Dark Vengeance Part 2

by Reinke, Sara

  “My apologies, señor,” the big guy said. “But I must ask you and the señorita to turn around and put your hands on the wall, please, so I can search you for weapons.”

  There was something so bizarre about the contrast between his strapping exterior appearance, his deep voice and surly, bull-dog expression and the pristine manners he expressed aloud, that Lina bit her tongue to keep from bursting into nervous giggles.

  “Of course,” Augustus said, pivoting to face the foyer wall and stretching out his arms to place his palms against the marble.

  Lina did likewise, watching out of the corner of her gaze as the big guy frisked Augustus. He was brisk but thorough, his large hands clapping and patting as he bent and twisted. Thus satisfied that Augustus was unarmed, he stepped toward Lina.

  “That’s a good way to lose a testicle, there, Donkey Kong,” she growled as his meaty paws skimmed over her breasts.

  “I’m sorry for the inconvenience,” said a voice from behind her loudly. “Though I assure you, belleza, Camilo is nothing if not a consummate professional.”

  A man had stepped out onto the mezzanine level at the head of the stairs, and walked down them now, smiling broadly as he approached. “And one can never be too careful when it comes to security these days.”

  Tejano Cervantes looked much younger and more handsome in person than in any of the mug shots or grainy surveillance photos Lina had seen of him to date. His coal-black hair had been combed back from his face, and he wore a white terrycloth robe—the fluffy, luxuriant kind given to VIPs at health resorts or spas. In fact, had it not been for the vibrant tattoos covering all of his visible forearms and wrists, and the glint of gold veneers gilding his teeth, he could have stepped straight out of the pages of GQ or Vogue, a fashion model in between sets.

  “Señor Noble,” he exclaimed, clasping hands with Augustus as if they were long and fast friends. Leaning forward, he kissed Augustus on either cheek, grinning broadly. “So good of you to come, amigo! Such a pleasure!” When he turned to Lina, his smile widened all the more. “And speaking of pleasure…”

  “May I introduce my consort, Angelina?” Augustus said, as Cervantes took her by the hand and stooped to kiss her knuckles.

  “Encantado,” he murmured, then his tongue slid suggestively between her fingers.

  Lina smiled politely and struggled not to stiffen or jerk away. She hadn’t physically felt anything when Augustus had planted the psionic shields back at the hotel, but whatever he’d done, she was immeasurably grateful for it now, as she could practically feel Cervantes’s psionic presence probing at her mind, eel-like and slithering just like his tongue. No matter the story Augustus had concocted, it was obvious he didn’t trust them, not completely. They were strangers; therefore, Cervantes was on guard.

  “This way, amigos,” Cervantes said, spreading his arms in a welcome as disarmingly broad as his smile. “Camilo, have fresh champagne delivered to the terrace. We’ve much to celebrate tonight!”

  * * *

  He led Lina and Augustus through the first floor, along a maze of corridors boasting the same marble archways and floors as the main foyer. He apparently had a taste for nude photography bordering on the pornographic—all along the walls, enormous black-and-white prints hung in gilded frames, depicting beautiful young women in various stages of undress, and in various provocative poses.

  “You like these?” Cervantes asked Lina, apparently mistaking her repulsed attention for admiration. “I took them myself.”

  “You’ve quite an eye,” Lina murmured noncommittally as she noticed an extreme close-up of what appeared to be the proper use of a two-pronged dildo being demonstrated.

  “Perhaps you can pose for me,” he remarked, with a glance at Augustus. “That is, if you might be persuaded to share…?”

  “Forgive me, but I’m afraid when the matter comes to Angelina, I’m rather selfish.” With a smile, Augustus dropped a wink. “I must admit a certain…fondness for her.”

  “Completely understandable,” Cervantes said, seeming unbothered.

  He led them to a large living room that opened onto an expansive terrace. Glossy leather sofas in contrasting black and white upholstery framed a sitting area that faced an enormous flat-screen television mounted on the wall. In one corner, a marble hot tub faced the patio. Lina could see two young women, one blonde and one brunette, already basking in the steaming, bubbling water, their arms outstretched as they reclined.

