Steele City Blues: The Third Book in the Hell’s Belle Series (Hell's Belle 3)

by Karen Greco

  I stood and strode down the dirt drive, gravel crushing under my feet. Away from Max. Away from the burning house. Away from Gramps and Mariana, who enveloped her corporeal son in a massive hug, her back shuddering in sobs of joy to finally be able to touch the child she thought she’d lost. I even strode away from Frankie.

  A cool rain started, each drop cleansing the sludge of the battle off of me as I stumbled my way towards home.

  26

  "Hey, Nina, another round down here," Al called to me from the perch on his bar. His shit-eating grin told me that this round was on one of the poor college students that he bamboozled using Eva's divination skills. I sighed, pulling on the tap to pour three more beers. Goddamn grifters were going to scare away my best customers — college kids who liked cheep beer and the dive bar ambiance.

  There was a loud crash from the table area and I climbed onto the bar to get a better look over the half-wall. "What do you think you're doing?" I yelled at Matty. My idiot cousin turned over two tables in an attempt to lay down a ridiculous looking throw carpet. There was a microphone stand and an amp on the floor.

  "Matty needs some practice time," Darcy explained from her stool next to Al, a stack of boxes between them. She was cross checking the orders with the most recent shipment. She slapped Al's hand away as he reached for a not-yet unaccounted for bottle of something. Cutty Sark, maybe? Who the hell ordered that? I had to sort out my daylight issue if everyone kept going off list with the orders.

  "So why can't he rent out a practice room or something?" I grumped. I crossed my arms and narrowed my eyes at my clueless cousin as he ordered around my paying customers to set his gear. "Like maybe get a garage or something."

  Darcy rolled her eyes at me. "Killing Hannah is not a garage band."

  I raised my hands in apology and jumped back behind the bar to fill a few pints for Matty's helpers. I was putting it on his tab, too.

  "Besides, he needs some spending cash."

  I slapped a half-filled pint glass down on the bar. "I am not paying him to play—"

  "No, no, no," Darcy said. "He's going to put out a tip bucket."

  I raised my eyebrows. My egomaniac rocks star cousin playing Babe's for tips? "I still don't see how this helps him. Or Babe's."

  "This is really about him honing a new, acoustic solo show," Darcy explained, lowering her voice. "He needs to go out on tour, Nina. He's dead broke."

  "He's dead something," I muttered. "And how the hell is he broke? Tavio's got to have something squirreled away." Compound interest was an immortal's best friend. My dad left me with several pieces of investment property and a very healthy bank account. Frankie had been quite comfortable over the past few centuries.

  "It's a cash flow issue," Darcy explained. "And it's not like he can compel a good record deal."

  "Tavio can," I reminded her. Beta-Vamps didn't have any of the benefits of being a vampire and all of the drawbacks. But his dad was a full vampire and could do the dirty work. Unless he was too busy doing Bertrand's.

  "Tavio's pissed that Matty keeps blowing through his money, so he cut him off," Darcy admitted. I closed my eyes and shook my head. "Please, Nina? It'll be great for business, you'll see! The lead singer from Killing Hayley, playing stripped down solo sets at Babe's? You'll make a killing." I raised my eyebrows at her choice of works. "In a manner of speaking."

  I scowled at the thought of Matty hanging around the bar even more. If he was here for a reason, it was harder for me to toss his ass out when I got sick of his whining. But one look at my best friend's pleading, hopeful face and I softened. We can't help who we fall in love with, right?

  "Fine," I said. "We try it for one week. But he gives me any shit, acts surly or he makes me lose customers, he's done. Deal?"

  Darcy's smile lit up the room. "Deal," she said with a little squeal. She leaned over the bar and gave me a fast kiss on the cheek. "And they said the vampire made you grumpy," she whispered before scurrying into the other room to get a front row seat at Matty's first solo gig.

  "Who said that?" I called after her as the first chord from Matty's guitar filtered through the room. He warbled a bit into the mic and, I had to admit, sounded pretty good.

  The front door opened and a passel of college kids stomped in. The girls in the loose group squealed in delight when they saw Matty in the side room, strumming his guitar. They rushed into the space. "I didn't know Babe's had live music," I heard one of them say.

  Al was throwing eyeball daggers at me. "What?" I said with a shrug. "I can't tell Darcy no."

  "That's why she was the one that asked," he groused. "Good lord, acoustic sets at Babe's? Now the weepy emo little shits will never leave."

  "Oh shut it, Al," Eva squeaked. "You think anyone wants to hang out with grumpy old men?" She dropped her voice. "Or vampires?"

  "Who's saying that?" I asked again, this time my voice edging up. I wasn't a grumpy vampire, dammit.

  "'Ello, gorgeous," came from behind me and I turned at the sound of Frankie's voice. One hip leaned into the bar, and his arms were folded across his chest. His sly grin made me wonder if he was spreading the grumpy vampire rumors, but, caught up in his ocean blue eyes, my exasperation melted away. I snagged a bottle of Clown Shoes from the fridge and cracked it open. He wrapped his hand around mine and the bottle, pulling me towards him.

