The Blood Order (Fanghunters Book Two)

by Leo Romero

  After a bit, the thug yawned and scratched his head. "Asshole, speaking to me like that," he grumbled to himself. "What the hell's a husky flamingo anyways?" He then stepped out of the cubicle and into the larger office space.

  Now's my chance.

  Trixie took the initiative. She shifted her legs across as best she could despite being hampered by all the wiring. When set, she dangled her feet out of the missing panel and lowered herself down. Her boots touched the surface of the desk and she ducked, the cooler office air hitting her clammy face. She took a moment to relish it. But, she had more important business to take care of. Without making a sound, she slipped down from the desk to the carpet and slid up against the cubicle wall. She poked her head around the corner. The merc's back was facing her. Like an expert predator, she became his shadow. She put the muzzle of her dart gun a couple of inches from the back of his neck.

  "Nighty night," she whispered and pulled the trigger.

  The thug only had a chance to yelp and spin to face her before his eyes rolled up into his head and his legs buckled. He hit the bland gray carpet and that was that. Trixie let out a sigh of relief. It was the first moment since they'd left for the building she'd had to take a breather. She wiped the sweat from her forehead and stared at the guy by her feet. She thought of taking his submachine gun, but it would just weigh her down. Instead, she bent down, picked up his radio, and slipped it into her belt. Any ongoing chatter might lead her to the floor where they were keeping Dad and Dom.

  She began assessing her situation. She was on the fifth and left Dom all the way up near the roof. She was pretty sure Leviah would be high up in the nineties where he was safely out of the way of any prying eyes. She had a hunch Dad would be getting grilled by Leviah himself, so it wasn't out of the realms of possibility for both of them to be on the same floor. Would that mean Dom was with them too? Who knew? All she could do was get up to Leviah's quarters and hope for the best. The problem was getting up there in quick time. The elevator was out of commission so she had to use the stairs. That would take a while and Blacklake were probably crawling all over the building as well as any Order vamps loitering around.

  Boy, this is gonna be tough.

  She grabbed her forehead. As she did, a throbbing pain from her hand became apparent. She pulled it away from her forehead and stared at it. Glaring back at her red, raw, and ugly was the damage Husky Flamingo had done to her. The top section of her pinky was gone, leaving a bloody stump. She winced. She stared at the white bone in the center of it in morbid fascination. She started to get queasy.

  "My God..." she gasped, before turning to the side and shooting her other hand up to her mouth.

  She steadied herself and ventured another look at her finger. Blood was now oozing out of the stump. The severed nerves screamed at her. She couldn't leave it like that, she had to tend to it. She looked around, shaking her hand on the air to try and alleviate the pain. She spotted the kitchen area up ahead. She darted straight for it. On entering, she pulled a first aid kit off the wall and threw it open. She grabbed a vial of antiseptic and soaked a cotton ball with its contents.

  "Okay, get ready, Trixie," she said, bracing herself. She then dabbed the cotton ball on her decapitated finger. A bolt of pain registered in her mind. She closed her eyes and went to scream, but shoved her other fist into her mouth to stifle it. Eventually, the pain subsided to a dull throb and she removed her fist, teeth marks in her flesh. She dabbed more antiseptic on the wound; this time the pain wasn't so bad.

  "I'll get you, you bastard!" she sneered as she began wrapping bandage around her finger. She didn't want to wrap it too much; she may need to perform some acrobatics and the padding might hinder her. "And the severed finger won't?" she asked herself.

  Thankfully, it was only the top section missing, so once it healed up, it probably wouldn't affect her acrobatic ability too much. She hoped.

  When done, she held her hand up and checked out her handiwork. Her pinky was now wrapped in bandages like it was a mini-mummy. It reminded her of a Warner Bros. cartoon: Sylvester the Cat or Wily Coyote after they've done something asinine like hit themselves on the toe with a hammer instead of the bird or road runner or whatever cartoon feast they were chasing. They always ended up with overdone bandages on said injury. But, it usually came with a neat bow, something her effort was missing. She stared at it in disappointment. "God, it looks horrible," she muttered to herself with deep chagrin, just as a dull throb pulsed out of the wound beneath.