  “These are Mercedes and Peaches,” Cervantes offered by way of introduction.

  Undoubtedly their real names, Lina thought, rolling her eyes. As she did, she couldn’t help but notice the half-dozen men standing stiffly at attention in a ring along the outer wall. Each carried an assault rifle clasped between his hands, and she instinctively drew closer to Augustus.

  “Are…you expecting trouble, Señor Cervantes?” she asked.

  Cervantes followed her gaze, then laughed. “Not at all, belleza,” he assured. “Not at all.”

  He didn’t elaborate further, however, and Lina shot Augustus an uneasy glance. Now I really wish I had my goddamn gun.

  “Please, amigos, sit,” Cervantes invited, spreading his arms to indicate the arrangement of leather sofas. Lina saw that on the centermost coffee table, refreshments awaited them: several large platters laden with fruits and cheeses.

  Augustus settled himself against one of the sofas, relaxing as if he hadn’t a care in the world—and there weren’t six AR-15s that could, with only the slightest of effort, be pointing directly at his head at any given moment. She struggled to mimic his ease, sitting beside him, but kept a fierce hold of his hand.

  He’d carried a small black gift bag into the house with them, one that had apparently passed the gorilla-man, Camilo’s, inspection upon their arrival, as he’d been allowed to keep it. As he set it on the coffee table, presenting it to Cervantes, Lina swore she felt the tension in the room abruptly seize; she never heard the ratcheting of the guns around them, but you could have heard a stick pin hit the stone-tiled floor in the heavy silence that ensued.

  “¿Qué es esto?” Cervantes was the first to break it, offering a thin but curious sort of smile. What is this?

  “A gift for you.” Again, Augustus seemed completely unbothered, as if oblivious to the friction he’d just caused—which she knew he wasn’t. She remembered what he’d told her about brokering multi-million dollar deals for a living, and had to admit, the man had perfected the art of playing it cool. “A small token of appreciation for your time this evening, and your hospitality.”

  Cervantes dipped his hand into the bag, and his smile widened with delight as he pulled out a silver box. Lina leaned forward, puzzled, as he set the box on the table, opening the hinged lid. Inside, she saw an ornately fashioned glass bottle filled with a clear, honey-colored liquid she assumed to be liquor; one with nodular protuberances along each of its rounded sides, and the relief of a smiling human face on the front. It reminded her of a smiley-face sun, only this one had a mustache added, and a small golden sticker on what would have been the center of the face’s forehead: Rey Sol.

  She had no idea what the hell it was, but clearly Cervantes did—and was tickled shitless. “You should not have done this,” he told Augustus with a laugh. “This is a very generous gift. Very generous indeed.”

  “It was my pleasure,” Augustus assured him, then by way of explanation to Lina: “It’s called Rey Sol Anejo. Distilled in Mexico and aged in French oak barrels—a partnership that has produced one of the finest tequilas in the world.” With a nod of respect to Cervantes, he added, “I thought the analogy appropriate for tonight.”

  He was smooth. Lina had to give him that.

  “Indeed!” Cervantes exclaimed, already opening the bottle. Glancing at one of his armed goons, he barked sharply, “Bring me shot glasses, some salt and limes.” Grinning broadly at Augustus, he added, “I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship, Señor Noble.”

 
“Augustus, please,” Augustus said.

  “As you wish,” Cervantes conceded with a smile.

  The goon returned, looking ridiculous as he bore a little silver tray laden with three small glasses, a heaping bowlful of sliced limes, and a diminutive salt shaker balanced with one hand, and his assault rifle in the other. Cervantes had already opened the tequila by this point, and poured generous dollops into each of the three glasses.

  “We need a toast,” he exclaimed, offering Augustus and Lina each a shot. Raising his own shot glass aloft, he said, “To new business ventures.”

  “And new business partners,” Augustus said, lifting his own glass.

  “My ladies are enjoying champagne in the Jacuzzi,” Cervantes told Lina when they’d finished knocking back their shots, none of them bothering with lime or salt. “Perhaps you would care to join them?”

