“Fine,” he said, turning back to the other vampire. “Jerry, shake my hand.”
“Sir?”
“Shake my damn hand, boy. I want to know who made you.”
Moreno frowned, but he held out a trembling hand. Vincent grabbed it tightly, then looked up and caught the kid’s gaze. “Let’s take a trip down memory lane, Jerry.”
Jerry’s eyes went wide and Vincent fell into his memories. This was his talent. Every powerful vampire had one, just like every vampire made had some telepathic skill. But the truly powerful vampires were always distinguished by something more, a talent that was unique to them. And Vincent’s talent was the ability to delve into a person’s memories—whether human or vampire, it didn’t seem to matter. The very first time it happened, he’d thought he was the one being captured, that it was the other vampire with the power. But he’d quickly realized that he was in control, that he was literally reliving the vamp’s life with him, seeing details that even the vampire himself couldn’t have recalled if he’d been asked.
Vincent didn’t know where a vampire’s abilities came from. Magic, some vampires insisted. Science, others scoffed, the untapped reservoir of the human brain brought forth by the Vampire symbiote. Since the symbiote itself was pretty much a mystery, Vincent figured anything was possible. He tended to go with science though. He didn’t really have much belief in magic.
But wherever his talent came from, it had proved itself to be very useful. It had screwed with his head at first as he struggled to separate his own memories from those he tapped into. But he worked that out over time, utilizing some of those brain parts the science types insisted went untapped. He thought of it as building muscles he’d never had to use before, the same way one would exercise and develop muscles to deal with an injury—building new muscles to support the injured ones.
He’d also discovered a darker side to his talent, a useful but cruel application of his unique skill. It was something that he’d called upon more than once in his climb up the ladder of power to become Enrique’s lieutenant. Yes, he could gently guide a person into seeing things in their own memories that they’d forgotten. But the dark correlation of that was the ability to force a person to see things they’d rather not, to trap them in an endless loop of horror and loss until they went mad, sinking into catatonia, becoming little better than a vegetable, until they died of starvation or worse. Although the “worse,” in Vincent’s opinion, was being kept alive by someone who thought they were doing you a favor, while you lived a tormented existence inside your own mind.
But he had no such plans for young Jerry Moreno. Not yet anyway. Moreno’s fate would depend on what Vincent found.
Setting aside thoughts of Moreno’s guilt or innocence, Vincent settled into the young vampire’s head. He saw the most recent memories first. Saw the kid at the same gas station where Vincent and Lana had stopped on the way into town, wanting to be ready to take off the next night. Moreno had just happened to be walking out of the convenience store as Vincent stood there watching the numbers turn on the gas pump. Lana had been sitting in the SUV, which was why Moreno hadn’t noticed her.
Vincent frowned as he realized what he was seeing. Moreno hadn’t simply recognized Vincent as a powerful vampire, he’d actually recognized Vincent personally. How was it possible that Moreno knew Vincent, when Vincent didn’t know anything about Moreno?
The answer had to lie somewhere deeper in the young vampire’s past, and so that’s where Vincent went. He dug beyond the recent memories, skimming through the boring, if somewhat violent, routine of Moreno’s life as an enforcer for the cartel, speeding all the way back to the last memory Jerry Moreno had as a human, the final moments of his life before someone made him Vampire. And there, Vincent found what he’d begun to suspect, but hadn’t wanted to believe. Because the master vampire who’d ambushed Jerry Moreno on a dark street in Cancun, who’d bled him dry and turned him without so much as a conversation, was none other than Enrique himself.
