Dark Vengeance Part 2

by Reinke, Sara

  “What’s his name again?” Peaches asked.

  “Augustus,” Mercedes supplied before Lina could even open her mouth. Sipping from her champagne flute and looking like the cat that just swallowed a canary, she added, “That’s what they used to call the emperors of ancient Rome. It means great, or magnificent.”

  Peaches leaned into Lina’s shoulder and stage-whispered, “Mercedes is really smart about stuff like that. She went to college to become a paralegal.”

  “Wow.” Lina sipped her champagne again. “Magna cum laude, too, I bet.”

  “Excuse me.” Ignoring Lina and turning to Peaches as she spoke, Mercedes stood. “I could use some fresh air.”

  She climbed languidly out of the Jacuzzi, grabbing a white silk robe from the back of a chair and lashing it loosely around her narrow waist. Lina couldn’t help but notice how all of the armed goons turned their heads to watch, or how the conversation between Augustus and Cervantes faltered to silence as the young woman walked past—or how Augustus’s gaze, like Tejano’s, tracked her every move.

  “What the hell is her problem?” Lina said.

  “She’s just pissed because Tejano didn’t say anything about you coming tonight,” Peaches said.

  “What do you mean?” Lina asked. “Augustus called him hours ago to set up this meeting. He…” Her voice trailed off as she suddenly clued in. Tejano hadn’t said anything about her coming that night.

  Peaches shrugged. “It’s no big deal. Tejano just likes to make sure his guests have company. If you know what I mean.”

  I can guess, Lina thought darkly, knocking back her champagne in a long gulp.

  “It’s no big deal,” Peaches said again. “She’ll probably stick with Tejano now and I’ll get stuck having to blow all the guards, but that’s okay, I guess.” She grabbed the champagne bottle again and topped them both off. “At least there’s free bubbly, right?”

  She giggled and Lina managed a polite smile. “Tejano has guests often, then?” she asked.

  “Oh, sure.” Peaches nodded. “Whenever he’s in town.”

  “Anyone this trip?”

  “Not really.” Peaches looked thoughtful. “Only that one guy.” Her mouth turned down, her pretty face pinching in a frown. “Julien.”

  Who are you? Lina remembered Nikolić asking at the police station. Who send you here to me? Was it Julien?

  Julien Davenant. Lina felt her heart racing with sudden excitement.

  “You don’t like him?” she asked, trying to sound nonchalant, like she was just making idle conversation.

  Peaches shrugged. “He’s really hot and all,” she said. “I mean, he’s got the most amazing eyes. They’re blue—that means he’s really intense. And his body is banging. He’s got all these really sexy tattoos, too, and his dick is huge. He likes to fuck really rough, you know, take you from behind. I’m totally into that.” Again, she pout-frowned. Leaning closer to Lina and speaking in a whisper, she added, “But Tejano’s scared of him. And he’s not scared of anybody. But I can tell. Julien scares the shit out of him.”

  “Why’s that?” Lina asked, glancing across the room to where Cervantes and Augustus sat together on the sofa, talking.

  Peaches shook her head. “I don’t know. Usually Julien acts really nice around Tejano. But this last time, he was pretty pissed off. I think that scared Tejano more than anything.”

  “What was he pissed about?”

  “Who knows. But I heard him say he’d take care of Téo, whoever that is. Tejano was real nervous after that, at least until he talked to your honey there.”

  Lina remembered something Pilar had said when she’d given her the wayob: There must have been someone there, at the hospital today—the real El Jefazo.

  Again, her mind turned to the pictures Marcus had showed her from the hospital’s security cameras—a dark-haired man in a dark suit walking into, then out of, Téo’s room on the ICU.

  Julien Davenant killed Téo.

  With this realization came another hot on its heels—not only was her own heart racing, but somehow she could tell that Peaches’s was, too, her blood coursing swiftly, furiously through her blood vessels. Lina could smell it, a heady, warm, metallic scent that melded with the fragrance of champagne. She’d never smelled anything like it, never felt anything like she felt in that moment—a strange, light-headed sensation, every inch of her skin seeming to tingle as if electrified. It wasn’t the champagne; it wasn’t feeling tipsy or drunk. Instead, she felt astonishing clarity, as if suddenly, intensely aware of sensations she’d never noticed before, never been privy to.

