Vermilion Lies

by L. D. Rose

  Dax grinned, finally coming up on a relatively undamaged apartment. “No thanks, I’m not into leprechauns.”

  “Good, I’ll keep the gold to meself then.” Kayne chuckled. “You coming for a visit before you haul your Yankee arse back to the city?”

  “Maybe.” Dax strode onto the portico, finding the main entrance locked. A message had been carved into the weathered wood, jagged and frantic in knife-like strikes, like the last words of a dying man.

  THE WORLD’S NOT SAFE ANYMORE

  Dax frowned and added, “Depends on if I’m still breathing by then.”

  “I have no doubt your sorry arse will be breathing. Are you on your ninth life yet, pussycat?”

  “Try thirteen.” Dax stepped back and kicked open the front door, planting his foot over the desperate carving. “And counting.”

  “What the fuck was that?”

  “It’s called breaking and entering, boyo.” Wood split and dust billowed up in a cloud, escaping into the wind as Dax eased into the vestibule. His gaze vaulted up the stairs as he took in the cramped space. Once upon a time, this condo would’ve cost at least a few million dollars. Now, it smelled like mildew and rotting lumber, with a dash of death to cleanse the palate. “I found a sweet spot down here. You should come visit, we could go skinny dipping.”

  “In your dreams. The last thing I want to see is your shriveled arse in the nip.”

  “Give me five minutes and I’ll make you change your ways, sugar Kayne.”

  “Oh, bloody hell,” Kayne muttered and Dax laughed. “Call me when you’re done fucking around. I’m knackered and I need a glass. Or six.”

  “Have one for me. Or six.”

  “You bet. Good luck, my brother. Show them no mercy.”

  “You know I won’t. Take care of yourself and tell the others I said hi.”

  “I will. See you on the other side.”

  And with that, Kayne hung up.

  Dax smiled, tucking the phone into his jacket pocket. If he hadn’t actually seen the evidence of Kayne’s work, he would’ve never guessed the Dublin import was a genius. Kayne was the Orders’ top IT guy when it came to technology, security, and all-around hacking. Of course, his ability to manipulate machines helped, but the half-vampire hybrid was still a modern-day Einstein. He had singlehandedly locked down the Senary compound in New Rochelle and then some.

  As the leader of New England’s Order of the Trinity, Kayne was the shroud that hid all Orders from both the vampires’ and the government’s prying eyes. No doubt, they all needed him.

  And apparently, Kayne needed them too.

  Dax climbed the stairs in twos, his senses jacked up to high. All was quiet except for the rumble of the ocean and the wind pushing against glass and shingle. He slipped his hand behind his back, pulling his nine-millimeter SIG Sauer out of the waistband of his jeans. He racked the slide, chambering a round, but didn’t lift the gun, gripping it just in case.

  After entering one of the unlocked condo doors, he moved quickly from room to room, finding the place still furnished with the previous owner’s belongings. Fancy couches, art deco floor lamps, huge dressers, an elaborate bedroom, a state-of-the-art entertainment system, even sculptures and Swarovski crystal knick-knacks, all coated in dust and neglect. Either the people who’d lived here had just picked up and left everything behind or they were long dead by now.

  Photographs decorated the walls in cleverly designed geometric picture frames. Dax scanned the images of a young couple with a little girl. They looked like a generic suburban family, with their generic portraits and their generic smiles, but Dax couldn’t help the twinge in his gut at the sight of them.

  They’re probably better off now.

  He didn’t care to see the photos anymore, or ever for that matter, so he took them all down. If they stood on end tables, he flattened them face-first. If they hung on the wall, he tossed them in the far corner beside a desiccated plant. The last thing he wanted was a lost, likely dead young family haunting his daylight hours, especially when he had work to do.

  The less distraction, the better.

  He saved the kid’s room for last, and as he approached the closed door, he noted a child’s purple scrawl of ‘Maddy’s Room’ on faded pink construction paper taped at eye level. Gripping the knob, he studied the crooked butterflies and incomplete hearts, his chest tight for some inexplicable reason.

