“Sure.”
Cyn extracted two one hundred-dollar bills and handed them over, being careful to shield the transaction from casual observers. “I keep the keys,” she confirmed.
The girl barely nodded, already tucking the money away.
Cyn parked the car and pocketed the keys, then strolled around the outside of the house looking at doors and windows before climbing the shallow porch and joining the party.
Chapter Thirty-three
THE THIRD TIME someone tripped over her feet, Cyn said screw the upholstery and curled her legs up beneath her on the short leather couch. Hell, her boots probably cost more than the damn couch did anyway, which was odd because the house itself, with its acres of pasturage, hadn’t come cheap. Of course, it obviously hadn’t come with any taste either. A sprawl of Southwestern design, it featured every kitschy decorating element in garish abundance. Antlers of various ruminants hung on the walls, interspersed with an assortment of Southwestern art, none of it good. Black and white cow patterns graced—if such a word could be used in conjunction with cows—not only the throw rugs scattered about, but much of the furniture as well. And completing the questionable theme were chairs that looked like tractor seats, saddles and, of all things, camp stools.
She glanced at her watch. Almost nine o’clock already. She’d spent nearly two hours playing wallflower and watching the ebb and flow of the party. And there was a lot of ebb and flow going on. Russian music pounded loudly, pulsing through rooms packed almost claustrophobically with men in expensive but ill-fitting suits and women who’d clearly spent a fortune on their clothes, but who’d never met a designer they didn’t love. Which meant there was way too much jewelry and not enough style involved. Not that it seemed to bother anyone but Cyn. There was an almost manic quality to the gaiety, a level of excitement that seemed unwarranted from what she’d observed. Party goers kept disappearing into the back rooms of the house and reappearing later, usually after only a few minutes, but sometimes much longer. Cyn figured there were probably drugs being handed out in the nether regions of the house, but she had no interest in finding out for sure. Drugs had never been her substance of choice. She didn’t even drink that much anymore. It was, as always, a matter of control, and Cyn liked to be in control. And then there was the whole disgusting idea of actually snorting anything up one’s nose. Ick.
She swung her long legs back to the floor with a thump, admiring her boots as she did so. Maybe they didn’t do much for the narrow, black knit dress, but they sure as hell blended with the decor in this house. Time to blow this party, Cyn. A vice cop would have had a field day in this place, but there was nothing here for her. Time to find Benita and make like the birds. She stood and looked around with a frown; she hadn’t seen her friend in some time. Damn.
She’d taken a single step toward the back of the house when a meaty arm came around her waist, nearly tugging her off her feet. “Hey!”
“Where’ve you been hiding, pretty thing. Come on, I pick you.”
Cyn flinched at the rank breath of her captor, leaning away to glare at him. And froze in surprise. Vampire. Shit! They weren’t doing drugs in the back; this was a feeding hole just like Lonnie’s beach house. But . . .
The truth jolted her. Raphael had said all along that Alexandra’s kidnapping was the first move in an attempted takeover. Someone had gotten to Kolinsky, who’d blackmailed Judkins to get Barry on the estate and set the kidnapping plot in motion. And that someone was running a feedlot right here on the ranch, right in the middle of Raphael’s territory. She had to get out of here now. And where the hell was Benita?
The vampire was all but carrying her down the dim hallways, passing closed doors on every side. It was like a teenage grope party at someone’s parents’ house, or maybe a whorehouse, and Cyn had no intention of joining either activity. She grabbed a passing doorway and dug in her heels, jerking the surprised vampire to an abrupt halt. He spun around and gave her a dull-witted look of puzzlement, as if he couldn’t figure out why they’d stopped moving.
“I have to find my friend,” she explained. “Benita.”
A light clicked on in the blank eyes. “Benita? Sure, I know Benita. I’m not allowed to touch her though. Boss’s orders.”
Cyn’s heart lurched sickeningly. Benita said her target was someone higher than Kolinsky. Good God, would she go so far as to let her target feed from her? And if she had, could she be trusted anymore? This kept getting worse and worse. And Cyn was a lousy actress.
