by L. A. Banks
Carlos stared at him. “I asked you for top shelf, didn’t I?”
“My bad,” the bartender said, holding up his hand, and removing the offending bottle. “For the lady?”
“Dom—no color,” Carlos said, not even looking at her.
Damali’s gaze shot between Carlos and the bartender. Carlos’s gaze was constantly sweeping the terrain, but the bartender was totally focused on Carlos.
“No color? In here?” the bartender said after a moment, and then shook his head. “You a bold mo’fucker.” He pulled down a short rocks glass and a black bottle from the top shelf, along with a bottle of Chivas Regal, and blended the blood and liquor before Carlos. He then got a clear champagne glass and poured Dom Perignon for Damali, hesitating as he gave it to her. “Remember, I’m just the bartender . . . I just work here, if anything jumps off.”
Carlos swirled the drink around in his glass, threw the murky concoction into the back of his throat, swallowed fast, and then winced as he set down the empty glass hard. He handed the bartender a C-note. “You tell your boss that the old owner is here, and that he’s a bold motherfucker, too.”
Carlos stared at the paralyzed vampire. His dark brown eyes glittered with fear and what little color was in his thin face drained away. “Now would be a good time for you to hit that panic button by the register,” Carlos said in a low, even tone. “You don’t want to make me go up to my old office to get him.”
She knew this was a bad idea . . . She should have listened to Marlene! Now she was in Hell’s kitchen, surrounded by vamps, and a mortal combat was about to jump off. Oh my G—
Not in here!
“My bad,” she whispered. She could see the vamps in the midsection of the dance floor area discreetly realign themselves. Females gravitated ever so subtly to certain males. Certain males grouped together, bulking slightly—not too much, but like they were on standby. Humans quickly exited, on the excuse of needing a smoke, whatever, but even human helpers knew that their markers were no protection when two dominant males squared off.
Carlos hadn’t even moved. He was sipping a second drink, appearing casual with his back to the staircase that led to the owner’s office. Part of her was indignant; she could understand how he felt. They’d changed the paint to a sick purple. Had switched out his once beautiful black marble and mahogany bar, and put some crazy Lucite in there. The music was all right, but the lights were giving her a headache. The place had been classy before. Now it was so . . . tacky, it didn’t make sense. She looked at Carlos as his biceps flexed.
Damali could feel his rage building as he was forced to wait for the new owner to grace him with his presence.
Suddenly Carlos stood up, looked at her, and nodded. “You’re right, baby. It is tacky.”
She opened her eyes wide. “Don’t do it,” she whispered. “Not—”
Damali closed her eyes and shook her head, knowing it was already done. When she opened them again, the old décor was in place, Carlos was smiling, six inches of fang showing, his brows knitted as he studied his old establishment.
“Much better.”
The twenty vamps in the room immediately went into battle stances, but parted as a tall, very angry second-level vampire stormed down the stairs from the offices. She watched, numb, as a lanky, built brother with locks came barreling down the stairs, eyes solid red.
“Out of order!” he said, pointing at Carlos.
“No, motherfucker—you are way out of order.” Carlos hadn’t raised his voice, but the crowd stepped back.
She watched Carlos stand, turn slowly, and take off his shades. He was eye-to-eye with the male who faced him. The brother backed up, his long locks swinging. The competitor brandished gold-capped fangs with diamonds in them, and his eyes glowed the same color red as his silk shirt. His territory crest medallion moved with his cinder block chest as he took in and released air hard. When he recognized Carlos, he snarled.
“They said you were dead.”
“You know in our world, hearsay is dangerous, and doesn’t hold up in council.”
She watched a half smile cross Carlos’s face. She tensed when she picked up motion in her peripheral vision. Five females had slowly gathered behind the new club owner, but when Carlos had spoken, they took a deep breath and hung back, their positions now in the middle of the two potential combatants without a clear choice being displayed. Deep.
