Dark Vengeance Part 2

by Reinke, Sara

  “That’s an excellent plan,” Augustus said. “Except Nikolić has no idea where Cervantes is, either.” When she swung to face him, he said, “I told you. I’m a mind-reader. I saw that right away.”

  “But you said he was working with Cervantes.” Lina could feel herself starting to fume.

  “No, I said he’s working for the Davenants. It’s not the same thing.”

  She tightened her grip impatiently on the steering wheel. “Why the hell not?”

  “Because I’m no longer so convinced that Cervantes is still working for the Davenants,” he replied. “Think about it—Cervantes seems to have the situation well in hand. Why would Lamar send Nikolić—a mercenary with more tactical experience than anything? It would seem to me he wanted someone to muscle in, take what he was after—the wayob—by nothing short of brute force, and then get out. Like Lamar felt a sense of urgency, like he was in a race against time.”

  “Trying to beat Cervantes to the wayob,” Lina said, and Augustus nodded. “And Cervantes wants it for himself.”

  “Even if he doesn’t know about the first blood, he knows the statue is something of dire import to Lamar. Perhaps he plans to use that leverage to his advantage.”

  She had to admit it made sense.

  “But without Valien, we still don’t know how to find Cervantes,” Augustus said.

  “I’m willing to bet I know someone who does know, though,” Lina said as she pulled out of the hospital parking lot. “Though I imagine he’s not going to be too glad to see either of us again so soon.”

  * * *

  “It was not her fault, you know,” Augustus said as they drove across town. “The girl, Pilar. She couldn’t prevent what happened with Brandon any more than he could.”

  Lina had to admit it. He’d impressed her yet again at Estela’s bedside. She’d watched him go to her, slipping her hand between his. Estela had burst into tears, clutching at him, and he’d spoken softly to her, soothingly, in fluent Spanish. He’d been gentle with her, patient and respectful and by the time he’d finished, Estela had relaxed again, and had even smiled, patting his hand or cheek repeatedly and murmuring, “Que Dios te bendiga, señor,” or “Bless you, sir.”

  At the mention of Pilar, however, and more specifically, Brandon, Lina felt her mouth twitch toward a scowl.

  “I have been in their position in the past,” he continued. “I felt an undeniable draw toward Eleanor from the moment of our introduction, and from there, she became a constant obsession to me, weighing perpetually on my mind and heart. From the moment I woke, to the time I slept, she consumed me. The first time we kissed, it was like the initial hit of a drug, something so powerful, it left me hungry for her…longing for more.”

  “Okay, that’s really too much information,” Lina assured him.

  “I’m just trying to explain to you that Pilar and Brandon are helpless to deny each other,” he said. “That they’ve managed to this long is quite remarkable in and of its—”

  “You know what?” Lina stomped on the brakes, bringing the car to an abrupt halt and snapping them both forward against the taut restraints of their seatbelts. “That’s just bullshit.”

  He blinked, puzzled. “What is?”

  “That whole pair bond thing. The irresistible lust. It’s bullshit. All this time, I’ve thought what you told me was right—that Brandon needed to be with his own kind, that everything that’s happened proves he was meant to be with Pilar, not me. But that’s bullshit. The only thing it proves is that Brandon didn’t love me after all. Not like I thought he did. Not like he thought, either. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have…whatever he did with Pilar.”

  Augustus smiled at her in a gentle but aggravatingly condescending kind of way. “No, Angelina. He can’t help what’s in his nature.”

  “Bullshit, Augustus,” she insisted. “Your brain didn’t stop working when you met Eleanor, did it? Maybe you were thinking with your dick instead, but that doesn’t change the fact that you still could. You have free will. You can choose how you react to another person. It’s just a hell of a lot easier to blame it on something—or someone—else. I know human behavior, even if you obviously don’t, and I’ve been with a man who cheats before.”

  With Jude, it had been ‘I love you, Lina, but I need someone more emotionally available to me.’ With Brandon, it had been ‘I love you, Lina, but I need someone who’s more like me.’ But in the end, she thought, pained, what they really meant was ‘someone who’s better in bed.’