  “What the hell…?” Lina whispered, and even her voice sounded different to her, more resonant somehow, as if her hearing had doubled—no quadrupled—in acuity, and she could discern timbre and undertones never before distinguished.

  The blood lust. In an instant, she knew Cervantes’s drug had taken effect on her.

  I still have enough to sense you, what you really are, Nikolić had told them, calling Augustus strigoi, or in his native tongue, a vampire. Is this what he’d meant then? Lina wondered.

  I don’t think he was human last night, Augustus had said, arguing that Nikolić wasn’t of the Brethren. I think he was something in between.

  That’s what’s happening to me, she thought, astonished. That’s what I’m becoming.

  “You’re starting to feel it, aren’t you?” Peaches asked with a grin. Her pale skin suddenly seemed aglow, her blonde hair all the more luminous. Lina could see that her pupils had dilated, the black disks nearly filling the light blue border of her irises entirely.

  That’s happening to me, too, she thought. That’s why everything looks so sparkly and bright—my pupils are expanding.

  “Yeah,” Lina murmured, lifting her hand, marveling at the way the water tumbled from her fingers back into the tub, a spray of brilliant, dazzling lights, like a meteor shower. All of her senses felt heightened and honed—she could smell the distinct fragrance of Augustus’s Serge Lutens’ Borneo 1874 cologne from across the room as clearly as if she’d just nuzzled the side of his neck. She could smell the sweet scent of caramel—the tequila, she guessed—and the mingling aromas from the sliced melons and berries on the coffee table.

  Although only moments earlier, she hadn’t been able to make out anything he or Augustus were saying, she suddenly heard Cervantes’s voice with remarkable clarity, as if he stood within three feet and spoke directly to her: “¿Que paso, firme jaina? Bring that sweet ass over here—I’m hungry for pussy and blood. In that order.”

  Lina also caught a sudden whiff of cloyingly sweet floral perfume, and heard the wet slap of bare feet on the stone tiles as Mercedes came back into the room. Her mouth stretched in a languid grin as Cervantes called out, and at his beckon, she bypassed the hot tub and approached the men on the couches.

  “But el Jefe…” Mercedes said with a feigned pout as she walked toward Augustus. “Don’t you think our company should enjoy first?”

  Still wearing that wicked smile as she stood in front of Augustus, she loosened the ties of her robe belt and let the silk wrap slip from her shoulders, pooling around her feet. At this, Lina could hear the sharp intake of Augustus’s breath even over the bubbling Jacuzzi jets.

  Cervantes chuckled. “Right you are, querida,” he said. “Right you are.” To Augustus, he added, “Enjoy, amigo, but beware—my girl there, she’s a wildcat.”

  “So which would you like first, Señor Noble? My blood?” Mercedes purred, straddling Augustus, enveloping his hips with her long, tanned thighs and settling herself comfortably against his groin. “Or my pussy?”

  “Augustus,” he murmured with a dazed sort of fascination as she pushed his suit coat off of his shoulders and began to unbutton the front of his shirt. It took a lot of alcohol to get one of the Brethren drunk—and they had to down it in very quick measure. Lina could tell the bottle of tequila must have been about empty by the sound of his voice, the slight slur she detected in
his words. “It’s just Augustus, ma bichette.”

  “Ooo, French.” Mercedes reached the buttons at his navel and tugged the shirt tails loose from the waistband of his slacks. As she pushed aside the panels of fabric, she dragged her long fingernails lightly against his chest. “Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?”

  Lina didn’t know what that meant, but obviously Augustus did, because he managed a clumsy laugh. “It’s tempting…” he began.

  His voice cut short as Mercedes clamped her mouth over his in a kiss. At this, Cervantes clapped his hands and laughed. “I told you! A wildcat!” he exclaimed, clearly delighted.

  Lina bristled, her blood suddenly churning as furiously as the water in the Jacuzzi. “That’s it,” she muttered, standing up. Her head swam momentarily, and Peaches had to grab her by the arm to help her keep her teetering balance. But when the young woman tugged at her hand, trying to get her to sit down again, Lina flapped her way loose. “I’ve had just about enough of this bitch.”