  No. He couldn’t do this. Not now.

  So much for no teddy bears.

  Shaking himself off and marching back into the den, Dax yanked off his beanie and removed his backpack, dropping everything on the designer couch before he pushed the SIG back into his jeans. He strode over to the balcony, casting the yellowed curtains aside before he opened the French doors wide.

  The cold, bitter wind whisked through the condo, venting the stale air as the ocean let out a deafening boom. The view was breathtaking, the sound like a balm to his ears, the gust a caress on his face. His lips curved as he regarded Poseidon’s wrath, welcoming his fury.

  And he couldn’t wait to turn those raging waters red with vampire blood.

  ~ ~ ~

  “This one looks clean. She been used much?”

  Cindel kept her eyes lowered as the male grabbed her chin and turned her head from side to side, examining her neck.

  “No, actually,” Victor replied. “She’s box-fresh.”

  Liar. She hadn’t been ‘box-fresh’ for at least two years, maybe more. But she wasn’t keeping track, for the days were all but blurs now, nothing but mistakes she chose not to remember.

  She didn’t know where she lost herself, but she wasn’t keen to look.

  “Nice.” The male smiled, revealing a set of pearly white incisors. Perfectly manicured, rich, and powerful. Like Alek. “Very nice.”

  You asked for freedom, well, here it is.

  Except she’d been entirely naïve and ignorant to the fact that she’d have to support herself, to fend for herself in this dark world of greedy, hungry monsters. She quickly realized that freedom was an illusion; it didn’t exist, even outside the city of New York.

  She would always be a slave. The only choice she had now was how to please her next ‘master.’

  “Look at me, darling,” her prospective buyer drawled. “Let’s take a peek at those big, beautiful eyes.”

  She met his gaze, staring at him blankly, all emotion drained from her expression. He wore a tailored suit, attractive and clean-cut, but shadows of menace filled the hollows of his face, tainting any semblance of charm he would’ve held. They all looked the same, all starving, all malevolent.

  All dead on the inside.

  He cupped her cheek and slid his thumb into her mouth, running the pad of his finger over her fangs. He tasted like oil and gunmetal, like hell and murder. At one time, the touch would’ve been intimate, a gesture only shared between lovers. Now it made her stomach roil with disgust.

  “Beautiful teeth, lush mouth, silky hair,” he murmured, withdrawing his thumb before he lifted the curtain of her freshly dyed locks. Years ago, her hair had been lengthy and red. Now the black strands barely grazed her throat. “Why don’t you smile for me, sweetheart?”

  Cindel complied, allowing her face to transform from a mask of misery into a lure of seduction. It was easier now, to slip into the façade, to pretend she enjoyed all of this. She’d never been skilled at manipulation, having usually been on the receiving end of such treatment, but now she was an expert. She didn’t have a choice, not if she wanted to eat, to survive, and she desperately needed to feed, even from the very monsters who’d ravaged her.

  “Yeah,” the suit purred. “That’s it. Drop the sheet.”

  Cindel released the navy cloth draped around her naked body, still smiling as it pooled in a dark puddle at
her feet. His eyes widened, moving in a deliberate elevator-like motion, and she restrained the urge to tear them out of their sockets with her dirty fingernails. She nearly acted on it when he raised a hand to touch her.

  “No more handling the females,” Victor snapped before the suit could lay another finger on her. “Not until you pay up.”

  The suit regarded Victor, who paced behind her like an agitated wolf in a pen. Glowering with contempt, he dropped his hand away. “We’ll take her. Make sure she and the others are cleaned up and ready by nightfall.”

  “How long will you have her for?”

  “As long as it takes.” The suit removed two small glass vials from his inner jacket pocket, both filled with clear liquid. They clinked together as he handed them to Victor over her shoulder. “Half now, half when we’re finished.” His onyx eyes flicked back to Cindel, settling on her breasts. “I want to make sure she’s worth it.”

