Blood Dolls

by Angela Roquet

  A vampire named Phil let Roman and me into the tech lab. It was a quiet space I’d never seen occupied by more than an agent or two at a time. Tonight, it was just Phil. He set us up at a pair of widescreen computers and gave a quick crash course on how to work the video controls. Then he tapped into Bleeders’ security network.

  Roman took the recordings gathered from the feed in the back alley, and I took the camera pointed at the front parking lot. The plan was to first examine anyone who arrived via motorcycle. But Vanessa was right. Annie could have easily borrowed any number of vehicles.

  It was a tedious task—picking through security footage, pausing, zooming in and out, swearing, and moving on—but it felt constructive. And it kept us busy through the dark leading up to dawn.

  There were so many other things that I wanted to be doing—that I was sure Roman wanted to be doing, too. The small victory of doing my job over doing him would have been more gratifying if we’d actually found something.

  I cut it close, breaking off half an hour before sunrise. Roman offered to drive me home, but I waved for him to stay put at his screen.

  “Keep looking as long as you’re able,” I said, buttoning my blazer. “I’ll be back here just as soon as the sun sets. You should call Collins in to help.”

  Roman frowned, but he nodded without asking why I hadn’t made the suggestion sooner or called myself. Truthfully, I wasn’t even sure Collins would pick up if he saw my name on his caller ID.

  “Shoot a text to let me know you made it home in time,” he said, turning back to his screen as if he hadn’t just made a very relationship-y request of me.

  “Sure.”

  I slipped out of the office and climbed inside the Bronco. My work SUV was still tucked away in the garage at my house where I’d parked it before Roman and I had left for Spero Heights. It would stay there tonight too, since I’d likely be riding along with Roman when we went to see Arnie in Dutchtown.

  I hurried across the city and pulled into my driveway with ten minutes to spare. I texted Roman a simple home, and still had enough time to check the mail and brush my teeth. Afterward, I collapsed on my bed, willing the sun to hurry its trajectory across the sky. I had shit to do.

  I can sleep when I’m dead, I thought.

  Then I blinked and was.

  I dreamt of Roman and Spero Heights, but the sensual memory was riddled with flashes of Vanessa and Scarlett, spinning the scene away into commercial breaks of violent, vengeful fantasies.

  They wove together through my mindscape, lust and wrath and envy, all dripping with blood until I couldn’t tell them apart. They were one.

  The same blood with a kaleidoscope of flavors.

  And I wanted them all.

  * * * * *

  Roman was exhausted and grouchy when I met up with him again Wednesday night. His suit looked familiar, as if maybe it could have been the same one he’d been wearing that morning. Though his conservative, forgettable work attire was all so similar, I couldn’t be certain.

  I’d always been more interested in what lay beneath.

  After my involuntary ten hours of rest, I’d woken with a shuddering gasp at sunset, my body covered in sweat. Not even a cold shower could shake the images of the adventures I’d had behind closed eyes.

  My mouth was impossibly dry, and my stomach roiled at the sight of Roman. I needed to feed soon.

  Mandy wouldn’t be back for several hours, and Collins looked ready to keel over at the computer screen I’d been stationed in front of that morning. He glanced up and gave me a curt nod.

  Roman stood and yawned into his closed fist. “Nothing yet,” he answered before I could ask. “But we still have a week’s worth to comb through. I’m going to choke down a cup of coffee, and then we can get going.”

  I nodded as he left the tech lab and double-checked the Glock in the holster hidden under my blazer. Then I checked the Browning in the ankle holster under my slacks and readjusted my ponytail.

  The mindless activity helped distract me from the stiff line of Collins’ back. He was waiting for me to request blood from him. I wanted to, and I really should have, but I just couldn’t. Not after everything he’d said at his grandparents’ place.

  It could wait, I convinced myself. I’d gone for longer than this without blood and had been just fine. Mandy would be home in the morning. She’d promised to return before sunrise. The only side effect I’d have to deal with until then was being a little bitchier than usual—which I wasn’t really worried about, considering where the night would lead us.

