All Hell Breaks Loose

by Sharon Hannaford

  “You make sure you look after her,” she warned him. “I’ve told her you’ll pay well, and if she feels uncomfortable about doing something you’ve asked her to, she doesn’t have to do it.” She poked him in the chest a couple more times to make her point.

  He captured the offending finger and kissed the tip of it, amusement twinkling in his sapphire eyes. “Yes, your ladyship,” he replied with feigned subservience.

  “Make it clear she is under my protection,” Gabi commanded regally.

  “Of course, my Lady,” he agreed. “No one would dare to upset a friend of the great Angeli Morte.”

  Gabi narrowed her eyes. “Good,” she told him with a mock growl. “And now that’s settled, assign me my babysitter, I have to go to work.”

  His jaw muscles twitched as he held back a smile. “Marcello will be waiting at the Mustang,” he told her. “I’d appreciate it if you could bring him back in one piece.” He hadn’t released her hand yet, and he laid a cool kiss on her palm. A delicious shudder ran down Gabi’s spine. “I’ll be here when you get back. I’ve ordered in extra tequila.”

  Oh, that just wasn’t playing fair. Hunger for his touch, his mouth, the feel of his body rolled through her as his tongue made a lazy swipe across her wrist. She pulled her hand back and crossed her arms over her chest before she lost her tiny thread of control and threw herself at him.

  “See you later,” she managed to say, turning and walking away with a sultry sway of her hips.

  He watched her go with dark, hungry eyes.

  The moment she was gone, the desire was replaced by cold determination. He pulled out his phone and re-read the information. His informant in Europe had finally come through. He typed back a short response and then left the main house, heading for Hawthorn House. He needed to find out if Trish cared as much about Gabi as Gabi did about her. And whether Trish could keep a secret.

  With Marcello in the passenger seat, there wasn’t much pressure on Gabi to make conversation. The Italian Vampire was easy-going and chatty and effortlessly filled any silence with amusing, snarky conversation. He made Gabi laugh as he waxed lyrical about the staff on the Estate, spilling the beans on the loves, hates, feuds and petty jealousies. Gabi hadn’t realised how much the Clan was like a real-life soap opera. She learned some secrets she wasn’t sure she actually wanted to be privy to.

  When they arrived at the rendezvous point, the other members of the patrol found Marcello easier to accept than the loud, hulking presence of Fergus. Kyle and Marcello did the whole brothers’-in-arms, hand-shake greeting thing that made Gabi shake her head. There were three other Werewolves and an extra Vampire in the team tonight, as well as the Capture team. The other Vampire was Tabari, a Vampire Gabi had met a few times. He was of black African descent, something of a rarity in the Vampire world, and he had the unusual ability to make Gabi uncomfortable. This was bizarre given the fact that she found his ethic accent comfortingly familiar after her months spent in South Africa working to rehabilitate lions. She swallowed down her uneasiness and concentrated on the mission for the evening. The rain had eased off for the moment, but she didn’t doubt it would be back soon.

  “Right,” Gabi addressed the team. “Tonight we’re going to split into two teams with the van staying somewhere in between us. This is a particularly vulnerable area, so there’s a good chance we’re going to run into our rogues tonight. HQ has their eyes on the street cams, but so far the rogues have been careful to avoid those. This area has very few security cameras, so it’s considered a prime target. Tabari, you’ll be with Kyle’s group. Marcello, you’re with me. I need a volunteer to drive one of the cars, so that we have back-up in case our suited friends show up on wheels.”

  One of the Werewolves stepped forward. “I’ve done a bit of street racing in my time.” He looked like he’d been in a couple of gang fights in his time, too. A cigarette hung casually between his forefinger and thumb, and the body armour looked incompatible with his street thug attire and attitude.

  “And you are?” Gabi asked

  “They call me Butch,” he drawled with a slow grin.

  Gabi only just managed to not roll her eyes. “What car are you driving, Butch?” Gabi challenged.

  “A fast one,” he answered, all cocky male arrogance.

  That was fine with Gabi; it meant she didn’t have to let anyone else behind the wheel of her Mustang.