  Cindel’s smile waned. Looks like the suit always has his way. She could almost feel Victor salivating from drug lust as he snatched the opium from beside her ear. Unlike humans, vampires never cared for money since they simply stole what they wanted. But drugs were something else altogether.

  Blood, sex, and drugs were the vampire currency of the world.

  Cindel had never encountered heroin before she was freed. Alek spoke of it frequently—along with cocaine and ecstasy—but she’d never seen him use them, nor had any of the Temhota. She’d been amazed at the obsession amongst the masses once she’d escaped outside The Metropolitan’s walls. Victor was a perfect example; so addicted to his powders and pills that he neglected everything else entirely. He’d never even laid a hand on her, not in desire or anger, unlike so many others. In fact, many times he’d protected her from the others.

  Like now.

  “Deal,” he finally said with a smile in his nasally voice. “Until tomorrow night.”

  The suit nodded, sparing her one last sinister glance before he left, slamming the front door of the old manor behind him.

  Victor chuckled softly. “Aren’t you just the party favor everyone wants to take home?”

  Cindel bent to pick up the sheet and covered herself up, the exposure still making her feel vulnerable even after all this time. “May I go now?” she asked, her eyes glued to the grimy floor.

  Victor rounded on her, forcing her to look at him. He was tall, lanky, and thin, with greasy blond hair that fell past his jaw, much like hers. His ashen skin wrapped tight around his face, accentuating the sharp lines of his bones, and Cindel wondered if he’d been no older than eighteen when he turned. Eyes black as night, like all vampires, but they were muddled and dulled with sedation. He wore a tattered T-shirt with the word “Nirvana” stamped across his narrow chest, along with worn jeans and sneakers.

  He didn’t appear threatening at all, but she’d witnessed him kill more than once. He could be vicious if pushed hard enough, and he’d gathered enough of a network of street rats to make anyone think twice about crossing him.

  Hence why the suit didn’t strike him outright.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, likely more out of obligation than concern.

  “I’m fine.” She feigned a smile. “He looks wealthy.”

  “He’s one of Imbruglia’s guys. Looks like you’ll be keeping company with a sire tonight.”

  Cindel’s heart somersaulted, but she managed to keep a straight face. “A sire?”

  “Yeah, some new boss.” Victor sneered with clear disdain. “They’re paying a lot, though, like they have plenty to go around.”

  Oh, no. She swallowed her pulse. “That’s good for you.”

  “And for you.” He smiled crookedly and looked even younger. “I think you’ll be well taken care of.”

  You have no idea. “Sounds exciting.” She grinned, nausea rising in her throat, stomach twisting with apprehension. Alek might attend, although she’d never heard of this Imbruglia. But it’d been three years since she last saw her sire and strigoi politics might’ve changed since then. “Do you know if any other sires will be with him?”

  Victor shrugged his scraggly shoulders. “Who cares? All I know is they’re taking you on a yacht. Ever been on one of those before?”

  She shook her head. She’d never set foot on a boat.

  “Oh, you’ll like it.” Another lopsided smile, a flash of yellowed fangs. “They’re a lot of fun, especially if you dig the ocean. Supposed to be real swanky too, so dress nice.”

  Dress? God, she hadn’t worn a dress since she’d fled from Alek. “I don’t have a nice dress.”

  “We’ll find you something. I’m sure one of the other girls has a number that fits you.”

  She was sure too, but that wasn’t the problem. “All right. I’ll ask around.”

  “Meet here at sunset tomorrow night. Otherwise, you know where to find me.” He smirked, lifting the vials and tapping them together before he headed for the stairs, descending into the bowels of the building.

  Cindel stood alone in the dark foyer, listening to his fading footsteps and clutching the sheet to her chest. She should’ve said no, should’ve told him to send someone else. Many others could serve her purpose and would be thrilled to. A sire was risky, and God knew what Alek would do if he found her.

  Or vice-versa.

