by Bee Murray
Carlyn hadn’t been overly verbose in our conversation earlier. She insisted I would get all relevant information from the client. The situation was, in her words, evolving. The only thing she told me was that the client needed help to stay out of jail and manage their public image. It wasn’t outside my scope of practice to assist with discreet cleanup missions. Given the security they employed, the client was probably a highly-ranked politician, a criminal, or an A-list celebrity. If I was lucky, it’s all three. Yeah, yeah, I know I’m weird.
The elevator lurched to a stop, and the doors slid open to reveal a standard office building floor with a big reception desk and a lobby waiting area. A harried-looking man in a floral button-down shirt and skinny jeans paced the carpet beside the desk. The poor man looked as though he was one step away from literally wringing his hands.
“You the PR guru?” he asked, his voice high and anxious.
I smiled at him, trying to put him at ease. The high-strung ones always responded best to displays of confidence. “You bet. My name is Tuesday and I’m here to help solve your problem.”
His smile looked forced as he grabbed my arm and led me into a small office area just behind the lobby.
“You must sign an NDA before we go any further.” He dropped a thick folder onto the desk in front of me and held out a pen.
I flipped open the folder and scanned the documents. It was a standard non-disclosure agreement, and I knew, regardless of what it read, I would sign it with no issue. Absolute discretion was the bread and butter of our business. I ignored the pen in his hand and pulled an elegant fountain pen out of my purse to sign the documents before sliding the folder back over the table to him.
His smile was a little more genuine this time.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice, Ms. Matson. Your reputation precedes you, and we’re very grateful that you would consider our request. My name is Baldwin Kennison, and I am the client-by-proxy. Will you come with me, please? We have a great deal to discuss.”
My curiosity piqued, I followed him out of the room. We didn’t do client-by-proxy much anymore. Someone really must have something to hide.
Perfect.
3
TUESDAY
Another set of doors led to yet another conference room where several other people were already waiting. I sat in the chair my new client indicated and looked around the room expectantly.
“Good morning, everyone. Let’s get started, shall we? Who wants to brief me on the situation?” I made eye contact with everyone around the table as I pulled out my iPad and a stylus, prepared to take notes.
A small, mouse-like woman spoke first.
“Thank you for coming so quickly. We’re... eager to get on top of this situation. My name is Kelly and I work with the client’s management team. Recently, we learned the client has… developed a permanent medical condition that has resulted in a total turnover of his household staff. He is currently refusing entry to anyone from his management to his home with the exception of a discreet clean-up crew. Due to the… number of individuals… involved in the... turnover… we’re seeking a PR strategy to help us keep their career intact.”
I blinked at the tiny woman in confusion, trying to read between the lines of what she was actually telling me. Client did a bad thing and is blaming a medical condition. Interesting. This should be fun.
I tapped my stylus on the table briefly and tried to think of the best way to ask the questions I needed to ask.
“What was the exact number of staff members involved in this… incident?”
Pisces PR had handled many situations over the years, some for the good guys and some for the bad. Depending on the body count, covering up murder comes with a significant surcharge.
The silence in the room was so heavy that I got a terrible feeling about this.
“Eight,” someone at the table said in a choked voice. Two more people sniffled and a wash of icy dread swept over me.
One or two was easy enough to explain. It sounded callous, but people died every day. I could usually fix three with a tragic accident, but eight? Eight was a massacre, and massacres rarely just went away.
“And the client is public-facing? We have a brand image to worry about?” I couldn’t stop the cringe as my brain worked frantically to think of how I could spin this. Maybe a gas leak? An accidental explosion? Food poisoning? God, what about the families… this was going to be complicated.
Kelly looked up at me with unshed tears in her eyes and confirmed my assumption.
“Very. Our client is a household name and has contractual obligations that greatly interest my employer. We would like this... medical condition…. addressed in a way that allows them to complete the terms of their contract.” Typical corporate interests. Their client kills a fuckton of people and they are worried about their image and money.
“How long has it been? Where are the bodies?” I’m done being polite. If I had to spin the deaths of eight innocent people, it’s time to get really blunt. I stared at the members of the client’s team, crossed my fingers under the table and hoped for a break.
“Best guess is eight to ten hours. The staff involved were all live-in, and none had dependents we were aware of. The client makes that a requirement of employment.”
Ok. We can revisit the legality of the dependent thing later. It’s been less than a day. Ok. We can work with this.
Confident that we at least had a starting place, I sat up straighter and exhaled slowly. Under a day, live-in staff, no dependents. Unless whatever happened attracted a lot of outside attention, chances were we could intervene before law enforcement. Maybe.
“Are you prepared to disclose the medical condition the client has that... impacted this situation?” I asked, glancing over at Baldwin. Please, not a serial killer. Please, not a serial killer.
Unsurprisingly, Baldwin’s cheeks paled, and he cleared his throat awkwardly. Grabbing the NDA I signed earlier, he held it up in the air and made eye contact with me.