  “Thank you, but…” Lina managed another smile. “I forgot my swimsuit.”

  Something hard had passed across his face at her refusal; he was clearly a man unaccustomed to hearing the word no. In that moment, Lina didn’t find it the least bit hard to believe that he’d ordered the brutal executions of Valien’s cousins. However, that brittle flash of fury disappeared as quickly as it had arrived, and Cervantes was all-smiles again. “That’s quite alright, querida,” he said, as he leaned across the coffee table and refreshed Augustus’s drink. Having already topped off his own, he again drained it dry in a single swallow. “You don’t need one.”

  Cervantes sounded cordial enough, but she didn’t miss his unspoken implication—she was insulting him. When she glanced at Augustus, she found no rescue. His face seemed expressionless, completely unreadable, and he didn’t say a word to her, either aloud or telepathically.

  “Right then,” she said with feigned cheerfulness, plastering a bright smile on her face as she stood. “What’s a little modesty among friends?”

  “Exactamente,” Cervantes said.

  With a shrug, Lina slipped out of the red cocktail dress, letting it slip past her hips to pool around her feet. She struggled against the overwhelming urge to cross her arms over her bosom, or to hunker down to cover herself and instead thrust her chin up and her shoulders back, cocking her hip as proudly as she could manage. She glanced out of the corner of her eye and found Augustus looking up at her from the sofa, his expression stoic, the rim of his glass—and his third shot of tequila—pressed to his lips.

  “Bella,” Cervantes purred from behind her. Beautiful.

  “She is…” Augustus tipped his head back and downed the shot. “Yes.”

  She could have told him there was a good reason Jackie had always called her Scarecrow—she was as flat-chested and gangly-limbed as one. Still, his completely impassive reaction to her nudity—her body—seemed little different than if he was reading the Sports section or something. He’d been so nice to her—sweet, even—over the past days, but ever since they’d stepped foot in Cervantes’s home, he’d seemed to regard her only with detachment, if not as a stranger to him, then as…

  A whore, she thought. Like little more than the whore he told Cervantes I was—his little bloodlust pet.

  And that wounded her.

  Asshole, she thought with a pointed glare that he completely ignored as he leaned forward, reaching past her for the tequila bottle—past her, for Christ’s sake, like she wasn’t even there. Hoping like all hell his mind was open and he could hear her, she seethed it again before turning on her heel and tromping toward the hot tub. You asshole.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “Hi,” greeted the blonde woman when Lina approached. “My name’s Peaches. What’s yours?”

  Her voice was high, with an antebellum Georgia drawl her nickname clearly referenced. There was something so sweet, nearly childlike, in the brightness of her tone, Lina paused in surprise. “Uh…Lina.”

  “Lina,” Peaches repeated with a delighted smile. “I like that. It’s pretty!”

  “Uh…thanks,” Lina said, stepping into the tub and sinking beneath the warm, bubbling surface as fast as possible, if only to cover herself. The other two women’s oversized (and surgically enhanced, no doubt) breasts bobbed up and down in the churning water like buoy markers, making her feel even more inadequate than ever.

  “This is Mercedes,” Peaches said, looking toward the dark-haired woman.

  “Nice to meet you,” Lina said.

  The dark-haired woman, Mercedes, made a little snorting sound, but otherwise said nothing.

  “You’re not a local, are you?” Peaches asked.

  Puzzled, Lina shook her head. “I’m sorry?”

  “Do you work at a local club?” Peaches said.

  “Oh.” Still baffled, Lina managed to smile. “Uh, no. Sorry.”

  “I didn’t think so,” Peaches said. “I’m really good at remembering faces and I’ve worked at all of them in town at some point or another.” Without pausing long enough to breathe—never mind allow Lina the opportunity to respond—she continued. “We work at Melaza now, me and Mercedes. Well, the new one anyway. The old club burned down, you know.”

  Lina recognized the name. Melaza was a topless bar. Pilar had worked at the original one as a stripper. She’d been after Pepe Cervantes—Tejano’s little brother—for murdering her father, and she’d used the club as her chance to get close to him.

