Dead and Damaged (The Endangered Series Book 2)

by S. L. Eaves

  “She does believe it,” Vega says, eying Crina cautiously.

  “What about that other vampire? Nicholas? He wasn’t working with Brixton, right?” I look desperately from Quinn to Vega. Quinn is nodding in agreement. Vega is first to speak.

  “I can attest to him being captured by Trion militia,” Vega states. “But something tells me that’s not going to be enough to clear your name under these circumstances.”

  I really thought the compound was rock bottom. This is worse. Having the only beings in the world left you respect, that you can even remotely consider family, look at you with disdain and distrust—it is wrenching. If Catch were here, everything would be different. Just when I was learning how to be part of something again, remembering that feeling, I look around the room and feel truly alone.

  Catch’s warning echoes in my ear: Run!

  “Tell me something, Crina. Was Marcus smiling when he gave the order to come here for me? I bet he was. Yet he didn’t have the nerve to come here himself.”

  My statement catches her off guard and her eyes gleam with rage at the mention of her dear Marcus. Some part of her has to know something isn’t right about this, though.

  I look to Vega. “I didn’t kill those vampires. Not a single one. Sure I’ve killed a few, but most of us here have at one point or another. And I don’t regret a single kill. I’ll do it again if I think it’s the right move. But I don’t hunt down vampires simply for what they are, and neither does the DIA. I am not part of some conspiracy to eliminate vampires. This is insane.”

  At the end of the day, I want my clan to believe me, but the Pureblood can tell if I’m lying, and I need him on my side if I’m going to have any chance of surviving this.

  “She’s telling the truth, Crina,” Vega insists. “Please reconsider.”

  “Why the hell would I trust you? From what I hear, no one has committed more crimes against our kind than you. The only reason you get a pass in because you’re a Pureblood.”

  “And as such I’m giving her amnesty. You don’t want to work with us, fine, but you’re not leaving here with her unless it’s by her own free will.”

  “That’s not going to fly. This is clan business, Vega. We brought her in, we’ll deal with the consequences.”

  Dade crosses the room towards me. Quinn steps in front of him.

  “Quinn, move. This is not about us. Marcus gave orders.”

  “You really his puppet? Don’t do this.” Quinn holds her ground.

  This time it’s Vega’s voice I hear in my head: “Make a run for it. It’s going to get ugly.”

  Has he been able to communicate telepathically this whole time?!

  I can’t waste time wondering. Up until this point I’d remained frozen for fear of inciting a fight. Now I don’t have a choice.

  “Sorry, Vega, send me the bill.”

  The bickering stops and his voice breaks the tension. “For what?”

  When you’ve been thrown through your fair share of windows, jumping through one doesn’t seem all that bad.

  I bolt towards the window behind me, the one farthest from Crina. I pass Xan as I do and grab the firearm from his backside. The window breaks and I try my best to make the three-story leap look graceful. My feet strike the ground, I roll from the momentum, spring up, and take off down the street, expecting to hear shots behind me. Knowing I don’t have a chance against my old clan, I can buy time, but it’s only delaying the inevitable.

  As I slip into the first dark alley I see, I wonder how much of a head start I’ve got. I won’t have to wait long to find out.

  ***

  Rex and Malik enter at the sound of glass breaking.

  “What the hell just happened?!”

  “What didn’t happen would be the easier question to answer,” Quinn says through clenched teeth.

  “Joke’s on her,” Xan says, looking out the window. “That wasn’t a gun.”

  “What do we do, man?” Dade looks bewildered to the point of tears.

  “We don’t have a choice, Dade, our allegiance is to Marcus.” Xan says grimly, “I’m sorry Vega, for what it’s worth, I believe you about Florien. But I can’t stand against Marcus. Neither he nor Crina has ever put a human before a vampire. There has to be some pretty clear evidence to back up their claims.”

  “I understand. Do what you have to do. I just ask you to trust to your instincts with this.” Vega looks around the room. “Where is Crina?”

  “Dammit. She must have gone after Lori.” Xan heads for the door. Dade moves to follow Xan out, but Quinn grabs his arm.

