***
West 32nd Street was still bustling with
humans and a few oblivious vampires. Fletcher
drove slowly down the street, more careful than Trey would have expected. Trey was too nervous to comment on Fletcher’s
sudden in-the-zone expression in the rearview mirror. As an alternative, he silently reached up next
to his shoulder and threaded his fingers through the loop of fabric there. Staring straight ahead, Trey scooted over
until he was almost flush with the door and pulled on the loop, causing the
fold down seat back to give way. He
pulled his hood up and waited until two arms grabbed the cast down seat and a
head emerged from the trunk.
“Don’t say a word,” Junior Guard Feist hissed as he
crawled out of the hole to the trunk like an expert contortionist and wiggled
down towards the floorboard. Trey got a
knee to his thigh and a hand stomped on his foot. He almost kicked Feist in the face to free
his feet. “When you lay down, face the
back of the seat. It will be easier to
crawl through without alerting anyone at eye level with the window, if they’re
watching.”
“They are,” Fletcher confirmed, glancing at this
side mirror. “Same cab followed us here
from Spring Street.”
“ETA?” The
Guard got into position as Trey bent down on the seat.
“Maybe two minutes.
Make it quick. They’ll wonder why
he’s suddenly taking a nap so close to the address.”
“Go,” Feist hissed, glaring up at Trey. The man was the same height and build and
Trey. They both had longish dark hair
and green eyes, but Feist’s were more hazel than green. Still, on a street, among a crowd, wearing
the same thing Trey was, the Haitians would be satisfied “Trey” had entered the
building while he actually escaped in the trunk of Fletcher’s cab.
Throughout the evening Donohue had begun putting
Guards in place, systematically calling them into the area in pairs of by
themselves. The hotel next door was a
good concealment and the mass amount of Korean restaurants on this block of Midtown
gave the Guards plenty of extra cover if the Haitians were out in full
force. Trey wasn’t privy to how many
Guards were out there, but he felt safe enough knowing they were. He took a deep breath, breached the trunk
cavity and curled up in the dark enclosure.
Feist flipped his hood up, crawled up onto the seat like a boneless
creature from the floorboard and sat up straight. He sucked in air, let it out and pushed the
folded down seat back into place with a click.
Minutes later, Trey felt the cab stop near the
curb. He heard Feist get out at Trey’s
old shitty walkup, the entrance located at a back door to a Korean quick stop
where they sold everything from postcards and cigarettes to bitter coffee and
pot if you knew who to ask for. And then
the door slammed shut. The cab lurched
forward again. Trey shuddered with a
relieved exhale; the hard part was over.
Now it was time to go save his family from being torn apart.
***
The Hudson River Greenway fared better at night with
traffic. It was a smaller two lane road
that curved around Lincoln Highway and the merge of 11th, sandwiched
between the major road and the water.
Night cloaked the ancient warehouses of the Meatpacking District and the
forgotten docks left to erode in the water, as well as the rusty old structures
attached. The City Sanitation Department
had been moved up the Hudson over fifteen years ago, after a zoning problem for
the planned additions and an overlapping clause in the surrounding businesses’
contracts. So they’d sold and moved out,
and eventually so did everyone else.
The new owners of the property had put up a metal
chain link fence that went at least ten feet high. Although Greg couldn’t see barbed wire
topping the fence, with that kind of security he didn’t doubt it was electric. How the hell had Trey gotten in there by his self? And for that matter, how had Jackson slipped
by that kind of security without being touched?
Ultimately one of the twins had been caught and paid the price with his
life, but Greg had to wonder how they would repeat Jackson’s escapade without
paying a price as well.
Blaze acted as if this mission was an everyday
occurrence for him. He looked over three
black plastic utility cases. A series of
four Triple D tubes were set into convoluted foam inside each case. Every tube was plugged into a thick silver
cap with a spring lock mechanism. A red light
blinked in the lid of the case, wires stemming from the tiny black plate of
death that served as the acting motherboard that linked to Blaze’s detonator. The wire hooked into the mechanisms. Simple.
Deadly. Perfect.
“You know how to swim?” Blaze cocked a brow at Greg over his
shoulder.
“Yes. But I
doubt we’ll be looking for Haitians in the water.”
Greg had been watching Blaze work for about an hour
while the driver whisked them around a planned circuit until they’d been called
in by Donohue. For as crazy as Blaze
dressed and acted, Greg had to hand it to the guy; he knew what he was doing
with weapons. The man had an ease around
all things dangerous that Greg admired.
Yes, Greg was a confident, strong person. But holding explosives hardcore enough to
blow a city block freaked him out. He’d
only touched the thing earlier to show Blaze he was unafraid, although he’d
been terrified.
Blaze sniggered.
“We’re not looking for anyone except for your mother. We go in, get her out, fuck some shit up, and
then we blow these beauties. The entire
complex’s foundation is set on posts. We
dive, we attach these babies, and when all is said and done we get far enough
way to enjoy the boom.” Blaze sighed
when his elation wasn’t reciprocated.
“Look Greg, I understand you’re this little do-gooder and that’s
great. I suck with kids and trying to
come up with ways to make people feel better. I play with the shiny big boy
toys and you feed the hungry. We each
have a role to do. Hoorah. But haven’t you ever just wanted to punch
that person that pissed you off so bad you could eat them for breakfast?”
“Yeah, but what’s that got to do with anything right
now?” Greg stared out the side door
window, at the water shimmering in the moonlight. Had it been day, he could have cared less
about the disgusting water and the sickly green color. But at night the Hudson was magical, and the
lights of the city reflecting in its depths were like floating stars. Trey would like this, had they been alone on
a bench by the water. Maybe he’d take
him some time when they weren’t out killing the enemy.
