Hell's Warrior

by Jaye Roycraft

  “Hey, Peg-leg, is dancing the jig all you can do?”

  But Sweet’s reflexes were so fast that Big Jim’s punches were nothing more than glancing blows. Though the crowd may not know it, Cade knew exactly what was in Sweet’s mind. You don’t have any more aces up your sleeve, do you, big boy?

  By the twelfth round, Big Jim was breathing hard, and he slowed the pace of the fight considerably. Perhaps he realized it was foolish to chase a nimbler opponent around the ring, but more likely he was just too gassed to continue to hound Sweet from corner to corner. Big Jim let Sweet come to him now, and Cade knew the real fight was just beginning.

  Sweet delivered a hook to the heart and a series of jabs to Big Jim’s jaw. Big Jim’s head snapped back, but other than that, he looked more angry than hurt, for he shook his head like a bull annoyed by a fly and fought back with renewed vigor. Big Jim went after Sweet’s pretty face, throwing hard rights followed by a left that landed square on target. Sweet staggered, his nose broken, and blood started to run into his mouth. The men in the crowd swung their hats over their heads, and those in the back rows stood on top of their chairs to better view the end of the fight.

  The blood was like a red flag, and Big Jim moved in for the kill, throwing a nasty punch to Sweet’s jaw. Sweet went down, and Cade feared the boy’s jaw was also broken, but before Big Jim could throw up his hands in victory, the boy found his feet. The crowd hushed in awe, but Cade smiled. Come on, farm boy. You can do it.

  With blood now flowing from both his nose and a split lip, Sweet went after the big man, concentrating on his ribs. It was another smart move. Big Jim was already heaving like he’d just run a marathon, and a man couldn’t breathe if his ribs felt like they were being crushed.

  Cade could smell the blood, and the crowd smelled it, too, for they were all on their chairs, waving jackets, hats, and anything they could. Sweet seemed to feed off their excitement, for he continued with renewed energy, throwing a flurry of punches so hard and focused that Big Jim had no response but a look of slack-jawed disbelief. He wheezed, and his legs, weakened from all the previous chasing, gave out, buckling at the knees. The man went down hard, face first on the mat, and Sweet grinned and raised both hands above his head in victory.

  Cade smiled again, and his decision was made. Peleg Sweet would make a fine vampire, the kind he needed to swell the ranks of his colony. Following the incident with Hammer, Cade had embarked on a concerted effort to increase his following, not only in sheer numbers, but in quality. His sucklings were all hand-picked for their intelligence, strength, and attitude. None, though, had possessed what this boy had—a will and determination far overreaching his physical gifts. If Cade could secure and keep his loyalty, the boy could someday walk at his side.

  Cade left instructions with the ring master that he wanted to talk to Sweet as soon as the boy cleaned up. He couldn’t wait to taste some of the fine, virile blood that glistened on the boy’s mouth.

  Chapter Thirty

  THEY WEREN’T THE kind of love letters you sealed with a kiss. They were more like those written with the proverbial poisoned pen. Cade’s were typed on the computer in the safe house, and signed by his hand.

  We know what you did to Deborah Dayton. We know about your involvement with the Outfit, and we have evidence to prove all of it. Meet me at midnight tonight at the address at the bottom of this note to discuss terms. If you choose not to come, the evidence will be turned over to both the media and the FBI.

  The letters had originally been written with “I” instead of “we.” The “we” part had been Thor’s idea. “Hell’s Belles,” Thor had said. “They’re already after me. They may as well think you have all kinds of help.”

  Throwing in the part about the FBI had been Nate’s idea. According to Nate, city government and the police department were “mobbed up,” but in his opinion the FBI was clean of mob infection. As Nate said, the FBI loved nothing better than to pinch some Outfit mook and make him a guest of the state.

  The letters had been passed along to the mole, who was to see to it that they were delivered to the three councilmen in the afternoon mail. The plan hadn’t gone smoothly since.

