Vincent (Vampires in America Book 8)

by D. B. Reynolds

“I did. He’s my only child.”

  “So he has to like you? But you said Enrique was your Sire and you hate him.”

  “Guess I’m a better Sire than Enrique,” he said distractedly, his attention on a mileage indicator to the right side of the road. “I think we’re nearly there. Check the GPS.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, snapping a salute.

  “Please.”

  Lana smiled as she pulled up the immediate data on the GPS. “Ten miles,” she said. “Nearly there. You want to stop on the outskirts or go on in?”

  “We’ll do a drive through and decide.”

  Thirty minutes later, Vincent was holding a flimsy door open so Lana could walk into their room for the night.

  “Don’t tell me,” she said, staring at the ugly comforter on the lone king-sized bed. “They only had one room available.”

  “Not exactly,” Vincent said, pushing his way past her to dump his duffel on a dresser that looked as if it might collapse under the weight. “But they didn’t have any adjoining rooms, and you’re supposed to be my bodyguard.”

  “We’re partners, Vincent. Temporary partners. The bodyguard thing was just a story you made up for Marisol, so she wouldn’t think you’d lost your magic touch with women.”

  “Ouch! So, you don’t care if some bandit who’s jealous because his girlfriend talked to me in the cantina sneaks into my room while I’m helpless and stabs me in the heart?”

  “Maybe you should just avoid speaking to any strange women,” she suggested sweetly.

  “But the only woman I know in this town is you. Are you offering?”

  She scowled at him. “Fine, I’ll watch you sleep.”

  He gave her a devastating smile. He might think she was immune to his charms—in fact, she really hoped he thought that—but when he smiled like that? Her stomach fluttered, her mouth went dry and parts south shivered with desire. She managed to keep all of that out of her expression, however.

  She balled up the comforter and threw it in a corner, then dropped her own duffel on the bed. “Can we get something to eat now?”

  “Sure thing. That place between here and the gas station looked like it was getting ready to go all night long.”

  “I’m surprised there’s anyplace open this late.”

  “Vampires aren’t the only creatures who do their best work at night, querida. Especially in Mexico.”

  The bar Vincent had noticed was only a block away from the motel, but they drove anyway. In Lana’s experience, it was always better to have your own wheels close at hand. The parking lot was mostly filled with aging American sedans. Their SUV stood out like the proverbial sore thumb.

  “Do you have good security on this thing?” she asked as they climbed out and headed across the lot.

  “Pretty damn good. The windows are close to unbreakable, the locks are solely electronic and there are three separate alarms. The final one shuts down the engine until the proper code is entered.”

  She nodded and repeated, “Pretty damn good.”

  “I take my security seriously. That’s why I need a personal bodyguard.”

  “That’s getting old, Vincent.”

  “Aren’t we all?”

  “Not you, apparently.”

  They rounded the building just as a band started playing something that sounded like a cross between American country and Mexican traditional. Lana was sure the style of music had a name, but she didn’t know what it was. She didn’t usually travel this deep into Mexico. Skips on the run from the U.S. justice system tended to stick close to either the border or the Pacific coast where there were more people, and where English was spoken almost as frequently as Spanish.

  She and Vincent passed the first of two big, open windows fronting the bar. There was no glass in the openings, just shutters that had been thrown back and locked in place. From inside came the sounds of people having a good time and imbibing a lot of liquor, but the rest of the street seemed to be deserted. It made her uncomfortable. If Vincent was right and there was the kind of business being conducted in this town that worked better in the dead of night, then this bar was likely to contain a whole lot of people she’d rather not meet. She reminded herself that despite his blatant charms and playboy ways, Vincent was probably the most deadly person in the bar. But still . . .

  She frowned and did an automatic pat-down, checking her weapons and gear.

  “My phone,” she muttered.

  Vincent was staring into the crowd through the window, and she grabbed his arm to get his attention.

  “I left my phone in the—” Her words faded away when she saw the look in his eyes. It was a look she’d never seen on his face before, the look of a predator sizing up his prey.

  “Um, you go on inside,” she told him, letting go of his arm and smoothing the long sleeve of his T-shirt carefully. “Give me the keys, and I’ll join you.”

  He pulled the keys out of his pocket automatically and held them out, but then he hesitated, turning his eyes to meet hers in a long stare as if weighing her loyalty.

  “I’m getting my phone,” she said impatiently. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  He grinned, but it lacked his usual charm. And the look in his eyes told her his thoughts were already far away. The hungry predator had once again overtaken the calculating vampire. He dropped the keys into her hand without a word and walked through the door of the cantina.

  Lana let out a breath. Clutching the keys in her left hand, she spun on her heel and headed back toward the parking lot. It took only a minute to open the locks and grab her phone. She noted in passing that the SUV didn’t beep in response to the remote command, but stayed completely silent. Interesting. She’d just locked the vehicle back up and was about to return to the cantina when a second SUV turned into the parking lot in a hurry, tires spinning and kicking up gravel.