  Roman returned and rapped his knuckles against Collins’ desk. “Why don’t you grab a bite to eat and then get back at it? Call if you find anything.”

  Collins nodded, but he didn’t look up from the computer screen or say anything as we left. The subtle rub didn’t escape Roman’s attention. Once we loaded into his SUV, he let me have it.

  “What does he know?” he asked. It took three tries before he finally managed to cram his key into the ignition.

  “Nothing.” I shook my head. “Did you get any sleep today? Should I be driving?”

  “What does he know, Jenna?”

  I sighed and met his gaze. Even rough around the edges, he was devastating. “Collins deserves to know,” I said.

  Roman’s jaw flexed. He swallowed and turned away from me to glare out the windshield. “Who else deserves to know? Mandy? Vanessa maybe? Would you like to call her and spill your guts next?”

  “Don’t worry about Collins.” I fastened my seatbelt as he backed out of the parking lot. “He’ll be putting in his notice soon enough, and then I’ll have a second harem opening to fill.”

  The SUV bumped over the curb, and Roman mumbled a gruff apology. The mention of my harem agitated him the way being reminded of Vanessa agitated me. We kept rubbing salt into each other’s wounds. Maybe it had been unintentional at first, but I could see how this might escalate.

  The drive to Dutchtown was a short one, but it felt like forever with Roman giving me the cold shoulder. He didn’t ask why Collins was leaving, and I didn’t offer up any more details. I was sure he was clever enough to put the pieces together on his own.

  It was right around dinnertime when we arrived at Snake Eyes, but the block the building slouched in the middle of was nearly deserted. The check-cashing business and pawnshop across the street had Closed signs hanging in their doors and bars over their windows.

  A car on blocks took up three spaces of the parking lot wedged between the restaurant and a boarded-up building. Weeds grew up through the gravel to tickle the sagging bumpers, and a scrawny cat darted underneath it as Roman pulled in. It looked like most of the guests at Snake Eyes preferred two wheels. A row of motorcycles crowded behind a railing that enclosed a patch of cracked pavement. The space was probably used as an outdoor patio during the warmer months.

  Roman claimed the remaining two spaces of the parking lot, clicking off the headlights prematurely so they wouldn’t flash through a side window. The element of surprise was always a plus. We climbed out of the SUV and stepped lightly on our way up to the front entrance, past the motorcycles and an overflowing ashtray tower.

  Snake Eyes was less Cajun restaurant and more hole-in-the-wall biker bar. The place reeked of stale beer and rancid fish. A row of three vacant booths rested against one wall. The cracked, vinyl seats had been repaired with duct tape, and a stack of stained menus was wedged between bottles of hot sauce and novelty jars of pickled reptiles.

  Two billiards tables filled most of the remaining floor space, with several pub tables scattered along the wall opposite the booths and a long bar angled in the back corner. A jukebox blasted a gravelly Kid Rock song that fought to be heard over a boxing match playing on a television behind the counter.

  The only soul in sight was a bald man in a hooded sweatshirt. A tattoo of a cobra curled up one side of his head, and a thick ring hung from his nostrils. His attention was focused more on the fight than the bottles of b
ooze he was restocking at the bar well. He didn’t hear Roman and me come in, which immediately made me think human. We would have never gotten the drop on a werewolf so easily.

  I followed Roman’s silent lead, taking long strides right through the place like we owned it. A swinging door led into a kitchen just beyond the bar. The bartender watching the fight didn’t notice us until we’d pushed past it, leaving him to shout at our backs.

  The kitchen was quiet except for a sizzling, unattended fryer we passed on our way through to a second swinging door that led to a back room. Muffled laughter and cheap tobacco smoke greeted us as we curled around a walk-in cooler and past a rolling shelf that held moldy tomatoes and an open sack of rice. It was darker here than in the kitchen, with concrete walls that seemed to swallow the stark light coming from a long, florescent fixture overhead.

