Vincent (Vampires in America Book 8)

by D. B. Reynolds

  “I saw it. That’s when Lana saved my life. I have a feeling Enrique had warned Jerry’s boss about me. So when Jerry happened to see us drive into town, he was compelled to warn the humans. Unfortunately, they figured that if Jerry was a handy slave, someone like me would be even handier.”

  “Fuck me! They didn’t?”

  “They did. Took me down in a bar, I’m ashamed to say. Used a beautiful woman to get to me. Sliced my neck—”

  “God damn it, Sire. I should have been—”

  “Lana was there. She saw what was happening and was smart enough to fade into the woodwork. Jerry must not have known she was with me, because he didn’t warn them about her. She grabbed the bitch who cut me, found out where I was, then waited until daylight.”

  He faced back into the hangar, watching as Lana stood in the open cargo hatch of the SUV, checking her weapons and probably restocking her handy first-aid kit. He smiled as she pulled the knife from her pocket, the one he’d used to slice his wrist for Salvio, and started wiping it with a cleaning cloth.

  “She snuck into the compound, Mike. You know what those places are like—they’re armed camps. But she came over the wall and spent the day in that hot, concrete box with me, putting herself between me and the door, just in case.”

  “If you bled out, then—”

  “She did that, too. She’d never given blood before, but she offered me her vein.”

  Lana looked up and saw him watching. She tilted her head curiously, then shook it and went back to what she was doing with a bemused smile.

  “Well, fuck,” Michael said. “You don’t need me, after all.”

  Vincent turned and clapped Michael on the shoulder. “If I didn’t need you, you wouldn’t be here. So far, it’s been as much about sneaking around as killing people who need it. But tonight, I’m going to need power and strength, and that’s you.”

  “We’re going after another of Enrique’s pet humans?”

  “Oh, yes. And if you thought Enrique deserved to die for the other two, this one will clinch the deal.”

  “Christ. Do I wanna know?”

  “Probably not, but you need to. Because this one’s taking us to Mexico City, my friend. Enrique has finally crossed the line.”

  LANA KEPT HER GAZE low and watched through her eyelashes as Vincent briefed his lieutenant. She could almost mark the points in the conversation by Michael’s growing anger, knew the moment Vincent told him about Carolyn and why they were rescuing her tonight. She couldn’t hear what Michael said, but he cursed loud and long, and had to walk several paces away and back again before facing Vincent. She could see him listening closely, every inch of his muscular body tight with anger.

  He was a good-looking guy, big and blond, and, like Vincent, all muscle. Under other circumstances, she might have found him attractive—other circumstances being if she hadn’t met Vincent, who she was quite certain had already ruined her for all other men. At least for the foreseeable future. She’d get over him just like she had everyone else, but he might take a while longer.

  Vincent was speaking to Michael intently, one hand on his shoulder, while Michael nodded every once in a while. Vincent was clearly giving his lieutenant orders for tonight’s mission. She wondered what his plans for her were. She’d made it clear she wouldn’t be left behind, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try.

  Vincent slapped Michael’s shoulder with a final word and the two of them broke apart. Michael headed directly for the plane where all sorts of activities were going on. Salvio had disappeared inside the jet almost as soon as they arrived. Jerry had gone inside with him, but had reemerged very soon thereafter. Lana assumed Salvio was getting whatever passed for medical treatment for a vampire. Even with Vincent’s blood, he’d been pretty shot up. He’d improved quite a bit over the last couple of hours, but he still hadn’t been moving all that well.

  Michael didn’t board the plane, but headed instead for a pair of vampires who looked like fighters. They were both huge, bigger than either Michael or Vincent, and looked like they belonged in a particularly vicious cage match on cable TV. As Michael started talking to them, they seemed to swell even further, hands fisting, fangs emerging . . .

  “Do you fancy my lieutenant, querida?”

  She spun around to find Vincent standing right behind her. While the question had been phrased lightly, there was nothing light about the look he was giving her.