  Augustus looked at her, his expression unreadable. She didn’t know if he’d overheard that thought or not; she hadn’t meant for him to and had no way to prevent him if he’d felt like eavesdropping on her mind. But in that moment, she didn’t care if he had. Augustus didn’t get it because he was Brethren, because he had a shitload of wives—who all passively accepted the bigamous culture in which they’d been raised—and he could bed-hop between them whenever he felt like it without worrying about whether or not it hurt their feelings or broke their hearts. Even if it did.

  Jude stopped wanting to have sex with me because he told me I was too hard, too tough. Inside and out, that’s what he said. Those words, callously offered, had cut her to the quick and hurt even now. And with Brandon…God knows we’d had problems in that department long before Pilar came around.

  If the truth be told, she’d been feeling sexually inadequate for awhile. Although she’d always enjoyed orgasms whenever she and Brandon had made love, even before he’d met Pilar, Brandon had experienced growing difficulty in coming for her. This had left Lina worried, wondering what she was doing wrong, despite Brandon’s desperate reassurances. Realizing that he and Pilar were mates had explained things to a degree, but losing Brandon had still left Lina feeling hurt, humiliated, betrayed and defective. She’d never felt particularly feminine or desirable, and the unshakable idea that she’d failed Brandon somehow as a lover had been a cruel reminder.

  I couldn’t please him, she thought. No matter what I tried—and God knows I tried it all. Anything he wanted but it was never enough. I was never enough. Not for Brandon, or for Jude.

  Her voice broke and humiliated, she turned away, glaring out the window, and clenching the steering wheel so tightly, the joints in her fingers ached from the strain. She could feel tears wanting to come, welling up in her eyes, but she refused to give into them. Pressing her lips together in a thin, defiant line, she closed her eyes, brows furrowed, and struggled to contain them.

  Again, she didn’t know if Augustus had been privy to these thouights. But if he had, at least he had the sense not to say anything. Maybe it was only his telepathy cluing him in but in any case, she was grateful for his silence, because if he’d said anything, she’d break, and she knew it. He’d already seen her cry more times than she cared to admit.

  “I don’t care if Brandon’s Brethren or not,” she said at length, opening her eyes without feeling the sting of tears any longer. “He’s not a dog that hasn’t been neutered. And Pilar’s not some alley cat in heat. Maybe she can give him whatever it is he thinks he needs, because I sure as hell couldn’t—and God knows I tried. I’m through trying. It doesn’t affect me anymore.”

  With a loud huff, she dropped the car back into gear, driving again.

  “Then why are you helping me look for him?” he asked.

  “Because I…I still love him.” Her frown deepened. “I’ll always love him. It’s not the same as forgiving him. Or wanting him back.”

  * * *

  The parking lot at Duke’s Place was about as populated as Valien’s garage across the street. But there was no place else Jackie could be, at least not that Lina knew of. The bar was her last—and only—hope.

  “Why are we here?” Augustus asked, visibly puzzled.

  “Jackie’s girlfriend works here.” Lina unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the driver’s side door. “I’m hoping he was feeling thirsty.”

  Just as Augustus reached for his seatbelt buckle, his
cell phone rang. Looking surprised, if not somewhat puzzled, he fished it out of his shirt pocket, then glanced at Lina. “It’s Mason.”

  She sat back down in the driver’s seat as he answered the line, switching the call to speaker mode.

  “Where on earth did you get this stuff?” Mason asked without any preamble.

  “Why? What is it?” Lina asked.

  For a long moment, surprised silence was her only reply. Then Mason spoke, his voice hesitant. “Is…ah…is this a bad time, Augustus?”

  “Angelina Jones is with me,” Augustus said. “She’s helping me look for Brandon.”

  Another uncertain pause from Mason’s end. “He’s missing?”

  “Never mind. I’ll explain later,” Augustus said. “I’d appreciate it if you’d say nothing to Eleanor of it in the meantime. Have you been able to make any sense of those files I sent to you?”

