Gypsy: Sons of Sangue

by Patricia A. Rasey

  Anton reached for her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. “You can stay here as long as you need, Tamera. I’ll take good care of you.”

  Her brow furrowed. “But?”

  He ran a knuckle down her cheek. “I can’t be second choice. It’s not fair to either of us.”

  “You don’t want me either?”

  He chuckled, the sound rich coming from deep in his gut. “Don’t misunderstand me. I want you. Make no mistake about it. I’ll take care of you, and make you my mate one day if that’s what you want. But I won’t do it while you still think of Gypsy. Bastard or not, you still desire him, sweetheart. I’m no fool.”

  “I would never play you for one, Blondy.”

  “Not intentionally, no.” He smiled, though she detected a bit of hurt in his eyes. “But when Gypsy comes to his senses and sees what a fool he is, it will be him you want. Not me.”

  “So I won’t be your mate either?”

  He shook his head. “Sweetheart … you forget Gypsy and all his craziness, and I’ll love you like there’s no tomorrow. I would be thrilled to take you as my mate, though not until.”

  Anton stood, pulled her from the couch and into a brotherly hug.

  “You look exhausted.” He placed a kiss to her forehead. “Let’s find you a bed so you can get some sleep. We’ll talk later.”

  She offered him a tentative smile. “You’re too good to me.”

  Again, he laughed. “You keep remembering that. Maybe one day it will sink in and you’ll realize what a better catch I am than Gypsy.”

  Tamera laughed. “I already know. I just need to convince my heart.”

  * * *

  Vlad Tepes strode into the stone-walled castle his brother called home. His older brother sure knew how to keep the past alive. Neither had ruled a country in centuries. And this was no longer Romania, where, of course, he allowed his own castle to fall to ruin. It was much better to allow his enemies to believe him no longer among the living. Now that all those who wished him dead had long since passed, he felt no need for the cold stone walls of a fortress. Oh, he favored a lavish lifestyle and had for the past couple of hundred years. But he preferred his anonymity and privacy. He was done with the ruling of countries, the beheadings and fear he instilled in his followers. Way too damn much work for a man of his age. Life was so much simpler living on a remote island just off of Belize, with a half dozen servants and a small harem of personal donors.

  A smile crossed his face at the thought of home.

  Way much better than living among the stone.

  “Excuse me,” a little bald man chased him down the hallway as Vlad headed for the second floor. “Excuse me! You can’t just waltz in here.”

  “I believe I just did,” he said, not bothering to look at the little minion.

  He took the stairs two at a time, his booted footfalls echoing off the walls. He could hear Mircea’s servant huffing and puffing behind him as he tried to keep pace with Vlad to no avail. Leave it to his arrogant brother to have an aging old man as a servant to protect his castle. Mircea was just presumptuous enough to believe he didn’t need more protection. Only a fool would leave himself so exposed. Vlad had a mere six servants employed, each of them highly skilled in weaponries. Being the eldest vampire, he was also the strongest, but that didn’t mean he was a moron. No one would get past his elaborate security system either. Not even a stray dog could pass through his little slice of nirvana without him knowing it.

  Reaching the top of the stairs, Vlad sniffed the air, telling him his brother was very near. He turned right and followed the scent to a large room decked in white where his brother sat sipping merlot. The woodsy scent caught Vlad’s notice. The one thing he and his brother had in common was the appreciation for a good vintage.

  Mircea swirled the deep red liquid in the stemless wineglass, took it to his nose and inhaled, then took a small pull. “I’d offer you a glass, dear brother, but it’s my hope you won’t be staying long.”

  “Not any longer than I have to.” Vlad took a seat on the sectional sofa facing Mircea. He leaned forward and clasped his hands between his knees. “You know where that daughter of yours is?”

  “If you’re speaking of Rosalee—”

  “You know damn well that’s who I am talking about. Surely she gave you my message that I would be arriving.”

  Mircea took another sip from his wine, looking quite bored. “And here I had hoped you were dead all these years.”