  They think I’m a stripper, she thought, fighting the urge to clap her hand over her face and groan aloud. Terrific.

  “The old one was Pepe’s place,” Peaches said. Her expression grew momentarily mournful. “Poor Pepe. They’ve never found out who killed him.” Brightening again, she added, “Tejano’s running this one. He rebuilt it real nice inside. You should come check it out some time.”

  “Yeah.” Mercedes pretended to be muttering under her breath, only she spoke loudly enough to be clearly heard. Rolling her eyes, she added, “Like on amateur night.”

  Lina didn’t understand her undisguised animosity, but found herself annoyed by it nonetheless. “Your old man said you had champagne over here,” she said, fixing her gaze coolly on the young woman. “How about you fix me a glass, Muffy?

  “It’s Mercedes.” She spat it through her teeth.

  Lina smiled sweetly. “Whatever.”

  “I’ll get you some.” Turning in her seat, Peaches reached for a wine bucket on the hot tub decking behind her. Glancing back over her shoulder, she asked, “You want a hit of juice, too?”

  Lina blinked, caught off-guard. She had to admit, the more she’d learned about this synthetic version of Aaron Davenant’s blood, the more tempted she’d been to try it. Maybe it was because she wanted to see for herself what the bloodlust was like; if it really was this irresistible force that Brandon and Augustus had both described to her, something that not only commanded their physical need to feed, but also dictated their sexual desires. Or maybe it was because she wanted to prove all of that was complete and absolute bullshit. But whatever the reason, she found herself intrigued—and more than this, tempted.

  “Sure,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant.

  Mercedes sniffed. “Have you ever done juice before?”

  “No,” Lina admitted, locking gazes again with the smug bitch. “But how hard can it be? I mean, you just drink it, right?”

  “Right,” Peaches said, turning around to present Lina with a glass of champagne with one hand and a small, slim glass vial with the other. The vial held a pale liquid, pearlescent and opaque. “It’s amazing, like having a guy with three tongues go down on you or something.”

  “That good, huh?” Lina had to laugh.

  “Trust me, you’ll love it,” Peaches gushed. She reached behind her, grabbing two more vials. Keeping one for herself, she passed the other to Mercedes. “Bottoms up, babes!” she declared, then tilted her head back, her platinum-blonde curls dipping into the water as she downed the drug with a gulp.

  Mercedes held her pinky out like a British aristocrat sipping Earl Grey as she drank her
s, dainty as a hummingbird. When she had finished, she and Peaches both looked at Lina expectantly.

  “Here’s looking at you,” she remarked, then she tipped her head back, the vial touching her lips, the liquid inside spilling down her throat. It tasted bitter, almost metallic—like blood, she thought with an inward shudder. When she lowered the vial, she could feel it stinging her throat and nasal passages like a shot of grain alcohol, could taste a peculiar, lingering sweetness against her tongue, as if from saki. With a small shudder, she gasped.

  “Amateur.” Again, Mercedes mumbled this loudly enough to be audible.

  “Leave her alone.” With a pout, Peaches reached out and caught Lina by the hand. Giving a hearty tug, she pulled Lina forward, making her stumble and slosh clumsily across the Jacuzzi to plop down on the bench beside her. “It’s only her first time.”

  Mercedes scowled, scooting away from them, putting as much distance between herself and Lina as the circumference of the tub would allow.

  “So when am I supposed to feel anything?” Lina croaked.

  “Usually pretty fast. Trust me—you’ll know when it kicks in.” Peaches draped her arm around Lina, as if they were old and fast friends. “Tell us all about your honey over there. He’s got really intense eyes. Tejano has brown eyes, too, so I bet they’re a lot alike. People with brown eyes tend to be independent and strong-willed. Very passionate and sexual. I learned that in a yoga class.”

  “The strong-willed part’s sure right,” Lina muttered, sipping her champagne.

  “And his hair!” Peaches gushed. “It’s so gorgeous!”

  “I wouldn’t mind running my fingers through it,” Mercedes remarked drily.

  “That’d be a good way to lose your fingers,” Lina assured her with a thin smile.