“Plan B?” she asked.
“Oh, hell yeah.”
He looked like he was actually looking forward to Plan B.
Harper shook her head. Men. Like overgrown kids, all of them.
Mr. GH pulled out a chair for her across from Archer, but she didn’t let him push it in when she sat down. After all, nothing slowed an escape more than a chair pushed all the way up to a table.
She was glad when Mr. GH gave Archer a quick bow before meandering back into the crowd. If she never saw that little creeper again, she’d be a happy camper.
Archer’s mouth tipped up when Riddick refused the chair he was offered, choosing instead to stand behind Harper, hands on her shoulders. “I would’ve sworn the two of you were lovers. This stance makes you seem more like bodyguard and master.”
Riddick’s hands tightened reflexively on her shoulders, but thankfully, he remained quiet. She knew he’d heard Romeo say that fighters were expected to be seen and not heard. She just hadn’t been sure he’d be able to stay silent and let her take the lead. Especially when she knew his first impulse was probably to toss her over his shoulder, caveman-style, and haul her out of danger’s path.
Harper gave Archer a sharp grin of her own and said, “Why would we be one or the other when we can be both?” She waved a hand dismissively. “Labels bore me.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “Touché, my darling. Touché.” Extending a hand, he said, “My name is Archer. And you are…?”
She glanced down at his hand. There was no way in hell she was touching him. God knows what kind of horrific visions she’d unwittingly pick up off him. “I’m…wondering why I’m here, Archer.”
He seemed simultaneously surprised and intrigued by her indifference. “You’re a beautiful couple,” he said, almost sounding sincere. “I merely was hoping we could spend some time together.”
His smile made her skin crawl. “Us spending time together?” She put just enough emphasis on the word time to let him know she knew what he really meant by that. “Not going to happen. At least not like what you have in mind.”
This time his surprised expression bled into barely concealed anger. “Little one, you’ll do well to watch your tone with me. I’m not sure you understand who you’re dealing with.”
She gave him a smile so sweet he’d go into a diabetic coma if he was human. “Oh, I know exactly who I’m dealing with. You’re the Vrykolakas who can’t seem to quit losing his businesses to the Lykoi.”
Archer’s nostrils flared and any remaining trace of humanity he had left bled from his expression as he leaned forward, hissing at her, flashing his fangs.
That’s when everything went a little…sideways.
But fortunately, sideways was all just another part of Plan B.
The two guards at Archer’s sides lunged forward, but didn’t make it within ten feet of her. Riddick pulled two silver knives from the loops he had sewn into the back of his jeans and flung them at the guards. Both men hit the ground simultaneously, clutching the hilts of the knives sticking out of their throats.
The guards at the exits made their way to the table in a blur of vampire super speed. Riddick grabbed one of them by his throat and slammed him down on the table in front of a stunned Archer, and smashed the other guard’s knee with a well-placed side kick, dropping him like a bag of wet cement.
The funny part of the whole scene? No one else in the VIP section was particularly concerned about what was going on around them. Looking incredibly put-upon, the other patrons simply gathered their drinks and casually made their way back to the dance floor on the main level. In what kind of place, Harper wondered, was it commonplace for people—or vampires, even—to end up with knives sticking out of their throats? How jaded did you have to be before that didn’t faze you?
It was a crazy, crazy world they lived in, that much was certain.
Her musings were interrupted when the last remaining guard started moving purposefully around the table, eyes full of blood and focused intently on Riddick.
He’d regret being a sexist pig. She’d been training weekly with Riddick for over a year. And this asshole was about to learn that she was every bit as much a threat to his boss as Riddick was.
When he rounded the table on Archer’s side, Harper dove under the table and swept his legs out from under him. He was surprised and completely lost his balance, landing with an oomph on his stomach. Nimbly, before he could get up, she rolled over and slid his sword from its scabbard. He made a grab for her, but she was already up and around the table, pressing the blade against Archer’s throat from behind him.
