Was this really happening? Was she really this out of control, even now? She had no excuse for this. She couldn’t blame this on bloodlust, not in either sense of the term – she was neither craving blood, nor drunk with it. Stress, perhaps, or it was possible that she had seized upon this nearly violent outburst as an alternative to surrendering to a panic attack. Either way, she felt mortified by her own actions … and yet pleased with the result it had yielded.
Serenity didn’t respect her, or at least she hadn’t until now. She had sought to deceive Raina, to manipulate her, and to use her as just another stepping stone in her ambitious lust for power. Only by threatening her with death, sure and swift, had Raina been able to force the truth from Serenity, as well as to knock her pride down a peg or two and reiterate her leadership status. It was crude and primal in a way, this need to establish dominance when another sought to test it, but it was apparently a necessity. If she hadn’t done this, if she wasn’t still doing it, then Serenity would have held no respect for her. If she had allowed this, intentionally or not, others would not have respected her as Grand Duchess and would also have sought to use and abuse her, making a mockery of her title. She needed to put Serenity in her place, to make an example of her. She had to put a stop to this before it went too far.
“Get up,” Raina commanded her tersely. “Get up on your knees.”
Trembling terribly, her shuddering evident even in her whimpering breaths, Serenity pushed herself upright and looked up to Raina with absolute dread. She knew what was about to happen. Raina could sense this realization as a sinking, sick feeling deep within her belly that seemed to drop impossibly low within herself. Serenity’s sobs quickly lessened. She looked aside with a sniffle, and soon there was a look of resignation upon her face. Without being asked, she pulled her tied-back hair over the front of her shoulder, clasped her hands behind her back, and leaned slightly forward, baring her neck.
“I love you,” she said to Lord Redhorn. She glanced at her other two consorts. “I love you all.”
“Your grace…” Raina heard Redhorn say, but she didn’t know whether it was directed to herself or to Serenity.
Raina stepped aside, twirling her sword about once again to reverse her grip into a standard hold with one hand. She lifted the blade high overhead and could hear the collective gasp of onlookers as everyone, as one, seemed to hold their breath with terrible anticipation. With a slight turn of her wrist, she angled the katana back over her shoulder, moved it slightly forward, and dragged the back of its edge against the opening of the sheath until she felt the tip gently dip into its slot. With just a slight push as she released her grip upon it, gravity pulled the sword neatly into its sheath with a solid clack – Serenity actually flinched and yelped softly at the sound.
“I’m not going to kill you tonight,” Raina finally told her.
Serenity exhaled almost explosively, her whole body sagging with relief as the rest of the people witnessing the event similarly relaxed. Raina bent her knees slightly and placed one hand upon Serenity’s shoulder, holding out the other in offering. Serenity looked at her hand almost fearfully, timidly accepting it as though she expected it could potentially prove to be a fatal gift.
“Thank you,” Serenity whispered, looking up to Raina with bloodshot, sorrow-swollen eyes as Raina guided her to stand. Her makeup had been subtle that evening, and so her tears had not created too much of a mess upon her cheeks. “Oh, thank you.”
Raina tightened her grip upon Serenity’s hand slightly to keep her attention. “I will not be lied to, I will not be seduced, and I will not be used. Not by you, and not by anyone else in the IVC. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, your grace. Thank you,” she said with a gracious bow of her head.
“Just so there’s no misunderstandings,” Raina said, “I want to hear you explain what this means to you. I want to be sure that you understand exactly what you’ve done wrong, why I’ve chosen to spare your life, and what I expect from you in the future.”
Serenity hesitated, her eyes flicking aside to Lord Redhorn and the others. Her consorts only responded by bowing their heads almost shamefully. She swallowed nervously, audibly, and as she spoke, Raina could tell that her tongue had become somewhat pasty in her terror.