  She smiled. He was jealous. Cool. But she wasn’t stupid enough to bait the monster. She shook her head. “He’s not my type,” she told him. “I was reading his body language earlier, when you were briefing him. I know you told him about Carolyn.”

  He bent his head and nuzzled her cheek, his beard feeling like velvet against her skin. “Not your type?” he repeated, almost predictably ignoring everything else she’d said. “What is your type?”

  She rubbed her cheek against his, then pulled back and met his dark gaze. “You,” she said honestly.

  His eyes flared with copper-colored heat, and his arm came around her waist, pulling her flush against his body. “Remember that later,” he said, then slid his mouth against hers in a gentle kiss, before releasing her. “And stay safe tonight.”

  She nodded. “I will. You, too.”

  He grinned and said, “Always.” Then he stepped back and added, “We roll in five minutes.”

  THEY HAD ALL piled into the one SUV. Vincent hadn’t wanted to stir up attention by leasing a second vehicle, and the Suburban was large enough to hold them all, albeit not with the comfort they were used to. Five vampires, none of them small, and Lana made for a tight fit. Vincent had relinquished the wheel reluctantly, but only because there was no way he was letting Lana sit in the back surrounded by males, and it made no sense for her to take up the front passenger seat when she was the smallest person among them. So, Vincent sat in back with Lana and Zárate, while Michael drove with Ortega in the passenger seat, and Jerry squeezed into the third seat all by himself.

  Lana now sat between Vincent and Zárate, although Vincent had made sure there was plenty of air between her and the big vampire fighter. She’d accepted the new seating arrangement without a word, compliantly tucking herself in tight against Vincent’s side after he’d put his arm around her shoulders to make room for Zárate.

  She didn’t say a word, but Vincent could feel the tension in her body where it was pressed up against his. She didn’t seem worried, though, so much as . . . focused, preparing herself mentally for the battle to come. Vincent had briefed everyone on what to expect, making it clear that the night’s work would probably include a level of violence greater than what they’d faced already that evening, with either Camarillo or Poncio.

  Vincent wanted to say something to her, to offer encouragement, a joke, or even a lascivious comment about what they’d do after the battle, but with a vehicle full of vampires, there was no such thing as a private word. So he dropped his arm from where it lay over the back of the seat behind her and caressed her shoulder. She shifted her gaze from the road ahead and looked up to give him a small smile. Its warmth reached her eyes before she turned away again, and Vincent counted that victory enough for now.

  The estate of Albert Serrana, the narco Enrique had given Carolyn to, was in the low hills, down a curved and poorly-maintained lane. The twisting nature of the road served them well, since no one at the main gate could see when they broke the first perimeter of security and took out the forward checkpoint while still a good hundred yards away. There had been four guards total, with one of them going for his radio the moment their vehicle came into sight. Vincent had dropped them all before the lone guard’s finger hit the “send” button. They were now sleeping peacefully inside their guard shack, where they’d remain until morning . . . or until Vincent decided it was wiser to eliminate them permanently.

  Once past
that checkpoint, they’d proceeded on foot, going over the hills rather than taking the road around them. Before long, they had a bird’s-eye view of Serrana’s compound from a nearby hilltop. In terms of layout, it was much like Poncio’s, but the similarities ended there. Serrana’s security was much greater and more obvious, even at night. But he’d counted too much on the single road in as a tripwire security measure. The humans below had no way of knowing that invaders now stood looking down on them, plotting their destruction. Because Vincent wouldn’t settle for anything less. As with the others, Serrana needed to be executed, not only for his crimes against Carolyn, but as an example to anyone who thought to use a vampire in this way ever again.

  “Busy place,” Michael commented, standing next to Vincent.

  “Ants on an anthill,” Vincent sneered. “Particularly vicious ants, but ants nonetheless.”

  “Army ants,” Lana said quietly. “Don’t they cannibalize their own?”