  It was almost midnight now, and Cade hoped the rest of the night would go better than it had thus far. Cat had insisted on joining Cade to wait in the safe house across the street from the targeted meeting house. Nate had protested, saying that the whole affair was far too dangerous for Cat to be anywhere close by. But Cat had insisted with equal fervor that her help would be needed, both to lend aid in whatever fight might ensue and to keep an eye on Cade. The BOS had as much of a stake in this plan as Cade did, she’d asserted, and it would be wrong to allow Cade and Thor to execute matters, pardon the pun, on their own. So after much debate, they’d all come to an agreement. Cat would wait with Cade inside the house, and Nate would wait with Thor in a car parked on the street.

  Cat’s presence was maddening. She never shut up, and the constant arousal Cade felt when she was near was a distraction. He peered out the window at the target house, which was across the street and three houses down, a corner house at the end of the block. Neither the darkness nor distance hampered his sight, but his other senses were aware of nothing but her. He couldn’t smell perfume, and aside from the faint lingering whiff of what he supposed was some fruity shampoo, her scent was all her own. It wasn’t what he’d call sweet, but robust, like fruit that had just ripened. No delicate flower was this female, but the kind of woman who, like Jimmy Cagney, would smash a grapefruit in your face.

  “This plan of yours is never going to work,” she whispered. “You’re nothing but bait, a minnow on a hook squirming for its very life.”

  He flicked an answering gaze at Cat, purposely staring at the night vision goggles that rested atop her head. It was disdain for the human frailty of her limited eyesight, but some small voice told him it was also to avoid the pull of her eyes. They were like bottomless wells—deep, dark and impossible to penetrate. He’d never known a human, not even Charlet, with eyes so beguiling. “The fish sees the minnow, not the hook. Do you view this only from the enemy’s point of view? If so, perhaps you shouldn’t be here.”

  He felt her gaze bore into him, challenging his eyes to meet hers. “I’m only alerting you to the realities of this little circus of yours. You take these men as fools. They’re not. And they’re not just going to walk into your trap. You think you’re safe here across the street? They’ve got the power of the police on their side. They could cordon off this entire neighborhood and force a house-by-house evacuation.”

  It was a gamble, of course, and he did know it. But he was through with running. And he knew how to gamble. He’d been doing it for three hundred years. “Whoever killed Deborah wants me dead, too. But now they know it’s not just me they’re fighting. They’re going to want to know who’s helping me and what evidence I have against them. And they won’t take the threat of exposure to the media lightly.”

  She adjusted the goggles over her eyes and looked out the window. “They won’t fold to your bluff, I’m telling you.”

  Without her eyes on him, a measure of Cade’s concentration returned. He glanced at his watch. Twenty minutes before midnight. He picked up his walkie-talkie. “Thor, anything?” Thor was parked around the corner to be able to view the sides of the house that were blind to Cade.

  “Nope. Everything’s quiet,” came Thor’s voice.

  “This is not going to work,” hissed Cat, and he could almost taste the venom in her words.

  “Tell me why you hate me, Cat. What is it about the undead? We are what we are, creatures true to our nature, no different from any other beast.”

  She pushed the goggles up, and he felt her eyes on him. “I don’t believe that. My more radical brothers believe you’re monsters, more animal than man, but I don’t. You can make choices, just like us. If I hate, it’s becaus
e you make the wrong choices. Do you disagree with me? Do you think you’re more beast than man?”

  He looked at her and was unsure how to answer her. She saw things in black and white, but it wasn’t that simple. He was neither human nor beast, but a creature apart from either. True, she stirred a very human response in his groin, but she also roused a most inhuman lust for her blood. “I can make choices about many things, yes. But not everything. I am bound as no human is to the night and to a hunger you’ll never understand. In these things I have no choice.” He suddenly wondered if she knew anything about him, or if her hatred for him was merely hatred for all his kind. “What do you really know about me? Not the undead, but Che Kincade.”

  She blinked, but her gaze didn’t retreat to the street, and for that he gave her credit. Her eyes were powerful communicators, but he knew his own were no less compelling.