Enrique was Lord of Mexico. He could make as many new vamps as he wanted. Vincent wasn’t even surprised that Enrique had killed Moreno solely for that purpose. Vincent wouldn’t have done it, but it wasn’t that uncommon, especially among the older vampires. But the outrage was what Enrique had done next, something Vincent had never heard of happening before. Alessio Camarillo had been there with Enrique when Moreno woke to his first night as a vampire. The very first words Enrique had spoken to his new child, words imbued with the power he had as Moreno’s Sire, had been an order for the young vampire to obey and protect Camarillo. He’d told him the Mexican drug lord was his master. And that was that. Camarillo had taken Moreno to his compound, and there he’d lived ever since. Treated like a dog, tortured when he did wrong, rewarded with a miniscule ration of blood when he did well. He was never given the blood he needed, never enough to permit him to think for himself, because that might lead him to question his existence.
And God-damned Enrique had known about it the whole time.
Vincent slipped slowly out of Jerry Moreno’s memories, step by step, exquisitely careful not to cause any injury or pain. The kid had suffered enough. He didn’t need Vincent mucking up his brain.
Vincent came back to himself between one eye blink and the next. Back to the stifling concrete hole that was Jerry Moreno’s prison. But not for long.
“Lana?” he said without turning.
“I’m here. What’s the plan?”
“You brought a weapon?”
“Of course. I’ve got my Sig with extra mags. And my knives.”
Vincent grinned over his shoulder. “Knives? Plural?”
She met his gaze evenly and shrugged.
“You have a plan for getting out of here?” he asked her.
“You’re the big bad vampire. I figured I’d leave that up to you.”
“Smart woman,” he said. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’ll blow open that door—”
“It’s not locked,” Lana told him dryly.
“It’s never locked,” Moreno volunteered, speaking for the first time since Vincent had gone down memory lane with him. “When I wake, I go to the kitchen to be fed. And then I report to Señor Camarillo and do whatever he tells me.”
“Not tonight, kid,” Vincent growled. “Can I borrow a knife, Lana?”
She blinked in surprise, but offered it willingly enough, handing him the three-and-a-half inch automatic Spyderco with a push button release. It was small, but truly deadly in the right hands.
Vincent took the blade and, without even hesitating, made a vertical slit in his left forearm, starting at his wrist and cutting at least four inches. He then faced Jerry Moreno directly.
“On your knees, boy,” he said, putting enough power into his command that the kid immediately rolled up off the ground and crashed to his knees. Vincent held out his bleeding arm and said, “Now drink.”
Moreno tilted toward the bloody feast, his nostrils flaring, his fangs bared. But he didn’t drink right away. It was a testament to the strength of Enrique’s hold over him that instead, he raised his eyes to Vincent with a questioning look.
“Sir?” he managed to say.
“You’re a vampire, boy. It’s time you learned what that means. Drink and be mine, and we’ll get the fuck out of this place.”
The naked longing in the kid’s gaze was enough to break even a heart as jaded as Vincent’s.
“Drink, Jerry,” he said gently. “I promise I’ll take care of you.”
A single pink tear rolled down the young vamp’s cheek as he lowered his mouth to Vincent’s wrist and finally began to suck down the bounty of blood being offered. Vincent was a damn powerful vampire. His blood was richer than anything Moreno would have experienced since his first and last taste of Enrique’s blood when he’d been turned. His sucking was tentativ
e at first, but the longer he worked at it, the harder he sucked, until by the end he was smacking his lips and practically moaning with pleasure against Vincent’s arm.
Vincent smiled at his obvious enjoyment, but they had other concerns tonight. It wouldn’t do Moreno any good to be freed of Enrique and Camarillo’s enslavement unless Vincent and Lana managed to get him out of the compound and keep him far enough away that they couldn’t get him back. Which meant Vincent needed to retain all the strength that Lana’s delectable blood had given him.
He touched Moreno’s cheek lightly and the vamp instantly lifted his head to gaze up at Vincent with utter devotion.
“Jerry Moreno,” Vincent said formally. “Do you come to me of your own free will and desire?”
“I do, sir,” Moreno whispered fervently.
“And is this what you truly desire?”
“Oh, yes, sir.”