“I’ma give you a choice,” Carlos said, his voice low and lethal. “Since you didn’t know I was around, as you claim, you can get your shit and your bitches out of my club—now, or die.” Carlos walked to the center of the dance floor, putting space between him and Damali. “What will it be? And tell me my lair in Beverly Hills hasn’t been opened. If you breached my lair, motherfucker, there will be no saving your ass. I’ll pull a bone out of it.”
She couldn’t believe what she was watching. The five females walked over to Carlos and stood behind him as the other male bulked but he still didn’t make a move.
“Like I said, man. I didn’t know,” the club owner said.
“Knowledge is power,” Carlos said in a deep rumble that made the females come nearer to him, tilt their heads, close their eyes, and inhale his scent.
“Oh, Carlos . . . We had been looking for you, baby. Where you been?” one tall, voluptuous, female said, her island lilt pouring over him.
“Later,” Carlos said. “Back up off me while I’m handling my business.”
Later? Damali bristled as she watched the vamp flash her man a hint of fang, her breasts practically falling out of her red halter dress as she smiled and backed away. Damn hoochie had her double-D tits up in his face, and the Latina chick with the black patent leather bondage gear was gonna make her slap her if she tossed that long, silky ponytail seductively one more time. Yeah, that blonde had betta recognize, too.
“How’d you feed?” the new club owner asked.
“That’s my business,” Carlos said, his tone icy. He gave the other vampire a stare that practically turned him to stone. “We understand each other?”
“You fed from her?” The blond female asked, her glare narrowing on Damali.
“Respect,” Carlos said calmly, nodding toward Damali. “Don’t come into my lair, unless I call you. She brought me back. Chill.”
What? Now she was going to air this whole joint out. What did Unless I call you mean? Had he lost his mind? And hadn’t he told those females to back off?
She watched them move away from Carlos, confusion crossing their faces. Then they glared at her. The venom in their glares felt like daggers piercing her body. That was cool, too. She would gladly handle them.
But, then, just as the storm was about to pass, the club owner breathed in deeply and looked at her. Damn it, her rage had spiked the air, and now he was looking at her with a little too much interest.
“You was gone a long time, Rivera. Heard they fucked you up bad in the tunnels. Month or so of rehab . . . word is, you ain’t eating right. None of your lairs are sealed. Ain’t answering no calls. Makes people wonder if you mighta gone soft. Dragging a human female around, and shit. Council mighta marked you, but anything goes topside. Accidents can happen.” Then he looked at Damali. “He taking care of you, baby? If—”
“Yeah, he takes care of me,” Damali said through her teeth. “Back off.”
“Accidents do happen in the strangest places . . . like clubs. Happens every night,” Carlos said evenly. “Believing your own hype is a dangerous thing. So is pushing up on my woman right in my face.”
“Hey . . .” The new owner opened his arms and smiled. “If a man’s got the skills to pull her, just like a man’s got the skills to move up and take this club . . . what can I say?”
Damali braced herself for the lunge, but was shocked when Carlos just smiled.
“Wanna test your skills the old-fashioned way? Brute strength, I got you. I’m talking about who can finesse the best—since you’re talking shit about my woman. Let’s take it
to the master level, since you wanna be one so bad.”
The second-level male glanced around the room as the females again hovered between the two would-be combatants.
“I’m not gonna mess up my club,” Carlos said casually. “And I’m not really trying to dust any more vamps in my territory—lost too many in the civil war. But if you think you can take me on a skills challenge, then let’s go. Winner takes all.”
The second-generation vamp laughed. “Your punk ass is so soft, you ain’t even trying to fight. Pitiful.”
Again the females shifted. The second-level vamp was focused on Damali, but kept Carlos in his line of vision.
However, the room went still when Carlos closed his eyes, and opened them. Pure red-glowing fury was in them when he did so. Eight inches of battle-fangs had dropped, his shoulders had bulked by three inches. He opened his hand and shock spread across the vamp’s face as he started to move across the floor toward Carlos, obviously against his will.
“There is no fight, because it isn’t worth it. Ripping out your punk heart will just mess up my suit and put me in a very bad mood, and I’m with my lady tonight.” He body slammed him against the bar, hurling him across the room to collide with it, and looked down at where he’d fallen on the floor.