  “I know you’re Native American. I know you’ve been here a long time. I know you appointed yourself doyen and that you’re as powerful a vampire as they come.” She turned her head to the window, giving ground at last. “I admit there’s a lot about you I don’t know. It’s the reason I wanted to meet you.”

  He felt her pulse rate increase, even from two feet away—her blood singing to his, and he knew she was lying. She didn’t just want to get to know him, she wanted him. He looked to the street, but as before, it didn’t much help. He could still smell her. Christ, he could almost taste her. “I’ll ask my question again. Why do you hate me? If it’s choices, tell me what choices I’ve made that you don’t like.”

  She bristled, as if every hair on her head stood up and reached at him like so many daggers. “Are you serious? It’s as bald as a baby’s butt.”

  It was all he could do to keep from groaning. “Tell me.”

  “It’s well documented that you spend your time running your club and pursuing pleasures of the flesh.”

  Was she jealous? Her body, if not her words, told him she was. “I need to make a living. My business is legitimate. And the last time I checked, pleasure was not against the law.”

  “But as doyen . . .”

  His anger suddenly eclipsed his arousal. She didn’t know him at all, yet she’d passed judgment on him long ago. “I do a great many things as doyen, but I do them privately. That’s how I’ve always wanted it, and that’s how it is. So if hatred runs your engine, so be it, but don’t pretend it’s because you know me.”

  She nodded toward the street. “Look.”

  A dark sedan with dark windows cruised down the street, slowing to a stop when it approached the target house. He brought the walkie-talkie to his lips. “Thor, the rat is sniffing the cheese.”

  “I see it.”

  “Cat, shoot.”

  She raised the mini camcorder and started recording. The plan was not to confront whoever got out of the car, but to get him on tape, identify him, and to tail him if possible. That’s why Thor was in the car with Nate. Thor was a better driver than he was.

  “The car’s pulling away,” said Cat, as if he couldn’t see for himself.

  “Keep shooting. He’ll go around the block and come back.”

  The sedan turned the corner, passed the parked car with tinted windows that Thor and Nate sat in, and rolled out of sight. He keyed the walkie-talkie. “Thor, stay alert. He’ll be back.”

  “Ready and waiting.”

  Cade glanced at Cat, who’d lowered the camcorder when the sedan disappeared. It, and all their toys, including the walkie-talkies and the car, were courtesy of Nate and the Brothers of the Sun. Cade expected no less from the BOS, who had always been on the cusp of new technology when it came to weapons and surveillance equipment. But Cade failed to be overly impressed. He himself had never exactly spurned technology, but neither had he embraced it. Machines were cold, dead things, and he believed now, as he always had, that true power was wielded by the mind. He knew it was an old-fashioned notion. He also knew it was part of the challenge he’d faced as doyen—to lead effectively in the face of change—but he couldn’t help it. He’d always been an elemental creature.

  Cat raised her brows and pushed her lips into a Doubting Thomas pout. A moment later the car returned, slowing again as it approached the target house.

  He allowed himself a small smile, just to bait her. “You don’t like it when I’m right, do you?”

  But Cat’s only answer was the lifting of the camcorder to her eye.

  The passenger door opened, and a man with long hair and a long black coat unfolded himself with the speed and precision of a switchblade. It was figure he’d never forget.

  “Thor, it’s the Asian.”

  A long, black cylinder appeared from the folds of his coat, and the Asian raised it to his shoulder.

  “Shit! He’s got an RPG,” shouted Cat.

  Cade wasn’t so techno-challenged that he didn’t know what an RPG was. The BOS had used rocket propelled grenades against the undead during Hell, using the slogan “We’ve got the LAW on our side” to sway Chicagoans to their rhetoric. LAW was the acronym for the modified light anti-tank weapons favored by the BOS to burn down houses suspected of being vampire nests. LAWs and Claws. The Brothers loved speechifying and catch-phrases as much as their gadgets.

