Vincent (Vampires in America Book 8)

by D. B. Reynolds

  She heard herself talking and knew she sounded like a prissy idiot, but Vincent . . . unnerved her. He made her feel things she’d never felt for another man, things that threatened to make her forget all of her training, her experience, her common sense.

  “I’ll just . . .” She gestured with her joined hands. “I have a lighter.”

  “As you wish,” Vincent said with a knowing smile. “I’ll rest here, shall I?”

  Lana was pretty sure he was making fun of her, that he didn’t need to rest. But that was all right. As long as he stayed where he was and she went far enough away from him that she could think.

  She found a spot away from the dried brush in the area. No need to start a wildfire just to soothe her rampant hormones. She made a neat pile of the bandages, then flicked her lighter beneath a single branch of scrub that she’d placed at the bottom of the pile. It flared quickly, the paper wrappers fueling the fire until the bandages themselves caught and began to burn.

  By the time her mini bonfire was reduced to ash, Vincent had crossed the yard and was looming over her impatiently.

  “Let’s go.” He started to add something, but then reached for his cell phone. “Michael,” he said, and Lana realized the phone must have been on vibrate for their sneak attack on Poncio. She had a moment of embarrassment because she hadn’t done the same. Then again, she didn’t do that much sneaking around in her business as a bounty hunter. Sure, she frequently pretended to be someone she wasn’t and just as frequently lied her ass off, and there were hours of sitting in her SUV on surveillance, but she didn’t creep around in the dark much.

  “We’ll be there within the hour,” Vincent said after listening for a moment. “I’ll fill you in then.”

  He disconnected, then turned his phone’s ringer back on and slipped it into his pocket. “Michael’s at the airport. We’ll leave Salvio on the plane when we get there. He’s not up for any more fighting tonight.”

  “Should you leave him alone like that?”

  “He won’t be alone. Michael brought a couple of vamp soldiers, plus daylight guards. One of the vamps and all the daylight guards will stay behind.” He hesitated, then added, “You should, too. This next guy won’t be as easy as fat Poncio. We’ll have to fight our way in.”

  Lana didn’t dignify his suggestion with an answer. She simply gave him a go-fuck-yourself look and walked over to where Jerry and Salvio were waiting. She didn’t bother updating them, because their bat ears would have picked up the entire conversation. She was beginning to appreciate how difficult it was to keep anything private with vampires around. She’d have to remember that for future reference.

  “How are you feeling, Salvio?” she asked. It was a human response to his injuries; she knew that. But she was human, wasn’t she? How else could she behave?

  “Better,” he said, seeming almost unable to look at her. “Much better. Thank you, miss.”

  Lana sighed. It had already been a long night and it wasn’t even half over. “Call me Lana,” she told him, then turned and headed off to the hill she’d have to climb in order to get back to the SUV. It occurred to her she was doing an awful lot of hiking and climbing on this job. If nothing else, she was probably losing weight, which wasn’t always the case. All of that sitting and waiting for a fugitive to show often meant snacks and caffeine.

  Vincent caught up with her before she’d gone halfway up the hill. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Fine.”

  “Every male alive knows that when a woman says fine, it usually means the opposite. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “I’m going after Carolyn with you.”

  “I know.”

  “You might be glad I’m there before the end.”

  “I’m glad now.”

  “No, you’re not. You’d like to tuck me away in a corner somewhere until you’re ready to go to bed every morning, then pull me out, drive me a little crazy with your pointless flirting, then put me back in the corner.”

  They reached the top of the hill and Lana stomped her feet a little to get the dirt and tangled bits of brush off her boots. She started down the short incline toward the SUV, but Vincent snagged her arm, pulling her to a stop.

  “I drive you crazy?” he asked, his voice deep and slow and sexy.

  Lana looked up at him, not surprised that the crazy comment was the one he’d latched on to. She glanced down the hill, where Jerry and Salvio were just starting to climb, and said softly, “You know you do, Vincent. That’s why you do it. You like to play.”

  “I like to do other things, too, querida.”

  “Big talk,” she said. Then, wondering what game she was playing and if she’d suddenly lost her mind, she pulled her arm out of Vincent’s grip and continued down to where the SUV waited.

  She heard the locks pop open as she rounded the vehicle to the cargo hatch and glanced back to nod her thanks to Vincent who was still standing at the top of the hill, watching her.

  Let him watch. She had things to do. Opening the cargo hatch, she pulled over her duffel and emptied her pockets, keeping the Sig and her knives. She made a mental note to resupply her first-aid kit yet again, then closed the hatch and opened the back passenger door.

  “Sit up front,” Vincent ordered. “I’m driving. Jerry and Salvio will sit in the back”

  Lana opened her mouth to protest, but in the end, she simply shrugged and slid into the front seat instead.

