by A. Vers
Damn, Vic.
Of all the things he has made me do ...
I’d rather go back to stealing again and sleeping in boxes and abandoned houses. Anything but this damn degradation.
A sharp sting lands on my backside, leaving me rigid in place. My face burns and my eyes well. I turn, slowly, to find an older vamp and his table of asshole compatriots. “If you’ll give me a minute to deliver these drinks, sir ...” I’m careful to put every ounce of hate into that ‘ sir ‘ that I can, “I will take your order.”
He offers me a coy smile. “Now, now. A sweet thing such as yourself shouldn’t be doing such—” he shifts, “ hard labor.”
His friends guffaw, their irises glowing brightly as only a supernatural’s eyes can.
“Yeah. Why don’t you come sit down with us?” One of them calls, patting his lap. The bulge between his legs presses through the fabric of his dress slacks, tenting it.
Disgust fills me and I try to back up. “Why don’t you sit on each other’s laps.” I whirl to rush off.
A familiar pair of dark eyes watch me from a booth feet away.
My stomach flips.
The guy from the bar.
His jet-black hair is a tousled mess of spikes, and chiseled features frame onyx irises so dark, they are bottomless. Vast and yawning. He shifts in the booth, and his midnight clothes are stark against his crème skin, all polished leather, straps, and buckles. He could be a poster boy for Leather Lovers-R-Us. But it does nothing but showcase every inch of rock-hard muscle on his over six-five frame, as well as the malice that lives under the unwavering surface of his gaze.
I flush all over under the weight of his stare, drawn, like I was downstairs, by the sheer power he embodies. He raises a brow, gaze unfathomable.
My head wants to drop. To duck under the scrutiny and the question in his eyes.
Instead, I square my shoulders and walk over. “Good evening, gentlemen. Welcome to Carnage. Can I take your orders?” I pass out coasters to each of them.
The men at the table with him are just as large, as muscular. Menacing. One has dark hair, a nose ring, and empty grey eyes. The other, a cap of slicked back platinum waves and irises greener than the local park in spring. But there is nothing lively in him. In either of them. They are death in attractive packages.
They watch me, their expressions blank, cool.
“So you barkeep and waitress...” dark eyes says.
My lips purse. “One of the other girls fell ill. We needed a replacement.”
“And by fell ill, you mean nearly had her head chewed off, right?”
I wince.
He waits, but when I don’t say anything, his features harden into granite. “What happened was illegal. You know that, right?”
Anger and worry spiral through my insides. I clench my teeth. “Yes.”
He rocks back. “Then why does this club condone it?”
If he calls the local coven, they will shut us down. For good. I’ll go to jail alongside Uncle Vic.
Maybe that’s where we belong anyway ...
Calloused fingers close over my wrist. Electricity, like little shocks, dances along my skin, making my heart beat faster. My lips part, and I peer at him in the dim lighting as he pulls quickly away.
His dark eyes seem deeper, opening wide to swallow me whole. “Why do you work here, Lilah?” The roll of my name from his lips is rough and almost sensual. My nipples peak under the lace and heat washes through me.
I pull away, confused more by my reaction to a complete stranger than his words. “Because I have to,” I say, steeling my expression and the erratic beat of my heart. “Do you want something to drink or not?”
His face empties. “No.”
I glower at the cold anger in his voice. “Fine. Enjoy your evening.”
Turning on my heel, I walk through the tables and try to ignore the burning ice of his gaze on my spine.
3
Ruin
I WATCH HER WALK OFF through the club. The damn bits of silk barely cover the sapphire-blue bottoms of the lingerie she wears. Her full ass strains the fabric. Damn near beckoning my eyes and everybody else’s.
She’s all woman. Thick and curvy. Her fucking breasts are perky under the thin top. One I can’t believe her boss is letting her wear. Even the little sway of her stomach is sexy as hell.