  Three men sat around a table playing cards. They each wore a leather jacket with the pack’s faded insignia stamped into the backside. Beer bottles and ashtrays were spaced between them, leaving room for their meager kitty in the center. They didn’t fall over themselves when they saw us, but the smiles slipped from their faces, and they sat up straighter.

  It had been a while since I’d crossed paths with Arnie Moreau. Mandy and I had bumped into him at the abandoned Scarlett Inn after she’d chased one of his goons through the building. We’d had ourselves a good, old-fashioned standoff until Roman arrived to tip the odds in my favor—though he’d arrested Arnie and kept me from questioning him further about where the girls from the inn were.

  Arnie had sung like a canary for Blood Vice, and was pardoned for his cooperation. Before that, though, he had promised me that he’d make bail, and that we would have a good time when he did. Considering his motives for seeking out the Scarlett Inn in the first place, the threat had painted a graphic picture. His face was locked away in my vault of unredeemable evils.

  “Well, look who it is?” His beady eyes sparkled as they took me in. “I wondered when I’d see you again, sweetheart.”

  The bald bartender paused a few steps behind Roman and me. “I’m sorry, boss. They just barged in and slipped right by me—” Arnie cut him off with a sharp jerk of his chin.

  “Get back out front and do your job for a change,” he barked. The man dipped his head apologetically and hurried back around the walk-in cooler and through the swinging door.

  Roman cleared his throat. “Word on the street is you had a run-in with one of Ursula’s scouts, Arnie.”

  “Oh, I have run-ins with lots of feisty bitches.” He waggled an eyebrow at me.

  “We’re going to need a description of her, what she was driving, and where this meeting took place,” Roman said.

  Arnie sniffed and ignored the question, turning his attention to me again. “Where’s your sidekick? Did the little wolf girl run off to join her pack of whores down in Spero Heights?” He laughed at my surprise. “She was my brother’s favorite. Did you know? Did she ever tell you about all the fun he had with her?”

  The walls pulsed around me. The room turned red and constricted as if we were trapped within a thundering heart. He was trying to distract me from what we’d come for, trying to push new questions into my head—ones he thought I’d be willing to beg for.

  How did he know about Spero Heights? Where was Marcel hiding? How could I find that bastard, and how many ways could I make him bleed?

  “Careful, Arnie,” Roman warned. “She hasn’t fed tonight.”

  The wolf pushed back from the table and stood. He glanced at his hand of cards and then threw them facedown on the table. His jacket gaped, showing the handle of a pistol hooked into the waistband of his jeans.

  Roman drew his sidearm, but he kept it aimed at the floor. He didn’t want this to get messy. Messy wasted time that we didn’t have.

  Arnie eyed him cautiously, even as his crooked grin widened, creating twin dimples on either side of his mouth. He brushed a hand through his greasy slick of hair and circled the table, stalking closer to us. My blood vision throbbed in time with his every step.

  He stopped a few feet in front of me, as if I were on display for him and he wanted a closer look. It was a show of power for his pack. Their comfort seemed to improve the longer Arnie held on to his confidence.

  “She came here,” he finally answered, shooting Roman a sideways glance. “Bitches just can’t resist me,” he added snidely, eyes returning to mine. “Cute little brunette, on a vintage Indian bike. She sweet-talked her way into a poker game by showing her tits, and then burned through a wad of bills getting us plastered. Guess that made it easier for her to corner Gordon in the can and fuck the information she wanted out of him.”

  One of his men snorted. “I thought she broke his fingers to get him to talk.”

  Arnie smirked. “I like my version better. I think Gordon does, too.”

  “And what information was she after, exactly?” My voice was smooth honey. Slow. I had to keep it together. At least until we had what we needed from him for the case. My personal vendetta could wait its turn.

  Arnie licked the side of his mouth, slowly rolling his tongue along the underside of his top lip. “The same information you were pumping me for last summer.”

  “She wanted to know where the Scarlett Inn had moved?” Roman asked.

  Arnie nodded. “She wasn’t very happy when she found out it was gone, along with any trace of Scarlett. Broke another one of Gordon’s fingers just for spite.”

  “If she returns, give us a call, and we’ll come take her off your hands,” Roman said.