  “Not your luck.” Vlad would have liked to end his brother’s life, but he wasn’t exactly sure he had outlived his usefulness yet. “Wasn’t it enough you and father left me and Radu imprisoned so many years ago, while the two of you did a bang up job against the Ottomans?”

  Mircea shrugged. “Apparently not, as here you still sit. I should have had you killed upon your release.”

  “And had you done that, you would’ve been dead five centuries ago. I saved your sorry ass after they burned your eyes and buried you alive. Of which, I might add, you bear no scars.”

  “I suppose now you’re expecting a thank you for giving me your vampire DNA.” Mircea sighed heavily. The ungrateful wretch. “Now what did you really come here for?”

  Vlad sat back, placing his arms across the pillow-back of the sofa. “Your stepdaughter is beginning to annoy me.”

  “Get in line.”

  Vlad ran his tongue over his teeth, soothing the ache that came with their elongating. He needed to keep his head and not allow his anger to take over. No good would come if he gave into the fury residing just beneath the surface. Mircea needed to know who was truly in charge. Vlad may have kept an extremely low profile over the centuries, but he was still the sovereign ruler.

  “See, that’s the attitude that has me in a state of extreme annoyance. You’ve allowed your stepdaughter to run roughshod over you and—”

  “So that’s what this is really about?” One of Mircea’s dark brows arched.

  Though Mircea was older in years, Vlad had him in vampire years. Vlad could tell his big brother wasn’t far from his animal-like state. Mircea never had been one in control of his emotions. He reacted posthaste, ramifications be damned, which had probably contributed to his near death by the Boyers of Târgoviste.

  “You’re here on your grandson’s behalf.”

  Vlad raised one corner of his lips. “My grandsons take care of themselves. They’ve no need for me. Kane and Kaleb do me proud, not like that stepdaughter of yours. She cost me the life of Kane’s son, my blood, and damn near killed Kaleb herself. And all for what? Because my grandson dare to turn her loose?”

  “She was his mate. Mates are for life.” He shrugged. “You know this. She has a right to her anger.”

  Mircea was trying his patience.

  “You gave Kane permission to mate with another.”

  “To save Rosalee from certain death. One of them would have seen to her execution, just as they did Alec Funar.” Mircea’s complexion mottled red. “They murdered a primordial. Kaleb was damn lucky I didn’t take his life for that. You protect your lineage as you see fit and I will protect mine.”

  “I did not come here to argue with you over past wrongs, big brother.” Vlad leveled his gaze and pointed a finger at Mircea. “Know this, you keep your stepdaughter in line, or she won’t be bothering anyone anymore.”

  Fangs emerged from below Mircea’s thin upper lip. “Issuing threats?”

  Vlad sat back and relaxed his pose with a grin on his face. “I never issue threats. I make promises. I haven’t broken a promise in damn near five centuries since my resurrection. Don’t think I won’t follow through with it now.”

  “Then we are at an impasse. I would expect nothing less than a life for life. Which of your grandsons would have to pay for your show of bad temper?”

  “Be thankful I don’t live by that motto or your irresponsible stepdaughter would already be dead. Ion’s death is on her doorstep.” His own fangs extended as he took to his feet. �
��Know this, if you, or Rosalee, so much as harm my blood, I will personally wipe out yours. I gave you life, and I will just as quickly take it away.”

  Without waiting for a response, Vlad quit the room. The little servant that had followed him up the stairs jumped at his reappearance. Wisely he stood back, eyes averted, as Vlad took the steps. As angry as he was, he couldn’t trust himself not to rip the throat out of the man, if for nothing more than to show Mircea he meant business. His brother would do well to remember he wasn’t to be fucked with.

  Chapter 7

  “I did not tip off the Sons, for crying out loud.” Cara hated lying to her partner. She had known Kane and Kaleb would arrive at the boat before the law and rid the scene of anything pointing at the MC. “Believe it or not, Kane has better things to do than to follow my ass around.”

  Joe Hernandez trailed her into the office, shutting the door behind him. Wearing a pair of tan khakis and a dark green polo shirt, he paced over to the desk facing hers and braced his palms on the surface. A muscle ticked in his cheek. His chocolate brown eyes zeroed in on her with accusation. She knew he wrestled with whether or not to believe her. Had she been in his position, she would have felt much the same.