Every inch of my body is hot, burning, and her damn flash of temper only made it worse. It takes everything in me to remain in my seat. The urge to flit after her and shield her from every pair of eyes in the room is a real ache. One I have no business feeling right now.
Or ever.
My length throbs, persisting. “Fucking kill me,” I breathe.
Tanner smiles. “Aww, does Ruin have a crush?”
I turn, slowly, to look at him. Some of his laughter dies and a bit of his beast shines through his eyes. “Did you fucking see what she was wearing?” I ask.
Gage pulls a hand rolled smoke out of his jacket pocket and lights it with a small burst of power. He inhales. “I’m pretty sure everyone did.”
My hands tighten into fists around the edge of the table. There’s a harsh groan as the metal caves under my strength. “Watch it,” I warn.
Tanner’s teeth elongate in his mouth. “Once again, pretty sure everyone already has.”
I lunge.
Only Gage’s vise-like grip keeps me from climbing over the table. The Fae warrior sighs around his smoke, the slim, glowing rod bobbing. “Tanner, stop.”
Tanner crosses his arms, sulking. If it’s possible for a six-four shifter to sulk.
The chandeliers dim around us and bright spotlights land on the dais.
The big man from downstairs, Vic, steps up on the platform. Sweat beads on his brow under the brilliant glow. “Ladies and gentlemen. Good evening and welcome to Carnage.” He offers a rigid smile, flashing a gold-capped tooth. “Unfortunately, our next act has been canceled due to Draven’s overzealous dinner.”
Several cries of dismay drown out the low chuckles.
Vic raises a jeweled hand. “However, I have taken it upon myself to put together a little something special. A lottery, as it were. How about a night with one of our prized beauties?”
Excited rumbles taper through the room, growing in volume and swiftness.
The spotlights move, weaving through the patrons before alighting on a now familiar frame.
Lilah stills, her eyes wide like a deer in headlights. Her fingers mottle around the empty tray in her hands, and my heart begins to beat faster. She didn’t know.
Right?
“If she walks up there ...” I mutter.
Gage holds me harder. “I know.”
The blonde hostess walks over to her, trying to give her a friendly nudge. Lilah swats at her with real anger and below that, fear.
I’m at the edge of my seat before I can blink.
Gage stills. “Fuck, Ruin. Look.” His tan arm points past me.
I tear my eyes away from the small woman to find the dark back of a suit-clad man slipping away down the stairs, with a host of similarly dressed men.
Our target.
“Fuck,” I swear. “Call the others, we got to move. Now.”
“Lilah?” Her name is an almost singsong taunt through the air.
My head whips back to the stage. The vampire from earlier is in a clean vest and skin-tight leather pants. He holds one pale hand out to her. “Come on. They won’t wait all day.” Gold light streaks through his eyes.
Angry shrieks rip through the murmurs. Lilah is now held between two large men. She rails against them, bucking and pummeling them with her small feet.
I glance at Tanner, at war with the need to snare our target and stop this bullshit. Lilah’s next scream decides it for me. “Go after Vlad,” I command. “I got the girl.”
His lips curve, showcasing his jaguar teeth. It’s all the agreement I need. I flit and they jump out of the booth to rush the stairs.
There
are gasps from the patrons. Our cover is blown. But there is nothing in me that gives a fuck.
Slamming my knee into one man’s groin and my palm into the other’s nose, I snatch Lilah from their hold. She huddles against my spine, her sobs deafening in my ears. Or maybe it’s the roaring of my blood.
Everywhere she presses is like silken heat. My body quickens and my vision sharpens.
I spin slowly, watching as more guards melt from the darkness. My arm tightens around Lilah as I try to keep them all in sight. Shuffling, I pull the Glock from my waistband,
One tall vamp reaches out of my peripheral. I level the gun at his face. “Try it and lose your life,” I snarl.
He stops, but he’s not looking at me.
I pivot to find Vic and his homicidal stage hand. Vic eyes me with distaste before peering over my shoulder. “Lilah. Come here.”