A hand slapped him upside the head. “Welcome back from Pansy Land. Hitting people you hate, you with me again?”
Greg rubbed the back of his head, scowling at
Blaze. “What of it?”
“Good. You should be mad. Those fuckers took your mom and tried to kill
your baby daddy, several times. Now, as
I was saying, it’s okay to kick them back.
Kick them back with steel toe boots on, bro. Half of who we are is a creature we barely
have control over. Every once in a while
let him out. Tonight would be a good
time to do that. All I’m sayin’, man.”
Greg huffed.
“Whatever. And the swimming?”
“I figured you want to pop the top off this place
right along with me since its personal and all.
And…” Blaze smiled.
“And what?”
“We kind of have to swim our way in.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? The water is freezing. No way.”
Blaze extracted a wet suit from a duffle bag and tossed
it Greg’s way. “Yes way. Gonna be a
tight fit, but I’ll turn around while you shimmy in. Can’t look at mated goods, or so I’m told.”
“You’re a real piece of work, you know that? “ Greg looked from the Ziploc fit suit to the
back of Blaze’s head. He thought of his
mother, how she might barely be hanging on, and how he was bitching over a
little swim to come to her rescue. He
thought of his mate and how brave he was to take things head on.
“I have to be that piece of work. Not everyone can do this job. Just like not a lot of vamps can do
yours.” Blaze smiled and scooted to the
side of the van. He pulled on a metal
latch in the floorboard to reveal four oxygen tanks and a trunk of secret
goods. “So, you grow some balls yet or
what? Want to go swimming with me?”
Be
brave. You can do this. “Sure.”
Twenty minutes later, the driver dropped them off at
the Pier 51 playground. What was once a
pristine park with a boat themed playground was now overrun with trash and
graffiti. Skateboarders and gangbangers
often used the playground for drug deals.
Two teenage boys sat under one of the faded white tents off to the side,
watching Blaze and Greg drag two waterproof duffle bags across the concrete.
“Yo! What’re
you doin?”
Greg growled, but kept his mouth shut. Blaze chuckled under his breath and lifted
the first duffle up on the ledge next to the water. They stood on a small deck in the shape of
the bow of a boat for children’s entertainment that overlooked the river. Not
very safe, Greg thought. Although
kids hadn’t been around this area for some time since a gang had claimed it as
theirs and those two shitheads across the way holding spray paint cans were
posted on behalf of their dealer brethren.
“Hey, you can’t make drops here. This is our turf. You gonna have to get up with Big Johnny to
dump bodies here, dumb shit. Don’t need
no pigs sniffing around.” The sound of a
skateboard rolling over concrete put Greg on edge. “You deaf or what, fucker?”
Blaze shook his head, putting on the last of his
scuba gear. He kept his goggles on his
head as he turned to the skateboarder.
His long fingers wrapped around this teen’s throat and lifted him off
the ground. His dirty sneakers dangled
as his hands fought Blaze’s grip.
Blaze’s eyes swirled. “You’re going to go home to
your parents and beg for forgiveness for being such a tool. And tomorrow you’re going to go back to
school and stay away from thugs and dealers and bitches who have names like Big
Johnny or Lil or Dawg or G. And so will
your friend here.” Blaze inhaled
sharply, turning his eyes on the other skateboarder who had run to his friend’s
aid. “Do you both understand?”
“Yes,” they murmured.
“Good.” Blaze
set the kid down on his feet. “Go home
now. You were never at the park
tonight. You never saw either of us
here. And if you don’t do as I say I’m
gonna come to your house and wait until everyone’s asleep before I step out of
the dark closet and beat the shit out of you for being so stupid.”
The teens gasped, eyes dilated under the lone lamp
burning above them. Less than a minute
ticked by before they picked up their skateboards and left the paint cans to
roll away. They trudged up the sidewalk
in a daze to wait at the crosswalk.
Eventually they blended into the night, going home under Blaze’s
control.
“See? People
just gotta learn to follow instructions.
Isn’t so hard.” Blaze grunted as
he put on his goggles. “Coming, White
Knight?”
He bent down and pulled out a deflated square of
black plastic. He flipped on a
switch. The whir of a tiny motor rumbled
at their feet until an inflatable basket for their duffle bags had formed. Greg’s lips twitched with awe. He nodded at Blaze. Helped him put the bags inside the basket and
then sealed the plastic protector over the top so they didn’t get wet.
“I can see why they call you.” Greg commented, climbing over the railing.
“Mm hmm.
Because I’m the shit—that’s why.”
Blaze waited until Greg had his mouth piece in place and his tank was
secure. Then he pushed Greg back into
the water with a laugh. Greg resurfaced
from the freezing water with a flail of his arms. “Turn on your lights. Then catch this!”
After he was acclimated to his surroundings, Greg
reached up to his goggles, flicked on the small head lamp at the side and swam
back. “Ready!”
The basket plunked into the water, splashing
everywhere. It dipped under the surface
before bobbing back in front of Greg.
“We’re good. Let’s get going,”
Blaze put one flipper in front of him and dropped
off the ledge. His fall was a hell of
lot more graceful than Greg’s, but who cared?
With the basket clipped on a tether to Blaze’s back, they dove
underwater. Greg followed Blaze around
the remnants of old dock posts that were left under the surface like a mass
grave of rotting wood.
