by Ким Харрисон
"Word is you're getting married."
Married? I was wearing his fiancée's dress? Oh, this was getting better and better.
Lee brushed his hair out of his eyes and sat against the desk. The vamp behind him started to rub his shoulders in a sultry, whore-bitch sort of a way. She hadn't taken her eyes off me, and I didn't like it. "Anyone I know?" Lee prompted, and Trent's jaw clenched.
"A beautiful young woman named Ellasbeth Withon," he said. "From Seattle."
"Ah." Brown eyes wide, Lee smiled as if he was laughing at Trent. "Congratulations?"
"You've met her," Trent said sourly, and Lee chuckled.
"I've heard of her." He made a pained face. "Am I invited to the wedding?"
I puffed impatiently. I had thought we came here to knock heads, not have a reunion. Ten years would put them in their late teens. College? And I didn't like being ignored, but I supposed that was standard for hired help. At least whore-bitch hadn't been introduced either.
"Of course," Trent said. "The invitations will go out as soon as she decides between the eight options she's narrowed it down to," he said dryly. "I'd ask you to be my best man, if I thought you'd ever get on a horse again."
Lee pulled himself off the desk and out of the vamp's reach. "No, no, no," he protested, going to a small cabinet and bringing out two glasses and a bottle. "Not again. Not with you. My God, what did you whisper into that beast's ear, anyway?"
Trent smiled, a real one this time, and took the offered shot glass. "Fair is fair, surfer dude," he said, and I blinked at the accent he affected. "Seeing as you almost drowned me."
"Me?" Lee sat back on the desk, one foot off the floor. "I had nothing to do with that. The canoe had a leak. I didn't know you couldn't swim."
"That's what you keep saying." Trent's eye twitched. Taking a tiny sip, he turned to me. "Stanley, this is Rachel Morgan. She's my security tonight."
I beamed a false smile. "Hello, Lee." I held out my hand, careful to keep my ley line energy reined, though with the memory of that man's screams echoing through me, it was hard not to give him a jolt. "Nice to see the upstairs this time."
"Rachel," Lee said warmly, turning my hand to kiss the top of it instead of shaking it. "You can't imagine how bad I felt for getting you mixed up in that ugly business. I'm so pleased you came away from it unscathed. I trust you're being compensated properly tonight?"
I yanked my hand back before his lips touched it, making a show of wiping it off. "No apologies needed. But I'd be remiss for not thanking you for teaching me how to play craps." My pulse quickened and I stifled the urge to slug him. "Want your dice back?"
The vampire slid behind him, her hands going possessively atop his shoulders. Lee kept his smile in place, seemingly oblivious to my barb. God, the man had been bleeding from his pores, and that had been aimed at me. Bastard.
"The orphanage was most grateful for your donation," Lee said smoothly. "They put a new roof on with it, so I'm told."
"Fantastic," I said, honestly pleased. Beside me, Trent fidgeted, clearly dying to interrupt. "I'm always glad when I can help those less fortunate."
Lee took the vampire's hands in his and moved her to stand beside him.
Trent took my arm while they were distracted. "You bought the new roof?" he breathed.
"Apparently," I muttered, noting he was surprised about the roof, not the scuffle in the streets.
"Trent, Rachel," Lee said as he held the vampire's hand in his. "This is Candice."
Candice smiled to show her teeth. Ignoring Trent, she fixed her brown eyes on my neck, a red tongue edging the corner of her mouth. Exhaling, she eased closer. "Lee, sweetheart," she said, and I gripped Trent's arm tighter when her voice ran like ripples over my scar. "You told me I'd be entertaining a man." Her smile went predatory. "But this is okay."
I forced a breath. Waves of promise were coming from my neck, making my knees weaken. My blood pounded and my eyes almost slipped shut. I took a breath, then another. It took all my experience with Ivy to keep from responding. She was hungry, and she knew what she was doing. If she had been undead, I would have been hers. As it was, even with my scar she couldn't bespell me unless I let her. And I wasn't going to.
