by Tiana Laveen
“That is a nice car, isn’t it? I bet we can take it for a spin. It’s the least she can do after killin’ Anthony. YOU STUPID FUCKIN’ CUNT!” The man’s fangs descended as he pointed to their dead friend, the one who’d been waiting for her in the car.
Venus burst out laughing; she simply couldn’t help herself. Oh, this was going to be sooo good.
Both of them stared at her in confusion.
“It looks like your dead pal here didn’t have time to tell you the conversation he overheard right before he tried to slice my throat open. I’ve got some blood flowin’ through me that is so rich, so vibrant, so deadly, so beautiful that there isn’t a fucking thing you can do to me!” she roared, then jumped on the nearby brick wall, crawling in record speed across it, her silver dagger with sick Anthony’s blood still on it wedged between her teeth. The music from her car kept on playing. Iggy Azalea’s ‘Bounce’ gave her motivation as she raced around them, weaving from side to side like a ping-pong ball.
“What tha? What tha fuck is she doing?!” the one named Lilith exclaimed. “Where is she?!”
“Stealing your motherfuckin’ soul! Eat this, bitch!” Lilith let out a groan as the silver dagger struck the back of her head, piercing all the way through until it protruded out of her forehead. In seconds flat, the bitch had been cut through her thin, pale flesh, half way decapitated.
Venus jerked the blade, slicing downward, splitting her head in half. The tall one roared and raced towards her, his long, thin fangs descended as he lunged for her, while Lilith hit the ground like the bullshit that she was. Venus darted away, scaling the wall once again, chasing shadows and marrying the night.
“You stupid bitch! You killed my friend and my woman! I’mma make you pay!” He took his gun out and begun to shoot into the darkness, lighting up the alleyway—but nowhere close to where she was. She slid down against the same dumpster from which he’d emerged when she first laid eyes on him, and tracked his movements for a spell…
He’s slow as shit. This will be a piece of cake.
“AHHHHH!” His yell was short and choppy as she came up behind him and snapped his neck. He fell to the ground, still very much alive, his eyes wild.
“Hi, motherfucker.” She towered over him, then crouched down, snatching his gun away. She quickly opened the chamber… silver bullets. Well, I’m not a fucking werewolf; this shit isn’t lethal, but these bullets still pack a hell of a punch. They’d slow me down for sure.
Yeah, they came prepared. Someone definitely sent them my way but this was in no way good enough. None of this would kill me now… Maybe they didn’t actually want me dead? Or perhaps, they have no idea what I am actually capable of…
Removing the bullets, she slid them into her jacket pocket then stabbed him in the heart, twisting it hard and rough. His moan warmed her soul… but he held on to his miserable life, refused to die just yet.
“My name is Venus Margaret Anderson. I was born in South Carolina over two centuries ago. I am the Turned daughter of my mistress. I am the betrothed wife of King Alexandre Marseille of France.”
“I don’t… I don’t give uh fuck who you are.” He coughed. But she knew better… When she mentioned her Boo’s name, fear coated his face, even as he took his last dying breaths.
“Whoever hired you didn’t tell you the full scope of the job, did they? And ya boy over there smelling like five-week-old boiled cabbage didn’t have a chance to inform you, either.” She laughed as she hovered over him, getting into his face. “Yeah… you just tried to off the wroooong bitch. Ya grew up a fuckin’ screwup. Rest in Peace, Biggie!” She cocked her head from side to side, then drove her fist into his gut, all the way through his body and out his back. He gasped and began to convulse as she withdrew her hand, bringing out his entrails with it, and stood to her full height, his stinking guts and blood dripping off her knuckles.
Moments later, she was inside her car, breathing fast, her fangs out and her furor taking her asunder. Bloody tissues and wet wipes lay strewn across her passenger’s seat as she attempted to tidy herself up a bit. Her cellphone rang while she made her way back home. Her chest still rising and falling faster than the speed of light, she snatched it up, uncertain what she was going to say.
“Why were you in an alley so fucking long?”