After planting three of the cases under the
foundation, they reached the back of a corrugated warehouse that was a blinding
shade of diner green, still hideous without aid from the sun. Blaze went first, hoisting his lean upper body
out of the water at a set of metal stairs leading down into the river. A two-seater speed boat was docked next to
the stairs, rocking with every subtle wave.
Most likely a maintenance transport as it was older, but just to be
careful Greg pocketed the keys that were still in the ignition. None of the traitors were getting out of here
alive. Greg helped Blaze get the last of
their cargo up on ground level and then stopped to catch his breath.
Parked off to the side were a dozen vehicles
straight out of a showroom. The silver
car ornaments and ostentatious rims would have bought food for the shelter for
an entire year and then some. Greg
wanted to keep staring at the beautiful assortment of luxury cars, but he was
neither materialistic nor patient. They
left the cars sitting there and Blaze took the last case out of the bag along
with two hand guns, ammo, and a couple of knives. “These are outfitted with custom holsters.” He put the blade in a sheath at the thigh of
his wetsuit. It slipped in cleanly and a
snap held it in place. “Easy to get a
grip on and molds to your body. Take
whatever you like. I’m good.”
“That’s all you’re gonna take?” Greg swallowed at the nod he received. “Sure.
Okay.” He bent and grabbed a
sharp tipped diving knife and one of two matching .38s with attached silencers. The hidden holster at his hip and the one at
his thigh gave him no problems as he slipped the gun and knife into place. The fabric was reinforced inside the pockets
with leather and the snaps were sturdy enough to keep the weapons from coming
loose when on the run. It was strange
how exposed Greg felt in the wetsuit, but it was better than actually being
naked. Plus, with the weapons, he was
feeling a little more confident about this whole show.
As if Blaze sensed Greg’s newfound ease, he
smirked. “This is where we split
up. Donohue and Durren have Guards
working on the gate and they’ll surround the warehouse before closing in. Your baby daddy should show up any minute to
start the real action, and when that happens, you and I want to be on the
inside with the case. From what I’ve
been given, your boy says they have an entire stock here in addition to a
pretty big lab. I need to plant the case
if we want to blow this operation. You
need to be my eyes and ears when my back is turned. We’ll communicate via these…”
Blaze unzipped the collar of his wetsuit and pulled
out a plastic coated pouch the size of his index finger. He tore open the plastic and slid a wire
around his ear.” “There’s a comm inside
the left chest piece of your suit. It’s
already flipped on. Donohue, Durren and
I will hear you, but only you and I can talk to each other. Stay out of sight, follow your gut, and keep
me informed. If you get in trouble,
fight or flight, but make sure you tell me what’s going down even if you scream
it. I’ll come running. Promise.”
Blaze slipped on a pair of thick soled boots from the bag and kicked a
pair over to Greg. “You ready for this?”
Shoving his feet into the lace-up boots, Greg nodded. “I want my mom back. I’ll do what it takes.”
“Let’s hope so.”
Blaze stretched up and cracked his back. He put a finger to his lips,
twisted a bit as if going to tie his shoelace and grabbed the remaining
gun. In one swift move, he straightened,
aimed and put a hole between an Assassin’s eyes; the kind of hole a vampire
couldn’t mend on his own, or ever.
Assassins were the enemy’s version of the Royal Guards. They did all the grunt work between the
dealers and the enemy.
As if Blaze sensed Greg’s newfound ease, he
smirked. “This is where we split
up. Donohue and Durren have GERT working
on the gate and they’ll surround the warehouse before closing in. Your baby daddy should show up any minute to
start the real action, and when that happens, you and I want to be on the
inside with the case. From what I’ve
been given, your boy says they have an entire stock here in addition to a
pretty big lab. I need to plant the case
if we want to blow this operation. You
need to be my eyes and ears when my back is turned. We’ll communicate via these…”
Blaze unzipped the collar of his wetsuit and pulled
out a plastic coated pouch the size of his index finger. He tore open the plastic and slid a wire
around his ear. “There’s a wire inside
the left chest piece of your suit. It’s
already flipped on. Donohue, Durren, and
I will hear you, but only you and I can talk to each other. Stay out of sight, follow your gut, and keep
me informed. If you get in trouble,
fight or flight, but make sure you tell me what’s going down even if you have
to scream it. I’ll come running. Promise.”
Blaze slipped on a pair of thick soled boots from the bag and kicked a
pair over to Greg. “You ready for this?”
Shoving his feet into the lace-up boots, Greg
nodded. “I want my mom back. I’ll do what it takes.”
“Let’s hope so.”
Blaze divvied up the ammo before going over to a piece of concrete
holding down a tarp over a stack of wooden palettes. He came back over to Greg and stabbed the
inflatable basket. They watched it wither. When Blaze was satisfied, he stuck the basket
carcass and one of the duffle bags inside the other and put the heavy rock
inside. All zipped up, Blaze kicked the
bag into the water and let it drown.
He stretched his arms over his head and cracked his back.
A noise around the corner jerked them to attention. Blaze put a finger to his lips, twisted a bit
as if going to tie his shoelace and grabbed the remaining gun. In one swift move, he straightened, aimed,
and put a hole between an Assassin’s eyes; the kind of hole a vampire couldn’t
mend on his own, or ever. Assassins were
the enemy’s version of the Royal Guards.
They did all the grunt work between the dealers and the enemy. And it was easier to kill them from a
distance if one didn’t want to call attention.
Blaze dragged the Assassin over to the palette stack
and rolled his body under the blue tarp.
He tapped his microphone.
“Showtime. Entering back right
door of the green warehouse. A bunch of
flashy-mobiles parked next to me. Pretty
sure mommy’s home.”