She sniffs, against my back. “No. I won’t do it, Uncle Vic. I’m sorry.”
Her words hit me square in the chest. I stare at the man watching us. “You’re her fucking uncle, and you offered her up as an evening show in lace?”
He sneers. “She is my niece and lives by my rules. If I tell her to tap dance naked, she will, by God, do it.”
A low sound leaves me, but it is not remotely sane.
My eyes start to change and my fangs pierce my bottom lip. His gaze widens a fraction of a second before the murmurs flow through the room. Chairs scrape back, and the others press in around us.
Too many. There’s too many.
Fucking son of a bitch.
“You’re fucking dead, asshole,” I say, voice cold, empty, and filled with the white static I kill from. “Come near her again, and I will end you.”
I start to press Lilah back towards the stairs. The crowd advances, rage and bloodlust tightening features and dropping fangs. She cowers against me. Shaking.
One of the guards leers. I tap the trigger.
The bullet catches him in the knee and down he goes. They rush us.
Grabbing Lilah, I toss her over my shoulder and rush the rail. My boots land on the slick wood of the banister and I jump. Her screams deafen me. We drop to the floor below with a shallow flex of my knees. I push through the patrons as more yells and heavy boots land behind us.
Flashing lights illuminate the streets beyond the dark glass. Lock Lake’s finest pour through the doors in an armor-clad stream.
Fuck.
People and supes dart around; whores and drunkards dive for cover as tactical lights wave like beacons and badges shine in the dimness. “Hands up!” The bellows mix with the angry shouts from above. In the distance, the rear door bangs, too, and uniforms crawl the club.
Surrounded.
With a growl, I set Lilah on her feet. She teeters in place, one hand trying to grip my sleeve. I reach to steady her. The nearest cop, a thick guy, with a razor cut and sharp, angular face, grabs her by the arm and pulls her back.
She bucks in his hold.
“On your fucking knees,” the cop says, free hand motioning me with his hardware.
My lips peel back from my fangs and I hiss. “Not happening.”
All the color leaves Lilah’s face. She stares at me, a mix of fear, confusion ... and betrayal flowing across her features. “But...” she sways. “A vampire? You’re a vampire?” She shakes her head, hand going to her mouth.
I can’t help the sneer. My fangs press deep into my bottom lip with the motion. “Sure am, baby.”
She winces, and backs away. Right into the arms of the cop.
Rage, pure and unfettered, flows through me as his free hand strokes over her bare arm. Casual. Soothing. Bloodlust slams into my body.
“Remove your hand, cop.”
He levels a bored stare in my direction. “Cuff him.”
The wash of approaching body heat over my back is all the warning I need. I smile. “Yeah. About that ...” I dive under the reaching hands of the cops and seat my heel deep into one man’s gut.
He caves inward as the others move toward me.
With one final glance at Lilah, I flit through the masses and streak outside into the waiting night, leaving the human bartender with her kind.
Which is exactly where she fucking belongs.
4
Lilah
OFFICER NICK MALONE leans against the wall opposite of me, his thick frame still. Watchful. There is a soft knock on the door and he walks over to it. When he leans out into the hall, murmured voices roll through the crack.
I wrap the borrowed windbreaker tighter around my body. The spicy cologne on the collar is the same one that pours from Malone’s skin, but it is nothing like the musk and spice from the vampire.
My eyes close.
A vampire. Of course he is. It’s how my life goes.
The leather should have been a giveaway. Most of his kind are nothing like the Hollywood mythos unless you count Blade or Underworld. But they don’t burn up in daylight, and they can be killed without garlic or a stake. And the blood drinking? That’s real enough.
So why save me? Why risk his life against Vic to get me out of there?
I burrow deeper into the warm material. Vic was fast enough to lawyer up. He will spend maybe a night in lockdown before his lawyer finds a way to get him free. When he does, it will be my ass that gets blamed for all of this.
And there is only one thing for me to do.
