The Immortal Warriors Boxed Set: Books 1-11

by H. T. Night

  I wasn’t just on any road either. I was on Las Vegas Boulevard. Somehow, I had been either thrown to the sidewalk or I’d passed out on it. It was one or the other because I didn’t feel like I’d been beaten up.

  I was thinking that I was thrown out of a casino because I must have awakened quickly from my nap on the sidewalk, due to the temperature of the pavement and the sun’s intensity that felt like an infrared heat treatment. That ruled out passing out on the sidewalk; otherwise, I’d still feel drunk.

  But I was hungover as hell. Boy, was I. I had a yen for Alka-Seltzer over ice, that’s how bad the hangover was.

  But I wasn’t drunk, even though I did smell the stink of alcohol oozing from the pores of my skin and my mouth tasted like ten kinds of booze all mixed together with an old dog’s breath.

  How did I know?

  I was having major withdrawals from alcohol.

  I had a raging headache, but I was alert and sober.

  Someone—or a group of someones—had thrown me out on the street. It probably didn’t take too long to wake up with the sun and the outside noises. People were walking around me with disdain, as if I was a homeless person. Was I homeless? I tried to get my bearings. I lived somewhere. Yes, I did. I tried to clear my head and think straight.

  I struggled to my feet and I realized I had been completely robbed. There was nothing in my pockets. There was nothing but some stupid ticket.

  I wasn’t even sure if I was wearing the same clothes. For one thing, I didn’t recognize my clothes.

  But I took out this ticket. It was a bet sheet for a sports book at one of the smaller casinos called Magma. Somehow, I’d managed to make an eight-team $1,000 parlay on a variety of sports last night. Great, I’d just thrown away a grand. But then again, I’d been robbed so I was out all my winnings and the original 500 simoleons I’d started with. All I had was this damn sports-betting ticket that couldn’t possibly be a winner.

  I’d picked the Platypuses to win. What sport do the Platypuses even play? I was a sports addict and I didn’t know that answer. I’d obviously made a bet that was ill-advised and for a lot of money.

  I didn’t know what day it was. I didn’t know anything. I don’t think it was humanly possible to drink as much as I did over the past 48 hours and not die of alcohol poisoning ten times over.

  Thank you, werewolf powers.

  I needed to start somewhere to try to get my stuff back. So, I walked down Las Vegas Boulevard and made my way back to my hotel. The Riviera. That much I remembered. I wasn’t sure how many nights it had been since I arrived in Vegas, but soon, I was going to find out.

  I had nothing in my pockets, so I needed to start with talking to a desk clerk. There was a line at the front desk with people trying to get a room. The concierge desk was busy, too.

  I decided to impose my will. I was a filthy mess. I’d awakened on the street just twenty minutes ago, for crying out loud.

  I went to the front of the line and called out, “Can someone help me? I already have a room.” I guess that was the key phrase. Because, the second I said it, the floor manager was on my case. He was a pudgy, Asian gentleman. He walked over to me and gave me the once-over and said, “How can I help you?”

  “I don’t have my room key.” I figured I’d start there.

  “Please show me your ID and I can get you the key,” the man said.

  “I don’t have anything on me. I was robbed last night.”

  “You think?” The manager seemed puzzled. Almost as if he wasn’t quite believing me.

  I needed to get real with this guy or I wasn’t going to ever see if at least I left my keys in the room. “Please believe me,” I said. “I’m not a liar. I need to start somewhere. I need to get back to my room. My car is in your valet lot. It’s a Mustang. Classic. Hanging from the visor is a picture of me with my sweet Maya.”

  The man looked me in the eye and I gave him as honest a look I could. I was desperate. I needed some help.

  “What’s your name?” the man asked.

  “Tommy Jenkins.”

  The man typed in my name and said, “There is no Tommy Jenkins that currently has a room with us.”

  “Okay, maybe my room expired.”

  “Ah, yes, here we are. Your room expired yesterday.”

  “Where do you put people’s things if they left them in their room?”

  “What are you looking for?” the man asked.