  "I think you owe me something," he said into my ear, his voice a sexy growl.

  "Do I?" I asked, a smile tugging up my lips.

  "You do," he whispered, "And I intend to collect before sunrise."

  I allowed myself a brief, sweet moment as the promise of pleasure pressed through my body. We had battled Leila and came out the other side all right.

  "A promise is a—" I started, my flirting cut off by the motion of a pissed off Mary Jane stalking towards us from the door. Max trailed in her wake.

  I released Frankie's hand and busied myself cleaning the bar glasses in the sink, one eye on Mary Jane as she maneuvered through the crush of college kids.

  "Did you check everyone's ID?" she snapped, her linen suit rumpled from the press of bodies she’d just pushed through.

  "I didn't know you were ATF," was my cool response. She may be my boss in Blood Ops, but I was boss of this bar.

  Max cleared his throat and adjusted his button-down shirt so his badge was showing. I flicked my hands, spattering both of them with water. A small grunt of satisfaction slipped from me when not one of my young barflies cared that there was a fed in the building.

  "We're off the clock," Frankie reminded them. He raised his eyebrows at me before taking a long pull from his beer.

  "We didn't come in for a debriefing," Mary Jane said, wiping at the sudsy water that had hit her expensive linen. I didn't bother covering up my smirk. Childish, I know, but this woman irked me. And it looked like I was starting to ruffle her pristine feathers.

  "This is serious," Max said. "Things are different now. You can't be so...rebellious."

  "Rebellious?" I asked, eyes wide in mock surprise. "You mean a secret government operative snuffing out supernatural creatures should be more...orthodox?"

  One of the college kids turned to us. "You're talking about X-Men, right?"

  "Absolutely," Frankie said. "Go listen to the music. I’ll give you ten quid if you request ‘Free Bird.’"

  "We do things by the book," Mary Jane continued, this time keeping her voice low. "We have some pressing things to deal with."

  "We're taking a few days off," I lied. Well, not really, but a few days off sounded pretty good. I hated to shut down the bar again, but maybe Darcy would cover. I did agree to let Matty launch his solo career from here, after all.

  "I need the team for something else," she said, but my eyes were on Max, who looked warily around the room.

  "Where's Casper?" he asked.

  "He's with his mom," I said, tacking on a dramatic sigh at the end. "Can you two just get to the damn point? I was hoping for a bit of downtime."


  "It's about Bertrand," Max began.

  Okay, now they had my attention. "What about him?"

  Mary Jane tucked her silky hair behind her ears. "We don't trust him."

  "Well duh," I said and went back to washing out the glasses. I should have known better than to get my hopes up.

  “You’re close to him,” she said.

  “Me? What about Max? He trusts Max way more than me.”

  “That’s why I need you to get closer,” she said.

  "No way,” Frankie said. “She’s not facing a demon on her own.”

  "She will have the full support of the agency," she continued.

  "That's a relief," I said mockingly. "Look, Mary Jane, I need a break, okay? It's been one crisis after the next. Dr. O is—"

  "Human," Frankie interrupted.

  "Human," I agreed. "And alive. Leila is dead."

  "Twice," Frankie chimed in again.

  "Yes, and she wasn't supposed to be," Mary Jane reminded me.

  I plunked another pint glass into the soapy water and bubbles wafted into the air. "It's safer for everyone this way."

  "Look, I’m trying to give you both a way out. But you insist on doing it the hard way," Mary Jane huffed. "Fine. We are sanctioning you both for not follow direct orders to keep Leila Martinez alive."

  I paused, my hands still under water. Frankie and I looked at each other and burst out laughing.

  "Haven't had the time to talk to HR, have you?" Frankie asked. "Take a day or two and give our files a good going over. How many times have we been sanctioned, Nina?"

  "I think I lost count at around 57," I said.

  "You don't seem to understand," she said, a cold smile spreading across her face. "Your complete disregard of authority has jeopardized an ongoing undercover investigation."

  "What ongoing investigation?" I asked, bringing my hand up out of the water. Soap plopped on the bar counter.

  "That information is above your security clearance," she snorted.

  My vampire reflexes kicked in and I grabbed her wrist with my soapy hand, soaking her expensive linen shirt with cheap dish detergent. I yanked her close. "Lady, you don't even know half the shit we've seen. Nothing is that classified."

  I released her arm, shoving her away.

  "What the hell is this racket?" Gramps' voice boomed through the bar as he shuffled from the door going up to the apartment.

  "Your staying above a bar," Al bickered back at him. "What the hell'd you expect?"

  "I'm talking about that sad-sack singer," Gramps retorted. "Makes me want to cry in my beer." He looked from me to the beer taps then back to me again. "I have no beer to cry in. See the issue now?"

  At Gramps' entrance, Mary Jane backed off, wiping at her shirt with a cocktail napkin. I poured Gramps a 'Gansett as he raised his eyebrows at me. "Impressing the new boss?"

  I chuckled. "Apparently."