Aware of Trent watching, I gained control of myself, though I could feel the sexual tension rising in me like fog on a damp night. My thoughts slid to Nick, then Kisten, where they lingered to make things worse. "Candice," I said softly, leaning closer. I wouldn't touch her. I wouldn't. "It's nice to meet you. And I will break off your teeth and use them to pierce your belly button if you even as much as look at my scar again."
Candice's eyes flashed to black. The warmth in my scar died. Angry, she drew away, her hand atop Lee's shoulder. "I don't care if you are Tamwood's plaything," she said, trying to be all Queen of the Damned, but I lived with a truly dangerous vampire and her efforts were pathetic. "I can take you down," she finished.
My jaw clenched. "I live with Ivy. I'm not her plaything," I said softly, hearing a muted cheer from downstairs. "What does that tell you?"
"Nothing," she said, her pretty face going ugly.
"And nothing is exactly what you're going to get from me, so back off."
Lee stepped between us. "Candice," he said, putting a hand on the small of her back and pushing her to the door. "Do me a favor, sweetheart. Get Ms. Morgan some coffee, will you? She's working tonight."
"Black, no sugar," I said, hearing my voice rasp. My heart was pounding and sweat had broken out. Black witches I could handle. Skilled, hungry vampires were a little harder.
Unkinking my fingers from Trent's arm, I pulled away. His face was quiet as he looked at me and then the vamp Lee was escorting to the door. "Quen…" he whispered.
"Quen wouldn't have had a chance," I said, my heart slowing. If she had been an undead, neither would I. But Saladan wouldn't have been able to convince an undead vampire to back him, lest Piscary find out and kill him or her twice. There was honor among the dead. Or maybe it was just fear.
Lee said a few words to Candice, and the woman slunk out into the hall, giving me a sly smile before she left. Red heels were the last I saw of her. My thoughts spun when I noticed she had an anklet identical to Ivy's. There couldn't be more than one like that without a reason—perhaps Kisten and I ought to chat.
Not knowing what it meant, if anything, I sat in one of the green upholstered chairs before I fell over from the fading adrenaline. Hands clasped to hide their faint trembling, I thought of Ivy and the protection she gave me. No one had made a play for me like that in months, not since the vamp at the perfume counter had mistaken me for someone else. If I had to fight that off every day, it would only be a matter of time before I became a shadow of myself: thin, anemic, and belonging to someone. Or worse, belonging to anyone.
The sound of sliding fabric pulled my attention to Trent as he sat in the second chair. "You all right?" he breathed when Lee shut the door behind Candice with a firm thump.
His voice was soothing, surprising me. Forcing myself to straighten, I nodded, wondering why he cared, or even if he did. Exhaling, I forced my hands open and loose.
Bustling with efficiency, Lee edged back around his desk and sat. He was smiling to show his white teeth amid his suntanned face. "Trent," he said, leaning back in his chair. It was larger than ours, and I think it put him several inches taller. Subtle. "I'm glad you came to see me. We should talk before anything gets more out of hand than it has."
"Out of hand?" Trent didn't move, and I watched his concern for me melt into nothing. Green eyes hard, he set his shot glass on the desk between them, the soft click sounding louder than it should. Never looking from Saladan's sloppy grin, he took over the room. This was the man who killed his employees in his office and got away with it, the man who owned half the city, the man who thumbed his nose at the law, living above it in his fortress in the middle of an old-growth, planned-out forest.
Trent was angry, and I suddenly didn't mind that they were ignoring
me.
"You derailed two of my trains, caused a near strike of my trucking line, and burned down my primary public relations effort," Trent said, a wisp of his hair starting to float.
I stared at him while Lee shrugged. Primary public relations effort? It had been an orphanage. God, how cold could you be?
"It was the easiest way to get your attention." Lee sipped his drink. "You've been inching your way past the Mississippi the last ten years. Did you expect anything less?"
Trent's jaw tightened. "You're killing innocent people with the potency of the Brimstone you're putting on the streets."
"No!" Lee barked, pushing the glass from him. "There are no innocents." Thin lips pressed together, he leaned forward, angry and threatening. "You crossed the line," he said, shoulders tense under his tux. "And I wouldn't be here culling your weak clientele if you stayed on your side of the river as agreed."