“Get up. Find your car keys. We do this the old-fashioned way,” Carlos ordered. He glanced around the bar. “If he lives to tell about it, he can keep this club. If I smoke him, all my lairs get resealed, and you let the regions know I’m back and I ain’t bullshitting. Don’t make me go lair to lair, kicking in doors to make it known—I ain’t got that kinda time, but I will if I have to.”
Visibly shaken, the challenger stood up. But it was clear that the scent of adrenaline-spiked Neteru was making him foolish and cocky.
“Aw’ight, man. A skills test. You ain’t been a master that long. Before Nuit, an old master had this region, and even Nuit had years on you—”
“And Nuit got his ass neutered by this hand,” Carlos said, his glare narrowing as he flexed his fist. “Bet you heard that, too.”
The females smiled and nodded. “We did,” one of them breathed.
“What’s the challenge?” the Caribbean chick said, boldly going to Carlos and leaning against him.
“My Chevy against your Hummer. Twenty miles. Dematerializing, materializing grand prix—open highway, then through streets. No human body count, no property or collateral damage. Smooth as silk, dead as night, no witnesses. Winner takes all.” Carlos spoke directly to the challenger and extricated himself from the female’s embrace.
“That’s not fair,” the second-level vamp said, trying to save face and back out. “Your car is lighter, has less weight, and—”
“What, punk? You scared?” Carlos chuckled and studied his nails. “Tell you what. I’ll weigh my car down with a human female. Complicated cargo, especially when it gets hyped, tense, screaming, adrenalinekicking, Neteru in full effect, distracting as shit. You don’t have to take a human-helper with you, to keep it fair. Cool? Takes a lot of skill to jettison vamp bodies and illusion-matter at high speeds, switch frequencies, and bring human cellular structure through solid matter and then come out on the other side without losing velocity. Need skills like that to hit V-point, too—ask the ladies. That’s why I’m a master, and you’re not. So, either your out-of-order ass goes for the ride, or I can just smoke you here. I’m giving you a chance to do what you should have done when I walked through that door.” Carlos smiled. “Run.”
Damali couldn’t catch her breath. Carlos was out of his mind. She was not getting in that car! She glanced around quickly as the five females draped themselves on him. She watched in horror as the other males in the room gave him a nod of respect, reduced bulk, and pounded fists. She watched the second-level vampire shakily produce his car keys in his hands and nod without a word. She watched her man nod at her. Was he mad?
Carlos stared at her. Damali stared at him.
Two females were at his side, nuzzling his neck.
“Carlos, baby, if you pull this off, call me, hear? Tonight.”
He stroked the bondage-gear-wearing babe’s hair, and gently pushed her away.
“If she lives through it,” Carlos said seductively, “I gotta save it for her. You know that, right, mami?”
Damali’s jaw went slack.
“But, baby, she can’t deliver a double plunge bite or hit V-point with you,” the babe from the Caribbean said, running her hand down Carlos’s chest. “When you take this human bitch home, come back to Beverly Hills before dawn, lover. I know it’s been a while since you had it like a master needs it.”
“I’ll see,” he murmured, looking at Damali. Come to me, now. Don’t front. Not here.
“Just nip me before you go, baby,” the blonde murmured against his throat. “This is the wildest shit I’ve ever seen. You’re turning me on.”
The two sisters from around the way had book-ended Carlos. It was like an out-of-body experience as she watched this madness go down. Damali didn’t know which vampire to stab first—Carlos, or one of the babes up in his face. And even though common sense told her to leave, something purely female had her rooted to the floor.
“Baby, that weak punk is gonna spin out on the first turn.” They both looked at Damali. “Why don’t you bring her back to the lair, and we can all eat in the Jacuzzi. Bet she’ll be pumping enough adrenaline to knock everybody’s head back.”
Come to me now!