  She shook her head. "Just deal with it, Trixie, and get going," she said to herself in a more determined voice. She pushed the first aid kit to the side and took a moment to check both her dart guns. She was fully stocked on holy water and packed a healthy supply of tranqs. She was down to just two smoke bombs, though. Getting out of the elevator and lobby ate into her supply, but it was necessary. She also had those sonic boom thingys, but without any experience using them in the field, she didn't want to risk them unless she had to. A last resort.

  She had a look around. The kitchenette was low on weapons; butter knives just wouldn't cut it.

  She opened up the fridge to find a half-eaten chicken mayo sandwich. "Yuck!" she said, slamming the door shut. She'd just have to get by with what she had. She stepped back out into the office floor. Emblazoned on the opposite wall, a giant logo of what could only be an eye entrapped within a triangle stared at her. The word ISIS had been stenciled next to it in bold, block capitals. She recognized the name. ISIS was recently all over the news. A corrupt bank/investment company caught laundering cash for the Mexican drug cartels. And the result: a slap on the wrist and a hefty--but payable--fine. No doubt ISIS were just one of a myriad of similar corporations whose HQs were centered in the building.

  Trixie sighed. This was it; the I-Sore, the building she stood in was the financial hub of the Western world. This was where it all went down. This was where the control lay. The Blood Order were ahead in the stakes because of financial instruments and war. The other orders were too slow on the uptake. Leviah was the leader of the pack all right.

  "Whatever," she huffed, stepping over the prone body of the thug she'd just tranqed. "Sweet dreams, jackass," she said as she left him behind.

  As she went, she pulled out her phone and dialed.

  "What's happening, little lady?" Mack asked on answering.

  "Mack, there's been a delay. I need you to hold on a little while longer. Okay?"

  "You all right?"

  "Yeah, just don't fly off without us."

  "All right, but if any trouble breaks out up here, I'm vamos."

  "Don't worry, it's all under control."

  "If you say so."

  "I do. Just sit tight and all three of us will be with you soon."

  "Alrighty."

  Trixie hung up. She hoped Mack didn't get itchy feet before she got to Dad and Dom. As she made it to the stairwell, she glanced up at the ceiling. "Hold on, boys," she said to herself. "I'm on my way."

  PART FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  They took Dom down a couple of flights of stairs to the ninety-seventh floor.

  They moved out of the stairwell into the floor itself where they pulled open a huge set of Japanese blinds and stepped beyond into a plush, dimly lit room of red, black, and gold. All around him were weird items; statues, paintings, ornaments. For a brief moment, it felt like the first time he took a walk around Vincent's mansion. Here, he noticed most of the mercs hung back; it appeared as if they weren't allowed into these quarters. This was haloed ground. A couple of beefy mercs remained accosting him, probably with vamp clearance. Most likely with a strong venom habit to boot.

  They walked across the wooden floor in a straight line, Dom sandwiched between them, their footfalls echoing around the chamber. Dom's spine electrified as if he'd been plugged into a socket. A pulsation in his head started up. Something in here was bad. Dark. Dom's legs started to tremble. Fear was worming its way through him as the secon
ds ticked by. He could feel it swishing around in his stomach like acid. And then he realized why. He was about to enter the nest of a vamp, and that was how he always felt on those occasions. But this wasn't any vamp. This was the grand poohbah. The head vamp. A morbid excitement juddered through him.

  They reached another set of tinted glass double doors and they stopped. "Wait here," one of them ordered.

  "Sure thing, boss," Dom replied, his nonchalance belying his nerves.

  The thug slid the doors open and an atmosphere of death spilled out from inside that hit Dom like a wave. He trembled. The sensation was akin to entering a vamp's nest on any given day; a derelict building, an old abandoned house. It held that same quality of oppression, ancient musk, the home of the undead. It was like a constant rumble in his mind, somewhere deep down in the background of his conscious. Ongoing, omniscient. He glanced back at the other thug to see him shifting from foot to foot, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down his throat. Yeah, you feelin' it too, huh, buddy?