“Then be mine,” Vincent said, omitting the “drink and be mine” part, because the kid had already drunk his fill. Or at least as much of his fill as Vincent could spare under the circumstances. It would take several more feedings—from someone other than Vincent, maybe a pretty young human from the bar back home—before Moreno was at full strength.
The young vampire fell back to sit on his heels, looking as dazed by everything that had happened as by the unaccustomed richness of the blood he’d drunk. Meanwhile, Vincent gazed down at his ruined wrist in dismay. It would heal quickly enough, but he’d prefer to wrap it—
“Here,” Lana said from behind him. “Let me clean that off. I have some bandages. Not much. I couldn’t bring a whole first-aid kit along, but . . .” She produced a compact, red nylon bag which unzipped to reveal a few sealed packets of antiseptic wipes, a couple of gauze pads, and a flattened bandage wrap, along with several Band-Aids of various sizes.
“I don’t think the Band-Aids are going to do much good on that,” she murmured, opening one of the wipes and beginning to wash away the blood.
“I’ll be healed by tomorrow,” Vincent told her.
“But tonight, you’ll drip blood all over, so let me wrap it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She huffed out a disgusted breath, but she was smiling, and Vincent knew that, at some point in the last twelve hours or so, he’d won her over. Her bite-fueled orgasm notwithstanding, she wasn’t ready to jump into bed with him yet, but she liked him. She felt a loyalty to him. After all, she’d risked her life to get in here and save him, hadn’t she? But, as he watched her clean and bandage his arm, he had a feeling it was his kindness toward Moreno, and his obvious anger at the way Enrique had used and abused him, that had won her over. Lana might not let anyone get too close, but she cared about right and wrong. And Vincent had shown her that he did, too. He’d gotten over the first hurdle with her, but now he had to get past that last barrier. The one that didn’t let her care too deeply, because life had shown her that to care was to be disappointed.
Vincent would show her differently. It was only a matter of time.
But speaking of time, theirs was rapidly running out. Camarillo would be sending someone soon to find out where his pet vampire was, and why he didn’t show up at the kitchen on schedule.
Vincent waited until Lana had finished wrapping his arm, then took her hand. “I’m good, querida, but I can’t take on an army by myself. So we’re going to make a run for it. You know a quiet way out of here?”
Lana nodded. “The SUV is less than a half mile away, parked behind a hill just east of here. I came over it this morning. But if you can get us out the gate, it will shorten the distance we have to run.”
“We make directly for the gate then. I can—”
“Also,” she added, interrupting him. “Fidelia Reyes—the woman who cut you—told me that most of Camarillo’s guards are gone. There’s a big drug shipment or something. They’ll be back tonight, but they might not have arrived yet. I didn’t hear anything today that sounded like a bunch of guards coming back, no big noise of vehicles arriving.” She frowned, then admitted, “Although I did fall asleep for a few hours.”
“If there’d been something, it probably would have woken you, so let’s hope for the best. We’ll go for the gate. Jerry and I can move a lot faster than you, querida. So, you’ll let me carry you.”
“I will not!”
“Lana,” he said patiently. “I won’t leave you, and if we travel at your human pace, we’ll all die. Do you understand?”
Her mouth tightened and she gave him a rebellious stare, but then jerked her head in a nod. “Fine.”
Vincent grinned. “I’ll be careful, and I won’t tell anyone.”
“Asshole,” she muttered. “You want a weapon?”
“No. You keep those. Just try not to shoot me or Jerry, okay?”
She gave him a one shoulder shrug coupled with a twist of her luscious lips that was a very clear maybe.
Vincent winked at her, then turned to Moreno. “You ready, Jerry? You understand the plan?”
“Yes, sir,” he responded with far more energy than he’d possessed earlier. “I know the layout and the guard dispositions. There will be two men at the gate, and others patrolling the compound. Lana’s right in saying most of the guards are gone, but others will be here. I can run fast, sir.”