“I knew you were lying. I thought I’d told you to stop fucking tracking me, Alexandre? You said you had less than forty-five minutes ago.” She was halfway amused and pissed all at once.
“I lied. Sue me. I took Whiskey off your trail, but left the tracker. I’m not stupid.”
“And neither am I, but I am pissed the hell off! I just had to kill three Bottom Feeders, Alexandre.”
“Bottom Feeders?! Are you okay?”
“Yeah… as okay as expected. It was an ambush.”
“Three? Where?! In the alley?”
“One of them snuck into my car at the gas station while the other two must’ve followed in a car behind us. They’re all dead now… in that alley. I’m on my way home.”
Alexandre was quiet for a spell.
“Are you certain they’re dead? If not, I need to come and finish the job.”
“Of course they’re dead. You trained me to kill far bigger prey than this. They were small potatoes but I tell you what, I plan to take the longest shower ever when I get home. Damn, do they stink!” She sniffed her car and winced.
“Yeah, they drink inferior blood… like from dead cows, rotten meats… They’ll eat any fucking thing, like vultures. No real discretion. I told you something like this may happen, that people would come for you once they were aware of your existence. A shower sounds good. I will join you… do you need to feed?”
“Yes. Are you offering yourself?” She smirked. She knew that whenever he allowed her to drink from him, they’d get into a sexual frenzy and fuck for hours on end.
“Of course… but in the meantime, I have a few calls to make.”
She knew what that meant. Call was code word for someone’s spine being ripped from their fucking back.
“Don’t keep me in the dark, Alexandre. I’ve earned my damn stripes.” She looked down at her bloodstained clothing and grimaced. “I just bought this outfit! Damn it!”
“Incinerate it. You’ll never get their smell out. I’ll have the clothing replaced in the morning.”
“Who the hell sent these bastards after me? I know that you know, Alexandre!”
The man hesitated for a spell.
“I will level with you. I honestly suspect my brother is involved, Venus. Victor would never directly hire a hitman. He leaves that to others, despite him being a skilled marksman. The fact of the matter is that he doesn’t want to get his hands dirty.”
She sighed and shook her head. There was dirt, filth, grime everywhere. No amount of bleach, detergent, soap or elbow grease would scrub it away. Things were getting ugly, and fast. She prayed she’d be able to keep up…
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
脚踏实地 (jiǎo tà shí dì)
…To step on solid ground.
Alexandre’s gold medallion swung against his bare chest as he climbed down the steps to his parlor on the first floor, clutching his phone in one hand and his car keys in the other. His white silk pants caressed his legs with each stride. Noting the time, he surmised he had about thirty-five to forty minutes tops before his Venus returned home from her evening with the three Fucketeers.
That should be plenty of time, with a few minutes to spare…
Seconds later, he was barreling down Interstate 86, sucking his teeth and blasting ‘Sour Mango’ by Gabriel Garzón-Montano. His thoughts raced, and he wanted nothing more than to gouge his brother’s eyes out. Perhaps then, the fucker would finally be able to see the truth. That happening was definitely a real possibility, for it appeared that his brother was so blinded by his own needs, he’d even convinced himself his actions were all for the greater good of the Coven and Paris at large.
Soon thereafter, he s
tood at the apartment door of a particular Mr. Latham. He hadn’t spoken to the man in quite a while, but his visits to the bastard were never friendly in nature. He rang the bell, then beat on the large chocolate brown door with the side of his fist. Soon, the sleepy-eyed fifty-five-year-old man swung it open, rubbing his weary eyes with rather small hands.
“Alexandre, oh goodness… it’s late. Uh, what are you doing here? Anything wrong?”
Alexandre marched inside, slammed the door, then helped himself to the man’s fully stocked liquor cabinet. He grabbed one of the bottles on the bottom shelf, filled a small shot glass, and downed something atrocious and old fashioned called vodka.
“Is anything wrong? Does a fuckin’ bird go ‘tweet tweet’?” He smirked. “Is your wife here, you piece of shit? I’d hate for her to have to see me jam a cattle prod into your fuckin’ guts… then she’d be next. What a shame, I kind of liked her.”