  "You two take your vacation time," he said, nodding at Frankie. "I think you need some, what's it called, alone time?" He followed that up with kissy noises, and Al burst out laughing.

  "Yeah, yeah," I said, vaulting over the bar to bring some free beers over to the tables that Matty disturbed to set up his stage. It gave me an excuse to escape their razzing, which continued until I got into the other room.

  "On the house," I said with a smile, putting the beers down in front of the happy patrons.

  I stopped to watch Darcy, sitting front row and positively smitten with Matty as he serenaded her with a love song, like she was the only person in the room.

  Frankie came up behind me and wrapped his arms around me. "Maybe retirement isn't such a bad idea," he whispered into my ear as we both watched Matty command the little makeshift stage. "Settle down here, run the bar."

  "No more staking vampires," I murmured.

  "Or accelerating global warming," he teased, referring to my uncontrolled magic.

  "Hey," I protested. "I've gotten better."

  "Sod it, Nina. We've got Dr. O safe, and Leila's out of the picture."

  "But Bertrand—" I cut myself off, remembering what Leila said about Bertrand making me, like Max.

  "Bertrand, what, love?" Frankie asked.

  "He's still running things," I said, turning my head to watch Max. He and Mary Jane were standing by the door, heads tipped together. Max looked comfortable with her, touching her arm as they spoke. Did Max's interest in keeping Blood Ops together have to do with his Berserker curse? If we were both made, did he think I could help unmake us? Did I even want to?

  Max and Mary Jane snuck a glance my way, and I wondered what they were plotting. I sighed and turned back to watch Matty work some magic on an intricate guitar chord. This was not my problem. I told Max not to make a deal with a demon.

  "So let him," Frankie continued. "Bertrand didn't interfere with Leila. He let us handle it. Let's allow him to handle Providence."

  "He didn't exactly help, either," I said. "I still don't trust him."

  "Nor do I," he said. "But do we have to fix everything?"

  "I guess not," I said with a shrug.

  I thought about the years of sacrifice that Frankie and I both made, and the people we'd lost along the way. I thought about Babe, almost hearing her loud laughter coming from behind the bar, her presence etched into the old wooden boards and polished brass. I thought about Casper, struck down at 18 by Leila's serial killer lover. He was still with us, but for how long? The ghosts in the Biltmore withered with each passing year, turning into angry poltergeists as they refused to leave our plane. How much time did Casper have before we had to force him to pass over?

  Then I thought about me, and I mourned for the human that I once was. And the humans, the people we fought to protect from the criminally minded freaks like us, well... They weren't great at separating the good guys from the hoodlums.

  "Besides, do we really want to work with an organization who responds to a crisis by dropping bombs on its own people?" Frankie continued.

  "Can we afford not to?" I wondered aloud.

  He chuckled. "It's rather pompous to think the human race cannot get on without us, don't you think?"

  I sighed and leaned into him, the strength of his muscled body against my own lifting my melancholia. His fingers intertwined with mine, and he brought my hand up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss into my palm.

  Darcy beamed from her seat in front of Matty, whose voice, I had to admit, was angelic. He had the entire room hypnotized by his charisma. I snuggled against Frankie, contentment settling over me like a warm bowl of soup. Well, I guess a warm bowl of blood now.

  Maybe we were going to be all right, Frankie and me. Maybe, we were going to be all right.

  <<<<>>>>

  About the Author

  Karen Greco is originally from Rhode Island and loves hot wieners from New York System, but can't stand coffee milk. She studied playwriting in college (and won an award or two). After not writing plays for a long time, a life-long obsession with exorcists and Dracula drew her to urban fantasy, where she decapitates characters with impunity. Steele City Blues is the third book in the Hell’s Belle series, after Hell’s Belle (the first) and Tainted Blood (number two). She writes contemporary romance for a small press under the pen-name Jillian Sterling, and has a day job in entertainment publicity. She does not speak in the third person all that often. Really.

  Stay up-to-date with the Hell’s Belle series and other books by joining the newsletter.

  @karenthegreco

  hellsbellebykarengreco

  www.karengrecoauthor.com

  Also by Karen Greco

  Hell’s Belle (Book 1 in the Hell’s Belle Series)

  Tainted Blood (Book 2 in the Hell’s Belle Series)

  Writing as Jillian Sterling

  Billionaire Bait

  The Forbidden Beat

  Acknowledgments

  A huge thanks to my friends and family that slog through early, typo-riddled manuscripts with such enthusiasm.

 
Thank you to one of my oldest, dearest friends, Lizz, for always jumping on board for the early read. Your support means the world to me. And to my cousins Lia and Lynn, who read Every. Single. Word. and find errant typos. You guys are amazing.

  I owe a huge debt of gratitude to my editing team, Rakia Clark and Clarence Haynes. You both make me sound like I know what I am doing.

  Finally, to my readers. Thank you for reaching out via Facebook, my website, or wherever you find me. You guys have no idea how much it means to hear from you. You keep me going.

  The rocking cover designs for the Hell’s Belle series are by Robin Ludwig.

  Copyright © 2016 by Karen Greco

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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