  “Fine, you’re driving, but your driving skills had better match your ego,” she warned. His confidence didn’t waver. “You two split up one on either team,” she said to the other two Werewolves. “Whatever happens, if bullets start flying, get your exposed body parts behind some kind of protection. Don’t forget these guys were packing silver the last time we met. Everyone knows this is a no-kill mission, keep your dart guns ready. Keep out of sight as much as possible, and keep your ears open for suspicious noises.”

  A ripple of acknowledgement washed through the gathered men.

  “Let’s go.”

  It was easier to move unnoticed with a small team. Gabi didn’t send Marcello up to roof level. The area was home to a number of high-rise apartment buildings, the roofs too high to make overhead surveillance feasible. The rain started up again, as she’d predicted. At first a soft, misty drizzle, but within minutes, the sky opened, and the raindrops came down large and hard enough to sting. Icy fingers of water trickled down the back of Gabi’s neck and soaked into her clothing, visibility was reduced to a few metres at best. Scent was down to almost zero, and sound was all but obliterated by the pounding of fat water drops onto roofs, sidewalks and parked cars. Gabi adjusted her collar and pulled her sleeve lower, trying to protect her dart gun and grip from the worst of the rain. The trio moved steadily, keeping to the shadows, checking alleys and side streets as they progressed down the first road. They were almost at the end of their designated area when Gabi felt the familiar prickle at the back of her neck. At first she wrote it off as reaction to the cold and a nasty encounter with an overflowing gutter, but the feeling grew stronger as they neared the major crossroad that signalled the edge of their search area.

  She brought the other two to a halt with a quick hand gesture; they were immediately on guard. Gabi drew them into the relative shelter of a bakery entranceway and touched her comlink to activate the microphone.

  “Kyle,” she called in a low voice, wiping water from her face.

  “What’s up?” Kyle’s equally quiet response seemed to come from inside her own skull. She wondered if she’d ever get used to the sensation.

  “Our watcher is back,” she said as she threw out her Vamp sense to try to pinpoint the presence. “And this time it’s feeling kind of malevolent.”

  “Anything else?” Kyle asked. “Where is it? What is it?”

  “I’m trying,” Gabi gritted out. “If I had to make a guess, I’d say Magus and close. Close enough that it knows we’re here.”

  “Damn. Do you think we can draw it out?” Kyle said.

  “Guys,” another voice broke into the conversation, “there’s something going on in a side alley next to the Rosewood Heights.” It was Ross, the driver of the van. Gabi was already moving in the direction of the apartment block, the watcher forgotten for the moment.

  “How many entrances to the alley?” Gabi demanded.

  “Only one open entrance to the street,” came Ross’s prompt reply. “But the wall at the far end is scalable for a Were or Vamp, and there is a door into the basement parking garage, though technically you need an access key.”

  Gabi was impressed by his instant knowledge until she remembered that the Rosewood was home to a fair number of prostitutes.

  “How far are you, Wolf?” Gabi asked.

  “Nearly there,” Kyle replied, his breathing heavier.

  “We’re closer to the rear of the building. We’ll cover that, you got the main entrance,” she decided.

  “Gotcha,” he agreed.

  The tall silhouette of the apartment block
with its haphazard assortment of lit and unlit windows came into view as Gabi and her team rounded a corner. They sped towards the small block of shops that backed onto the apartment block. A side alley led to a parking area at the rear of the shops, where a ten-foot wall separated the two properties. The roar of a car engine and the squeal of tyres was the only warning they had as a black sedan lunged towards them out of the parking lot. Gabi hurled herself sideways, hitting the side of the building hard enough to knock the air out of her chest. She heard a dull thump as the speeding car passed close enough to knock the dart gun out of her hand with a wing mirror.

  “Fuck,” she growled, as her right hand went instantly numb.

  “Gabi, what’s…shit.” Kyle’s voice broke off.

  Marcello was suddenly at her side, holding the dart gun out to her. Miraculously it was in one piece. A pained groan echoed from across the alley.