Greg got with the program, realizing Blaze was
talking to Donohue. He nodded to Blaze,
drew in air, and went to the left entrance a few yards away. “This is Greg,” he said a bit
self-consciously. “Entering back left
door of the green warehouse.”
“Draw you weapon, dumbass,” Blaze hissed in his ear.
Palming the gun’s handle, Greg put his shoulder to
the door and withdrew the .38 from the snap holster. Elbows bent, his weapon level with his head, he slowly turned the
handle and was greeted with a sweet, yet bitter scent that made him
nauseous. It was hot inside the
warehouse, tropically so, where he tasted the moist air on his tongue. Blocking out a clear view of anything except
the aisle he was in were rafter high metal shelves, loaded down with boxes in
uniform lines and neatly labeled addresses.
Drugs ready for distribution. Rush ready to kill vampires everywhere.
A sick feeling left Greg frozen for a second. It was only until he spotted Blaze entering
the door down the aisle that he was able to keep going. A wall of smoke built the farther down the
aisles Greg traveled. Cages of weapons
to his right added to the fear rocking his mind. But then Greg thought of his mother’s
innocent face and his grip on the gun tightened. He stepped gingerly over a smoking grate in
the concrete floor and a puddle of water from a leak in the roof. The last thing he needed was wet boots when
he had to run for his life.
The smoking grates appeared every few feet or
so. He stilled at the sound of rock music
pouring through the grates closer to the middle of the warehouse. Blaze came into view from down the aisle and
nodded. “I hear it too,” he whispered. “Something is going down underground. The actual structure is raised, sitting on a
lower level. Should’ve known, man. Smells like crack.”
“Smells like Rush,” Greg whispered back.
He and Blaze
agreed with a single look. Blaze walked
quietly down the aisle and hitched his thumb as footsteps came closer from the
center aisle running perpendicular to the maze of boxes. Blaze slipped the remaining case of Triple D
onto a shelf and tapped his nose. Greg
used the end of the aisle as cover, shouldering a group of cardboard boxes. A tall, thin man in a tailored suit stopped
before a grate in the floor and held up a hand to the large, dark bodyguard at
his back. He sniffed the air like a dog
and frowned. Sharply, he turned his head
to Blaze and got a mouthful of lead. The
back of his head exploded all over the floor.
His bodyguard barked in French, summoning other minions.
Biggy pulled a gun from the back of his pants. Greg didn’t hesitate. He pulled the trigger three times. The bodyguard fell over like a tree in the
forest, a loud thud of three hundred plus pounds greeting concrete in one slow
motion move. Greg didn’t meet Jagger’s
eyes this time. For the second time in
his life, Greg had killed a man. But for
the first time it felt right. His glee
was pushed aside by determination. He
listened to the ruckus growing wild in the front of the building and determined
his line of safety by the proximity of their voices.
“Doing good, Greg.
There are stairs on your side above the cages. I can see an entrance going down. Can you make it?” Shots fired out. Faraway wet splats and groans. More gunfire.
More sickly sweet smoke. A wall
of the stuff caused Greg’s eyes to water the closer he came to the stairs.
“Go now!”
Blaze’s scream was enough to roll Greg’s lunch around his stomach. He ran down the aisle towards the caged
stairs, trying not think about his toes bunched up in the size-too-small boots,
and caught sight of Blaze straddling a man on the floor. His diving knife came down again and again
until the man stopped moving. Blood dripped down the metal, catching in the
grooved side of the knife. Blaze flicked
his eyes up to meet Greg’s, the chill there could bring snow to winter. All in the span of under a second Greg
realized as his mind caught back up with his body, Blaze twisted the knife in
the man’s heart and listened for what must have been a heartbeat. He didn’t listen long. Warm bodies were heading for them from all
directions.
“Get the fuck down there, Greg! Unload the lead! We got back-up here. You feel that?”
And he did.
His gut and his heart sensed Donohue’s team on the premises. How and when they’d arrived he didn’t quite
know. But they were here. Thank
fuck.
Greg hustled towards the caged door and yanked it
open, the metal making an awful warping sound as it banged against the
warehouse wall. He paused to see if
Blaze was coming. From somewhere
outside, a loud bang and the sound of metal being demolished got him in gear. Crash. Boom.
Bang, and the gunning of an engine.
Was that a car or a tank?
A war began outside the warehouse and the large
garage door started rolling up. Blaze
shot him a look of fear before sprinting for Greg. Together they pushed against the door to the
sublevel and shot down a darkened staircase with their guns ready. Submerged in the dark, the only way out was
up. They weren’t sure up was safe
anymore. In fact, up wasn’t an option at
all.
“Donohue, there’s a basement beyond the caged door. Going down,” Blaze murmured to his
microphone. Greg hoped Donohue was
listening. “Shoot anything that moves,
Greg. We’re on our own until that gets
sorted out up there.”
Blaze stopped him at the last step. Staying close, Blaze and Greg turned the
corner, only to land right in the middle of the biggest Rush lab they had ever
seen. Well, Greg had never seen a lab,
but going by the look on Blaze’s face, he could tell it was big and they were
in trouble. A dozen rows of metal tables
served as workbenches for men and women wearing full gas masks. Mindless to their presence, they cut bricks
of cocaine with thin metal instruments to mix with a red liquid boiling over an
open flamed burner at each station. A
scoop of white powder sizzled as it hit the hot red concoction in the glass
beaker. Smoke rose from the mixture,
curling up to the ventilation fans that fed into the warehouse.
So loud he wanted to scream, the rock music only
amplified Greg’s anger at what he saw next.