  But a part of her wanted to go, to glimpse that side of the world again, if only for a night. She could wear make-up, style her hair differently, avoid anyone who appeared remotely familiar. Taylon had somehow broken her bond with Alek, so he wouldn’t sense her nearby. What if she could see him one more time? Maybe he would take her back again. Maybe this would be the right setting to approach him.

  If she had a choice to undo what Taylon had done, she would’ve stayed with her sire. The alternative had turned out to be far worse, and at times she even missed that monstrous prison, where she was violated and abused by only one man on a daily basis.

  Either way, her last meal was three days ago and she was starving. With a sire in the vicinity, there would be ample blood to go around, enough to satisfy her for at least a week. She couldn’t hazard waiting for the next job, where her hunger might not be slaked for some time. Tonight was guaranteed to fill her aching belly.

  Besides, she’d wrecked her life already. What else did she have to lose?

  THREE

  The Zodiac MilPro revved to life as Dax pushed the throttle forward, the inflatable black boat cutting through the dark water. He aimed its bow toward Goat Island, setting out from the East Ferry docks with nothing but a hooded six-millimeter wetsuit and two silver knives strapped to his biceps.

  He didn’t need anything else.

  Technically, he didn’t need the knives either, but he always brought backup. Too many weapons would weigh him down and he had to move fast.

  The cloud cover was thick and ominous, the moon blotted out in the murky night sky, making navigation difficult. Both the Rose and Goat Island lighthouses had long extinguished, so he had to plot a course purely on intuition. A low-lying fog skimmed the surface of the ocean with a horror-movie-like quality, and Dax smiled at the irony of it.

  No doubt, he was the shark in this flick.

  The cold spray misted on his camo-painted face as he steered the boat over the choppy waves. He passed several swaying buoys, the anchored metal rocking back and forth as if warning him away. When he finally reached the lee at the northernmost point of the island, he hooked around the bend and slowed down, steadily chugging toward the closest dock. The hulking silhouette of a deserted hotel loomed nearby, and only a few boats drifted in the harbor, all long abandoned and decayed in their watery graves. Some were half sunk while others still appeared to be waiting for their owners to return.

  Too bad they would never come.

  The harsh wind eased and the waves
subsided as Dax approached the farthest edge of the pier. He docked the RIB, hitching it tightly to the wharf’s oxidized cleats. Scanning the concrete bridge that extended across the channel, his gaze landed on the gleaming Feadship berthed in the Newport Shipyard, its deck lights glowing like beacons in the hazy dark. The superyacht was the only sign of life out here, practically serving up his prey on a silver platter, garnished and ready to eat.

  And fuck, he was ravenous.

  Sucking in a few deep breaths, Dax dove beneath the surface, the ocean swallowing him whole.

  His senses flared to life at the shocking temperature change, his chi powering up with delight. Icy water rushed over his exposed skin as he emerged for air, his mouth tasting of brine. Focusing on the bridge ahead, he swam the short distance in no time, spending more time below the surface than above it.

  Moving silently under the passage, he paused to re-oxygenate. The Feadship hovered just ahead, docked on an endslip and secured to the surrounding pylons. The yacht was damn sexy, a sleek, white behemoth accented with chrome, floating like Moby Dick and inviting him inside its gaping maw.

  Too bad he would have to destroy it.

  Circling wide on the stern, he submerged below the water and raced for the closest pylon, keeping out of sight. Guards patrolled the decks, dispersed throughout the boat.

  The last thing he wanted was for anyone to spot him too soon.

  Surfacing on the starboard side of the ship, he removed his hood, turning up the volume on reality. He grabbed the pylon and reached up for the braided rope, his pulse thundering in his ears as he tried to listen past it. Nothing but ripples lapping against the hull. Bracing himself, he lifted out of the water and climbed the rope with his gloved fists.

  Although muffled opera music hummed from within the boat’s walls, Dax still cringed at the splashing sounds he’d made as he scaled over the Feadship’s rail. Dropping onto the teak deck, he peeled off his gloves and tossed them aside.