  VINCENT GLANCED over at Lana as they made their way back to the main highway. It was a bumpy ride, but she hung on to the bar above the door and bounced along with the rest of them. She hadn’t said a word since they’d returned to the Suburban, and he couldn’t figure out if she was pissed or disappointed. This was hardly typical for him. He was quite good with women, good at pleasing them, and at figuring out what they wanted from him. He’d been told by many women of his acquaintance that he listened to them. But then, most of his relationships with women were of short duration and involved blood and sex. Even his relationship with Marisol, whom he’d known for more than a decade, was based on sex. They’d been lovers who discovered a shared love of classical guitar. But sex and blood were still at the heart of it. Usually, when he visited, he gave her a little taste of his blood. Just enough to prolong her youth and, more importantly to Marisol, her looks. It wouldn’t keep her young forever, wouldn’t make her immortal or tie her life to Vincent’s, but she’d always look younger than her years. He didn’t doubt that there was real affection there, but it wasn’t exactly a friendship.

  Maybe it wasn’t possible for a man to be friends with a woman. Of course, he didn’t want to be friends with Lana. She thought he was playing with her. And maybe he was, a little. He liked to tease, liked to flirt. But if she thought that was all he was about, she had a hard lesson coming.

  He smirked to himself at the thought of exactly how hard that lesson would be.

  “Master?” Jerry called from the backseat.

  “Yeah, Jerry.”

  “Do you still plan to deal with Carolyn this evening?”

  “Absolutely. That’s why we’re meeting my lieutenant, Michael, at the airport. He’s brought some more fighters, as well as daylight guards just in case we need them. Do either of you know the name of Carolyn’s boss?” He couldn’t bring himself to refer to the human who’d enslaved her—with Enrique’s help—as her master.

  “He’s not her boss,” Salvio mumbled. “He’s her master.”

  “No, he’s not,” Vincent said sharply. “Your first lesson, Salvio. No human can master a vampire. The three of you were betrayed by Enrique when he enslaved you to humans, but as your Sire, he was also your master.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you call it,” Salvio retorted, his voice stronger and angrier. “I was a dog and Poncio held the leash.”

  �
�And now he’s dead,” Vincent said mildly. The dynamics of vampire society demanded that Salvio know his place in the power structure right up front. Anything else would get him killed very quickly, either by someone—like Michael—who took offense on Vincent’s behalf, or by Vincent himself if he got angry enough. So, he made sure that his next words bore the lash of his power—not enough to harm, but enough to make certain Salvio understood. “But understand that I am not that worm Poncio, not even close. I do not enslave those sworn to me. They, and you, have a choice in how you live your life. If you want to sell books, go to school, be a farmer—although that last might be difficult at night—you are free to do so. If you want to be a fighter, you will join the ranks of my guards and fight only for me. But you will respect me and you will honor the bond between us. If you fail, or if you betray me, the punishment will be far worse than anything Poncio could come up with.”

  Salvio was silent for a long time, then he said, “Forgive me, Master.”

  Vincent rolled his eyes. The Fates save him from baby vampires. It was bad enough that he had Lana sending out mixed signals, now he had to contend with Salvio who didn’t know the difference between a human who treated him like a slave and a true vampire master. And speaking of Lana, he caught her watching him and gave her look that said what the hell do you want from me?

  And she gave him a silent look right back, one that replied look who’s talking.

  Vincent wanted to growl, but instead, he unclenched his jaw enough to remind the two newbies in the backseat of his previous question. “Carolyn’s boss’s name?”

  “Albert Serrana,” Salvio said, sounding somewhat sulky. “He has an estate northwest of Pénjamo, perhaps eighty kilometers—fifty miles—and, yes, many more guards than my . . . than Poncio had.”

  “Why is that?” Lana asked, probably because even her human senses were picking up on the tension in the vehicle. Maybe she hoped a woman’s touch would make it easier to extract the information. Maybe she had a point.

  “My . . . that is Poncio—”

  Vincent went back to gritting his teeth, wondering what he’d been thinking. It would have been so much easier to let someone else school the new vamps in the realities and protocols of life as a vampire.

  “—was a specialist, someone the others called on to extract information through torture, which is something he enjoyed. The torture often lasted long after the information had been given over,” he added with no emotion. “But he needed little in the way of security. Serrana, on the other hand, is like Jerry’s Señor Camarillo, directly involved in the harvest and transport of product, which requires many armed guards.”

  “How many?” Lana asked before Vincent could get to it.

  “It depends on where they are in the distribution cycle, but I’ve seen him with as many as thirty men. Of course, that might have been a display for my . . . for Poncio’s benefit.”

  “Will Michael have enough—” Lana started to ask.

  “I told you, Michael and I alone would be enough,” Vincent interrupted, knowing he was being rude, but tired of all the second-guessing going on in his vehicle. He was far more accustomed to his word being taken as law and no one questioning whatever strategy he came up with.

  Lana raised her eyebrows and returned to staring out the window.

  Great. How far away was that fucking airport anyway?

  Chapter Fifteen

  VINCENT DIDN’T think he’d ever seen a sweeter sight than the international airport in Silao. It was still some distance from Pénjamo, but that was okay, because it was north of the city, which meant tonight he’d arrived there sooner. And that was all for the good. Besides, the only other airport in the area couldn’t handle the Gulfstream 450 that was Vincent’s only private jet. He had a couple of small prop-jets, but he rarely flew in those himself. He seldom traveled alone and so needed the larger aircraft for his various guards and staff.