The guard she’d knocked to the floor got up and moved toward her, eyes throwing off angry sparks. She pressed the blade into Archer’s neck, letting it lightly nick his skin. “That’s close enough, sparky. I don’t really want to cut your boss’s head off, but I will if you take another step.”
He met Archer’s gaze for a moment, and whatever he saw in his boss’s eyes had him raising his hands and backing up a step.
“That’s better,” she said. “Maybe we can have a real conversation now.”
Archer laughed. “What could we possibly have to talk about after this display, little one?”
“First of all, don’t call me little one. It’s creepy as all hell.” She shuddered. “Second of all, we have lots to talk about. Many mutual interests, as it turns out.”
He tipped his head back—carefully, mindful of the blade at his throat—and smirked at her. She frowned at him. “No, I’m not talking about that. That was never going to happen, by the way.”
Archer glanced back at Riddick wistfully. “A pity, that.”
Riddick didn’t spare him a glance, but did scowl pretty severely as he knocked out the guard he’d pinned to the table and zip-tied the hands of the guard Harper’d taken down. The guard with the busted knee wisely stayed still and quiet on the floor.
“Yes, your loss,” Harper said dryly. “Trust me. But if you play your cards right, you could still end up a winner in this whole mess. Interested in what I have to say? Or should I go ahead and Highlander you for the hell of it?”
She glanced over at Riddick and added, “I’ve always wanted to say ‘there can be only one’ before beheading someone.”
Riddick just shook his head and smiled fondly at her as he forced the guard with the zip-tied hands down into a chair.
Archer clenched his jaw, but said calmly, “I’m listening.”
She smiled and took a seat next to him before handing the sword over to Riddick, who moved to hover protectively behind her. She didn’t look back at him, but could practically feel the cold scowl he was leveling at Archer.
“You and I both want the same thing, Archer,” she began. “And I’m not talking about a three-way. I’m talking about Romeo Jones, either dead or just…gone. Forever.”
He raised a brow and leaned forward. “Now you truly have my attention.”
“Yeah, I thought that might do it. See, in order for me to get Romeo out of my life, I need you to let another fighter into the Arena in Romeo’s place.” She tipped her head to one side. “Unless…I don’t guess you’d be willing to waive Romeo’s debt out of the kindness of your heart?”
He snorted and crossed his arms over his chest. “Not likely. He owes me over three hundred and eighty thousand. Who do you want to fight in his place?”
Harper nodded in Riddick’s direction. Archer glanced up at him and smirked. “Well, the crowd would certainly love him. But in order to pay off Romeo’s debt, he’d need to win every match, even against the Lykoi’s best man, who is undefeated. And the Arena is hand-to-hand. No weapons,” he said, glancing distastefully at the silver knives sticking out of his guards’ throats. “Do you think he can handle it?”
“After seeing him take down your very own guards, you can sit there and ask me that with a straight face?” She shook her head. “Trust me, he’s the best fighter you’ll ever see in your life. There’s no one on th
eir team who can beat him.”
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully for a moment before saying, “You ask me to trust you, when all I really know of you is that you got yourself invited to my table under false pretenses, then proceeded to injure my men and threaten my life. Wouldn’t I be the very worst kind of fool for trusting you after what I’ve seen tonight? How am I to know you’re not a cop or a reporter, hoping to shut down or expose the Arena?”
She glanced down at herself, then over at Riddick before looking back at Archer, brows raised. “Do we look like cops or reporters?”
He looked down his nose at her. “You expect me to take you at your word?”
Harper shrugged. “I guess not.” She held a hand out to him. “Give me your phone.”
After a few more haughty glares, he handed her his iPhone and she called the one person—probably in the whole world—who could convince a mob boss she wasn’t a cop or reporter. After a few rings, he answered, “Is this the person to whom I am speaking?”
“Does that joke ever get old, Mickey?” she asked.