  “Dade, you do this, we’re done.”

  Dade stops, regards Quinn with a look that says please don’t make me choose sides.

  “You really believe Lori?”

  “I do. She saved my life when vampires were trying to kill us in Amsterdam…Never saw her kill one that didn’t have it coming. And I’ve been in that compound. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.”

  “Xan,” Dade sighs, “I’m sitting this one out.”

  Xan, who is on his phone, looks from Quinn to Dade, nods, and disappears down the hall, speaking into the phone as he exits. “Hey, Jiro. Lori’s tracking chip is dead, right?…How about Crina’s?”

  “Someone tell me what’s going on?” Rex asks, still dumbfounded.

  ***

  I’m racing blindly through the hilly streets of San Francisco. I’m flushed with fresh blood, so I’ve got strength and speed working for me. But I have no idea where I am or where I’m going. I need to find somewhere to lay low while I sort this all out.

  Suddenly I realize the quiet residential neighborhood has been replaced by bustling nightlife. I must have reached downtown. Bars and restaurants line both sides of the street, groups of people congregate on the sidewalk, smoking, laughing, carefree.

  And I’m standing in a dark alley stalking them like some tired cliché.

  I remember the phone. I fish the burner out of my back pocket, turn it on, and hit call when the programmed number appears on the display.

  After three rings: “Hello?”

  “Uh—” I try to remember if there’s a code word or something I’m supposed to give. “Abrams, please,” I say, opting for a polite but urgent tone.

  “Who is this?”

  “Lori Black. Umm, Agent Black.”

  “Lori?”

  “Yes. Is Agent Abrams available?”

  “No, this is Agent Sullivan. I can put you in touch with Abrams, but I need more information.”

  Right, Sullivan said this was his direct line.

  “Sullivan, great, yeah, I’m in a jam. Brixton turned a group of vampires against me. I’m being hunted. I need a safe place to hide out. Can your team help? Offer, I don’t know—asylum or something?”

  “What’s your 20?”

  “Huh?”

  “Location? Status? You under fire?”

  “I’m in downtown San Francisco.” I risk a few steps out onto the sidewalk, look for a street sign, but can’t spot one. “I’m on the run; it’s not safe for me to stay put. Can’t you just activate my tracking chip? Tell Abrams I’ve got info for him regarding Brixton. You know she was behind that attack in London? Get me out of here and I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

  “Okay, we’ll send a team in. We’re in Los Angeles, so it’ll be an hour or two before we can get to you.”

  “An hour or more?!”

  “Believe it or not, that’s a very good response time.”

  Fuck. Damn. What did I expect? I should be grateful they’re not coming from D.C.

  “Alright, thanks. And hurry! Tell Abrams his most valuable asset might be dead by sunrise.”

  Most valuable. Where’d that come from? More like most reckless.

  “Keep your phone on you; we’ll call with an extraction point.”

  “Okay. And whatever happens, you are under no circumstances to kill any vampires.”

  “Seriously?!”

  “Yes,
seriously. You want the retaliation from that? Vampires will be at your doorstep.”

  “Okay, okay. Hang tight.”

  “Remind Abrams that I’m in this mess because of him.”

  I hang the phone up.

  Now how to evade capture for the next hour or so…I steal a car, that could attract the cops. And I haven’t successfully hotwired one that was from this decade. A taxi passes by. Perfect. I check that the coast is clear and run out to flag it down.

  I jump in the back, ducking down.

  “Where to?” the driver asks with a slight Hispanic accent.

  That’s a good question. I don’t know the area at all. The only city that comes to mind is Los Angeles.

  “L.A.?”

  He laughs, “That’s a six-hour drive, ma’am. I don’t go south of Palo Alto.”

  “Take me there, then.”

  The mix of urgency and desperation in my voice raises suspicion.

  “That’s going to run you over hundred with surcharge; you got cash?” he asks wearily as he adjusts his rearview mirror to find me. That’s my cue. I duck out as swiftly as I’d entered.