Beyond the show floor of work stations was a glass wall that led to a
more troubling bit of scenery. Greg
recognized both men that were being tortured.
His Mother’s Guards had been stripped of their clothing, left nude and
vulnerable, and obviously overpowered.
They were strapped to metal tables with tubes emerging from every major
vein and artery in their bodies. They
were being drained for their blood.
Blood that would be used to make Rush, because the main component in the
liquid was vampire blood.
Overseeing their bloodletting was a tall, thin man
that held an air of authority about him.
He wasn’t a scientist or a lab rat.
He was prideful male with a crisp navy pinstripe suit tailored to his
arrogant posture. His mocha skin complemented the suit and the shiny gold
timepiece on his wrist, and every single Assassin in the room took whatever he
was saying seriously. None of them
uttered a word back, nodding in reply instead.
Another slab of metal was introduced into the room, pushed on wheels by
two Assassins. They stopped in the
center, between the two Guards’ bodies.
One Assassin lifted his chin in a direction Greg couldn’t see from his
position in the shadows.
Blaze pulled them back to the wall when an alarm
blared like an echo in Greg’s ear, but no one down here seemed concerned. It was as if it had all been planned from the
start, one big theatric show to wow a certain audience: him. Greg was sure of this when his Mother was corralled
into the room; she fought with everything she had to get away. But in the end her face was slammed against
the table and her now pliable body placed on top of it. Greg forgot to be quiet. He forgot they were hiding and didn’t care
who or what they were waiting for. He
reloaded his gun, gaining attention from one of the workers cutting cocaine in
front of them.
Greg stepped out of his body, the rage in his veins consuming
logic, and space or time. He almost
laughed as the worker drew a gun from a drawer under his table, because the man
went down seconds later, crumpled, identical to a ragdoll falling to the floor.
Greg played whack a mole with his gun, channeling his wrath into a bodily
scope, hitting his targets when they made to stand. He sent them down the moment they stood. He was a force of madness. Blaze was at his side, stepping into the pit
of death along with him. They had no
shields or places to hide, no armor to protect them from the storm that began. They had each other, the will to live, and
the guns that wouldn’t quit.
Of course, their guns quit after the chambers were
empty. And they were now targets of the leader
behind the glass, who taunted them by stabbing a needle into Yvonne’s limp
arm. The Haitian’s smile let Greg know
he didn’t give a fuck how many of his dealers died. His men and women weren’t important. Only revenge mattered, a misplaced vendetta
that Greg was more than happy to rectify.
Blood splattered the glass wall separating Greg from
his Mother. He climbed a desk, hopped
over another one and took a bullet to the shoulder. It hurt.
It really fucking hurt, but he couldn’t slow down. Adrenaline shot him up, amped his energy to a
level no one could touch. This man, the
enemy who had killed his mate’s best friend, stolen Greg’s mother, hurt his
father’s heart, and ultimately tried to kill Greg’s mate was dead. He just didn’t know it yet.
There was a commotion behind Greg. He chanced a peek over his shoulder to find
Blaze had overturned one of the metal tables to use a shield at the only exit,
the way they had come. He had another
gun in his hand, one of the workers’ pieces that he’d pried from their cold
fingers. There was no way out. There were too many Assassins, too many
components that didn’t add up to freedom.
Even so Greg still charged the glass room where his Mother laid unmoving
on a steel table, hooked up to crude needles jutting out of her delicate skin
like a voodoo doll.
Greg progressed before he allowed his mind to make
connections. His knife drew a line
across an Assassin’s throat, cutting deep into his flesh. The man clutched his neck to stave off the
loss of precious blood. He leaked like
wet paint thrown across a creamy canvas, thick rivulets giving way to a hearty
well of red, and Greg smiled at the Haitian in charge. There was nothing to say as far as he was
concerned, but the Haitian thought otherwise.
“I made myself very clear,” the Haitian shouted over
the rock music and the lead storm on the other side of the glass. “Trey was to give himself up in exchange—”
“You would have killed them both. And we don’t negotiate with terrorists.” Greg found a brick wall to the left to give
his back cover. He raised his left hand
with the gun. The right had gone numb as
his shoulder was under repair with his vampire DNA. “Unhook her, and then the others.”
“Come now, Gregory.
This has nothing to do with you.”
The Haitian smiled.
It
was like that, huh? “The
fuck it doesn’t.” Greg winced as
something popped in his shoulder under the strain of his muscles. “Pierre, right? You made a big mistake trying to kill my
mate. No one, and I mean no one, tries to kill what’s mine.”
“Ah, I see now.
Isn’t it just a small world? Trey
is your mate. You are the son of the
great Manager, Flynn Courtenay—the man who killed quite a few of my men. Hmm, why don’t we just wait on your father to
pull a heroic stunt like you, and you can all die one happy little family.”
Greg bared his fangs as his Mother’s fingers moved
on the table. He raised the gun, ushering
the Assassin behind Pierre to move away.
When the Assassin snorted, Greg shot him multiple times in the
chest. He went down with an open mouth
and wide eyes, like he didn’t think Greg would really do it now that Pierre was
doing the talking.
Pierred whistled in admiration. “Look at you, the big man with the gun. I don’t need one. I have this.”
He pulled a knife from behind his back, ramming it down inches from
Yvonne’s head. The steel table
vibrated. Greg stiffened. Pierre smiled cruelly. “Put it down, Gregory. I think we have to reach a compromise after
all.”
“I don’t compromise with you.”