Latham’s eyes grew large as he gasped and threw up his hands.
“What in the world is going on here? No, she’s not here. She’s out of town on business but—”
“Why didn’t you tell me my brother had contacted you in order to get some assistance for his little misdeeds?”
The man looked dumbfounded, threw up his hands once again and shook his head vigorously.
“Alexandre, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I haven’t spoken to Victor in over five years, maybe even longer.”
“That’s interesting, I believe otherwise.” Alexandre crossed his arms and glared at the man. Interrogations were his thing. Certainly this fucker didn’t think he could get off the witness stand so easily.
“Would you, uh, like something to drink more to your, uh, liking?” He pointed to the now empty glass dangling in his hand.
Mr. Latham was one of the few human beings on Planet Earth who not only knew of the existence of his kind, but he often conducted business with vampires, taking care of shady financial tasks that were done under the guise of stocks and trades. He also helped orchestrate a bit of gambling and last but not least, killers for hire. Mr. Latham was first and foremost Victor’s friend, someone who helped keep check on things while Alexandre was away from Paris. He was a rather savvy accountant; however, Alexandre had deemed him a bit too intrusive and severed the cord. He no longer trusted him, like he did anyone tied to Victor.
“Let’s get right to the point. Victor Marseille orchestrated an attack on my fiancée by not one, not two, but three blood-sick fucking hyenas!”
“Bottom Feeders? Jesus…” The man rubbed his wide chin, worry etched across his face.
“Thanks to the fact that my fiancée is naturally daring, is now highly trained and was already familiar with their kind, she handled the situation. However, if she’d gotten bitten by one of these motherfuckers and he was diseased, well, I highly doubt things would’ve turned out so well.” The man’s complexion deepened. “I suspect at least one was sick because she described the putrid odor. I also know that it is no coincidence that not one, not two, but three were sent. There’s a message in that, about vampires standing on solid ground. We must move in threes, always three steps ahead… This has been part of the Marseille warrior training from the beginning of our existence.”
“It’s also a mockery of the trinity.” The man seemed astounded at his own words, even going as far as to bring two fingers to his lips while taking several steps back.
“Trinity? You liken me to demons, Latham? You self-righteous pretend Christian! Demons work for Satan, you ridiculous frightened fuck. I am a slave to NO ONE! Don’t fucking play with me, Latham!” Alexandre threw the glass of vodka across the room, making it shatter with an almost deafening sound before picking up the man by the throat and raising him high up in the air with one hand.
“Alexandre! Please!” He shook the bastard like a pair of underwear being waved about on a long stick. “I know nothing about this! I swear!” Latham’s thick, dry fingers clawed at Alexandre’s as he fought to catch some air, to breathe, to not black the hell out.
“I tell you what. Call my brother on the phone. If Victor knows nothing of this, I will let you go. If he admits to a plan to send out three losers onto my woman, well, I think you know the consequences. I’d suggest a closed casket.”
“Marseille!”
“NOW.”
“But I know nothing about this! Like I told you, I haven’t spoken to—” Alexandre extended his fangs—a clear warning that, in a matter of seconds, he’d be drained dry and his skeletal remains left in a heap by his fireplace. “Okay, okay!” Latham was shaking like a leaf as Alexandre stood a mere few inches away, watching his every move.
He glanced at a clock on the wall. She’ll be home soon… she’ll have questions about my whereabouts.
“Hurry up!” He shoved Latham in the back, sending him to his knees in a prayer position. The guy scrambled about like a spider dodging a foot, adjusted his glasses across the short bridge of his nose, and picked up his cellphone, which he’d dropped on the floor. He dialed, placing it on speakerphone.
“Hello… uh, Victor Marseille, please.” Seconds later, his brother came on the other end of the line.
“Bonjour, Mr. Latham! And what do I owe this honor?”
Alexandre smirked as he ran his tongue along his teeth. Victor was too smart for his own good… covering his tracks.
“Um, it appears that, uh, some Bottom Feeders assaulted your brother’s fiancée, to my understanding.”
A brief silence ensued.
“Bottom Feeders… aren’t they delightful?” Victor chuckled. “Did the slave live?”