"My father made that agreement, not me. I've asked your father to lower the levels he allows in his Brimstone. People want a safe product. I give it to them. I don't care where they live."
Lee fell back with a sound of disbelief. "Spare me the benefactor crap," he simpered. "We don't sell to anyone who doesn't want it. And Trent? They want it. The stronger, the better. The death levels even out in less than a generation. The weak die off, the strong survive, ready and willing to buy more. To buy stronger. Your careful regulation weakens everyone. There's no natural balance, no strengthening of the species. Maybe that's why there are so few of you left. You've killed yourself by trying to save them."
I sat with my hands deceptively slack in my lap, feeling the tension rise in the small room. Culling weak clientele? Strengthening the species? Who in hell did he think he was?
Lee made a quick movement, and I twitched.
"But the bottom line," Lee said, easing back when he saw me move, "is that I'm here because you are changing the rules. And I'm not leaving. It's too late for that. You can hand everything over to me and graciously move off the continent, or I will take it, one orphanage, one hospital, one train station, street corner, and bleeding-heart innocent at a time." He took a sip of his drink and cradled it in his laced hands. "I like games, Trent. And if you remember, I won whatever we played."
Trent's eye twitched. It was his only show of emotion. "You have two weeks to get out of my city," he said, his voice a smooth ribbon of calm water hiding a deadly under-tow. "I'm going to maintain my distribution. If your father wants to talk, I'm listening."
"Your city?" Lee flicked his eyes over me, then back to Trent. "Looks to me like it's split." He arched his thin eyebrows. "Very dangerous, very attractive. Piscary is in prison. His scion is ineffective. You're vulnerable from the veneer of honest businessman you hide behind. I'm going to take Cincinnati and the distribution net you have so painstakingly developed, and use it as it ought to be. It's a waste, Trent. You could control the entire Western Hemisphere with what you have, and you're pissing it away on half-strength Brimstone and biodrugs to dirt farmers and welfare cases that won't ever make anything of themselves—or anything for you."
A seething anger warmed my face. I happened to be one of those welfare cases, and though I would probably be shipped off to Siberia in a biocontainment bag if it ever got out, I bristled. Trent was scum, but Lee was disgusting. I opened my mouth to tell him to shut up about things he didn't understand when Trent touched my leg with his shoe in warning.
The rims of Trent's ears had gone red, and his jaw was tight. He tapped at the arm of the chair, a deliberate show of his agitation. "I do control the Western Hemisphere," Trent said, his low, resonating voice making my stomach clench. "And my welfare cases have given me more than my father's paying customers—Stanley."
Lee's tanned face went white in anger, and I wondered what was being said that I didn't understand. Perhaps it hadn't been college. Maybe they had met at "camp."
"Your money can't force me out," Trent added. "Ever. Go tell your father to lower his Brimstone levels and I'll back off from the West Coast."
Lee stood, and I stiffened, ready to move. He placed his hands spread wide, bracing himself. "You overestimate your reach, Trent. You did when we were boys, and nothing has changed. It's why you almost drowned trying to swim back to shore, and why you lost every game we played, every race we ran, every girl we made a prize." He was pointing now, underscoring his words. "You think you're more than you are, having been coddled and praised for accomplishments that everyone else takes for granted. Face it. You're the last of your kind, and it's your arrogance that put you there."
My eyes shifted between them. Trent sat with his legs comfortably crossed and his fingers laced. He was absolutely still. He was incensed, none of it showing but for the hem of his slacks trembling. "Don't make a mistake you can't walk away from," he said softly. "I'm not twelve anymore."
Lee backed up, a misplaced satisfaction and confidence in him as he eyed the door behind me. "You could have fooled me."
The door latch shifted and I jerked. Candice walked in, an institutional-white mug of coffee in her hand. "Excuse me," she said, her kitten-soft voice only adding to the tension. She slunk between Trent and Lee, breaking their gazes on each other.
Trent shook out his sleeves and took a slow breath. I glanced at him before reaching for the coffee. He looked shaken, but it was from repressing his anger, not fear. I thought of his biolabs and Ceri safely hiding with an old man across the street from my church. Was I making choices for her that she should be making for herself?