  The Asian fired, and exhaust gases roiled from the rear of the launch tube in a plume of white smoke. An explosion sounded on impact with the target house across the street, and glass and wood shattered and rained down on the yard and sidewalk. The Asian melted back into the car like a fading shadow, and the sedan squealed as the driver floored it.

  “The Hairball’s all yours, Thor. Go get him.”

  THOR STARTED THE engine, yanked it into gear, and stepped on the gas in one smooth motion, but the vehicle responded like an elephant instead of a race horse. Kissed and pissed! Not only was he driving some kind of mutant Humvee on steroids, but he was chasing after someone he didn’t want to catch, and he had God knows how many tails behind him. And if he had to have a Brother of the Sun in the passenger seat, why couldn’t it be the one with the long legs and big tits instead of the one with the chest hair and body odor?

  The sedan took a hard right, and he followed, barely making the turn. He almost took out a parked car in the process.

  “Shit, man, watch it!” yelled Nate. “Not so close. Back off a little.”

  He could do without the helpful backseat driving. The sour whiff of fresh sweat filled the car. So, even the Brothers have their bogeymen. He had to admit that a rocket-wielding immortal with a hard on would scare just about anyone.

  Except me. He’d never backed off from an opponent, not when he’d been mortal, and not now. “Fuck you.”

  “Hey, man, in case you forgot, he’s got a rocket launcher in that car.”

  Thor maintained the distance between the two cars, slowing a little to check cross traffic before blowing a stoplight like the sedan did. “He won’t use it.”

  “You wanna bet your life on it? Oh, that’s right. You don’t have a life.”

  Wise ass. “He can’t fire inside the car. The exhaust would blind even a vamp, and that’s if the car isn’t destroyed first. And if he hangs the launcher out the window, shoot his fucking arm off with one of those Claws you’re always itchin’ to fire.”

  “Not a bad idea for a squid.” Nate unlocked the console between their two seats and pulled out the biggest damn gun Thor’d ever seen.

  Jesus. Thor didn’t know much about guns, but he knew enough to know that the monstrosity in Nate’s hand made his own plastic Glock look like a water pistol. “What the hell is that? It looks like a fuckin’ Tommy gun.”

  Nate rolled down his window and positioned both his arm and the gun so that the barrel was aimed right at the sedan. “Actually, you’re not far off. It’s a .45 caliber semi-auto short-barreled rifle modified for Claws. Illegal as he
ll, of course, but you and I don’t care about that, do we?”

  With the window down, the sirens of pursuing police squads sounded loud and clear. Thor could feel the sweat trickling down his sides, and for the first time in his fearless lifetime he felt the emotion he’d always scorned most in mortals and vampires alike—heart-stopping, eye-bugging, jaw-dropping, pants-pissin’ terror. Just drive the car. Don’t think about it. Just drive the car.

  He turned left, following the sedan onto Irving Park Road. He almost missed this turn, too, finding he had to slow for turns much more than he was used to doing with the Panther. Cade had told him he was the better driver and more suited to do the pursuit tonight, but Thor was used to driving luxury cars, not quasi-military nightmares on wheels.

  Nate patted the gun. “It is sort of a remake of the old Thompson submachine gun. It can take a drum mag, but I figure a thirty-round stick mag’ll do fine.”

  Nate was turning into a real chatterbox. Either the talk was his way of keeping his fears under control, or the gun in his hand had banished them altogether.

  And sent them my way. Thor tried to concentrate on just driving, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the weapons in both this car and the one they chased. Both were vampire killers, and both were wielded by men who had no love for him. Nate could off him with one shot and tell Cade later that the Asian had shot him. Hell, the Asian could off him, Nate, the tank he was driving, and half the neighborhood with one shot. And Cade . . . Cade. Did the Asian think Cade was behind him? How badly did the Asian want Cade dead? Was the contract still out? Was this Cade’s plan all along? To have him take a bullet for his master? Thor’s heart felt like it was stuck in his throat, and he tasted his own blood in his mouth. The sirens yelped like hounds on the scent.

  The sedan blew the light at Harlem, and Thor likewise kept his foot on the gas.

  “Look out!”