Greg knew if he shot Pierre that his Mother was
dead. There were ways to mend a vampire
body. They could take a shot from a gun,
but not over and over. They could take a
knife, but not in the head where the brain could not be repaired, the heart
where its very intricacies refused to knit together, or the throat if the cut
severed an artery. Gaping wounds in the
body or the loss of a head was the easiest way to bring a vamp down. Stuffing a knife in his Mother’s cranium was
on Greg’s list of not good. His heart
thumped in his chest. His adrenaline
high was streamlining downhill. His
shoulder throbbed and sliced him up with pain.
If he died, he didn’t know what would happen to Trey
or to his mother, but Greg couldn’t stand there and watch this asshole breath
the same space as him, or be alive at all for that matter. He sniffed, sending all the love he had in his
heart to his mate, hoping Trey would feel it.
He received a scream in his head, a heart wrenching wail of disapproval
and Greg was compelled to look at the bloody glass. Through the bits of body matter and sodden
red, Greg was allowed one look at his mate in the darkened stairwell before an
iron metal slab rolled over the entrance.
Trey had…
“No,” Greg murmured, his body sagging on the
right. “No!” He whipped around, prepared to shoot Pierre’s
face off. All he got was a wide grin and
a clap of Pierre’s hands. A needle pierced
Greg’s back, pumping him full of liquid hellfire. He choked and fell to his knees, the gun
scattering to his left. He panted as the
injection spot burned, spreading through his limbs and then his chest where it
twisted his heart and left him screaming.
He fell to his side.
Pierre walked over and kicked Greg onto his back. “Oh yes.
Three for the price of one, and when my associates show upstairs things
will really be fun. How do you feel,
Gregory? Like your body is on fire and
your heart is liquefying? Don’t you just
love Rush? Party drug of the year I’m
told.” Pierre winked and clucked his
tongue. “While you enjoy the ride until
everything goes dark, I’m going to go say hi to your mate. We have business to discuss.” Pierre flicked the knife up with his fingers. “Very important
business.”
“No,” Greg breathed.
He tried to lift his hand to stop Pierre, but it wouldn’t move. He was frozen on his back, victim to the Rush
destroying his humanity minute by minute.
“Goodnight, Gregory.” Pierre used his fingers to shut Greg’s
eyelids. The world faded for Greg, but
not the pain; never the pain.
***
The whole shebang had gone to shit half an hour ago
for Trey. What started as a nervous
feeling in his gut as he rode to meet Donohue’s team at the warehouse, transformed
into unreserved panic. By the time
they’d reached the front gates where Fletcher meant to park and circle up with
the team, Trey had been screaming to just gun it. In the end Trey had flipped Fletcher out so
bad, the cabbie had no choice but to drive right into the gate, ruining his
precious cab and jerking them around in circles, until a cloud of dust
surrounded their unspectacular rupture onto the grounds.
Donohue and GERT, along with an authoritative silver
haired beast of a man flooded the property with enough firepower to take down a
military base. But Trey didn’t wait for
instructions. He smelled the blood,
heard the screams and shouts, and in his heart he felt Greg’s fear. Glimpses touched his mind, people in
gasmasks, needles in flesh, Yvonne strapped to a table and then Pierre’s eyes. Pierre was with his mate. His worst nightmare had come to life,
replaying Jackson’s disastrous end and hoping like hell Greg didn’t meet the
same fate.
Trey tore off into the danger zone, running like a madman
through the chaos until he slapped the garage door button out of instinct. It rolled up at a snail’s pace. He couldn’t take it anymore. Crouching to the ground, he saw the blood creeping
toward him, all the bodies littering the floor and the Assassin’s rushing
through the aisles. As a door to his right banged shut, Trey grabbed a gun from
the floor and crawled on his stomach under
the garage door. He let off a few
terrible shots while running for cover, which led him to follow the bloody boot
prints to a caged door.
Shots pinged off the metal cage when he slammed it
shut. Unrelenting, the men with the guns
made it rain lead in anticipation of the bullets sifting through the holes to tear
through the brick near his head. Trey
could barely breathe. He just had to get
to Greg. His Greg. His mate.
Never in his life had he been more thankful to hear return gunfire. GERT swarmed into the warehouse in full
tactical gear. Donohue, armed with an
assault rifle, took point and ripped open a steady stream of bullets, shells
falling to the floor. Bodies thudded
with every casing that plinked to the concrete floor; a melody straight from
hell.
Dread too great to ignore, Trey yanked on the door
next to him in the cage where heavy rock music and more gunfire was coming
from. He jiggled the handle several
times only to realize it was jammed. He
put his back into it, and then looked around for something to take the thing
out with. A fire extinguisher mounted to
the wall caught his eye. Hoping what
vampire strength he had was good for something, Trey ripped the tank off the
wall and brought it over his head with the end pointed down. He connected it to the doorknob with all his
power, over and over until the knob gave way, clattering to the ground. The other knob pinged as it hit the floor,
rolling down what sounded like stairs beyond the door.
Trey threaded his fingers into the empty hole in the
door and swung it open. A pitch black
stairwell led down. At the bottom bursts
of light and shadows danced from around the corner. Without another thought, Trey ran downstairs
with the fire extinguisher in the crook of his arm and the gun in his other
hand. He paused at the last stair where
he took in the gravity of Greg’s situation.
He did the only thing he could think of.
An Assassin slapped a hand to a button against the wall, right in Trey’s
line of sight. Red lights whirled to
right, a warning of some sort.
Trey raised his gun with a shaky hand and
unloaded. A steel door started coming
out of a pocket in the brick entryway as the Assassin keeled over without half
a face. Trey squeaked and pushed through
the door in time to see Greg across the room, on the other side of a bloody
glass wall. He opened his mouth to say
something but a hand grabbed him on the shoulder. Trey swung the tank around, hitting another
Assassin in the face as the door sealed them into the basement.