“Okay, listen,” she said. “This is a mistake. I’m not supposed to be here, I didn’t know it was this kind of party, so maybe I’ll just turn around right now and go home.” She put action to her words, spinning on one heel, intending to go straight to her car, find a clear spot and call Raphael. She took a step and was pulled up short. The vampire was like a rooted tree holding her in place.
“But I’m hungry,” he whined. “Boss said we could take whoever we wanted here.”
Cynthia took a deep breath. “Look. I bet your boss only lets you take volunteers, right? Because it’s against the law to force someone, and if you break the law, your boss could get in big trouble, couldn’t he? Isn’t that how it works? Now, I know you’re hungry, but there are lots of perfectly willing donors out there. Tell you what, why don’t I go with you and we’ll pick someone out. Someone pretty. Wouldn’t that be fun?”
“Another girl?” He grinned eagerly.
Cyn blinked at him in confusion. “What?” she said, and then it dawned on her. Oh, geez, what was it with guys and the lesbian fantasy? “You bet,” she said. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Creep. But it got them moving in the right direction.
“Yeah, I—”
“And what is this, Tommy?” A new voice intruded from the now-open door they’d just passed. Tommy paused, stopping Cyn dead in her tracks yet again.
“I got a pretty one, Albin.”
“I can see that.”
Cyn froze when she heard the name. Albin. Raphael’s traitor, the vamp who had killed Matias and kidnapped Alexandra. He grabbed Cynthia’s other arm as Tommy tightened his fingers and yanked her closer. Both vamps were holding her painfully tight, and Cyn found herself hoping they’d somehow forget about her and go after each other before they turned her into a human wishbone.
“Tommy,” Albin said softly. That’s all he said. Just the name. Cynthia could feel the slight pulse of his power, could hear the threat beneath the bland voice.
Blowing a long, rancid breath into her face that nearly triggered her gag reflex, Tommy let go. As he shoved past angrily, Cyn knew her best chance of an easy escape had just stormed away.
“Ms. Leighton,” Albin purred. Her heart jumped hard against her ribs. “Someone wants to talk to you.”
“Look,” she said breathlessly, desperately pretending she had no idea who he was. “I didn’t know what this place was. Not that I care. It’s your business. Let me go home and I’ll happily forget this whole evening.”
“Very amusing.” Albin’s voice was hard as he yanked her down the hall, shoving her ahead of him and into a room at the very back of the house. Cyn tripped forward, struggling to stay on her feet. The heavy weight of the gun in her pocket slammed into her hip, and Cyn could only hope she’d have a chance to use it.
“Chica!”
She straightened in shock. Benita lounged on a king-sized bed, her shoes kicked off onto the floor, one strap of the tight, red dress, hanging down her arm, baring the brown areola of a plump breast to curve above the fabric. And she wasn’t alone. Stretched out next to her, one heavy arm draped around her shoulders, was another vampire. Handsomely Latin with fine features and straight, black hair, the vamp grinned at Cynthia with bright, white teeth, fangs fully displayed.
“Benita?” she whispered.
Benita laughed too loudly, waving a dismissi
ve hand at Cyn’s obvious shock. “Don’t look so surprised, girl. Like you haven’t shared a little blood in your day. All those gorgeous vamps hanging around Malibu? You’d be crazy not to.”
“No,” Cyn said, finding it hard to breathe. “No, I never did.”
Benita gave her an angry look. “Always so much better than the rest of us, aren’t you? You always were, with your Daddy’s money and your fancy clothes. Well, honey, money won’t get you out of this one. I was telling my friend here about your client. You know, the one with the kidnapped girl? He’s very interested.”
“I never said it was a girl,” Cyn said softly, a sick feeling in her stomach.
Benita looked at her, confused. “What? Sure you did. You said they kidnapped his girlfriend or something.”
“No, Benita. I never did.” She shook off Albin’s hand and stood straight. “How long, Beni? A couple of months? Is that why you switched to the Russians, or did it happen afterward?” she asked bitterly. “Any cops die yet, Officer Carballo?”