“I have lied to you. I have withheld the truth from you. I have wrongfully sought to seduce you. I have caused you to do things against your wishes. And I have … I have tried to use deceit to create a Debt of Blood for my own selfish gains.” She closed her eyes for a moment, sniffing back her emotions as she struggled to compose herself fully. “I understand that what I did was terribly wrong, that my actions were an insult to you and to your title, and that I have brought disgrace upon myself and my bloodline by disrespecting you.” Her eyes clearly focused upon the hilt of the sword that jutted up above Raina’s right shoulder. “I understand that you are within your rights as Grand Duchess to slay me for what I have done.”
“Why have I spared you, then?”
Her beautiful hazel eyes now focused upon Raina’s much darker, nearly black irises. She seemed momentarily puzzled. “You’ve spared me … because you want to … to make an example of me?”
Raina gave a subtle nod as she stepped away and folded her arms. “Go on.”
“I will … I will accept whatever Debt of Blood you wish to impose,” she explained with uncertainty. “I have earned whatever punishment you wish to give me.”
“I want everyone to be aware of what I will and will not tolerate. You will tell the media what you have done, and you will be judged by society as a whole, by both vampires and humans, alike,” Raina informed her. “You will then confess what you have done at the next gathering in the Hall of the High Court, and I will consult with the other Elders before I decide upon your final punishment. Do you understand?”
“Yes, your grace.” Serenity gave a full, formal, and very submissive bow that she held at its lowest point. “I am forever grateful for your mercy. I live to serve you and only you, my queen.”
Raina only barely managed to refrain from telling her once again, I am not your queen. Whatever – it was just as well that she saw her like this. Perhaps it had been a mistake to correct her before, to try to be informal with her, because it leveled the steps of the hierarchy a bit too much. In Serenity’s case, informality gave her an opportunity to believe that she could overcome Raina if she tried.
The valets had already brought back the two Lincolns and the busboys had begun to load their luggage, only having stopped to observe the potential execution. Raina helped herself to Serenity’s purse where it lay upon the ground nearby, plucking a fat money clip out from within it. She peeled off a few hundreds and gave one to each of the two valets and two busboys.
“I’d very much appreciate it if you gentlemen kept what you’ve seen here to yourselves,” she told them with as harmless and polite a smile as she could manage.
The young men all nodded enthusiastically with wide eyes. She had never thought herself to be the type to bribe anyone, but technically, she wasn’t – it was Serenity’s money paying for a public incident that her own actions had caused. One of them even asked for her autograph, and she reluctantly obliged, signing the inside lapel of his valet vest and even giving the handsome fellow a flirtatious peck on the cheek. Money, alone, might not have been enough to buy their silence, but a bit of extra charm might make at least one of them more inclined to honor her request.
Raina ordered Serenity to guide them directly to the meeting place of her future bloodspawn while she followed behind in the other Lincoln. There was an awkward silence as Raina entered the car and immediately turned off the radio while her servants slipped into the rear seat together once again. Raina noted the apprehensive look that Serenity cast her way just before she stepped into the back seat of the lead car. She had truly put the fear of death into her.
“Did that really just happen?” Sophie finally asked after they were about a block away from the hote
l.
Raina couldn’t help but to smile a bit. “I should probably feel bad about what I did back there.”
“Do you?”
She shrugged, admitting, “A little bit.”
“Well, she was being a sneaky liar, after all.”
“Yes, she was,” Raina agreed, “which is why I don’t feel all that bad.”
There was a pause, a loaded silence that Thomas finally broke: “Would you kill her?”
Raina glanced at him in the mirror, feeling her smile fade. “Honestly … I’m surprised that I didn’t. I don’t know what came over me.”
“Duvessa would have killed her,” he commented.
“No, Duvessa would have strung her up and tortured her for a few hours or a few days and then killed her. And for the millionth time, I’m not Duvessa,” she informed him flatly, already becoming slightly annoyed again.
“I know,” he said. He paused, and she could see him smiling. “I’m very happy that you are not Duvessa.”
That made her smile again. “Thanks.”
“I think she deserved it. I mean, I’m glad you didn’t kill her, but I think she deserved, you know, to be put in her place,” Sophie said with a nod.