“Uh…” He looked at Alexandre for direction. He nodded. “Yes, um, apparently she did but she’s rather shaken up.”
“I see… Well, that’s too bad, now isn’t it? What a pity. If that is all, please send Alexandre my regards until I see him soon. Also, please tell your lovely wife that—”
Alexandre snatched the phone from the man.
“Mon frère, it’s obvious that you know I’m here, and that’s how I planned it. You fell right into your typical con artist, lying ways. Deny. Deny. Deny. I’m here in person to look Latham in the eyes and let you know there is no stone I won’t un-turn to get the goods on you. I am a man of violence. I am also a man of proof.”
“You are a man hellbent on destroying everything our parents, their parents, and their grandparents built!”
“Let me tell you something, you inept, selfish son of a bitch. I know you had something to do with what happened to Venus this evening. Directly or indirectly. I will fix you, dear Victor. Fix you after I break you into a million pieces.”
“Are you threatening me?! You’re insane.” Victor chortled.
He could envision his brother sitting there in his black velvet chair, all smug and grinning, his white hair pulled back.
“You fucked with someone I have affections for, so I am going to fuck with someone you control and I will do it so well, you won’t know what hit you until it’s far too late. By the time I see you in Paris, you’ll—”
“I had nothing to do with this, Alexandre. I didn’t contact Latham to arrange a hit and if that happened, then it seems this energy of yours would be better used in exploring ways to get your ass back to France and find a suitable, Pure Blood wife! Your paranoia has reached critical mass. This is further proof that you are becoming psychologically unwound.”
“We both know the truth, and you’re allergic to it. You chose three to come after my Reine Du Sang. I will choose three to seek my revenge!” he hollered out so loud, a window burst, the glass crashing onto the wooden floor.
“I shall report this to the Council as well, Alexandre. You’re unfit to be king.”
“Yes. Report me. You do that!” Alexandre chuckled. “Hey, report this, as well, Mr. Snow White! I have a special surprise for ya! Please share that, too!” He ended the call abruptly. Suddenly, the lights in the apartment dimmed until they were both shrouded in black. He could smell
the fear on Latham; it eddied off him like steam from a grill.
Leaning in close, he whispered in his ear, “My brother will have an endearing present from me soon. As for you, I have good news. I am letting you live. This is only because I have come to understand that my brother didn’t involve you in this particular scheme, but he wished to make it seem as if he had, so you could be sacrificed to ensure he looked squeaky clean. He was banking on me killing you, eye for an eye… but oh, no, that will never do.” Latham swallowed. “The second option is he honestly doesn’t have any involvement in this, but is still somehow the cause. You come across as completely unaware, but I hate you… still not a reason enough to snuff you out I suppose. Just yet. Either way, I will be getting to the bottom of it. Now, as for you and I, I need for you to arrange something for me.”
“What?” the man asked, sweat rolling down his face, his breathing erratic.
“I need true killers by my side… not soft, wimpy punks.” He sneered at Latham, whose time was almost up. You don’t mingle with the undead, make secret, lucrative deals, and leave in one piece. “Contact Zhang Wei.”
“But King Zhang Wei is not available! He could be anywhere! He also—”
“I don’t give a shit if he’s tap dancing in a grass skirt on the third floor of the bowels of Hell singing, ‘I Will Survive’. He’s an associate of mine and from time to time, we help one another out. Plus, he owes me a favor. I know you’ve worked with him several times. I have no idea where he is right now and don’t want to waste valuable time when you already have his most recent contact information.”
“Okay.” Latham grabbed his phone and began to dial.
“You make sure he comes to New York. Tomorrow. I need his assistance with this matter. Things have gone too far, and yet, I know Victor is nowhere near finished.” The lights flashed and came back on full strength. Latham swallowed hard, as if relieved. His complexion turned red and sweat kept oozing off him as if he’d just been dunked in a pool. “If you fuck this up, I am going to return here to your home and peel your skin from the muscle and bone, all while you are still breathing. And tell him to bring his mate, Syà. It’s power couple time…”