Her uncle chuckled. “Never. I didn’t know it was you; I didn’t recognize this number. How are you, sweetheart?”
“I’m good, thanks. I have a favor to ask.”
“Anything, of course.”
She briefly laid out what she needed, without giving him any detail as to the why. The less he knew the better, since he’d tell her mother what she was up to, and would then undoubtedly spill his guts as soon as she asked any questions.
When she finished, he sighed. “Harper, you know I don’t have any power in Vegas, right? I mean, I’m respected, of course, but I have no real ties there.”
“I know. I’m not asking for anything but credibility.”
“And you know how dangerous this is, right?”
She glanced at Archer. “Right.”
“And you’ve thought it all through?”
“Yeah.” Not that thinking it all through had done her any good. Their options at this point pretty much stunk on ice, no matter how well thought out they were.
“All right then,” he said, still sounding less than reassured. “I trust you, for some reason. Good luck, sweetheart. You’re gonna need it.”
“Um, thanks, I think?”
“Put that arrogant little SOB on the phone, OK, hon?”
“You got it, Mickey.”
They exchanged I love you’s and air kisses before she handed the phone back over to Archer. “He wants to talk to you,” she said.
“Hello?” he asked, through a shit-eating smirk that he kept trained on Harper.
But after he listened for a moment, he shifted his gaze away, the smirk dying on his lip. He sat up straighter. His eyes shot up to Riddick, then back to Harper.
Harper couldn’t hear what her uncle was saying, but whatever it was had Archer shocked shitless. “Yes,” he finally murmured. “I understand.”
He ended the call and slipped the phone back into his jacket pocket with shaky hands. After a short silence during which he did nothing but stare at the floor, he lifted his eyes to Harper.
“So, now do you believe we’re not cops or reporters?” she asked.
He opened and closed his mouth a few times, obviously struggling to find the right words. Eventually, he settled on, “How exactly do you know Michelangelo Petrocelli?”
Harper shot him a carbon copy of his own nasty smile. “That’s not really your concern. Are we in, or are we out, Archer?”
He looked back up at Riddick, silently taking his measure. “You’re in. I’ll add him to tomorrow’s roster. No names are used, so he’ll be number seven.”
A pit of dread formed in Harper’s stomach. They’d just gotten exactly what they came for.
And they’d just turned Riddick into a number who’d be forced to fight for his life the following night.
What had they done?
Chapter Sixteen
Mischa stared at Leon Steinfeld, who was unconscious and folded neatly into the trunk of her Accord, curled up on top of her spare tire and winter emergency kit.
“Did you try talking to him first?”
Hunter ran a hand through his hair, looking frustrated. “Yeah. He’s a real douchebag.”
Yep, that’s what she remembered about Leon. She assumed he was immune to mind control, too. Because while he was most certainly a douchebag, Leon Steinfeld was definitely not weak-minded.
But that didn’t answer the other question on her mind. “Um…after you knocked him out, why didn’t you just put him in the backseat?”
Hunter looked down at her blankly for a moment, obviously thinking, then said, “Huh. Hadn’t really thought of that.”
She blinked and glanced back down at Leon’s unconscious form. Hunter’s first instinct had been to knock the guy out and shove him in the trunk. She waited a moment for that thought to disturb her.
It never really did. Did that make her a bad person?
Oh well, no reason to worry about that now. They all had bigger problems.
Mischa shrugged. “Fair enough. If you’ll carry the top half, I’ll take his legs.”
Hunter frowned at her before plucking Leon out of the trunk as if he was weightless. He chucked him over his shoulder and walked away.
She supposed she’d insulted him by offering to help carry Leon. Suppressing an eye roll, she trailed after him.
Men. Can’t live with ‘em, can’t kill…well, she supposed that didn’t really apply here. Not since Hunter was already dead and all.
Five minutes later, Leon was bound to a chair with zip ties in Hunter’s apartment.
“You want to be good cop, or bad cop?” Mischa asked.