  “My life,” I answered back. “I’ve had a rough week. My fiancée was killed in a car accident and I just need my stuff and then I can move on.”

  The gentleman nodded at me and said, “On the other side of the hotel is our lost and found. Whenever someone leaves everything in their room we have a special area in the back of the lost and found where we keep all the guests’ stuff in separate bins, so everything stays together.”

  “That’s great,” I said. “Which direction do I walk?”

  “Hold on. A problem we’re going to have is you need an I.D. to get your stuff. I’m not sure if your fiancée dying in a car crash will tug at the heartstrings of Max.”

  “Who’s Max?”

  “Max is the guy who runs the lost and found. My guess is, it won’t.”

  “So, what should I do?”

  “Tell him to call me. My name is Carl.” He paused and said, “I’ll vouch for you.”

  “Really?” I asked. “Thank you.” I didn’t know why he was being so nice to me. Maybe he wanted my smelly ass to get out of his checkin lobby as soon as possible. I didn’t care. He was helping me.

  I walked to the other side of the casino and it took a while but I finally found the lost and found. They practically hid it from everyone.

  There was a guy sitting at a large desk in front of an open door where they must keep the bigger items and the bins like the manager was talking about.

  I walked up to Max. His name was on his hotel badge.

  “Hi,” I said. I was about to go into my spiel when the man stopped me from speaking.

  “Are you Tommy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, go back there and get your stuff.”

  I was shocked that was all it took.

  “You remember your room number, right?”

  “Yeah, it was 313.”

  “Tell the guy in the back that. He will take you to your stuff.”

  They had a lot of guys around here. I walked through the open door and there was a little old man back there. He was no taller than 5’2”.

  “Come with me,” the man said. He took me to an additional room where the bins were. I saw a bin that had a bottle of vodka, two packs of cigarettes, and an MMA magazine. I knew it was mine. Sure enough, the bin was labeled 313 and with my name on it, too. They were organized back here.

  I went to the bin and looked to see what else was inside. I was praying at least my car keys fell to the bottom of it. I looked inside the bin and saw no clothes, no keys, no phone and no wallet. Crap, I was no better off than I had been twenty minutes ago on the fucking street. Except for now, I had a vodka bottle and two packs of cigarettes.

  I looked up at the old man in the face from my hunched-down position. I gave him a desperate look. A look that clearly showed how at the end of the rope I was. “Is this it?” I asked.

  “No, we have your phone, wallet and keys in a ‘safe’ up front.”

  “Seriously?” I asked the little man. “How do you know that?”

  “Well, do you see this sticker on the side of the bin? It had the letters ‘K’,’W’, and ‘P’. That’s the big three. Most folks are coming back mainly for those three, so we take the care of these items seriously by putting them in a safe up front.”

  Gratitude flooded me and stupidly, I shook the guy’s hand, pumping it up and down like he was a one-armed bandit machine.

  “Bless you, sir.”

  He grinned. “I call the big three items every man needs ‘the trifecta.’ Every man needs his trifecta.”

  I was
extremely excited and hopeful that they had my critical stuff, but I wouldn’t have relief until I had all three items in my hand.

  I sighed and took the items out of my bin and I put them in trash bags that the lost and found guy had provided.

  I went to the front with my stuff in a white trash bag. The guy up front already had my stuff out and ready to hand over. They were all three things I needed to survive in Vegas, or anywhere. Thank God.

  The little man was right. They had all my stuff. I was just having trouble trusting people lately. Who would have thought that my wallet, keys and phone had survived the final cleanout of a hotel room by the housekeeping staff? Integrity. That was what I had found in Sin City. No, not mine. Other people’s.

  I had to sign a couple of papers. I grabbed my trash bag and put the trifecta in my front pants pocket. I didn’t want to go through my wallet on the casino floor. So, I went to a café that was to the right of the lost and found.

  I ordered an orange juice and looked through my wallet. I didn’t expect to find any money in it, let alone my ID and bank card. Thank goodness! I about cried. My wallet had everything in it and was filled with all the cash I remembered having. I counted my cash while it was still in my wallet because it almost looked like too much money was in there. My fat wallet contained $3,455.