The mug was thick, the warmth of it seeping into my fingers when I took it. My lip curled when I realized she had put cream in it. Not that I was going to drink it. "Thanks," I said, making an ugly face right back at her when she took a sexually charged pose atop Lee's desk, her legs crossed at the knee.
"Lee," she said, leaning to make a provocative show. "There is a slight problem on the floor that needs your attention."
Looking annoyed, he pushed her out of his way. "Deal with it, Candice. I'm with friends."
Her eyes went black and her shoulders stiffened. "It's something you need to attend. Get your ass downstairs. It won't wait."
I flicked my gaze to Trent, reading his surprise. Apparently the pretty vamp was more than decoration. Partner? I wondered. She sure was acting like it.
She cocked one eyebrow at Lee in mocking petulance, making me wish I could do the same. I still hadn't bothered to learn how. "Now, Lee," she prompted, slipping off the desk and going to hold the door for him.
His brow furrowed. Brushing his short bangs from his eyes, he pushed his chair back with excessive force. "Excuse me." Thin lips tight, he nodded to Trent walked out, his feet thumping on the stairway.
Candice smiled predatorily at me before she slipped out after him. "Enjoy your coffee," she said, closing the door. There was a click as it locked.
Twenty-six
I took a deep breath, listening to the silence. Trent shifted his legs to put his ankle atop a knee. Eyes distant and worried, he chewed on a lower lip, looking nothing like the drug lord and murderer he was. Funny, you couldn't tell by looking.
"She locked the door," I said, jumping at the sound of my own voice.
Trent lifted his eyebrows. "She doesn't want you to wander. I think it's a good idea."
Snarky elf, I thought. Stifling a frown, I went to the small round window looking out across the frozen river. Using the flat of my hand, I wiped the condensation from it and took in the varied skyline. Carew Tower was lit up with holiday lights, glowing with the gold, green, and red film they covered the top floor windows with so they would shine like huge bulbs. It was clear tonight, and I could even see a few stars through the city's light pollution.
Turning, I put my hands behind my back. "I don't trust your friend."
"I never have. You'll live longer that way." Trent's tight jaw eased and the green of his eyes went a little less hard. "Lee and I spent our summers together when we were boys. Four weeks at one of my father's camp
s, four weeks at his family's beach house on a manmade island off the coast of California. It was supposed to foster goodwill between our families. He's the one who set the ward on my great window, actually." Trent shook his head. "He was twelve. Quite an accomplishment for him at the time. Still is. We had a party. My mother fell into the hot tub, she was so tipsy. I should replace it with glass now that we're—having difficulties."
He was smiling in a bittersweet memory, but I had stopped listening. Lee set the ward? It had taken the color of my aura, just like the disk in the game room. Our auras resonated to a similar frequency. Eyes squinting, I thought about our shared aversion to red wine. "He has the same blood disease I do, doesn't he?" I said. It couldn't be a coincidence. Not with Trent.
Trent's head jerked up. "Yes," he said cautiously. "That's why I don't understand this. My father saved his life, and now he's squabbling over a few million a year?"
Few million a year. Pocket change for the rich and filthy. Restless, I glanced at Lee's desk, deciding I had nothing to learn by sifting through the drawers. "You, ah, monitor the levels of Brimstone you produce?"
Trent's expression went guarded, then, as if making a decision, he ran a hand across his hair to make it lie flat. "Very carefully, Ms. Morgan. I'm not the monster you'd like me to be. I'm not in the business of killing people; I'm in the business of supply and demand. If I didn't produce it, someone else would, and it wouldn't be a safe product. Thousands would die." He glanced at the door and uncrossed his legs to put both feet on the floor. "I can guarantee it."
My thoughts went to Erica. The thought of her dying under the flag of being a weak member of the species was intolerable. But illegal was illegal. My hand smacked into his gold earrings as I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "I don't care how pretty the colors are that you paint your picture with, you're still a murderer. Faris didn't die because of a bee sting."
His brow furrowed. "Faris was going to give his records to the press."