followed the noise to a back bedroom that Elías obviously used as a home office and gym. Lina saw a computer desk and monitor through the doorway, and as she stepped inside, to her left, she found a punching bag, the full-length sort suspended by a short chain from a stainless steel brace and frame.

  Elías was in the process of laying into the bag with a furious determination. The whap sounds were his fists as he plowed them again and again into its heavy hide, sending the bag swinging back and forth. He’d taped up his wrists like he knew what he was doing, and he’d changed out of the suit and tie she’d seen him wearing on the TV news earlier into a pair of shorts and a wife-beater tank shirt, the back of which clung with sweat between his shoulder blades.

  “Uh, hey,” she said, feeling somewhat intrusive and awkward.

  He still didn’t respond. With every powerful blow, he grunted breathlessly, and the muscles in his arms were taut and tense with strain. Again it occurred to her that he was an extremely good-looking man, and now she could appreciate that he was likewise extremely built well, too, his body strong and toned.

  “Detective?” she said again, crossing the room now to approach him. She glimpsed a white wire drooping down from his ear and realized why he wouldn’t answer—he had ear buds in and was obviously listening to music on an MP3 player. Hesitantly, she reached out, draping her hand lightly, briefly against his arm.

  Startled, he whirled around, eyes wide. She had no accounting for the bright panic she saw in his face, but it was gone in an instant. Recognizing her, he managed a shaky laugh, reaching toward his head and slipping the earphones out.

  “Hey,” he said. “Hola.”

  “Hi. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to surprise you.” She hooked her thumb over her shoulder, pointing. “The, uh, patio door was open. I let myself in.”

  He shook his head. “It’s alright. I lost track of the time, didn’t realize it was so close to twelve.” With one hand, he reached out, catching the punching bag, bringing it to a halt in mid-swing. With the other, he dragged his fingers through his wet hair, mopping it back from his face. “I was just burning off some stress. It’s been a long day already.”

  “I can imagine, yeah.” Lina nodded. “I saw the news.”

  She noticed a scar on his neck, a ragged, ghost-like mark along the side of his throat, almost in exactly the same place where she shared similar scars—where Brandon fed from her. When he reached for a towel, she saw more marks on his inner arm and wrist—still new enough to be bright against the bronze of his skin, and she wondered what had happened, how he’d been injured.

  He glanced at her, realized her attention, and made a point to flip the towel over his shoulder, hiding his neck from view. Again feeling intrusive, Lina cut her eyes away, feeling heat stoke in her cheeks.

  “If, uh, you’d rather not do this today, we could just…” she began lamely.

  “No, I’m glad you’re here.” He walked past her, heading for the door. “I’ve got something for you.”

  When he walked past her, she followed him out of the room, back down the hallway and into the kitchen. He lifted something off the breakfast bar counter and turned, handing it to her—a manila envelope, the sort padded inside with plastic bubble insulation, to judge by the feel of things.

  “What’s this?” Lina asked, curiosity piqued.

  Elías shrugged his shoulder, a mysterious smile on his face. Holding the envelope over the counter, Lina up-ended it. She felt a couple of heavy items inside shift, then tumble out, landing with a clatter, winking in the glow from recessed lights overhead—a gold badge with the word OFFICER emblazoned above some sort of city crest and BAYSHORE POLICE inscribed beneath, and a pair of handcuffs, black and chrome.

  As Lina blinked at the badge and cuffs, surprised, bewildered, a folded packet of papers likewise fell out. Lifting them in hand, she realized the top sheet had been printed on Bayshore Police stationary, had been signed by James Rayburn, the chief of police, and had likewise been stamped and notarized. Dear Miss Jones, the letter opened…

  It is with great pleasure that I extend to you this opportunity to join the Bayshore Municipal Police Department. Based upon the recommendations made to me by Lieutenant Lewis Fairfax, your previous commanding officer, and by Detective Elías Velasco, I feel that you would make a strong, capable addition to our team.

  “What…what is this?” she asked, looking up at Elías, who still regarded her with that enigmatic little hook to the corner of his mouth. Her heart had started pounding, her breath hitching, the paper flapping in her hand as her fingers shook.

  “What’s it look like?” he said with a light laugh. “It’s a job offer.”

  “What?” Lina shook her head. “Are you kidding?”

  “Read the letter,” he said, laughing again.

  “But your chief’s never even met me,” she argued.

  He shrugged, affecting that doe-eyed, innocent look at which he was alarmingly convincing. “Hey, you came through with a couple of really stellar references. Myself included.”

  “But I thought you said…” Feeling decidedly light-headed, if not somewhat slap-happy, she blinked at him. “I…I never meant for you to go a
nd…”

  “I know. But I can use the help. And after this morning, that shit on the news, it wasn’t too hard to convince the Chief to work you into the budget.” Arching his brow, he added, “You don’t have to say yes. I mean, the pay’s probably for shit compared to what you were making up north. And I know it’s sort of sudden and unorthodox…”

  Sort of? Lina thought.

  “…but it’s like I told the Chief, if we didn’t move on hiring you, then someone else would, and then we’d be losing out on a good opportunity and—I suspect—a great officer.” Walking past her, he clapped her on the shoulder. “The offer’s outlined in that packet. Have a seat, make yourself at home, read it over. The case files I told you about yesterday are back in the other room on the desk. You can check those out, too, if you want. I’m going to shower off real quick. Then, if you’re ready, we can get down to business.” With a glance over his shoulder, a wink and another smile, he added, “Officially, I hope.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  After Elías had showered and changed into work clothes again, he invited Lina to come out to that morning’s crime scene with him.

  “I don’t think I’m really dressed for that,” she said with a wince, looking down at the shorts and sleeveless blouse she’d thrown on before leaving Latisha’s.

  “We can swing by your place first so you can change,” he replied, seeming unbothered.

  The only problem was Lina had nothing to change into that she could think of; she’d packed for vacation, not for work, and the contents of her suitcase included nothing more appropriate than what she currently had on.