  As she stepped out of the tub and marched toward the couch, she felt her body tingling, as if she’d grabbed hold of an electrified wire. Her muscles felt poised as if to strike, like a rubber band stretched tautly, waiting for the inexorable moment of release. The entire room seemed to blaze with bright light, and the sound of her own heartbeat was like thunder pounding in her ears.

  “Get your goddamn hands…” Lina grabbed Mercedes by the hand and twisted hard, rotating her thumb and hyperextending the woman’s entire arm. “…off my man.”

  Mercedes yelped, tearing abruptly free from her kiss. When Lina yanked her by the arm, keeping her immobilized in the crippling wrist lock, Mercedes wailed and pitched sideways, stumbling away from Augustus, her face twisted with pain.

  “You…bitch…!” she gasped. “Let me go!”

  “Not yet,” Lina growled. “I’m not finished with you.”

  She’d never as much as raised a hand against Ashleigh—the woman Jude had left her for—or Pilar. She’d taken both Jude’s and Brandon’s betrayals, and all of the pain and humiliation that came with them, like it had been something she’d deserved, something she’d had rightly due by not being good enough, sweet enough, feminine enough, pretty enough, sexy enough. They’d made her feel worthless—women like Mercedes, who were beautiful and busty and thought they had a right to stake a claim on any man who caught their eye, had made her feel worthless more times than she could bother to count. And she’d always accepted it. Lina had always taken the heartache and disappointment without complaint—never to the men or women who had caused it in her life. But in that moment, with her heart jackhammering and her blood coursing through her veins, every nerve ending in her body seemingly scraped raw and on sensory overload, she decided never again.

  Never fucking again, she thought, and she twisted Mercedes’s arm even harder, forcing the brunette to her knees. Mercedes yowled as Lina shoved her face-first to the floor, using her arm as a fulcrum, then kneeling down atop her, planting her knee firmly in the middle of her back. Folding Mercedes’s arm, Lina cranked her hand toward her shoulder blades, listening as the tendons creaked and the socket of her arm groaned in protest. Mercedes screamed, wiggling vainly beneath her.

  “You touch him again…you as much as look at him, you fucking bitch, and I’ll rip your arm off and shove it up your ass,” Lina seethed, leaning over so she could speak directly into Mercedes’s ear. “You got that, bitch?”

  “Okay,” Mercedes sobbed, slapping the floor with her free hand like she thought this was some kind of high school wrestling match, and that would get Lina to back off. (It didn’t.) “Alright, okay, I’m sorry! Please, I’m so fucking sorry!”

  “Good.” Lina held her pinned like that for another long moment, then released her iron grasp. Rising to her feet, she dusted her hands off.

  Mercedes lay on the floor in a shuddering, bawling heap. From the couch, Cervantes laughed like it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen. He’d started laughing from the moment Mercedes had parked her ass in Augustus’s lap and hadn’t quit since.

  Lina turned to glare at Augustus, her body still seized with furious, pent-up energy. “You want to feed from someone? Feed from me.”

  He met her gaze evenly, still wearing that damnably impassive expression. You’ve tried the juice, he observed.

  Yeah, she replied hotly, marching toward him. I have. And you’re drunk. Again.

  I am, yes, he agreed as she planted one knee on either side of his hips and straddled him, planting her ass squarely in his lap. He arched his brow at this, and the corner of his mouth hooked ever-so slightly, ever-so wryly as she glared at him eye-to-eye.

  If you’re drunk, how can you keep up all those mental shields you’ve got for us? she demanded and he chuckled.

  Don’t worry, ma chéri. As long as I’m conscious, those shields will hold.

  It was hard to concentrate her thoughts and communicate with him because she could feel him through the effects of the juice; through the bloodlust, she could feel Augustus’s presence—his mind. His mental voice ebbed and flowed within her, words and phrases and thoughts and memories tumbling and jumbling together. Amidst this overflowing, overwhelming cacophony, one word came to her through his mind, his thoughts, over and over again.

  Beautiful.

  She’d been ready to rail at him, to cuss him out, to take out every frustration, disappointment and heartache she’d ever been made to feel by any man against him, but drew back, startled by the realization that he meant her.