  “Damn, Ben,” Gabi cursed, realising the thump had been the car hitting the Werewolf. “Marcello, that car. See where it’s heading,” she ordered. “Butch, we have a runner, I need you on Oak Street. Now!” She rushed to check on Ben. He was groaning and writhing, a good sign. “Kyle, what’s happening?”

  “Another victim,” he replied, “not looking good. No sign of the rogues.”

  “Yeah, they just hurtled out of here in a car,” Gabi said, quickly checking Ben over. “Marcello and I are going after them with Butch. Send someone to see to Ben. He’s down but stable.”

  “Don’t do anything stupid,” Kyle warned as another car squealed around the corner and slammed to a halt at the alley entrance, the door already open. She sprang into the passenger seat, and Marcello appeared in the back seat as though by magic.

  Chapter 14

  “Fourth street left,” Marcello hissed, and Butch put his foot down. The downpour hadn’t been enough to hide the custom paint job or the performance racing tyres on the Subaru Imprezza. Butch hadn’t been joking when he said he did some street racing. The tyres took a second to find their grip on the slippery tarmac, but once they did, the car leapt forward, slamming Gabi back into her seat. Butch calmly kept the four-wheel-drive beast straight as it bolted down the slick road. Gabi flexed her right hand, suppressing a hiss of pain. The numbness was wearing off and a burning ache was setting in, she hoped there weren’t any cracked bones. She swapped the dart gun into the painful hand and was relieved to find she could close her fingers around the grip. That was a good sign.

  “Hang on,” Butch growled as he threw the car around the corner Marcello had indicated.

  Gabi had just enough time to brace herself but lost control of the dart gun again. As she righted herself and groped around at her feet for the gun, Marcello pointed excitedly into the gloom ahead of them.

  “There,” he said. “Three blocks ahead.”

  Gabi wasn’t sure she could see anything through the haze of rain and minimal streetlights.

  “They’ve turned off their lights,” Marcello added, “but I can see them.”

  Butch grunted unintelligibly and flipped a switch on the dashboard. The car, already pushing ninety miles an hour, gave a primal roar and put on a burst of additional speed. Gabi’s fingers closed around the barrel of the dart gun, and this time she tucked it securely into its holster. As she searched the rain-drenched night ahead, she could just make out the dark shadow of a vehicle in front of them. They were gaining on it. She was just wondering how they were going to force the rogues off the road when Marcello opened one of the rear windows and deftly squirmed out until he was perched on the side of the car with just his legs inside.

  “Get me as close to them as you can,” he shouted into the wind. “I’ll peel the roof off that thing and toss them out for you to clean up.”

  There was a maniacal grin on his face that Gabi had never seen before. The previous times she’d fought with Marcello, they’d been up against Demons and Ghouls, and she’d had the impression he didn’t like being in the middle of a battle. Apparently it was only battles with monsters he didn’t enjoy. Then he was gone, followed by a couple of thumps on the roof of the Subaru.

  Butch looked upward sourly. “No dents, Vampire,” he growled.

  Marcello’s ghostly chuckle drifted back to them.

  The rain started to ease at last, and Gabi could make out the shapes of the men in the car only half a block in front of them now. There were four of them, and they seemed to be aware that they were being followed. The car made a sharp left onto a side street, followed by a succession of lefts and rights, but Butch stayed right on their tail, closing the distance between the vehicles by steady increments. Buildings, parked cars and shop lights were a blur on either side of them, only the car in front remained in focus. Gabi kept expecting to hear a thump as Marcello was thrown from the roof of the careening car, but he stuck to the roof like a hunting gecko. They’d left the eastern suburbs and were heading into the heavy industrial area on the outer edge of the City. Finally there was a stretch of road with no more side streets to escape down, and Butch flattened his foot on the accelerator again. The engine roared, responding instantly. They were close enough to see the agitation of the men in the other car, and they were close enough to watch as one turned, opened his window and aimed a gun straight at them.