  Stepping instinctively back into the shadows, she let the bulk of the Suburban conceal her as she observed the new arrivals. They were remarkable not only because of their tire-skidding arrival, but because their SUV was much nicer than every other vehicle in the lot, with the exception of the one she and Vincent were driving. That alone made them suspect. But when the doors opened and four burly men stepped out, Lana knew she didn’t want to get in their way. These guys weren’t here to party. They weren’t laughing. Hell, they were barely talking to each other.

  She wished suddenly that she’d insisted Vincent walk back to the SUV with her. Because whatever these thugs had planned, it couldn’t possibly be good. Under other circumstances, she’d have climbed into her SUV and driven away.

  But Vincent was in that bar. And powerful vampire or not, they were partners.

  Lana checked her weapons once more. She had the three knives she always carried, plus the Sig 9mm in a shoulder rig under her jacket with a spare magazine in her jacket pocket. She considered going back to the SUV for more ammo—she’d stashed two more mags in the glove compartment—but decided that if it came down to a shootout between her and those four men, not to mention any allies they had in the bar, more ammo wouldn’t make much difference. She still only had one gun with her, since her Glock was in her duffel back at the motel. She hadn’t anticipated needing it for what should have been a quick trip to the local cantina.

  She waited until the new arrivals were out of sight. Then, telling herself she was going to walk into the bar, grab Vincent, and get the hell out of there, she started across the parking lot.

  The crowd was just as noisy as it had been a few minutes earlier. Trying to be subtle, she slipped through the open door and found a space along the wall to the far side of one of the windows where there wasn’t much light. Despite her brown skin and black hair, she knew she stood out as an American. Her height worked against her, as did her clothing, but it was more than that. It was
an attitude that would take more than a change of clothes to conceal. So she stuck to the shadows and searched the crowd for Vincent. As big as he was, he should have stuck out almost as much as she did, but she’d discovered early on that people saw whatever Vincent wanted them to see.

  She found him at last, on the edge of the dance floor. He was surrounded by locals, mostly women, currently charming a local girl who was flirting shamelessly and probably thought she was in control. Little did she know . . .

  Vincent bent down to whisper something in the girl’s ear, and Lana thought for sure they were headed for a dark corner. But suddenly, another woman appeared out of the crowd. She was older than the girl Vincent was talking to, her body and movements speaking of a confidence and maturity that was years removed from the child she was about to supplant. She was also stunningly attractive, with a voluptuous body that drew the eye of every man she rubbed up against on her way through the crowd.

  Vincent sure as hell noticed her, and so did his original victim . . . er, donor. The older woman walked over to them and whispered in the girl’s ear, running a hand up and down her arm in a gesture that could have been perceived as soothing. But something about the whole thing rubbed Lana the wrong way. Especially when the girl shot a look past Vincent, and Lana saw the same four men who’d skidded into the parking lot. Bad men, she thought again. And it looked like they had their eyes on Vincent.

  Lana got a sick feeling in her stomach. She’d just pushed away from the wall, intent on dragging Vincent out of there bodily if she had to, when the beautiful woman pulled him out onto the dance floor. Vincent laughed and rested his hands on her voluptuous hips as her arms went around his neck. The music slowed and they began dancing, the woman not even trying to be subtle as she rubbed her breasts against Vincent’s chest, as her hands caressed his shoulders, his neck . . .

  Lana’s gaze sharpened as she saw the danger. Vincent seemed to catch it at the same moment, but they were both too late.

  The woman flipped two small knives into her hands and sliced both sides of Vincent’s neck in a single coordinated move. Vincent’s eyes were copper flames as he roared his outrage and shoved her away, the movement only serving to dig the knives deeper as she flew backward. Propelled by his power as much as his fury, the woman flew across the suddenly empty dance floor and crashed into the stage, toppling equipment as the band ran for it. Bar customers were screaming, pushing their way toward the door, some jumping through the open windows in a bid to escape the carnage.

  Vincent fell to his knees, his hands slapped over either side of his neck in a fruitless effort to staunch the bleeding. Lana started forward and his eyes suddenly lifted to meet hers with an intent stare. He gave a minute shake of his head and she jerked to a stop. She frowned and he stared harder. He was trying to tell her something. But what? The four men pushed away from the bar and headed toward Vincent. He was soaked in his own blood, kneeling in a pool of it on the dance floor.

  Inside, Lana was screaming. Instinct was telling her to rush over and help him, to drag him out of there if she had to. But reason—and Vincent—were telling her something else.

  His blood had already begun to slow by the time the four men reached him, becoming a sticky, sluggish trickle instead of a nightmarish gush of red. As improbable as it seemed, not even this was enough to kill him. And the four men apparently knew it. They’d clearly wanted him weakened, not dead.

  They grabbed Vincent and dragged him toward the door, scanning the crowd as they crossed the now deserted dance floor. Lana shrank behind a group of three couples, bending her knees to blend in better. She didn’t know if the bad men were looking for her, or if they even knew about her. But if they saw her, they’d know she didn’t belong. And if they grabbed her, she’d have no chance of getting to Vincent before they carried out their plans for him, and it wouldn’t be good.