  He punched up Michael’s number as soon as the airport came into view.

  “Sire.”

  “Yo, Mikey. I’m here.” He managed to stop himself from adding a “thank God” to that statement, figuring his passengers might be offended. Not that he cared about Jerry or Salvio, but he had plans for Lana that didn’t include her being pissed off at him.

  “Shall I send up a flare, my lord?” Michael asked.

  “I don’t want to get arrested, asshole. Just tell me where to go.”

  Michael laughed, and Vincent took a moment to be glad he was back with vampires who understood what it meant to be a vampire. He knew it wasn’t the baby vamps’ fault that they didn’t have a clue, but that didn’t make them any easier to deal with.

  “Go past the main terminal. You’ll see some construction, then general aviation. It’s not a huge airport, but we’ve got a private hangar all to ourselves. I’ll be waiting outside.”

  Vincent made the designated turn, but he didn’t need the directions by then. He could feel the draw of his child’s blood. His connection to Michael was stronger than any other, stronger than the tie to his own Sire, Enrique, much stronger than what he had with vampires like Jerry who were sworn to him as master, but were not vampires of his own making.

  He passed the main terminal and the early-phase construction site of what the signs said would eventually be a cargo terminal. And then finally he spotted the single hangar building that was set aside for private jets. It was divided into three bays, which was far from ideal, at least for Vincent’s purposes. He much preferred a stand-alone hangar, especially if any of his people ended up spending the day here. He hoped Michael had brought along human pilots, too, just in case the decision was made to fly back in the morning instead.

  Michael was standing outside, waiting for them. He waved, directing Vincent to drive right into the hangar alongside the jet.

  Vincent parked where Michael indicated, switched off the ignition, and opened his door.

  Michael was waiting right outside. “Sire!” he said, the formal address contradicting the big grin on his face.

  “Mikey!” Vincent was equally happy to see his lieutenant. Vincent was well-liked in Hermosillo, and he knew that several of the vampires there would stand beside him in a fight . . . as long as the enemy wasn’t Enrique. But the only vampire he could trust completely to have his back was Michael, and he’d missed having that strength behind him. Vincent pulled him into a hug which ended with the two of them pounding each other on the back to assert their manliness.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” he said quietly, letting a bit of the seriousness of their situation seep into the pleasure of seeing each other.

  “I’m glad to be here. No disrespect, Sire, but I’m looking at that guy—” He nodded at Salvio who had climbed out of the backseat and was just now coming into sight around the SUV. “—and I’m thinking I should have been here earlier.”

  “I had Lana—” Vincent grinned at the speculative look Michael gave him, and finished, saying, “—but that’s Salvio, and his damage happened before I got there.”

  “Lana?”

  “She’s tougher than she looks. She also saved my life.”

  Michael did a double take. “Saved your life?” he repeated carefully. “Is there something you want to share with me, jefe?”

  “A thing or two. Who’d you bring with you?”

  “Four daylight guards, including two pilots, just in case.”

  Vincent nodded. He should have known Mike would come prepared. After all, he’d had the best teacher—Vincent himself.

  “Two vamp fighters, Ortega and Zárate,” Michael continued, naming two of those who’d been among the vampires brawling at the club on the night Lana had shown up in Vincent’s office. “I let it be known I needed fighters for some action down South. I didn’t say what for, figuring it’s not that unusual for you to be called in to hand ou
t a little discipline. And since we haven’t exactly advertised your absence, it lets the curious figure that’s where you’ve been. Anyway, Ortega and Zárate were feeling guilty over breaking up the bar. I think they were looking for a way back into your good graces.”

  “Assuming they were ever there,” Vincent muttered.

  “I didn’t tell them that part,” Michael said, grinning. “But they’re good fighters.”

  “Obviously. All right. Here’s what we have going on . . .” He walked Michael out of the hangar, using the noise of the airport for cover as he filled his lieutenant in on Enrique’s latest sins, turning people against their will and then forcing them into slavery for human masters.

  “God damn it, Vincent!” Michael swore, shocked into using his Sire’s first name, which he rarely did. “That’s low even for Enrique. Have you ever heard of that happening before?”

  Vincent shook his head. “Never. But I know the Council would condemn it, which is why Enrique’s been so secretive.”

  “Fucker.”

  “It gets worse. You’ve seen Salvio. He was wounded after Lana and I killed the human holding his leash—”

  “He defended the human?” Michael asked, frowning.

  “No. But when the human died and the binding Enrique had put on him was gone, he got some of his own back. He killed all of his human guards. They were armed and didn’t go down lightly, but it apparently was worth it to him to be free. He was a Captain in the Mexican Federal Police. And Enrique made him a slave.”

  “Fuck! That is the worst—”

  “Not even close, Mikey. Jerry’s human kept him in a concrete box in the middle of a courtyard during the day. He barely fed him, and if Jerry didn’t behave as expected, they left the shutters open. He slept curled up in a corner like a dog.”

  “He told you this?”