“Ms. Marks?” I look up, and Malone raises a brow. “You may go.”
I start to shrug out of his jacket but he holds a hand up.
“Hang on to it until you can get to some clothes.” He shoves a hand through his thick blond hair. “I’ll have one of the officers on duty take you home.”
Home.
Great.
With a sigh of resignation, I climb to my feet and follow him from the room.
I FLICK THE LIGHT ON inside the door, noting, once again, that my ratty secondhand furniture is in need of an overhaul. Dropping my keys into the small bowl next to the door, I keep all the other lights off as I slip down the hall to the only bedroom.
My eyes dip to the closet and the duffel that waits. I need to pack. To get the hell out of town before Vic is released. He will come for me. And if I have any hope of seeing my next birthday, I need as much of a head start as I can get.
Instead, I drop on to the foot of the bed and bury my head in my hands. Even with the borrowed jacket and pair of sweats from the station, it’s cold. Icy. At odds with the heat of a Louisiana spring outside. Running seems daunting. Impossible.
Especially when I know the kind of cavalry Vic will use to hunt me down.
After years of working at Blue Moon and now at Carnage, I have spent my life around others. Vampires, shifters, Fae, and beings capable of unbelievable power. But the vampire in the club tonight ... He was the first that simultaneously scared me and excited me.
It was more than the chiseled lines of his face or the hard muscle under his leathers. He exuded menace and pride. Virility. Power. And God knows I wanted it. Wanted him.
For the first time in a long time, my body heated and loosened. Every time those midnight eyes rolled over me, it was like a pass of one of his big hands. They would be calloused, I’m sure. Hard and all male. Just like him.
He’s the kind of guy that could go either way depending on the person he’s around. Either he will protect you with his life or kill you.
But he’s a blood drinker, one of the dark demons. They are untrustworthy. All my years working for Vic has more than proven that.
I press my hands further into my skin, digging until the pressure chokes off what I am feeling. No doubt he’s like Draven. A killer. Evil. But it doesn’t change the fact I wanted him. For a brief second, I could feel what he could do to me. The passion. The fire.
And I would have walked away from everything I know to taste it. To really live. Just for a moment.
Stupid.
Even after all these years I haven’t learned my lesson.
&
nbsp; All supernaturals are evil. The dark eyed vamp included. And I’m better off far away from them all. The groan that leaves me is frustration vocalized.
Climbing to my feet, I walk to the closet and rip the old duffel free to start packing. Because after tonight, I never have to think about dark eyes or any of it again.
5
Ruin
UNDERGROUND WRITHES with weed smoke, incense, and too many bodies. Half-baked teens and adults sway and bob to techno and rap, glow sticks in their white-knuckled fists and even more light flashing around their necks. But there isn’t a fucking human in the joint.
Thank-fucking-goddess.
Slipping along the outer edge of the wall, Prisma lifts the velvet rope to the stairs leading into the recessed basement. The one reserved for the upper elite. His massive arms make the damn rope look like a line of thread in his hold. I pass him and dive deeper into the Pit. At the far table, the men wait, glasses in hand.
A slim waitress—in the prescribed mini and bustier—walks to me, tray in hand. She stares up at me as she approaches, tongue flicking back and forth over her thin bottom lip. The motion is salacious and coy. But her hair is a thick bounty of brunette waves, like Lilah’s.
Fuck.
I snare the glass of Macallan that she offers and drop into the black leather booth beside Tanner. Knocking the shot back, I hold my fingers up at the bartender waiting.
The waitress hustles back and sets a crystal decanter of the single malt and a low glass before me. Avoiding her, I pour it to the brim and swallow the whole thing between breaths.
“Rough night?” Caine’s voice is a rich purr across the table.
I snarl. “Cops fucking raided Carnage.”
His hellfire eyes glitter as he leans over the table. The narrow line of dark hair around his mouth adds to the shadows that he lives and breathes. “Bet you wished you called me.”