  Lana hung back until they’d been gone a while, listening to the chatter around her, trying to discover whatever she could about who the men were and, more importantly, where they were taking Vincent. She caught hints of a compound outside of town, of a very dangerous man whom no one named, but everyone talked about. No surprise there. This was narco territory. What she didn’t understand was why they’d taken Vincent. He’d told her the vampires had a détente with the cartels of Mexico, so why grab him?

  She listened to the rapid conversations going on all around her, but none of these people knew anything about Vincent’s situation, nor did they care. With the threat gone, they were ready to resume their partying. People who’d fled to the streets began to filter back inside. Someone had poured what looked like kitty litter on the dance floor, to soak up Vincent’s blood, and an older woman was now industriously sweeping and scrubbing it away, while the band recovered their equipment and resumed playing. Even the bartenders were pouring, the crowd thick around the bar as people replaced spilled drinks. Meanwhile, the woman who’d attacked Vincent had staggered to her feet and was making her wobbly way out through the front door.

  Lana followed the woman’s halting movements. She couldn’t handle four bad guys, but one conniving bitch? That she could do. She slipped along the wall and trailed the woman outside. Vincent had done some damage when he’d thrown her across the room, but none of the bad guys had cared enough even to check her out, much less see her home safely.

  Lana watched her stumble and fall to her knees on the sidewalk, then cling to the wall as she struggled to rise. Picking up her pace, Lana touched the woman’s arm.

  “Are you okay?” she asked in Spanish. “Can I help you?”

  The woman looked up, saw who was asking, and forced a laugh before replying in heavily accented English. “Are you with the pretty one? The vampire?”

  “Is that the man you tried to kill?” Lana asked, pretending not to understand.

  “Only the power of God can kill one like that.”

  “Why do those men want him dead?”

  “They don’t.” The woman leaned heavily against the wall, panting for breath as she looked up to meet Lana’s eyes. “You should go home, forget about him. He is evil.”

  “I can’t,” Lana admitted. “I’m sworn to protect him.”

  “Then you are a fool,” the woman whispered.

  “Where did they take him?”

  She laughed again, coughing with the effort it took. “You will die if you go there.”

  Lana shrugged. “We all die eventually.”

  “Do you have a car?” the woman whispered.

  “Yes.”

  “Take me to my home, and I will tell you what you want to know.”

  Lana considered the woman’s offer. Obviously, she couldn’t be trusted. But there was no question that the men had deserted her, and, besides, Lana wasn’t that easy to get rid of.

  “Fine,” Lana said. “But try anything, and I’ll kill you.”

  The woman gave a small cynical laugh, as if she didn’t credit the threat, but then she met Lana’s cool stare and her laughter died. She nodded grimly. “I only want my bed. I hurt very much.”

  “Good,” Lana muttered, helping the woman to her feet. “I hope whatever they paid you was worth it.”

  Once they were in the SUV, the woman—Lana considered asking her name, but discovered she didn’t care—directed her to a small stand-alone house about two miles from the bar. It was generally neat and tidy, with flowers in boxes beneath the front window sills and in clay pots along the walkway. It was probably pretty in the sunlight, if one gave a fuck. Which Lana didn’t.

  She parked in the short driveway, grabbed the keys and headed around the front of the SUV. Lana opened the passenger door and the woman groaned as she tried to get out. Taking her arm, Lana eased her down to the running board and then the ground. They made their slow way over to the front door which the woman opened with a set of keys she produced fr
om a pocket in her skirt.

  Once inside, she slumped exhaustedly into an overstuffed chair. “Can you get me some water?” she asked in a voice that was mostly a whisper.

  “I’m not here to nurse you,” Lana said coldly. “I said I’d get you home. You’re home. Now tell me where they took him.”

  “Water,” the woman rasped. “Please. So I can tell you.”

  Lana was growing angrier and more impatient by the minute. She was tempted to get the water and throw it in the devious woman’s face, but that wouldn’t get her out of here any sooner. So, she opened the refrigerator, grabbed one of several bottles of water, and handed it over.

  “Okay. Talk.”

  “My name is Fidelia Reyes.”

  Lana only stared. She didn’t give a fuck what the bitch’s name was. And if she thought Lana was stupid enough to hand over her own name, she was crazy as well as devious.

  “You are a fool,” Reyes muttered.

  “And you’re a dead woman if you don’t start talking.”

  Reyes shrugged, then gasped at the movement and hugged herself with both arms. “Your vampire hurt me badly.”

  “You’re lucky he didn’t kill you. Talk. Who sent you after him?”

  “La Maña, the narcos.”

  “How did they know he’d be here? We just arrived in town, and no one knew we were coming this way.”

  “The other one recognized him and told the patrón who he was, that he was a powerful one.”

  “What other one? Who’re you talking about?”

  “The other vampire.”

  “Another vampire lives here? And he works for these narcos?”

  Reyes nodded. “Sí, yes. But he does not work for them. They own him.”

  Lana frowned. She’d never heard of a vampire being owned by humans. That didn’t mean it never happened, but wouldn’t Vincent have known if there was another vampire around? He was Enrique’s lieutenant, which, according to him, meant he knew almost as much as the vampire lord himself did. And Hermosillo was his home. Surely, he’d have heard about something like this happening practically in his own backyard? Something was definitely not right here.