Vincent nodded his approval. “I know you can. I’ll take care of Lana. You just keep up. Anyone takes us on, we take them out. Can you do that?”
“Yes, sir. But if I may suggest, sir?”
“What?”
“A stealthy departure would be best. The cartel owns this town and everyone is armed. Only one guard will be waiting outside this building for me, and I know him. He knows I’m harmless, and he’ll probably assume you are, too. He won’t expect a woman, but—”
“I can take care of any guards we meet. They won’t think anything I don’t want them to,” Vincent said confidently.
“If they won’t expect a woman to be with you, who am I going to be in this little scenario?” Lana asked.
Vincent slung an arm around her waist and pulled her across the dirt floor, bringing her close enough to kiss, if she’d let him. The look on her face told him that was a good way to get bitten, so he simply grinned and said, “You’re dinner, what else?”
Lana rolled her eyes. “Don’t forget the gun.”
Vincent laughed and tightened his hold for a moment before releasing her and standing upright for the first time. Or as upright as he could in the tight enclosure. “Everyone ready?” he asked, all joking set aside.
He glanced at Jerry who stood next to him and said, “Yes, sir.”
Lana had just finished tucking the first-aid kit back into her pocket. She rolled to her feet, the 9mm gripped in her right hand and held down against her leg, so that it was readily available but not advertised, and gave Vincent a tight nod.
“Let’s do this,” he said, and pushed open the unlocked door.
Chapter Eleven
JERRY MORENO walked out first, since he was the person everyone expected to see. Lana couldn’t help noticing the confidence that cloaked him like a second skin ever since Vincent had fed him. This wasn’t the vampire who’d been cowering in the corner less than an hour ago. Standing in the shadowed doorway, Lana kept waiting for the guard to notice the difference in his prisoner, to comment on it, but he never did. Or maybe he was so accustomed to Jerry showing up at sunset that he didn’t even look.
He did notice when Vincent emerged behind Moreno, however. How could he not? Vincent was a presence, at least three inches over six feet and powerfully built. But there was much more to him than just his physical size. There was so much energy crackling around him that Lana expected the bushes to rattle and small objects to move out of his path when he walked. And there was something weird going on with his eyes, too. She’d noti
ced the copper flecks before, noticed that the light caught them sometimes and they seemed to glow. She’d dismissed it as a simple trick of light, but now she realized it was more than that. With his eyes glowing copper-penny bright, Vincent aimed his smile at the guard and, just like that, it was all over. The guard’s mouth went slack, his eyes glazed over, and he stared up at Vincent as if he was the messiah come back to earth.
“¿Cómo te llamas?” Vincent asked the guard. Lana understood that easily enough, but she had to concentrate to decipher the rest of their conversation, which was spoken in rapid Spanish.
“José, jefe. Me llamo José.”
“Is the big gate the only way out of here, José?”
“No, no, jefe, there is a small gate that the gardeners use sometimes, and another that no one is supposed to know about. It is secret and for Señor Camarillo’s use only. For when he—” José stopped and looked away as if embarrassed by what he had to say.
“He what, José?” Vincent all but purred.
“Mi patron is a man, jefe.”
“Ah,” Vincent said, sharing a manly chuckle which only made Lana scowl, because she had a pretty good idea what they were talking about, even while understanding that Vincent was playing the guard for information.
“And is Señor Camarillo entertaining this evening? Or should I say being entertained?” Vincent’s chuckle became a full, deep laugh which was now shared by all three males. Nice. Camarillo was married with children, but he fucked other women on the side. So many that he had a secret door for them to come and go from the compound. What an ass.
“No, no,” José assured him. “This morning was Señor Camarillo’s saint’s day.”
“But he will still sleep in his private room, won’t he?” Vincent asked confidently.
“Oh, si, jefe. Always. Mi patron has enemies and he would not endanger his family.”
Vincent (Vampires in America Book 8) Page 15