  I risk running down the street in plain view for several blocks, then seek shelter in an alley between a pair of bars.

  There is a club across the street with a short line of people mingling at its entrance. Hiding in a crowded club would make for a good cover. The question is how to get in. I have a gun sticking out of the back of my jeans that my t-shirt is doing a poor job of concealing, and not a dollar to my name to pay a cover charge. Not to mention the lack of ID. Considering that I look twenty-two, I’m guaranteed to get carded.

  Normally, I have a respectable fake to produce in these situations. But nothing about tonight is normal. It’s not as though I had time to prepare. I have cigarettes in one back pocket, the DIA’s burner in the other. I’m lucky to have that much. But to walk around in public I’m going to need a way to conceal the gun. To get into a bar I’m going to need to steal a wallet off someone who looks passably like me.

  Maybe I should abandon this plan and head towards water. Find a boat.

  I emerge from the alley twirling a cigarette. I lean against the corner, far enough into the sidewalk that I’m visible to those passing by. As a crowd of twenty-somethings passes, I hold up the cigarette.

  “Anyone got a light?”

  Just a chorus of head shakes.

  A chick walks by who doesn’t look much like me but is smoking.

  “Light?” I ask.

  “Sorry,” she says, not slowing her stride or getting close enough to accost.

  This continues for several long minutes. I decide I can’t stay in place any longer. One or two more tries and then it’s off to find the piers we passed on the way into town.

  “Light?”

  I look over my shoulder as an older guy approaches, freshly lit cigarette between his lips. His eyes are looking at the unlit one hanging from mine.

  “You read my mind,” I smile.

  “No one smokes in this city anymore. You basically need to supply your own backups,” he jokes.

  I nod, “Yeah, no kidding.”

  As he leans in to light it, I look past him to make sure no one is watching us. There are people around, but no one close or paying any attention.

  I knock him sideways into the alley and slam him to the ground. He groans and I land a punch in the side of his head. I make sure to pull it; I don’t want to crush his skull. But I can’t control my own strength very well and I smell the blood before I see it. Damn.

  Turning his head sideways, I spot a trickle of blood from a cut above his ear, but he still has a pulse and I’m hoping it’s just a minor concussion. Is there such thing as a minor head crack?

  I prop him up against a mound of trash bags and remove his jacket. It’s a little big but it’ll do. His wallet has forty bucks, which I relieve him of. I could just take a twenty, but I need to sell this as a mugging. Lastly, I try my best to wipe off any fingerprints before I leave him to be discovered. It seems trivial, but my fingerprints are in the system from my past life, and I really don’t need them resurfacing in a police database over a petty theft.

  The lack of ID turns out to be less of a problem than I anticipated. I find an eighteen and over nightclub at the end of the street and a ten-dollar cover gets me in the door no questions asked. I let the crowd consume me. As I make my way through, I realize I’m suddenly extremely grateful Brixton removed Jiro’s tracking chip.

  I try to hang by the bar and blend, but the bartender is quick to shoo me away while pointing at my lack of wristband. The place is packed and before I know it the throngs of patrons have managed to carry me to the far wall like a tidal wave.

  Doing my best wallflower impression, I spot a tall figure with dark hair that resembles Crina weaving through the crowd. I’m being paranoid. Relax. The paranoia eventually wins. I see a storeroom and slip inside.

  “Hey, staff only,” a bus boy yells.

  I push past him and exit through the back door. It’s a relief to be free of that place, but I’m exposed again.

  Evidently there’s a construction site behind the club. I survey it for a moment, trying to decide whether to take cover in there. With Sullivan’s men arriving via chopper, I decide to climb the site to get a good vantage point. I’ve been purposely avoiding rooftops for their lack of cover, but I’m growing more impatient by the moment.

  Stepping over heaps of drywall and pipe, it appears there’s enough of a foundation in place to allow for multiple hiding places. I jump up, grab a support beam, and scale the building’s framework. I stop just short of the highest set of planks, taking cover behind some drywall.

  How did I get so royally fucked? How the hell did Brixton convince them I was the enemy?