“Hijo de tu puta madre! What do you know about it?” Benita said, pulling away from the vamp and scrabbling across the bed toward Cynthia. “I don’t have the money to go off and be a fancy private dick. I had to stay and make a living! They pimped me out to the gangs like a fucking whore! At least this way I’m fucking who I want to instead of some slimy tattooed pendejo who wants a five dollar blow job in the backseat.”
The Latino vampire suddenly hauled Benita back against him, whispering in her ear as he slid one long-fingered hand up her thigh and between her legs. Benita moaned softly, nuzzling into his neck. Over her head, the vamp’s dark eyes laughed mockingly at Cyn.
She turned her face away, disgusted, devastated by her friend’s betrayal.
“You are most fortunate, Ms. Leighton.” Benita’s vampire spoke with a heavy Castilian accent. “My Sire wants you for himself.”
“Not fucking likely,” Cyn muttered viciously.
The vampire laughed. “On the contrary. It is almost a certainty.” His face hardened as he signaled Albin with a jerk of his head. The red-haired vamp dug his fingers into her arm once again, yanking her out of the room and down yet another hallway as Cyn searched frantically for a way to escape. She couldn’t let them lock her away until this master whoever showed up; she needed to get out of here before that happened. They passed a few open doors and Cyn saw shuttered windows. When she’d circled the house earlier, she’d seen a couple of doors at this end. One was a sliding glass door that probably fed into another room, but the other had been an ordinary back door. Logic said it would lead off a hallway of some sort. If she could find that door and distract Albin long enough to break away, she could get outside and make a run for it.
And then what, Cyn? she mocked her own plan. These are vampires. They’re stronger, faster, and, oh yeah, they can see in the fucking dark. Okay, so it was a chance in hell, but it was the only one she had.
Albin stopped her with a jerk and pushed her ahead of him into an empty room. Didn’t this guy ever just walk into a room? Did he always have to push? Cyn stumbled forward, falling onto the bed. She immediately jumped up, putting her back against the wall and watching warily as the pale vampire closed the door and walked slowly towards her. His gaze upon her was hot and hungry, eyes gleaming like pennies in the low light, fangs sliding out in a grotesque parody of arousal.
“I thought I was . . . that is, I thought your master . . .”
He gave a low, scathing laugh. “Don’t flatter yourself, whore. He wants your brain, not your blood. If your friend in there is right—”
“She’s not my friend,” Cyn muttered. “Not anymore.”
“Ah. Betrayal. It hurts, doesn’t it?”
“What would you know about it?” she snapped. “Raphael trusted you and you betrayed him—”
His arm shot out, fingers wrapping around her throat, choking off her words, her air. “I was betrayed long before this, human. We fought wars together, survived unimaginable odds, and he offered me nothing more than the scraps from his table. Do not speak to me of betrayal. You couldn’t begin to understand what true betrayal is.”
Cyn scratched frantically at his fingers, gasping for breath. In a desperate move, she kicked out with one pointy-toed boot, connecting solidly with his shin. Albin howled, letting go of her throat long enough to backhand her across the room. She hit the bed hard and bounced to the floor where she lay choking, sucking in long, frantic breaths. Rolling to her knees, she scrabbled away on all fours, tucking herself into a corner beneath the window.
“You will regret that, bitch.” Albin stalked toward her, hands curled into claws, fangs sliding from a mouth half-opened in a snarl.
Cyn scooted farther back into the corner, tugging on the leather of her heavy jacket with shaking hands, struggling to reach her gun. To hell with a plan, to hell with trying to be discreet. She was going to blow this motherfucker’s brains all over the room and get the hell away from this place.
Frantic fingers found the gun’s cool metal. She slid it out of the inside pocket, using the bulky jacket as cover, then slowly reached in with her other hand and worked the slide.
Albin grabbed her with both hands, fisting huge handfuls of leather. In a single movement, he yanked her up and off her feet and his mouth went to her neck. Cyn screamed as his fangs pierced her flesh, screamed again as she felt the pull of his mouth and her awareness began to fade. The gun was heavy as she dragged it up and forced it between their bodies. Her hands barely had the strength to pull the trigger.