  “Not me,” Mason said. “But I forwarded them along to Dr. Ken Matsuo in the Irvine offices. He was always my father’s go-to man in a shit-storm. He told me whatever the feds analyzed in these reports, it’s similar in structure to phenethylamine, a kind of stimulant neurotransmitter naturally produced by the body, part of the fight-or-flight reflex. It’s found in other things, too—like chocolate. You ever hear that eating too much can make you feel like you’re in love? That’s the phenethylamine. It can be synthesized, too, and has been since the 1950s. They use it in drugs to treat ADHD.”

  “I doubt Nikolić has ADHD,” Lina remarked with a doubtful frown.

  “No, but Dr. Matsuo said this stuff probably has a similar effect on the body as other stimulants—increased muscle strength and endurance, heightened reflexes, increased libido, a sense of euphoria.”

  “Just like the bloodlust,” Augustus murmured.

  When he disconnected the call, Lina pivoted in her seat to look at him. “Let me get this straight. You think this juice Nikolić had on him is some kind of derivative made from Aaron Davenant’s blood.”

  “Yes.” Augustus nodded.

  “And…what? That Lamar Davenant’s been using Tejano Cervantes, Vladan Nikolić, and his other little drug-dealer, mercenary, international criminal-type buddies to sell it?”

  Augustus nodded again.

  “So by shooting up the juice, someone who’s human can become like the Brethren, at least for a little while—the strength, the speed, invulnerability, healing, the whole bloodlust thing?”

  “Yes.”

  “But the effects are only temporary, like with Nikolić. So they have to keep using more and more.”

  “Buying more and more,” he corrected. “Exactly. But I don’t know why they would synthesize only one part of Aaron’s blood. Why not all of it? If he was given the first blood, they should be able to isolate the components that accelerate healing.”

  He looked puzzled—no, troubled by the fact that Lamar had apparently been picking and choosing which elements of the Brethren nature he’d wanted to peddle on the black market, but not the ones that Augustus himself would have thought most opportune or profitable.

  “There’s only one way to find out,” Lina said, reaching for her door handle again.

  Augustus nodded, following as she climbed out of the car. “You’re right.”

  * * *

  Lina didn’t know how busy Duke’s got as a rule, but she and Augustus had no trouble whatsoever finding seats along the pock-marked, cigarette-burned bar. A couple of guys in tank tops and cargo shorts were shooting pool while Tupac’s “California Love” played from an aging jukebox in the far corner. Other than that, they had the place to themselves.

  “What can I get you?”

  Taya Parker wasn’t working. Instead, a young Latino kid, his hair slicked back, his arms riddled with tattoos, stood behind the bar, mopping at a glass mug with a dingy towel. Although he’d offered an acknowledging nod at Lina, he directed his question to Augustus as he settled himself comfortably on one of the barstools.

  She winced, afraid he’d order something pretentious that would be sure to eliminate any chance at credibility she was going to get with the bartender, but instead, he inclined his head slightly and said, “Presidente.”

  “Sure thing, boss,” the kid replied, opening the sliding top of a refrigerated bin and pulling out a green glass bottle of beer. When he glanced at Lina, she held up her hands.

  “No thanks. Gotta drive,” she said. “So where’s Taya tonight?”

  “Busy,” the bartender replied, using a bottle opener to wrench the cap off of Augustus’s beer. “But maybe I can help you.”

  His tone seemed friendly enough, but the look he shot her way was guarded and suspicious.

  “I don’t know.” Lina opted to forego a stool and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the bar counter. “I’m looking for her boyfriend—my brother, Jackson Jones. Big black guy. Bald. Talks kind of funny. Maybe you’ve seen him.”

  The kid shrugged, picking up the grubby towel again. “Maybe I haven’t.”

  Augustus held up a hundred dollar bill between his right fore- and middle fingers. “Maybe you have.”

  The kid’s eyes were riveted on the bill. “Not him. But Taya’s in the back. I can get her, if you want.”

  “Please.” Augustus nodded once, and the kid snatched the money. “And before you go, another Presidente.” Bringing the bottle to his lips, he tilted his head back—and proceeded to down the beer in a single breath.

  Lina didn’t know whose eyes were bigger—hers, or the kid’s.