  Marcus wouldn’t have needed convincing. He’s been waiting for an excuse to pull the trigger. And what did Crina say about synthetic blood?

  I remove the gun from the small of my back to check the clip and discover it is not a gun at all, at least not in the traditional sense. It’s loaded with an expandable hook. At least that’s what it appears to be.

  “A rappelling gun? Go figure, Xan,” I mutter.

  Not that I would return fire. I’m not even sure why I grabbed it. I remember glimpsing it as I darted past Xan and snatching it instinctively.

  I consider doubling back. Vega might know a good place to take refuge. Him with all his houses and resources…I close my eyes and try to channel him like he had been able to do. Vega, you there? Minutes pass with no response.

  I hear footsteps and climb to the edge of the platform to check, hoping it’s just more club-goers. I see a dark figure moving fast down the alley that stretches the length of the club.

  Xan? Shit.

  I spin and nearly collide with Crina. Yeah, with their tracking skills, I shouldn’t be surprised.

  “What took you so long?” I force a sheepish grin.

  “You trying to tell us something?” She kicks some splintered strips of wood away. “Surrounding yourself with all this wood, a vampire could get the wrong idea.”

  “I’m sure there’s a good joke in there somewhere.” I retreat slowly.

  “We really going to do this?”

  She doesn’t seem any more eager for this confrontation than I am.

  I feel the board below my feet teeter.

  “I’d rather not. You know I would never do anything to betray Catch. Think about it: he wouldn’t have wanted this.”

  “Catch would never turn his back on his own kind. He’d be disappointed in you.”

  At that I stop retreating. “No, he’d believe me.”

  I jump as high as I can in a straight vertical, landing hard. The board gives and flips up like a seesaw. It launches Crina backwards. She recovers quickly with a midair back flip, from which I’m sure she landed on her feet, but I don’t hang around to watch. I jump again, this time grabbing an overhead beam. I swing up and continue to climb northward.
<
br />   “You’re running out of floors.” Xan sits on the edge of the platform, waiting to greet me when I reach the last level of beams.

  “You too, Xan?”

  “I don’t have a choice, Lori. I won’t oppose Marcus or Crina. But I would like to see this video myself first, this so-called proof, so how about you give me the chance. Let us bring you in.”

  I steady myself on some plywood. “I’d like you to see the video, too. You’ll be able to tell it’s been edited. You demand to see it, Xan. No matter what happens tonight. Once you see the fake footage, you’ll know she’s been lying about everything.”

  Xan stands and I retreat slowly, scanning the scaffolding, wondering where Crina will resurface.

  “You know how guilty this makes you look?”

  “What would you do in my shoes? Clan turns against you?”

  “I’d opt for a less dramatic resolution. Speaking of which, that rappelling gun you took. I’d like it back.” He starts inching towards me.

  “I’m not in the position to part with it just yet.” I look around for possible avenues of escape.

  “It’s a prototype; I don’t even know if it works yet.”

  He’s unarmed, but I know that’s a ploy to get me to lower my guard. The real weapon is around here somewhere, planning her next move.

  “How’d you find me?” I stall.

  Xan throws me a pair of wrist cuffs, thick steel shackles. The kind a vampire can’t break.

  “We know how you think. That club down there is noisy, crowded, a good place to hide and hard for us to attack. We figured you’d be inside. So maybe we don’t know you that well.” He forces a smirk.

  “And you just happened to pack these in your luggage?”

  “They’re Crina’s. I asked for a chance to talk, thought maybe you’d reconsider. Come with us voluntarily.”

  So she chased me up here. And she’s probably got a clean headshot and an itchy trigger finger.

  “You thought wrong, Xan.” I kick the shackles off the platform and listen as they clamber against the beams on their way down.

  I spot a shadow move across the drywall, but react too late. Crina grabs me from behind in a chokehold. I throw myself into her, knocking her back. We’re at the edge of the platform and my momentum knocks us both off the side. To her credit, she doesn’t release her jujitsu-like hold on me as we go over.