Raina turned to glance at her directly as the young Commoner leaned against the back of the passenger seat. “What would you have done?”
“I dunno.” She thought about it some, and then smiled. “I probably would have just kicked the bloody hell out of her in front of everyone.”
“Public humiliation is a fate worse than death for vain people,” Raina agreed with a smile. “I like the way you think.”
* * * *
Chapter Twenty
Mesa, Arizona
Her return to the stage was met with a sense of something near mistrust by the other girls in the club. They knew who she was, and they knew with whom she lived. Why was she there, working like they were, when she was supposed to be living a life of luxury and privilege after being taken under the wing of the oh-so-generous Dante Giovanni? Was she trying to prove something by returning to dancing?
Everyone knew that when Mister Giovanni took a new girl in, he would only allow them to work their usual job for a brief while longer to let them spread the word that they were now his. Soon thereafter, he would insist upon becoming their sole provider. There were two assumptions that the other girls automatically made, and they weren’t at all shy about sharing their theories with her: either she had split up with Mister Giovanni and needed the income again to support herself, or she was simply returning to mingle for awhile with her prior co-workers to flaunt her status.
Either way, the other girls generally avoided her as though she was a leper. That was actually quite fine by her. The fewer questions asked, the less she would need to explain, and the less likely it would be that she might find herself caught in a lie.
Her former supervisor, Samantha Schwarz, had made all of this possible. While she could not entirely call her a friend because of that woman’s distant, cold, calculating nature, she felt that she could at least afford to trust her and that they had something of a professional partnership that went beyond a usual boss-subordinate relationship. Samantha, or Sam, had a deep personal grudge against Mister Giovanni. Sam had never directly explained to her the origin of her bitterness against Mister Giovanni, but she had already figured it out on her own. Sam had long wished to see Mister Giovanni either murdered or arrested and executed. At the very least, she hoped he would someday be publicly humiliated in such a way that he would never show his face in the Valley ever again. The incident with the Grand Duchess had been embarrassing, but apparently not enough. The difference between herself and Sam was that she wanted only freedom, whereas Sam was seeking vengeance for something.
Sam was either lucky enough or smart enough to have found her way through life to be in the sort of position she was with regard to Mister Giovanni. He did not control her life as much as he simply complicated it and made things difficult for her, both professionally and personally. Business-wise, Sam was nearly Mister Giovanni’s equal. To her, he was simply a “talent scout” that owned a few other businesses and recruited or loaned some of his own employees to work in her club. She had met Sam by becoming a regular “loaner” to her club, “Naughty by Night.” After a few candid and private conversations, they had formed a friendship, or at least an alliance of sorts. Privately, Sam despised Mister Giovanni on a number of levels, but she tolerated him only because, by her own admission, it was easier to work around him than it was to try to fight him. Mister Giovanni played by his own rules and had far more resources than Sam. She had seen what had happened to others in her position when they tried to pit themselves squarely against that abusive, insecure, controlling bastard of a vampire.
She had just emerged from the back room after touching up her makeup, slipping on a different outfit, and stashing her take from her first dance – fifty-three dollars, not bad at all. Even though she was doing well to hide her nervousness and to put on a good stage presence, she had been eyeing the patrons over closely the entire time. So far, nobody appeared to be out of the norm, just the usual depraved older men, tactless middle-aged men with an occasional bi-curious wife or girlfriend, and the hormone-crazed college guys that were either “partying it up” or simply unable to see a naked female (in person) by any other means.
Of course, it was entirely possible that Sam may have arranged for someone else to be sent to meet her, as a personal appearance might be too bold and too obvious, stirring up too much attention. She didn’t want attention; the last thing she needed was for someone to call Mister Giovanni and alert him to the fact that something very unusual was going on and that she was involved. She was already taking a big enough risk as it was, simply by being there. But working the stage rotation at least helped to give her a legitimate excuse for her presence. Hiding in the back office with Sam would have been even more suspicious if anyone saw her go in there and not come out within a few minutes.