  They watched in silence a moment longer, then Michael asked, “Are we going to kill them all?”

  Vincent considered the question. “No,” he decided suddenly. “We’re going to create a new legend tonight, a cautionary tale for those who think to cross us in the future.”

  He looked up and saw his own savagery reflected in Michael’s grin . . . and in Lana’s carefully blank expression.

  “Vincent?” she said, and at first he thought she was afraid of him. That bothered him more than it should have. But then her lips curved upward in a smile that matched his, and she asked, “Did you ever see the movie Silence of the Lambs?”

  It took Vincent a moment, but then he laughed, throwing his head back in delight. He knew exactly what she had in mind, and it definitely worked for him. He glanced over and found Michael chuckling in understanding even as he stared at Lana with an expression that combined puzzlement with respect.

  “Okay, jefe,” he said, turning to look at Vincent. “How do we do this?”

  “Quick and quiet.”

  “The guys are going to be disappointed. I think they were looking forward to some old-fashioned mayhem.”

  “There will be mayhem enough for all of us over the next few days. But not tonight. Tonight, I need one guard awake and functioning. The others are going to take a long nap.”

  LANA PATTED HER various pockets, making sure she had everything, unhappy that everything didn’t include her Sig. It was only temporary, since she’d once again stripped off her jacket in order to flash some skin, but it still didn’t make her happy.

  “I’m getting a little tired of being your flesh puppet,” she muttered to Vincent, who was standing next to her, waiting.

  “Flesh puppet?” he asked, clearly amused.

  “What else do you call this?” she demanded, indicating her cleavage-baring tank top, although she’d left her bra on this time.

  “Querida, you don’t want to know what I call that. At least, not in present company.”

  Lana’s face heated, but she admitted to herself that the blush was as much pleasure as embarrassment.

  “I want that gun back the minute we’re inside,” she informed Michael.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, fighting a grin of his own.

  Lana glared at him, not particularly thrilled to be the source of entertainment for a bunch of vampires.

  Sensing her mood, Vincent bent down and said quietly, “Thank you for doing this, Lana.”

  Lana narrowed her eyes at him, but he seemed sincere, so she shrugged. “It’s all for a good cause. And don’t forget you promised I could be there when you take this asshole down.”

  “Definitely,” Vincent said, abruptly serious. “Carolyn doesn’t know any of us. I can calm her quickly enough, but initially, she’s likely to be more reassured by a female presence.”

  In the face of that sobering reminder of why they were doing this, Lana forgot her own discomfort. What was showing a little skin compared to what the female vampire had been through? Nothing.

  “I’m ready,” she said, tugging her tank top down and tucking it more tightly into her pants. She couldn’t help noticing Vincent’s unhappy expression as she did so. Well, too bad. This was his idea, after all.

  “Let’s go,” he said gruffly.

  They’d come down from their hilltop perch and now started around the final curve of narrow road that would take them to the front gate of the compound.

  The plan was for Lana and Vincent to approach on foot. At first glance, they would come across as a couple of hikers, tourists who’d gotten lost in the foothills.

  Lana smiled broadly as they approached. “Hi. I mean, buenos días,” she called, in her worst Spanish. “Por favor, estamos perdidos,” she continued. Then flapping her hands in front of her as if flustered, she added, “I’m sorry, my Spanish is . . . bad. Can you help us? I think we’re lost.”

  The guards’ gaze kept shifting between her and Vincent, who was clearly the greater threat. He hadn’t said a word, but then, he wasn’t supposed to. His job was to work his vampire mojo, which as she understood it, was pretty much a silent endeavor. She hoped he did it soon, though, because, that old cliché about being undressed with a guy’s eyes? Yeah, that’s how she felt, and it was getting more and more uncomfortable with every minute. The guards were fingering their guns—HK MP5s, every criminal’s weapon of choice these days—and looking increasingly nervous, torn between staring at her boobs and sizing up Vincent.