She shrieked in pain as the gun went off, the recoil kicking back against her ribs. Albin’s mouth sagged in shock and he staggered back, gaping in disbelief at the small rosette of red blooming on the front of his shirt. Cyn stared at it blankly, then saw his gaze come up, his eyes the color of hot metal. She lifted her gun in shaking hands and pulled the trigger again and again, until it clicked empty, until the vampire fell to the filthy carpet. She leaned against the wall, the gun hanging from one hand, waiting for someone to rush through the door. The shots had been loud. But no one came. The music, the incessant, pounding music had drowned it all.
She straightened slowly. Blood was pouring from the wound on her neck. But not gushing, she thought groggily, not spurting. He hadn’t pierced the jugular, only worried at her neck like a dog on a bone. She grabbed a pillow and pulled off the pillow case. It was stained and smelled of too many sweaty heads, but it was the only thing handy. Wrapping it around her neck as tightly as she dared, she tucked her now empty gun back into her pocket and struggled to think clearly. Her vision kept fading in and out, and she was shivering with shock. Shock. That was her greatest danger right now. Blood loss and shock.
She struggled past the window, aiming for the door. Window. She blinked stupidly at the shuttered window, then reached out a trembling hand and opened the shutters. She wanted to weep with relief. A quick, desperate search told her the window wasn’t designed to open, so she took a reverse grip on her gun and slammed it into the glass. Jagged shards sliced her fingers and sprayed into the room, but she hardly noticed. She knocked as much of the shattered pane away as she could, then lumped the dusty comforter over the frame and hefted herself up and out.
She fell nearly headfirst onto the cold ground, rolling over to slump against the wall, exhausted by the effort. Laughter sounded somewhere nearby, and she jumped as a car engine revved and tires spun on the gravel drive. Her head swung in the direction of the sound. That was her target. She started forward, keeping to the shadows near the house, pausing at the slamming of a door, at an angry shout, at a scream of pain. She closed her eyes dizzily, wondering if anyone had heard her own screams.
As she drew closer to the front of the house, the activity level increased, but so did the noise. The music was shaking the walls, people laughing and talking only inches away from where her bloody hands clung t
o the side of the house. She sank to the ground, panting with effort. Headlights splashed over the yard and the white fence loomed in the darkness. Her Land Rover was parked near a fence. She turned her head quickly, biting back a groan at the pain in her neck, feeling the blood trickling from beneath the makeshift bandage to drip down her chest. A few more yards, Cyn. You can do it.
Yes, she could do it. She’d be damned if she was going to die out here in the dark like a wounded animal.
Drawing a deep breath, she made a staggering dash for the fence, bending to slip between the rails, nearly falling into the field beyond as her head spun from blood loss. Remembering her first aid training, she paused, hanging her head between her knees until her sight returned with nauseating clarity. Her head came up as a sudden flurry of cars arrived, the valets rushing out from the porch. Vampires. Well-dressed and confident. These were not the Tommies of the vampire world. She was pretty sure her inquisitor was in one of those cars; she needed to get going.
It was dark near the fence, so she hurried as best she could, one hand gliding along the lowest rail, using it for support, for balance. Searching for her car, she saw there were far more vehicles parked here now than when she had arrived. She had a moment of panic, thinking her car would be blocked in, but then the big Land Rover came into sight. There wasn’t much room, but there was enough.
Cyn pulled the keys out of her pocket, using the key in the lock rather than the remote which would have caused the lights to flash. She slipped inside quickly, pulling the door closed, hoping no one had noticed the dome light through the tinted windows. Sobbing with relief at having gotten this far, and terrified that at any moment someone would discover her missing, she maneuvered herself painfully across the low console and into the driver’s seat. She rested her head on the steering wheel for a few precious moments, waiting for her vision to clear, for the nausea to pass. Once she started the car, there’d be no room for error. There was a good chance someone would notice the car leaving, but there were people coming and going all the time. And the noise of the party should cover the sound of the engine.
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