Carlos held Damali’s gaze with his unwavering line of vision. The other males were slapping each other high-fives, laughing, talking about the pending race. Vampires were placing wagers and yelling about how awesome this whack shit was going to be. Damali folded her arms over her chest. Come to you? Get those bitches out of your face, now!
When he didn’t move and one amorous female vamp grazed his earlobe with her fang, Damali started walking forward, her hand sliding up the side of her skirt toward her dagger.
“Do not make me come over there,” she whispered, making the room go still.
Then Carlos chuckled. “See, that’s why I’m crazy about her. She’s nuts.” But he untangled himself from the females’ hold and got out of Damali’s swing range. “C’mon, baby. We do this like old times—only you don’t drop the bandanna. You ride shotgun. Cool?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
DAMALI JUST glared at Carlos and walked ahead of him toward the parking lot. She was so angry it felt like smoke was coming out of her ears. Yeah, yeah, yeah, she understood now that he had to show that he was back and in full effect. Yeah, okay, she got it why he had to give them something that probably no other male in the territory could do. And, fine, his point was made about how he had to be sure he was respected when he went anywhere with her. But he had unnecessarily dragged her into pure craziness! What if he couldn’t do it? She’d be road pizza, or maybe some poor, unsuspecting bystander would. And those hoes!
Couldn’t leave you behind with them, he said in a quiet transmission as they neared the cars. Not until total control was established. They’d try you just to try me, and you don’t have Madame Isis on you. My concentration would be jacked during the race, worrying about you back there. That’s the only reason I did it. This is for us.
Yeah, whateva.
You see how bad it is out here, right? They took my Beverly Hills lair, my club, have to get my authority reestablished, without council assistance.
What-the-fuck-eva, Carlos.
A punk second-level just pushed up on me. I couldn’t allow—
Five vamp bitches just pushed up on you, and I couldn’t allow—
Had to play the game, baby . . . come on. You know me better than that. How would I look as a male master turning down free tail like I couldn’t hang? Some things are just not done in public.
What’s the double-plunge? And what the hell is V-point?
Later. I gotta concentrate. He looked at her hard as he opened the passenger-side door for her to get in. For real, D.
While we’re riding—don’t make me lose focus.
Anger immediately ebbed away from her as she sensed nervous energy thread through Carlos. He’d jumped over the door and slid into his seat. The other driver was looking straight ahead, his black Hummer rumbling, the engine a dull roar. The kit on the Hummer made the other driver’s vehicle look like it had silver fangs on the front of it. What was she doing? And he didn’t want her to pray? Carlos glanced at her once with a warning glare and gunned his engine.
A sexy female vampire with long brown hair, wearing a hot orange tank top and an orange patent leather skirt, tipped on stiletto heels between the two racers. She pulled a hundred dollar bill out from her ample cleavage, leaned over, and brushed Carlos’s mouth, and tucked the bill under his belt, then stroked his groin. Damali set her jaw hard but refused to do anything that would jeopardize her own life. Later. Yeah. Like Carlos said. Me and you, bitch.
“Just for good luck, and ’cause I’m betting on you, suga,” the female vamp said, her New Orleans accent thick and husky. “I’m left over from Nuit’s reign, plantation days before he got Amanthra in his system, and I heard all about you. I’ll be dropping the bandanna tonight . . . later, when you win, you can drop fang on me.” She looked at Damali. “Let her hit a wall, but do come back to us in one piece tonight. You’ll still be the best. You never had anything to prove to me.”
Then she sashayed away, blew Carlos an air kiss, took off her top, and stood half nude before both drivers. Were it not for the significant matter of life and limb, Damali would have jumped over the door and kicked her ass. She smiled at Damali, issuing a provocative dare, then put one hand up to her ear, extending her thumb and pinky with her other fingers folded in to resemble a telephone receiver, closed her eyes and mouthed the words, “Call me,” toward Carlos.
The only thing saving her was the fact that Carlos wasn’t even watching her huge breasts jiggle as she raised her arm. His focus was on her top, and when she released it, the orange flag fell in slow motion. That’s when the world became a blur.