  Dom nodded and the thug looked away. This stuff was deep. Nothing could prepare someone for just how much. Dom was still fresh to the game, still raw. But, he was learning fast, thrown in at the deep end. He was there; in the heart of darkness, the ninety-seventh floor of the I-Sore building. The home--the nest--of Leviah.

  The original thug poked his head through the doors. "You. Come here," he ordered Dom. Dom braced himself, then stepped forward, his legs now like jelly. They were quivering, adrenaline pulsating around his veins, causing him to judder in spasmodic bursts. He closed his eyes and pulled in a lung of that dead air. Don't let them see your fear, he told himself over and over. Don't let them see your fear, don't let them--

  He opened his eyes again to be met with the black sequined sky outside the tinted windows. Surrounding him was lavishness; high class. Art, sculptures, supreme comfort. But also stuff more disturbing: torture devices, iron maidens, chairs whose seats were made of tiny spikes. Freaky stuff, stuff you only ever saw in movies. A sudden sense of alarm shot through him. Christ, what are they gonna do to me?

  He brought his head around the whole room to lay eyes on someone he recognized. Vincent was strapped to a chair in the center of the room. His head was lolled between his shoulders as if he was drugged. Dom's heart lifted a notch; he no longer felt alone. If he was going to go, at least he'd have a friendly face alongside him.

  The thug accosting him then shoved him along the wooden floor. "Move!"

  The sound alerted Vincent. His head crept upward to check who it was who'd entered the chamber. His face appeared worn and haggard, his eyelids drooping with despondency. When he laid his eyes on Dom's smiling face, they lit up with life. With hope. "Dom?" he gasped, his voice brimming with surprise, shock, and happiness in equal measure.

  "Hey, Vincent," Dom said in a faux casual manner, defying the fear he was in the throes of. "Fancy meeting you here."

  A tear slipped out of Vincent's eye and ran down his cheek. It met with the corner of his mouth, which was now raised in a smile. "They said you were dead."

  "Well, they're bang outta luck," Dom replied, just as a chair was pulled up behind him, slamming into the back of his knees, forcing him to take a seat. Rope was then wrapped around his chest and the backrest of the chair.

  "Where's Trixie?" Vincent asked, his voice and eyes bursting with eagerness.

  "Surviving," Dom told him, just as they pulled the rope tight, squeezing his chest. He groaned.

  "She's alive!" Vincent exclaimed with a massive sigh of relief. He reached his face to the ceiling. "Thank God she's alive," he said and began weeping although there was a smile on his face.

  "Yeah, she's alive. But, I don't know for how much longer."

  Vincent nodded his head in a determined fashion. "She'll surprise them, trust me on that. It's just a shame Rufus met his fate to these creatures."

  "Well, believe it or not, he's alive too."

  Vincent's head snapped up. "What?"

  Dom nodded. "Barely. But, he's alive."

  "But, I watched him die. He was shot by these thugs."

  "Yeah, and somehow the bullets didn't kill him."

  Vincent turned away. "It must be a miracle," he said to the air.

  "Something like that," Dom said just as an abrupt shiver coursed up his spine. He went cold, a sense of prying eyes on him. He spun his head left and right, wondering what it could be. It was a sudden change in the atmosphere, like thunderclouds swarming over the sun. The thugs lounged back as if clearing the way.

  And then in stepped Leviah.

  He entered seemingly out of the shadows. Dom was expecting a Christopher Lee clone in a cape, but what he got was a tall, slender guy in a silk robe. Dom looked him up and down, then all the way up again, where he met his stare. He locked eyes with the hot volcanic coals embedded in Leviah's pale face, and he now saw, saw the repressed anger, the hate, the ancient despair as he was sucked into the vortex, whisked through those twin black holes into a new place and time of endless suffering and eternal darkness; a place where a mere whisper of hope would be stamped out under a barrage of torture. A place where the weak were made into meat and the strong were rewired into cybernetic soldiers unable to think for themselves, only able to carry out orders; orders from the Order. The mighty Order, the rulers of the planet, the multiverse, the lords of darkness wishing to blot out all light, and all hope in their ceaseless desire to rule, to conquer, to demolish, to break, to snap, to destroy. He witnessed wastelands of fallen armies, their blood sucked into the void; the black pit of mire that glared back at him, ethereal in its twisted lust. His blood turned to ice.