  How did I make an eight-team parlay bet for a cool grand? I’d had about this much before my 48-hour binge even started? I hardly used any of my own money? How in the hell did I place that horrendous bet?

  Maybe I won the thousand dollars doing something else?

  I did remember a happy stint at a craps table. But surely, I didn’t win $1,000 and then turn around and bet it all on a goofy eight-team parlay that had less than a .05 percent chance of winning? I hardly had any idea what happened in the last 49 hours. It was like I could only remember scraps and moments. I could have said and done anything during that period. It almost reminded me of being a werewolf. My human consciousness would pass out when I turned. Much like passing out drunk. In one form, I was a wolf doing God knows what. In the other, I was a man who was wild and reckless. Neither was exactly keeping me too safe. My head was pounding.

  I leaned back in my chair and decided to take out my cell phone.

  My phone was dead. I needed a charger.

  I hadn’t brought one with me. I honestly didn’t think I’d be in Las Vegas anywhere near this long and the trip was definitely on the spur of the moment.

  I walked over to the cashier in the café and asked, “Where is the gift shop? I need to find a charger for my phone.”

  The lady cashier said, “There is a gift shop across the casino.”

  I thanked her for her help, left the café and found the gift shop. They did have a phone charger that fit my phone. It was shockingly expensive. But I paid for it in cash. I left the gift shop and looked over at the registration desk.

  Stay one more night?

  I didn’t feel like going home just yet. That amazed even me. I fucking woke up on the sidewalk this morning. What the hell was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I pack it up and head home? I didn’t even want to think what this was doing to Josiah, as far as him worrying about me.

  I knew what was wrong with me. I had to stay. I wasn’t ready to face the real world yet. I wanted to stay here and play make-believe. Pretend that nothing had happened. But… something did happen and I was going to have the face the real world at some point. Just not today.

  I was nauseated, but still hungry. I felt hungover and I was ignoring my emotional pain. I couldn’t believe I was actually craving a drink, even in the stinking hungover condition I was in. Withdrawals are withdrawals.

  I walked and found a bench against the wall of the casino. I pulled my vodka bottle out of the trash bag and downed a third of it in one gulp. It was a pretty good-sized bottle of vodka. I leaned back and closed my eyes, hoping this would get rid of my hangover.

  The hair of the dog that bit ya.

  I decided to go and wait in the line to get a room. I was pretty buzzed from downing the third of that vodka bottle. I needed to pace myself better. I was passing out way too much.

  It’s crazy that I need to drink just to feel normal.

  It took about ten minutes, but I arrived at the front and purchased a room for one more night. The desk clerk gave me a funny look, but obviously, the important thing was that my credit card worked.

  I went up to the room. My room number was 232. I decided to charge my phone and then head down to the buffet. But as I was plugging in the charger, something took over my body. I ran to the bathroom and spent the next hour throwing up periodically until my dry heaves were enough to make me want to pass out.

  I crawled over to the bed, lay there and closed my eyes. I dozed off a little and then I woke up feeling like I had been hit by a truck, physically and emotionally. I physically ached from the pain of living without Maya. All of the flickers of the accident and its aftermath flitted through my mind. I wished they would go away. My body hurt, and was burned from my sidewalk nap.

  I ached and I hurt and I didn’t know what to do, so I called the only person who remotely knew what I was feeling. I went to my cell phone, which was charging on the wall, and turned it on. I waited a couple of minutes; then my phone started making all sorts of sounds, alerting me to voicemails, emails, Facebook messages and text messages. The only thing it didn’t tell me was how many missed calls I had since it had gone dead. And, judging by the number of messages and missed calls, this phone had been dead for a couple of days.

  I rolled over in a fetal position on the bed. I didn’t think I have ever allowed myself to be in this position. I’d always looked at the fetal position as weak, but when you hurt to the degree that I did, it just felt right to do. To protect myself from more of this shattering reality.

