Death's Mistress (Dorina Basarab, #2)(35)
My knife was still protruding from the vamp’s chest. I ripped it out and looked up at the bouncer. “If I provide a distraction, can you get your boss’s body past Cheung’s men?”
The vamp didn’t reply, but Raymond’s eyebrows lowered. “What do you mean, my body? Why can’t he take all of—”
“Because I don’t trust you. I’ll get you out of here, but it’s the same deal as before. Your family takes the body, and I get the head. If you’re not playing me, the two of you get reunited. Otherwise—”
“All right! All right!” Raymond glanced at the bouncer, who was just standing there. He sighed and the fingers on his body snapped. “Hello! Answer her!”
“Sir, Lord Cheung specifically instructed me to bring you to him.”
“So stall him!”
“Sir, I can’t.” And it was obvious he meant that literally. Tendons were sticking out like cords on either side of his neck, his face was red and he was sweating small drops of blood. Conflicting orders play havoc with baby vamps, and this one was a couple decades dead at best. “He said we were to bring you to him immediately—”
“We?”
“He instructed the family to find you as soon as he came in—”
“And as your master’s master, he can command you,” I finished for him. Well, shit, to borrow Ray’s favorite word.
“Fight it!” Raymond ordered, like the guy wasn’t already trying. The bouncer nodded, but at the same time, he stooped, picked up his boss’s body and heaved it over one shoulder. More thick, sludgy blood spattered the dingy tiles. “What are you doing?” Raymond demanded shrilly.
“I’m sorry, sir.” The vamp looked miserable, and his voice was trembling, but he nonetheless started for the door.
“He’s not even a master,” I pointed out. “He can’t fight it, Ray!”
“Shit!”
That was less than helpful, so I grabbed baby vamp by the belt. He wrenched the door open anyway, so I swung him around and put my back to it, slamming it shut. At the same time, Ray’s foot kicked out and clipped him on the knee; the guy slipped on blood, and they hit the floor.
As soon as they were down, Ray hit the vamp in the neck, kneed him in the groin and tore out of his hold. He scuttled into a stall and flipped the lock—why, I don’t know. Its side was the usual ugly green metal with a graffiti rash, which might as well have been rice paper for all the good it did. The bouncer leapt to his feet and punched a hole through it with his fist.
I moved to assist, but never got the chance. There was some pretty violent banging for a minute, and then a tearing sound. Finally the stall door flew open, and Ray’s shirtless body emerged and started bitch-slapping everything in sight.
His aim was off, probably due to the difficulty of having his eyes on the other side of the room, but he made up for it with sheer determination. A condom dispenser went flying, and a urinal got a blow that severed a pipe, sending a gush of water spearing across the room. A lucky blow pushed the baby vamp back into me, and I grabbed the opportunity and his throat.
A choke hold isn’t really much use on vamps since they don’t need to breathe. But he was new enough that he instinctively clutched my arms, trying in vain to break my grip. It didn’t work, which seemed to startle him.
“Is there anyone who didn’t hear Cheung’s command?” I demanded, as he struggled and gurgled and didn’t tell me shit. He finally wised up and elbowed me in the gut, and I lost patience. I shoved him away and grabbed the bowie out of my bag. When he started for me again, I pinned him to the wall with it.
He stared down at the bone handle, eyes huge and disbelieving. “It’s not wood. You’ll live,” I told him tersely. It was more than Ray and I were going to do if we didn’t get gone. I plucked the head out of the sink, wrapped it in the towels I’d brought along and dropped it in the duffel.
“What the hell?” Ray demanded indignantly.
“How did you think I was planning to get you out?” I asked, stripping off my jacket.
I threw it over the body’s torso and stepped back to check out the effect. It looked a lot like a headless corpse with a jacket over it. I bunched up a towel and shoved it underneath, trying to approximate a head. It remained more hide-the-victim than staggering drunk, but it would have to do. I grabbed the duffel, flung an arm around the body’s waist and kicked open the door.
Outside of the restroom’s fluorescent glare, the club was dusk blue and dim, like the color put in public toilets to stop junkies from finding a vein. It silvered the graffiti sprayed on the raw brick walls and painted my skin cadaver white. But it helped us blend in with the sea of bodies gyrating in a pulsing mass on the old warehouse floor.
A quick glance around the room showed me shadows flowing along the walls, blocking off the side doors, and others cutting through the crowd like sharks. It was an apt image, since the smell of blood would draw them to us within seconds even through the soup of perfume, alcohol and body odor in the air. It looked like Cheung wasn’t planning to make this easy.
I headed for the nearest exit as fast as Ray’s stumbling feet would go, but had to stop short. Two large shadows were standing beside the doors. The first had a gun bulge under his sleek black coat; the other looked like a weapon would be an insult to his hulking masculinity. But he was probably faster than he looked. Not all giants are lumbering, at least not when they’re also master vampires.