Hunter grinned at her. “What do you think?”
He was right. There was no way he could play the good cop. Good thing, too. She couldn’t have argued with him if her life depended on it. That damn grin had rendered her dumb and mute.
She threw a glass of cold tap water in Leon’s face and he came awake in an instant, sputtering.
He glanced around, his brow furrowing as he saw Mischa. His eyes widened as his gaze bounced between her and Hunter. The expression on his face was so comical, Mischa thought the poor guy would probably pee his pants soon.
He tugged uselessly at the ties. “W-what’s going on?”
“Remember me, Leon?” she asked sweetly.
His eyes narrowed, which wrinkled his forehead, causing his unibrow—which already resembled a fat caterpillar—to undulate somewhat disturbingly. “Of course I remember you. You’re the bitch who got me fired.”
Hunter backhanded him. “I warned you about that once already,” he said. “There won’t be another warning.”
Mischa blinked. Shit. She’d barely seen his hand move. It’d all happened that fast. One second Leon was calling her a bitch, the next he had blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
Then his words penetrated her shock. “Wait a minute…what do you mean you warned him about that once already? Did he say something about me when you talked to him at the bar?”
He didn’t say anything, but his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. That’s when it all made sense. He’d knocked Leon out and stuffed him in the trunk not simply because he’d been a douchebag, but because he’d disrespected her.
If Harper were here, she would’ve called that kind of thing romantic. But not Mischa. She was much more…
She sighed. Oh, hell. What was the point in lying to herself? It was romantic. A little violent, possibly psychotic, but definitely romantic.
Damn it. How was she supposed to keep saying no to him if he was going to be hot and romantic?
Mischa cleared her throat, trying to dislodge the lump that had inexplicably settled there. “I’ll get to the point, Leon. I need to know where I can get my hands on the antidote to whatever you Sentry science a-holes used to kill cleaners, and you’re going to help me.”
His expression moved from fear to loathing as he glanced back at he
r. “Yeah, keep dreaming. I still don’t have a job because of you and the giant blot you put on my work history. I’m living on welfare, for God’s sake.”
“No,” she said, drawing the word out a few extra syllables. “You’re living on credit card scams. Welfare is just the beard you hide your illegal activities behind.”
When he looked surprised, she added dryly, “I’m smart, too, remember?”
He tipped his head to one side as he studied her. “Not smart enough to realize that kidnapping me was a bad idea. If you intend to blackmail me into helping you, you just gave me all the leverage I need to blackmail you right back.”
Hunter put his hands on Leon’s chair and leaned in close. “Dead men don’t blackmail anyone.”
Leon gulped audibly, then licked his lips as Hunter took a step back. “Dead men don’t help anyone find antidotes, either.”
Touché, Mischa thought. The little jerk was clever. And a little braver than she would’ve imagined. She’d give him that much. She turned to Hunter. “Can you read his mind?”
Hunter turned sharp, narrowed eyes on Leon, who cowered in his chair. After a moment, he said, with no small amount of disgust, “No. He’s shielded somehow.”
Yeah, she’d been afraid of that. She once heard that Sentry employees with high-level security clearance had implants at the base of their spines that somehow rendered them immune to vampire mind-reading and control. She’d hoped it was an urban legend. It was really just her luck that it wasn’t.
She gave Leon a what-the-hell gesture, palms upturned. “What will convince you to help me, Leon? Money? I can pay you.”
He snorted. “Yeah, right. There’s not enough money in the world to make me help you.”
Hunter eased a hunting knife out of his jacket pocket and held it up, examining the blade. “We can always do this the way of my people.”
A bead of sweat trickled down Leon’s temple. “W-what’s that mean?”
Again, Hunter moved in a blur of supernatural speed so impressive, Mischa barely saw it until he was behind Leon, yanking his head back by a fistful of hair and pressing the knife to his scalp.
Semi-Human (Harper Hall Investigations Book 2) Page 9