He went down into a crouch. His fangs dropped in his mouth on the
defense. Using the tank, Trey attered
the man’s knees until the thug went down with a sickening crunch. Pulling the pin on the tank, Trey aimed the
nozzle and let her rip. White clouds
billowed from the nozzle, giving him time to back away in fear. The backs of his legs hit metal and he
jumped.
“Get behind here now!” A hand reached through the clouds, grabbing
his wrist. Trey tried to fight, but the
person pulling on him was stronger. He
came face to face with a man wearing a wet suit crouched behind the table. Fire engine red hair was plastered to his
face. The guy was covered in blood and
dust. “Got a gun?”
Trey shook his head.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Probably the last person you’ll see alive. Name’s Blaze.
I’m with Donohue. Now cut the shit.
Got a weapon?” He narrowed his
eyes and fired into the settling white dust.
“No. I had a
gun, but I think the thing is empty. I
dropped it over there.”
“Useless. How
the hell does a Guard not have a backup?”
Blaze pushed Trey down behind the cover of the table as bullets pounded
into the thick steel. “Nice trick with
the tank, although it isn’t gonna save us from those two over there. All that’s left between us and getting the
fuck out of here is Dumb and Dumber.”
Trey braced himself against the table. “We’re sealed in. Didn’t you see that?”
“Sealed?”
Blaze peeked over the table to see for himself. He ducked down when a
few bullets nearly bit him in the ear. “Fuck
no. That’s a panic door. The vamps they drain probably go feral before
they give up. Bad news… Detective?”
“Hell no. I’m
Trey. Greg’s my—”
“Oh no, you did not.
The fuck were you thinking? What
the hell Donohue!” Blaze growled and
sucked on his bottom lip. He looked at
his gun. “I’m out. No more bullets, Trey. I got a knife, but that’s a hit or miss from
this far and it’ll only take out one if we’re lucky. And frankly the chance of it killing one of
them is slim.”
“What do we do?”
Trey drew in a shaky breath. His
eyes snapped to the glass wall where he saw Greg fall to his knees. “No!”
Blaze cursed, flicking his eyes to Trey’s source of
upset. His lips flapped for a second
before he gripped Trey’s shoulders, shaking him. “Stay with me, Trey. I need you to keep your head. We’re gonna improvise and then we’re gonna
take that asshole’s face off. Got it?”
Trey could only hiss. He dropped the tank to the ground and rolled
his shoulders back. “Mine.”
“What the hell is with all of you and this mine
shit? Can’t you get a new slogan?” Blaze slammed his fist into the metal
table. “Jesus! Snap out of it. Two guys stand between us and your mate. Focus on that.”
Trey would have never referred to himself as a take
charge kind of guy, or dominant for that matter, but at the moment his beast,
however diluted it was with his human genes was rip roaring for blood; the kind
of blood that could only be found by annihilating his enemies and ripping his
fangs though their necks. He could
already taste their demise on his tongue.
When Blaze pulled back with genuine concern in his eyes, Trey knew his
dominance had become physical.
Trey’s eyes focused as if they only had sight for
the two men across the room, huddled behind another table. His muscles slid under his skin, bunching and
rolling, ready for action. His movements
were fluid, that of a predator on the prowl.
A throaty growl bubbled up from his throat as he pushed Blaze aside to
crawl over the floor. His mate was in
pain. His mate was giving up. He wouldn’t allow it. Someone would pay for this! He tried to send Greg his disapproval, to
tell him to fight it, but all he felt was love; warm love that blanketed him
like a warm bath before it dulled away.
He kicked a leg of the table, not really surprised
when the steel gave way as he jerked it out of the screwed in bracket. He stood up, uncaring of bullets or Assassins
after him. They’re dead men, he thought, carrying the steel leg to another
table that he flipped over. He hissed at
the glass wall, letting the Haitian standing there watching know he was
next. His intent to kill the Assassins
was just that, intended. He never made
it far enough to make it happen.
One minute he was flipping tables to get to them,
and the next the Haitian was running out one side of the room. Pierre tried to jam a table against the open
doorway, terror bunching his face as the table was pounded on from the other
side. A blur ripped through the glass
room and dropped down to the ground once it breached the opposite doorway. Trey heard the growl above the music, the
deep animalistic sound of something not quite right. The Haitian was unconcerned of Trey standing
there with a piece of stell, or that Blaze was tugging Trey back. Pierre’s focus was building a fort of tables
around him, struggling to mount the pieces so that he could reach the ceiling and
push out one of the vents to the warehouse.
A roar stopped them all short. Trey slowly turned to the noise, and gasped
back into Blaze as the blur shot behind the Assassins’ table. Screams pierced through the rock music still
going on the stereo. Blood and body
parts splattered and thudded in every direction. A head rolled away from the table.
“Fuck. Me.” Trey clasped Blaze’s arm across his chest.
“Very quietly, Trey.
Move with me. Don’t think about
it right now. Just listen to my voice. Do what I say,” Blaze whispered.
Don’t
think about what right now? It
was then Trey understood. He couldn’t
feel Greg in his mind anymore. He
couldn’t feel Greg’s soul beat within his heart, or recall the smell of his Greg
and the warmth to his eyes. Trey was
left cold, rooted to the spot as he realized who that blur was. “It’s not true,” he whispered. “No.”