  “Right. That’s exactly what I’ll do if the bitch finds her way back into my den.” His sarcasm drew a chorus of snickers from his pack.

  Roman holstered his firearm. “Let’s go.” He jerked his head, motioning for me to follow him to a crusty, steel door that looked like someone had tried to pry it open with a crowbar at one point or another.

  If the bartender had called in reinforcements, slipping out the back was a safe move—even if a little gutless. That fear didn’t seem to escape our hosts. Yellow ringed their pupils as they watched Roman retreat.

  Arnie gave me a hungry look. “Come back and see me anytime, sweetheart.”

  I didn’t move. My eyes were locked on his, and I couldn’t even bring myself to blink. I didn’t trust the fucker. I’d never give him my back.

  He puckered his lips, blew me a kiss, and then turned around to head back to the table.

  That’s when I snatched him.

  One hand grabbed the back of Arnie’s jacket, and the other tangled in his greasy hair. He was bigger than me, but not by much. Still, I used his momentum to my advantage, pushing my weight into his back and riding him to the floor.

  “Jenna!” Roman shouted. I hissed at him, my fangs extending at the same time. He jerked to a halt halfway between the back door and me.

  “Not yet.” A growl laced my voice. It hummed eagerly in my chest.

  I was so tired of letting monsters that deserved to burn slip through my fingers. Roman was partially to blame for that. He’d stopped me from shooting Scarlett, and he’d allowed Arnie to walk free last summer.

  It wasn’t right. Arnie was just as guilty as his brother. He was a pathetic coward. He’d roll on anyone he could to get out of paying for his sins.

  Not tonight.

  I pressed my knee into his spine and pulled his head back until he groaned in protest.

  “Call your bitch off, Roman! I told you everything! What else do you want?” he said through clenched teeth.

  “Don’t you remember? You owe me a good time, sweetheart.” I yanked his hair back and sank my fangs into the tendon bulging along the side of his neck.

  Arnie screamed. It was the sound of panic, pain, and...excitement. It fueled me. I sucked sharply at his vein, not a hint of gentleness in my touch.

  When I’d had a good, long drink of his heady blood, I spit him out, pushing his face into the floor where it made a wet noise against the concrete. None
of his cronies moved to help. They were frozen to their chairs, watching with wide, wild eyes that weren’t human anymore.

  “Now we can go,” I purred as I stepped over their heap of a boss. He remained sprawled and moaning on the floor.

  Roman pushed the back door wide with one hand, holding it open for me as his eyes swept the room one last time, pausing on the faces we’d now have to watch out for.

  Making enemies was delicate work.

  Chapter Eleven

  Roman gripped the steering wheel with both hands and hardly let off the gas as he turned onto the ramp to get back on I-55. Then he stomped on the accelerator again. The SUV roared, and the tires squealed as we merged into traffic.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” he finally asked, eyes zeroing in on some distant point ahead of us as if he were afraid to look at me.

  “You warned him that I hadn’t fed.” I glanced out my window and rubbed a finger over my bottom lip where Arnie’s blood was drying into a tacky film. My reflection cracked a smug grin.

  “That’s not how Blood Vice operates, Jenna.” Roman changed lanes and cut around a line of cars as if worried someone might be following us. “Stooping to their level will only turn this into a supernatural gang war. That’s why we stick to the book and make them play by our rules—”

  “Our rules suck.” I glared at him. “That asshole raped and turned who knows how many girls, and you think as long as he jumps when you say ‘when,’ that his crimes should be forgiven?” My chest heaved. I couldn’t tell what I wanted to do more, scream or cry.

  “It’s not a perfect system.” His tone softened with regret. “But it’s the best one we have right now.”

  “I’m not sorry I bit him.” I lifted my chin, unwavering in my self-righteousness. “He deserved it.”

  Roman sighed. “He deserves a lot more than that. I suppose we all do.”

  My cell phone vibrated in my pocket, bringing our tense exchange to a close. I was surprised to find Collins’ number on the screen. I accepted the call and pressed the button for the speaker.