  Holy shit, I’ve never been this broken inside.

  I looked at my phone. There were 15 missed voicemails from Josiah. Shit, I couldn’t imagine what I had put that kid through in the last three days. That’s how long I had been in Vegas. I had decided on that number: three. It made the most sense.

  I called Josiah. It was the afternoon, so I thought he should pick up.

  It rang twice and then I heard, “Where the hell are you?”

  “I’m so sorry, bro. I’m in Las Vegas.”

  “For how long?”

  “The last three days.”

  “Fucking Tommy.” I could hear a relieved sigh come from Josiah.

  “I’m okay, bro. I’m pretty indestructible,” I said, trying to assure Josiah I could take care of myself. Josiah didn’t know I was a werewolf. I wanted to keep that from him as long as I could. I didn’t want him to see that world if I could help it.

  “We all can die,” Josiah said. “You and I learned that the hard way. Why are you in Las Vegas?”

  “I don’t know, Josiah.” I didn’t want to show my vulnerability. Not to Josiah. I was supposed to be his role model. His mentor. Not this crapshoot of a broken man.

  “Are you okay, Tommy? You’re not going to do anything stupid? Are you?” Josiah sounded extremely worried.

  I was quiet. I already had done some pretty stupid things since I’d been here.

  “Tommy, please don’t hurt yourself,” Josiah said with an earnestness that he had never granted, not at that level. Pleading.

  He was hurting. I was hurting. “You shouldn’t worry about me, Josiah.”

  “I know. I should be worried about Las Vegas.”

  Josiah got me. That’s why I loved the kid.

  “Josiah, I’m coming home tomorrow. I am going to chill out tonight. Maybe see a show. Right now, I’m going to get sleep.”

  “Okay…”

  “Josiah?”

  “Yeah, Tommy?”

  “I’m sorry for making you worry about me.”

  “It kind of sucked the last couple days, not knowing anything. I’m not going to lie to you. I almost went to the authorities.”

  “You di
dn’t though, right?”

  “No, I was about a day away from doing that. You’re a grown man. You have no one to answer to. But it’s not about accountability. It’s about friendship. I would just hope you’d be considerate enough to at least let me know you’re okay.”

  “I’m sorry, Josiah. I’ll remember to do that from now on.”

  Josiah exhaled and then had a little bit of nervous laughter.

  “Josiah, we will get through this. We will do it together.”

  “Okay, man.” Josiah seemed done with the conversation. I was okay with it. He knew I was safe. Man, I was a jerk to make the poor kid go through that so shortly after his entire family had died.

  Chapter Five

  So, I had one last night in Vegas. How insane did I want to get? How should I live it up? This was the last chance I would have to immerse myself in Vegas for a while. Or should I just drive home and be there for Josiah? I’m sorry, kid. I was feeling like I still had more piss and vinegar left in me, even with me waking up in the street.

  I had to admit, I felt horny. And rowdy. I wanted to go to a gentleman’s club, but I knew that would be trouble. At some of those clubs, I’d heard that anything goes in the shows. I wasn’t ready to be intimate with anyone for any reason, on any level. Didn’t mean I won’t flirt. I did that instinctively.

  But I loved Maya so much that the memory of her was all I needed right now.

  Honestly, I knew what was itching at me.

  I hadn’t been in a skirmish yet. Usually, there were plenty of assholes to get in scuffles with in Vegas, but I’d switched gears once I was in town. I’d gone from wanting to tear apart the city to wanting to escape in the city. I’d let Vegas suck me into its black hole of gambling and drinking. But, as of yet, not any fighting on the street. I wanted that. I could taste it. And smell it. And passionately want it: to bust up some random guys with no agenda other than to use up testosterone, adrenaline, and the pain that stabbed my heart…

  I knew I couldn’t fight legally. So, I was better off sticking to the escaping inside the city part. It would suck if Josiah had to bail me out of jail, should things go amiss in a street fight. I knew I didn’t want to kill anyone. I was just about as restless as a werewolf could get without his one true love.