  “Sure thing, boss.” Nodding like a bobble-headed doll, the bartender fished another bottle from the cooler. Then, tucking the Benjamin into the hip pocket of his jeans, he turned and hurried into a backroom through a door behind the bar.

  “Thanks,” Lina murmured. “With the kid, I mean. The money.”

  He nodded once. “You’re welcome.”

  “I can pay you back for it…” she began, but he held up his hand.

  “Not necessary.”

  Reaching down, he scooted the stool beside him back a bit in invitation. Lina hesitated a moment, then sat down, settling in beside him. She folded her hands together on top of the bar, then cut him a glance. “I, uh…didn’t know you drank beer.”

  He smiled. “I’m not nearly as unapproachable as you seem to think I am.”

  “I never said you were unapproachable. Just self-serving.”

  He laughed, then lifted his beer, this time drinking with a little less gusto. “I’m also not entirely unfamiliar with human nature—again despite what you think,” he said. “I have been acquainted with my fair share in my lifetime, you know. Both men and women of your species.”

  “My species,” Lina repeated. “You make it sound like we’re so different.”

  “Are we not?” he asked, inclining his head to look at her.

  “No,” she said, although she had the distinctive impression he was toying with her; that he knew there was nothing inherently different between not just humans and Brethren in general, but him and her specifically.

  “I have even enjoyed the company of human women in my past,” he said. “More than one. And more than once.”

  “Lovers,” Lina said by way of translation, and he nodded. “You’ve slept with human women before?”

  The dubious tone in her voice made him chuckle. “Quite a few, in fact.”

  He drained the last of his beer and leaned forward, reaching past the far side of the bar to open the cooler and help himself to a third bottle.

  “I thought that was forbidden,” Lina said, using finger-quotes to emphasize the last word. “You know, a travesty of nature or something horrible like that.”

  He cracked open the beer and took a long drink, looking thoughtful. “Actually, I always found the experience to be rather enjoyable. The first time I ever kissed a woman…or made love…was with a human, one of my father’s house slaves. And before you go shooting daggers at me with your eyes, ma chéri, I should point out that this was in the year 178
7, a time when as many people had slaves as have cell phones today.”

  It was the second time he’d called her ma chéri, the first having been in the car outside of the emergency room. Normally she detested pet names (undoubtedly because hers, “Scarecrow” had stemmed from childhood teasing), but she had to admit there was something sort of charming about that little French endearment…sweet, even. “What was her name?”

  “Rachel.”

  “She was human?” Lina asked, and he nodded. “She was black?” Another nod. “And you weren’t burned at the stake or anything like that?”

  He shook his head, laughing. “I might have been, had our affair been discovered. But I’ve only ever told Michel about it. And Eleanor, of course.” He glanced at her, his brow arched. “And now you.”

  Something about that, being in on something that was clearly very secret to him—something he hadn’t even disclosed to Brandon—pleased her, making the downy hairs along her forearms stir anew as if with slight, tickling chill.

  And then, all at once, all of his resistance to her relationship with Brandon made perfect sense.

  Your life comes and goes in the blink of an eye compared to ours, he’d told her. As inconsequential as the footprints of an ant. You think it’s love, but all you can really offer him is heartache—a cruel, devastating cycle that will haunt him to his grave long after you’ve rotted away in yours.

  Instead of any misguided bigotry, Augustus had been speaking from what she suddenly understood must have been personal—and painful—experience.

  I’ll be goddamned, Lina thought, eyes widening with realization. “You loved her.”

  “I did, yes.” The soft smile that tugged the corners of his mouth up was short-lived, fading to something melancholy and forlorn.

  “What does Eleanor think about it?”

  “She has always been very…understanding,” he remarked. “About my relationship with Rachel, and others besides. She has never felt threatened by them.”

  Lina couldn’t fathom that, couldn’t imagine willingly accepting the fact that your husband shared his bed—much less his heart—with someone else. She tried to imagine herself passively accepting Jude’s infidelity, or worse—Brandon’s, and couldn’t. The heartache and humiliation of it all… God, there’s no way.