“You understand the terms of this NDA will destroy you if you so much as whisper the idea of anything we tell you in this meeting to anyone outside these walls, correct?”
Oh, clients. They never get it.
With great personal strength, I resisted rolling my eyes. Barely. I got this question a lot, especially from our more… unsavory… clients. But they had nothing to worry about. I was a vault. I’d served as the secret keeper for so many people in the greater Pacific Northwest that few things shocked me anymore. However, only half my job was wrangling images. The other half was talking worried handlers off the edge. To appease the man across the table, I nodded my head vigorously in acceptance.
“Of course.”
Kelly shared a long look with Baldwin before she leaned toward me, “He has…”
A large bang and loud voices shouting from the hallway outside the door interrupted us.
Before we could react, the conference room door slammed open and a tall figure wearing sunglasses and a hoodie barged in, flanked by Truck and Tank.
I blinked as a sense of déjà vu rose in me. What’s happening? I stared at the newcomer curiously.
“I think I should be a part of this conversation, don’t you, Baldwin? Since it’s my fucking mess you’re cleaning up.”
The stranger’s voice made me freeze in shock. Oh. Oh no. I couldn’t stop the audible gasp that escaped me.
The stranger turned his head toward me slowly. With one fluid movement, he pushed his hood back and took off his sunglasses. His full face was on display for me.
Nope. Uh huh. No. Not a chance.
I blinked again hard and something deep and powerful, an emotion almost like fury boiled in my stomach. The one man on this god-forsaken planet who could make me go from calm, cool professional to raging banshee in 3.4 seconds flat stared back at me.
Vinnie-The-MotherLoving-Asshole-Quake. International Pop Star. Seattle’s Bachelor of the Year three-years running. General Dickface.
Ex-Fiance.
My body reacted on instinct.
I would swear in court, I didn’t even feel myself rise out of my chair and move towards him until we were standing nose to nose. My hands shook. That familiar face that I loved, cried over and hated with every fiber of my being for the last five years. Here. Here.
He smirked down at me and the fury erupted.
The slap rang throughout the room when I cracked him across that stupid, perfect face. The noise snapped me out of my trance, as did the unusually cold temperature of his skin and the pain in my hand as I took another step back.
“I probably deserved that,” he whispered, his red eyes flashing at me as he gestured to Tank and Truck who hovered next to me, guns out, to sit down.
“You deserve that and so much more, Vincent. You look like shit, by the way. A killer now? Really? Thought you were too much of a coward for something like that.” The rage powered through me, further fueled by his complete lack of reaction to my presence in the room. And my greeting.
Tank and Truck appeared at my side again and they looked upset. In unison, their big beefy hands dropped onto my shoulders and pushed me back into my chair. I couldn’t tell if this was to protect their client or to prevent me from storming out of the room. Probably both.
“Tell your goons to unhand me, Vincent, before I make sure your problems get MUCH more complicated.”
Vinnie smiled and waved his hands at Tank and Truck and they stepped away from me.
“Now, will you hear me out, Tater-Tot?”
Tater-tot? How dare he? Self-preservation intervened before I could do something more drastic than baring my teeth at him for his casual use of my old nickname.
Arms crossed in front of me, I gave him the frostiest glare I could manage. He looked almost exactly the same as the day he left me. His face still resembled a classical sculpture, with chiseled cheekbones, broad shoulders, and powerful hands. I hated how attracted I still was to him.
“My “medical condition” is complicated. We could spend a long time discussing it but I know you like the details. Here they are. I’m a vampire. I turned five years ago.”
His soft voice pierced through my rage as the implications sank in. Vampire. Turned. Five years. The same year we broke up.
I shook my head and focused my attention. Red eyes. Pale complexion. Holy… vampire? Whoa.
“My team ordered a physical for my world tour. I’m not exactly... out... to everyone. There was a mixup at the clinic and they ended up doing a full workup, including blood work. Long story short, I tested positive for the Vampiric Infectious Disease. There are regulations in place to prevent the doctors who discovered it from going public… but I don't expect any of this to remain a secret for very long.” Vinnie sighed heavily.
“Patricia was my lifeline. She and Georgia helped me more than I deserved. Patty found blood sources for me to feed on and always checked in on me.” His next pause was longer and felt heavier. “It wasn’t the perfect system, but we had a balance. It worked. Until it didn’t. Earlier today, I experienced a severe lapse in control and… my household staff died because of it.”
His tone was completely blank as he gestured to the people sitting around the room. No one moved, it was almost as though the act of explaining what had happened— that my ex-fiance, the biggest pop star in the world, was a secret vampire who had eaten his household staff as a pre-dinner snack was perfectly normal. It blew my mind. Eight people died and we categorized it as a ‘loss of control’.
Which, as a vampire, it could very well be. Dodged a bullet there, Tuesday. Criminey.
A headache burned behind my eyes as I tried to make sense of the entire situation. I pressed my palms against my face and took a few deep breaths. That was supposed to be calming, right?