  “Fuck,” Gabi swore, bracing herself as the first of the bullets struck the windshield. Thick cracks spiderwebbed across the glass, and one bullet punched a hole straight through, embedding itself in the rear seat. Butch instinctively let up slightly on the accelerator and swerved the Subaru to the other side of the road, making it harder for the shooter to target them. He didn’t give up the chase, though, keeping the car steady even with almost no visibility through the shattered windshield. Another window went down on the other side of the black car, and a second gun muzzle pointed out. This time it wasn’t a hand gun, it was an assault rifle. The staccato spit of bullets shattered the night air, and the distinct pop of a tyre bursting sank Gabi’s hopes of finally catching the bastards.

  “Fucking hell,” Butch yelled, and this time jammed on the brakes, fighting the steering wheel as more gunfire rained towards them.

  Gabi ducked, just as Marcello sailed over the front of the car and into the road. She spared a quick look to check on the Vampire, but he was already rolling away from the path of the careening car. The shooter with the rifle sent one last blast of bullets in their direction, and then they sped off into the night. It took Butch long moments to bring the car to a stop, and Gabi considered it a miracle that they hadn’t actually rolled. Once they tumbled out of the car and got a good look at the number of bullet holes in it, Gabi realised that the bigger miracle was that none of them had been hit.

  “My car,” Butch almost wailed, taking in the damage.

  “Just think of the street cred you’ll get when you arrive at your next race with twenty bullet holes in it,” Gabi said, patting his shoulder in consolation. “Not bad driving, by the way.”

  Marcello joined them, having made his way from the spot where he was thrown off the roof, and Gabi had to revise her assessment that no one had been hit. She could scent his blood before she saw the holes in his leather jacket. He brushed off her concern, but she dragged him into the beam of the car headlights to get a better look. He’d taken two bullets to his left shoulder, and there were no exit wounds.

  “Damn, we need to get those bullets out quick,” she muttered, remembering how quickly Julius healed.

  Marcello calmly handed her a flick knife from his pocket. She sat him on the front of the car while Butch used her phone to call Kyle and tell him where to find them. The Vampire shrugged out of his jacket and shirt, barely wincing as he did so. Gabi grimaced when she saw the wounds; one was bleeding profusely. They had to hurt like hell. The smell of his blood swamped her nose, and for the first time, Gabi thought consciously about whether the scent appealed to her. The smell of Julius’s blood had a bizarre effect on her. She found it mouth-wateringly good, and was hard-pressed not to taste it if she
smelled it. Marcello’s, though not unpleasant, definitely didn’t hold the same attraction. She filed the snippet of information away as Butch returned with a small flashlight and held it so she could see the gunshot wounds more clearly.

  She took a deep breath and gritted her teeth as she set to work. Marcello didn’t even flinch; he just turned to Butch and began to tell some sordid joke about a Werewolf, a stripper and a troll. Gabi was concentrating too hard to hear the punchline, but she soon had two bloodied, misshapen lumps of metal in her hand.

  “That should do it, tough guy,” she told him.

  He let out a relieved sigh and flexed his arm. The bleeding had stopped, and the wounds were already looking smaller.

  “Thank you, bello mio,” he said. “That was much less painful than having Jonathon dig them out later.”

  She deposited the mementos into his hand, grimacing as swelling and pain stiffened her fingers. He frowned and lightly caught her hand before she could pull away. He ran his fingers over hers very gently. “This one is broken for sure,” he said, indicating her middle finger, “you better tape it up, or the next time you flip Alexander the bird, it will be crooked.”

  Gabi snorted a laugh just as Kyle’s van pulled up next to them.

  “Damn,” he said appreciatively as he took in the bullet-riddled Subaru. “Get in. A tow truck is on its way for the car.”

  Butch chose to stay with his baby. Even though Gabi had assured him that the SMV would cover any repair bill, he still looked like a man bereft.

  After collecting the Mustang, Gabi followed Kyle back to HQ. The victim who’d been attacked at the apartment block hadn’t survived. His injuries had been too severe. Kyle told her that it looked like the Werewolf had lost control. Or they meant to kill the man. Ben was banged up but recovering fast. He’d broken a femur, though; so he’d be out of action for at least a couple of days. Even Werewolves took a few days to heal something that serious.