  Rather than dismissal of her, his aloof façade earlier had belied a tremendous struggle to deny the surge of arousal he’d felt upon seeing her in the nude. He wanted her—had, in fact, from the moment she’d showed up at his hotel door room. Maybe it was because that had been the first time he’d ever seen her with a dress or make-up on—the first time he’d ever really taken notice of her, or maybe it was because he’d been drunk and lonely for Eleanor, but whatever the reason, he’d realized it all the same—and had been helpless to ignore it ever since.

  You are so very beautiful, Angelina, he thought. She leaned in toward him, breathing in his intoxicating fragrance, basking in the incredible, impossible light radiating from his skin and hair as her lips settled lightly against his. Lina brushed the tip of her tongue against his mouth, and with a low groan and a fierce, sudden pull, he drew her near.

  Goddamn, the man could kiss. She didn’t know if it was the moment, the drug, or Augustus himself, but everything seemed to whip around her, at her, within her at breakneck speed, as if she’d been caught in a whirlwind of sensory overload—sight, sound, taste, smell, thoughts, feelings, memories.

  He used one hand to support the small of her back, while the other fell against her breast, rolling the hardened point of her nipple between his fingers. She could feel his arousal straining now through the front of his pants, brushing against her threshold and sending a shock of pleasure shuddering through her, a flood of damp heat rushing between her thighs. At this, her urgency grew too much to bear; she wanted—no, needed him with a frenzied sort of energy, one that left her clutching at him, clawing at him, kissing him hungrily.

  “Feed from me,” she whispered as they drew apart.

  “Are you sure, ma chéri?” There was no disguising the edge of hunger, low and gravelly, in his voice. As she watched, his pupils began to enlarge, the black disks swelling, slowly filling the visible brown of his irises, the whites of his corneas. She could see the tips of his fangs as they slid down from the recessed grooves hidden in his upper palate.

  In response, Lina tightened her grasp on his shoulders and tilted her head to the side, exposing her throat in full to him. It was all of the invitation he needed. Augustus leaned toward her, and she felt sharp, momentary pain as the twin points of his canines first settled against the soft, outward swell of her throat, then punched through her skin. As his fangs sank deeply into the meat her neck, he uttered a low groan, his lips pressing against her flesh to form a
tight, hot seal.

  As the analgesic properties of his saliva kicked in, her pain disappeared, and Lina uttered a breathless moan, tangling her fingers in his pale hair. Using his tongue, he coaxed the pulsating rush of blood into his mouth. She began to move, rocking her hips to match the rhythm of his tongue, rubbing the sensitive nub of her clit against the swell of his cock. The sensation of his mouth, his fangs penetrating her, intensified the rush of electrified pleasure she felt with every stroke.

  Mon Dieu, woman, he thought. He caught her hair in one hand to keep her head craned to the side, giving him full and unabated access to her throat. With the other, he hooked his fingers into her hip, guiding her as she grinded against him, falling into a fast, powerful rhythm as she built toward release.

  Don’t stop, she begged, clutching at him, the motions of her hips quickening, growing more urgent. Please…please…!

  That’s it, he urged in her mind. His fingers dug fiercely into her waist, and he pressed his mouth more urgently against her throat. C'est ça…that’s it, ma chéri. Venu pour moi…come for me.

  When she came, she came hard, arching her back and digging her nails into his skin. Between the intensity that came when her blood was drained and the effects of the juice, the simulated bloodlust, her orgasm felt a thousand times more powerful than any before, an explosion of light, color, scent and sound, and she cried out, grinding her hips into him as forcefully as she could.

  His mouth slipped from her throat, and she heard him gasp, hoarse and ragged, near her ear as he withdrew his fangs, his entire body trembling beneath her. “God above, Angelina,” he whispered. “Do you know what you’re doing to me?”

  Lina crumpled against him, spent and shuddering. Her eyelids felt heavy, her mind swimming in sudden fog. It occurred to her that they were in Tejano Cervantes’s living room, on Cervantes’s couch, in full view of not only Cervantes, but his armed goon-squad as well.

  “It would seem you have a wildcat of your own, amigo,” Cervantes remarked as if on cue from behind them, the tone of his voice lending itself to a shit-eating grin.