Pierre got the vent open. However, it was still too far away to pull
his body up. He reached for it, eyeing
Trey, and for the first time Pierre looked well and truly scared. A man who made killing innocents his life
mission was terrified of death, death by the creatures he sought to make. “It was the prototype for the new Rush, the
one you were supposed to deliver that night.
I had no idea how powerful it really was. But I find it fitting your own mate will be
the one to kill you while he’s doped up on the drugs you sold. Revenge is very sweet, Trey. My father would
be proud of me.” He pushed on his toes
and clung to the ledge of the vent, hoisting his body up.
The blur that was Greg tore through the room. He wasn’t letting Pierre go, whether he
understood why or not. He saw movement
and he went for it. His teeth sank into
Pierre’s hip. His feral claws pierced
Pierre’s chest, dragging him down onto the cluster of tables where the
Haitian’s back snapped over the edge of a steel slab. Trey winced when he heard the spine give, the
head crack and the wet sounds of his mate feeding from a man’s flesh.
He only had Blaze to hold him upright, to keep him
still as the tears ran down his face to wet his chin. His mate had gone feral. Greg was gone.
“Look away, Trey.
Please,” Blaze begged in his ear.
“That’s not how you want to remember him.”
“I won’t let him die.” Trey pushed Blaze away.
“We can’t get a team down here in time. You and I have no idea what kind of Rush were
up against. He went down minutes ago,
Trey, and now he’s totally feral. Once
he finishes with Pierre, he’s coming over here and we can’t sedate him, hell, I
don’t think there’s enough sedative at a zoo to take Greg down right now. And… Trey,” he whispered like one would say sweetheart
or honey, “I think he’s too far gone to use your blood because you’re his mate. He’ll rip your neck apart. He won’t even know who you are.” Blaze stiffened. Red eyes peered over Pierre’s dead body. That same sickly growl left Trey sick to his
stomach.
Trey whimpered past the lump in his throat. He tried to exhale, but it came out a bunch
of pants and puffs of air. He squeezed
Blaze’s arm. “When I run… I want you to climb up the vent and get the
hell out.”
“No way, Trey.
I can’t just leave you here.”
Trey inhaled a deep breath through his nose. Greg’s feral claws clicked over the table’s
edge. His eyes were rimmed with black
veins fanning out to his cheeks. His
muscles were so defined under the bloody wetsuit it looked like he would pop
with the slightest pressure. And even
so, as scary as Greg looked, Trey couldn’t live without the monster rising to
his feet. He couldn’t get Greg out of
his head or his heart, now or for the rest of his days. He loved Greg, creature and all, and he
wouldn’t accept a life where Greg wasn’t by his side. Trey had died once. And he could either die
of a broken heart or in the strong arms of his mate.
His mind made up, he looked at Blaze with a forced
smile and watery eyes. “He’s my
world. Without him I just can’t…”
Blaze was baffled, but Trey knew he understood. Blaze gripped Trey’s forearm and put the
detonator in Trey’s hand. “When you’re
ready. I think you know what this does.”
A bomb. A
bomb to take down everything Trey had done wrong in the past. He glanced at the simple black stick that fit
in his palm. It would ensure this
designer Rush would never see the light of day and that this lab and all its
contents were gone forever, along with Trey, and his beautiful mate.
Trey nodded, looking at Greg, who was crawling down
to the floor unhurriedly, stalking them.
“Tell Flynn to take care of our boys.
Tell them we loved them so much and we’re sorry we won’t be there to
watch them grow up. Tell them that. Please.”
Blaze made a pained sound and kissed Trey’s
cheek. “Fuck those detectives. You got balls of steel they’ll never live up to,
my brother.”
“On three,” Trey replied because saying how much he
respected Blaze would take his head out of the game and leave him weeping on
the floor. His courage to die would fall
to the wayside.
“You’re amazing. Everyone will know, and those kids will be
proud to call you family,” Blaze said as Trey counted to three. He squeezed
Trey’s hand, one final goodbye before Trey took off running around the tables.
Greg roared and leapt over the table fort in one
clean jump. He threw tables out of his
way, cracking the thick glass wall that shielded Yvonne and the unconscious Guards
strapped to tables. Trey knew he was seconds
from death, and moments away from killing everything around them, and even
knowing that he stopped and pivoted around, coming face to face with the love
of his life. He sighed, looking up into
Greg’s red eyes, willing his fears away.
The tears wouldn’t quit and he wiped them on the backs of his fingers so
he could continue to soak up Greg’s image, no matter how he looked. No matter how feral Greg had become, he was
still Greg in there somewhere.
Trey slowly raised his hand to Greg’s cheek,
ignoring the bared fangs and the wet blood.
Greg’s eyes followed Trey’s fingers.
He was ready to strike at any second.
“I promised you forever, and I don’t have anywhere to go from here
without you. If this is forever, so be
it. I love you, Greg.”
Greg snarled, pushing his face into Trey’s hand. His
fangs sliced up Trey’s palm where he licked up the blood. He inhaled Trey’s
skin and followed the scent to the inside of Trey’s wrist, up his arm and to
his neck. Trey shuddered; terrified as
this was the second time he would be ripped apart by a feral. All that aside, he still believed in his
mate. He still loved the man inside the
beast. His love wrapped Greg up in his
arms, poured over him with Trey’s final moments, and squeezed into Greg’s back
with Trey’s fingers. Trey sobbed,
hugging his mate one final time.
Greg whimpered into Trey’s neck as Trey stared at
the detonator over Greg’s shoulder. His
vision blurred again with tears.
“Love you forever, Greg.”
Greg struck
his fangs into Trey’s neck. Trey
screamed and pressed the button.
To be continued…