  Lana was just about to shoot Vincent a what-the-hell look, when both guards slumped to the ground, their weapons falling with a tinny clatter. She stared at them for a moment in surprise, then turned to ask Vincent a question. Only, she found herself breathless at the sight of him. He was always an arresting sight, beautiful and fit, with a charisma that surrounded him like a sparkling cloud. But she’d never seen him like this.

  He stood perfectly still, barely breathing, the copper glow of his eyes so bright that it was like twin spotlights shining in the darkness. She felt that same electrostatic sizzle over her skin that she’d felt before, but this was stronger, almost painful in its intensity, a tightening shroud rather than a silken touch. But despite that, she stared up at him unafraid, knowing in her heart that even as he focused on the enemy behind the gates, he was protecting her.

  The soft scuff of movement behind them warned her that Michael and the others had arrived, but she didn’t turn to look. Her attention was all on Vincent who was blazing with his power, fearsome in the intensity of his focus. With no warning, he blinked, and slowly turned his head to look at her. He smiled.

  “Do you trust me, querida?”

  Lana didn’t even have to think about her answer. “Yes.”

  His smile warmed. “Michael,” he said without looking away from her.

  “Here you go, beautiful,” Michael said to her in a teasing voice. He held out her jacket and weapon, which she donned quickly, not knowing exactly how much time they had or whether Vincent’s spell would hold.

  “Let’s go,” Vincent said, once she was ready. He held out his hand, and she took it automatically, giving the two unconscious guards a puzzled look.

  “Aren’t you going to tie them up or something?”

  “Not necessary,” Vincent replied dismissively. “They’ll be out until morning.” Then he pushed open the gate and Lana got the surprise of her life. Beyond the gate was the main building, and in front of that a dirt courtyard . . . that was littered with bodies.

  “Are they—?”

  “Unconscious, just like the others,” he said.

  Lana was having trouble breathing. She knew vampires were powerful, and that Vincent was ranked among the strongest. But this . . . it was one thing to take down a couple of guards, but there were twenty or more men in the yard, and those were only the ones she could see. Many of them were clustered around
a big truck, as if they’d been in the process of loading it and had simply dropped where they stood. And there had to be others she couldn’t see, in the main building, in the big garage. But no one had come to investigate the sudden collapse of their fellows, and no one challenged Vincent and the others as they strode into the compound.

  Vincent paused, which meant Lana did, too, since he was still holding her hand.

  He went perfectly still again. Lana tensed and started to pull her hand away, but Vincent tightened his grip. “A moment only,” he murmured.

  When he moved again, it was to pull her against his side as he headed past a pair of wide-open wrought-iron gates and straight for the big double doors into the main house.

  “There’s only one other vampire on the premises, and I’m assuming it’s Carolyn,” he told Michael, speaking over Lana’s head to where his lieutenant walked on her opposite side. “I’ve put her and everyone else down for now. Let’s get inside and find someone who can tell us where to find the lord of the manor. Then we’ll go wake him up.”

  Michael nodded, stepping ahead of Vincent, his posture alert, his gaze moving constantly. Lana heard, more than saw, the others close in at their backs, forming a circle of protection as they approached the front door, stepping around the unconscious bodies littering the broad porch.

  But while the other vampires were tense and ready to fight, Vincent seemed more relaxed than ever. Holding Lana’s hand, he strolled up to the wide-open entryway as if the two of them were here on a house-hunting mission, inspecting a piece of real estate.

  “That one,” Vincent said suddenly, pointing to a middle-aged woman lying just short of the front doors. Like the others, she looked as though she’d passed out in mid-step. She wore a simple, black blouse and skirt and sensible shoes, and was surrounded by a pile of sheets and towels which had been folded before they’d been dropped.

  Michael went to his knees next to the woman and touched her shoulder lightly. She stirred, then woke with a gasp, her expression one of fear at finding a strange gringo kneeling over her. Michael offered his hand to the woman and helped her to her feet. “¿Como se llama, señora?” What’s your name?