She avoided the clients and the other girls as much as she could afford, but she did have to give a couple of lap dances as they were requested. Sam delegated most drink-serving duties to her so that she could stay busy, rather than standing around and looking awkward. It had been awhile, but she still knew how to handle rude customers: smile and keep things nice, but know when to alert the bouncers if anyone got carried away.
Although no alcohol was officially served in the club, they did serve “starters” which consisted of either sodas or “virgin” mixed drinks that the customers then combined with small sample-sized bottles of booze of choice they brought themselves. Legally speaking, this was not the intention of the drinks served, just a “nudge, wink” understanding with the customers. Because the business was not required to have a liquor license, since no alcohol was actually being served by the staff, the club was not subject to some of the usual restrictions as other adult entertainment venues – thus, full-nude dancers instead of topless ones. A downside of it was that it was a bit harder to “cut off” an overly intoxicated patron when, more or less, they were their own bartender. The only way to deal with such people was to simply give them the boot when they were totally out of line.
One particular fellow, a wealthy-looking middle-aged guy in a suit with four similarly-dressed companions, was being aggressive and arrogant enough that she knew before he even requested a lap dance that he would be a problem. This guy was apparently a fan of screwdrivers, and by her count, he had already downed at least three of them. He was one of those men that were civil and well-mannered when sober but became obnoxious, belligerent brutes that believed they were far more attractive to the opposite gender than they were in actuality when drunk. More than once, he had to be reminded to keep his hands to himself, and every time that this happened, she let the bouncers know about it, as was standard procedure for guys like this.
Usually, guests would only get one or two warnings before they were asked to leave. However, after the third occurre
nce, the bouncers did not seem very eager to give the wealthy hotshot the usual bum-rush. In fact, after delivering a fourth drink to their table and getting slapped upon the behind while walking away, she observed that one of the bouncers had clearly witnessed the offense, yet she saw him turn his attention away deliberately. She didn’t care if the guy was a VIP, and she didn’t care that he was tipping her and everyone else very generously – rules were rules, and laws were laws. Manhandling the girls was just not cool.
This was one of the problems in working with Mister Giovanni’s people. Too many of his hand-picked employees, particularly the vampires (some of whom were his bloodspawn), were too loyal to him. It was something that she had considered to be a potential problem, but she had hoped that Sam would have staffed her club differently that night. Either Mister Giovanni had insisted upon having his men there, or Sam merely wished to avoid arousing his suspicions by making it a point not to have only her own staff working that night. The drawback to this was that, as bouncers, these men were terrible. They were each too busy ogling at the girls, texting on their cell phones, or otherwise being completely distracted from their duties. Those times that they did witness something out of line, they seemed not to care, or at least they weren’t willing to actually do anything about it.
Now that she thought about it, she figured that she should perhaps be grateful for the fact that it didn’t appear that these hired goons recognized her. If they did, apparently they didn’t care that she was working there that night. Much like the other girls that night, they had apparently made their own assumptions about why she was there and had decided not to bother asking, lest they be accused of prying into Mister Giovanni’s private affairs.
She was inclined to head into Sam’s office and ask that something be done about the grabby hotshot in the suit, but thankfully, her turn came up in the dance rotation. She drew in a deep breath as she left the bar and headed for the steps leading up to the t-shaped stage. As she exhaled slowly, she visualized all of her stress and worry being expelled from within, doing her best to clear her mind and focus on her routine. She used the terrycloth towel she had brought up from the bar to quickly wipe down all three brass poles – center, left, and right – while the prior girl gathered her tips and discarded garments from the stage floor. It was as she was cleaning off the third (center) pole that the DJ elected to start her song early, an industrial-dance number with a crunchy guitar riff and a thumping, steady bass and percussion line. She tied her hair back in a single thick tail for the moment, tossed the towel toward the mirrored backstage area, and started in.
The Darkest Colors- Exsanguinations Page 41