1. If what they said was true, they contracted me to spin a mass murder into something… less murdery. Check.
2. The murderer was a vampire and living a double life as possibly the most well-known music star in the world. Whatever I spin had to stand the test of many, many press outlets.
3. Said vampire was also the ex who ruined my life five years ago and just admitted to eating his assistant and his household staff without a bit of remorse.
I’d done ‘Mess Clean Up’ before. That’s what we called it when one of our clients did something illegal and we’re called in to make it go away. Mess Clean Up covered up a multitude of sins. There were always boundaries and rules for what we would clean up: No kids. No rape. No animal abuse. But murder? Sure, we’d made that go away. It horrified a small part of me that this was my life now. I made a living by categorizing how terrible something was and put a price tag on it before I decided whether I would make it go away, legal or not.
But a different, more sinister part of me, the part I didn’t admit to in public, was happy that I’m so good at what I do. There’s a peacefulness that comes from being called to a situation and being allowed to drop the ethical lens and just solve the problem at hand. It’s like a giant jigsaw puzzle with real-life consequences. Does that make me a sociopath? Maybe.
The tension in the room was overwhelming. I could feel the stares of every single person at the table burning into me. They were waiting for me to say something.
I could walk. Carlyn would understand.
Probably.
But if there was anything I hated more than Vinnie, it was the idea of giving up. To give up would be to let him win.
He was never, ever, allowed to win. Winning was my thing.
Without me, they were… in the crassest of terms: royally fucked. I knew it and they knew it. Without me, every single person in this room would go to jail.
I was a professional, and this was not my first uncomfortable case, it definitely wouldn’t be my last. It was more than clear that the time to turn my emotions off and focus on the issue at hand was well overdue.
“According to Pisces PR contracts, concealing felonies comes with a surcharge. Given the number of people that Mr. Quake has... eaten and killed in cold blood this evening, that surcharge will be substantial, as will the extra fees for me having to deal with his pathetic ass. Consultant rules.”
Vinnie smirked at me and everything in me wished I had a spray bottle of Holy Water to spritz on him like a misbehaving demonic cat.
With vampiric infections on the rise, local drug stores sold really cute pressurized Holy Water canisters—Vampire mace—but I had never seen the need to carry one. I would change that as soon as humanly possible. I was pretty sure that a boutique near my apartment sold a range with Swarovski crystal embellishments...
Vinnie’s manager smiled in a way that felt far too familiar for the situation. “We both know Mr. Quake’s profile is high enough that money is no object. Thank you for agreeing to help. We anxiously await your plan.”
I bristled at Baldwin’s simpering tone as he pushed a blank check across the conference table toward me. They’d already made it out to Pisces PR. I was nothing more than a service provider to these people—a way to solve a problem that their crazy client had created.
At least they had the sense of self-preservation to come to us. No other agency would touch this mess. We’re the only firm in town, hell, in this section of the world that even had the capability and stomach to deal with this.
But that didn’t mean they got off easy.
Oh. No.
Not by a long shot.
They were going to pay. Vinnie was going to pay. Big time.
Against my better judgment, I pulled out my folder and tucked the check inside.
It was time to get to work.
4
VINNIE
I watched Tuesday take a deep breath and knew we’d hooked her. She prided herself on being a steel trap that never showed emotion, but I knew what buttons to push to break through that facade.
It’s hard to hide from someone you once knew better than yourself.
Hearing her voice again was surreal. She steadfastly refused to m
ake eye contact with me and the brush off, while warranted, stung a bit. Watching her work was a special pleasure. Her professional mask and the cool, confident, competent problem solver was in complete control and she was managing my team like an expert. You would never guess that she had lost control only a few minutes before.
“Are you planning to go public with his diagnosis at some point? Am I preparing to have him do a public ‘coming out’ moment, or are we just managing him and this incident to achieve contract compliance and keep him out of jail? What is being done for the victims and any family they might have? Even if they were loners, someone will eventually come looking for compensation if it’s being offered.”
I slipped my sunglasses back on while she went through her checklists and contingency plans. Her movements were professional, but I knew that under her cool exterior she was seething like a volcano about to erupt.
Her long brown hair was piled into a bun on top of her head, and everything in me ached to pull out whatever pins were holding it in place and run my hands through those mahogany waves.
I sniffed the air and the familiar scent of ginger and jasmine wafted towards me and my cock twitched. It didn’t matter to my cock that I was a monster and deserved to be put down like a rabid animal. The sight of my ex-fiancee stirred my desires and caused me to react on a primal level. Baldwin never should have called her. She was temptation personified, and my control was hanging on by a thread.
The moment I realized she was in the room with me, I tuned my senses into the steady thrum of her pulse in her neck. My fangs longed to plunge deep into her veins.
My monster wanted her.
I wanted her.
I didn’t care how I had her, as long as I did. If I could taste her again, plunge my fangs (or my cock) into her until she cried out in ecstasy? Then I could die a satisfied man.
They say every superhero has a weakness. But I’m no superhero. I’m the villain and villains have marks.