  He managed to squeeze himself back out through the bog of sludge and mastic as he threw his head to the side, severing his connection with those nasty eyes. He began panting like a thirsty dog. "Woah..." was all he could manage.

  "What do we have here?" Leviah boomed, his slender frame defying the tone of his voice.

  "We caught him up on the roof," the thug replied.

  "Was he alone?"

  "No. The Dentist's daughter was with him."

  Leviah flicked his eyes toward Vincent, who sat up as straight as he could in his seat.

  Leviah sighed. "And so why is she not here?"

  The thug's eyes began to roll. Dom watched him squirm in delight. "We uh, she uh, kinda, uh... got away."

  Leviah placed his hands on his hips. "She got away?" he echoed.

  "Uh... yeah."

  Leviah huffed. "Congratulations. So where is she?"

  "Somewhere."

  Leviah gave him an ironic nod. "Somewhere?"

  "Yeah, somewhere. We've locked the building down. We got guys searching every floor. She can't escape."

  "She better not. For your sake." Leviah went and flopped down in his recliner with a hot sigh. He crossed one leg over the other. "Especially if she has the relic on her."

  Vincent whipped his head around to meet Dom. Dom took a sheepish glance toward Vincent; his eyes were wide with alarm.

  "She's got it," Sammy said with a sure nod as he entered the room. "Saw it with my own eyes."

  Vincent's eyes became slits; he glowered at Dom.

  Dom gave him an innocent look in reply and shrugged beneath his binds.

  Leviah stiffened. "So, she's attempting a bargain; the relic for her father's life."

  Vincent cleared his throat. "Why don't you take it, Leviah?" he suggested. "Then we can call a truce and end all this senseless killing."

  Leviah gave him a hardened stare. "Go back to the good old days, eh, Slayer?"

  "More lives will be lost, Leviah. Trixie isn't someone to trifle with. If she feels under threat, she can be quite vicious."

  "I'm veritably quaking in my boots, Slayer," Leviah replied with an air of nonchalance.

  "You should be," Vincent told him. "Now, get word to her that you'll release us in return for the relic and we can reinstate the pact and go about our business as usual."

  Leviah continued to stare
at Vincent with his brooding, gleaming eyes. Vincent held his stare, his own eyes wide and sincere. Dom looked at them both. It was like a game of chess between two heavyweights. No doubt Vincent could hold his own against Leviah, and that made Dom respect him even more. He didn't think he'd be able to hold that stare for more than a second or two, never mind actually challenge Leviah to a mind duel. From the way the steroid-addled thugs cowered in the shadows and stuttered and stammered and squirmed around Leviah, Dom knew the head vamp was more than feared.

  Man, Vincent must have balls of steel, Dom realized in stunned awe.

  Finally, Leviah seemed to crack. "Sammy!"

  Sammy came sauntering over to his side. "Yes, boss."

  "Try and make contact with our runaway guest. Offer her a deal: the relic for the lives of these two. That should lure her out of hiding."

  Sammy huffed in disappointment. "Oh, man. I was looking forward to killing her."

  "You may yet get your wish. Now just go and do as I say."

  "Yes, boss." He turned and met Dom's stare. Dom poked out his tongue for just a second. Sammy pointed a stern finger at him as he marched past to carry out his orders. Inside himself, Dom smiled. Trixie had forced them into negotiation.

  We might actually get out of this one, he thought to himself with a gleam of hope. He glanced over at Vincent, who had a half smile on his wise face. Dom had no doubt, he was thinking the exact same thing.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Trixie left the ISIS offices behind via the opposite stairwell. She poked her head out. The stairwell was quiet. And more importantly, empty. She let the door close behind her as she scuttled past the big red 5 painted on the white wall, her dart gun at the ready. Blacklake could jump her in numbers at any given moment, so she had to be ready to either fight or fly.