  “I’m supposed to take your word you just happened upon the news that this boat was delivering a known stimulant. And you found out about it how?”

  Cara pointed her forefinger at the desktop. “You know damn well Draven told me.”

  “And yet we arrive and find no drugs.”

  Lord, she had stepped in it deep. She needed to do some fast talking. Kane and Kaleb had wanted the Devils set up for taking the nonexistent drugs. She needed Joe to believe this was a drug deal gone wrong, problems within the ranks of the Outlaw Motorcycle Club, the OMC. Not to mention the missing drugs. Just where the hell were they? She planned on asking Draven first chance she got.

  “Maybe the Devils beat us to them.”

  “And maybe the Sons took them.”

  Her mouthed opened. Unbelievable! “The Sons don’t deal in drugs. They never have.”

  Joe shrugged. “Your word, Cara. They frequent Draven’s club and we already know he’s a known dealer. I find it hard to believe they aren’t profiting off his little business in exchange for their protection. You and I both know how that works.”

  “Ecstasy. Big difference from the cocaine the cartel brings in.” She straightened her spine. “And I do believe it was the Sons who got Draven to stop dealing from his club.”

  “Only because the law was wise to him.”

  “We have Draven’s cooperation to help nail these guys.” She raised her hands, palms up. “What the hell is your problem, Hernandez?”

  “We have no drugs, Brahnam. That’s what we’re supposed to be doing here.” Joe paced the small area behind his desk. “Did Draven know we’d find blood all over the decking? A Devils’ MC cut with the name Kelley stitched on a front patch? No sign of a dead body? No one knows anything about what happened upon this boat that was supposed to be full of coke. This has setup written all over it. I’m having a damn hard time believing you aren’t in this up to your neck, Brahnam.”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “You told your boyfriend first, who removed the drugs and maybe a body as well.” Joe jammed a hand through his short brown hair. His deep brown eyes narrowed. “Damn it, Cara, I really want to believe you. We can’t work together if I can’t trust you.”

  “I trust you, Joe.” She grit her teeth, trying to keep a rein on her ire. “You’re the one with trust issues!”

  “Do you blame me? Whether you want to believe it or not, Kane is an outlaw. You live with known criminals.” Joe shook his head and walked over to the table at the back of the room. Tossing the old coffee grounds into the gray trash can, he put in a new filter and grounds, then added water. He hit the ON button, then turned back to her.

  Cara had a lot to say. As a matter of fact, she wanted to tell Joe where he could stick it. But now was not the time. Besides, before meeting Kane and the rest of the Sons, she had the same preconceptions. They weren’t called an Outlaw Motorcycle Club because they were law-abiding citizens. Though now, Cara left the outlaw out of it. They were an MC. Period.

  “When are you going to give up the prejudice, Joe?”

  “When are you going to wake up?”

  “So here we are again, dancing around the one subject that isn’t about to change.” Cara was tired of the old argument they’d had since her return to the office. “We need to focus on what we found, Joe. I’m sure the DEA is going to want to know what that is since they’re the ones who got us clearance to check out the boat.”

  “We have no drugs, no dead body.” He laughed nonhumorously. “What do you think we should tell them? Sorry, false alarm? This is on you, your tip from the deadbeat barkeep. All we have is a lot of spilled blood from the boat deck, which may or may not match the Kelley patch that belongs to the biker cut we found onboard.”

  Joe sighed. “We don’t have one damn thing to give the DEA. Draven needs to step up his game and give us something we can use against the Devils. Better yet, the La Paz Cartel. The DEA is starting to get restless. Maybe I should start redirecting their phone calls to you, so you can answer why we don’t have shit. We should’ve had something to give them months ago. Much longer and they’re going to want someone to answer for all the man hours.”

  “You know as well as I do these setups can take years, Joe.” Cara sat on the corner of her desk and glared at Joe. “It’s not like the cartel is going to suddenly trust Draven and bypass the Devils. That kind of trust can take years to establish. What we need to find out is where this Kelley is that belongs to the cut. If he isn’t already dead, then maybe he can tell us what happened on the boat last night and where the supposed drugs happened to.”

  Joe grabbed his white mug from the hook near the coffeepot. “You want one?”

  The fresh scent teased her nostrils. “Please.”

  He took down a second mug, then poured two cups and handed one to Cara. “I’ll call the lab and tell them we need to compare the DNA from the blood to the DNA on the jacket. See if we have a match, tell them it’s a high priority.”

  Taking a sip from the coffee, he then said, “If this is a drug deal gone bad, and we do have a dead Devil, we need to find out what Kelley did to piss off his MC. Draven needs to get off his ass. No more fucking around.”

  “I couldn’t agree more. I’ll talk to him.”

  “Not on your life, Brahnam.” Joe set his cup on the desk. “We’ll talk to him together. I want in on this.”

  “You know he’ll give me more information if you aren’t around. He trusts me.”

  “We’re at an impasse, then, because I don’t fully trust you. I will be in on this, no excuses. You think to cut me out, I’ll get the DEA involved.”

  Cara wanted to refuse him, knew she would get much further with her partner not involved. “Fine. I’ll call Draven later and set up an interview.”

  “Why wait? Call him now, Brahnam. Tell him we expect to see him by the end of the day.”

  Damn, she hated when he demanded her to do anything. She missed their old camaraderie when trust wasn’t an issue and they respected one another. Picking up her cell from the desk, she scrolled through the numbers until she found Draven’s.

  “What?” Joe raised one side of his full lips. “You don’t have him on speed dial?”

  “Bite me, Hernandez.” Several rings later, Draven picked up. “Sorry to wake you, Draven.”

  “You sound sorry, Cara.” She heard Draven’s yawn. “What do you need?”

  “It’s business. We need you to come to the office.”

  Silence greeted her for long moments before he finally said, “What’s this about?”

  “The drugs weren’t there, Draven.”

  “What?” She could hear sheets rustling in the background. “I swear—”

  “Be here at four,” Cara told him and disconnected th
e call. She glared at Joe. “Happy?”

  “Only if he produces the missing drugs.”

  Joe then saluted her with his mug and took a sip. Cara felt like wrapping her fingers around his smug neck and squeezing until his eyes popped from their sockets. She definitely wanted the old Joe back. Without trust, though, that wasn’t about to happen.

  * * *

  “You just gave her to, Blondy? Without so much as a fight?”

  Grayson turned toward the sound of Suzi’s voice and the shuffling sound of her feet as she entered the living area. He sat on the worn leather chair, his gaze traveling back to Ryder Kelley who had finally succumbed to sleep. At least while he dreamt, the fire in his veins would subside, giving him a few blessed hours of relief. The change seemed to be working through him at a rapid pace. Good thing, because Grayson had questions he wanted answered, and he wasn’t about to get them while Ryder thrashed about in pain.

  “I’m not in the mood, Suzi.” He didn’t bother giving her his attention again. Suzi had to be strong on opinion and somewhat outspoken to put up with Kaleb’s ego. That didn’t mean he had to listen to what she had to say. Whatever was on her mind, he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to like it. “Why not go back to your room and await Hawk. He’ll appreciate your presence.”

  Suzy chuckled, not offended in the least. “I really don’t give a rat’s ass if you want my company, Gypsy. You’re getting it.”

  “Can you at least keep your opinion to yourself?”

  “Not on your life.”

  Grayson sucked in a deep breath, releasing it slowly. “I didn’t think so. You might as well pull up a chair and get it off your chest then.”

  Using the sofa arm to brace her, she lowered herself onto the seat opposite Ryder. Her gaze held the biker’s prone form. A shudder passed through her. “I can’t help but feel sorry for the poor man. I didn’t think I’d make it through. There were times I wished for death. If it hadn’t been for Hawk holding me through the ordeal, and taking some of the pain into himself, I’m not sure I would’ve survived it.”

  “You would have.” He finally looked at her. “You’re a tough nut.”