Lover Unleashed (Black Dagger Brotherhood #9)(124)

“No f*cking way!”

Payne dematerialized over to them. She appreciated Manuel’s good intentions, but she was concerned that the robber had another weapon on him—

The instant she appeared behind Manuel, the guy on the ground shrank away in horror, raising his arms and cringing back.

Manuel looked up over his shoulder—and that was when she saw that he wasn’t naive. He had the gun pointed at the man. “It’s okay, bambina. I got him—”

In a sloppy scramble, the robber got to his feet and Manuel let the muzzle follow him as the human stumbled and caught his balance against the building. Obviously, he was getting ready to run.

“We’re keeping the gun,” Manuel said. “You understand. And I don’t need to tell you, you’re lucky to be alive—you don’t aggress on my girlfriend.”

As the human tore off into the shadows, Manuel rose to his full height. “I need to turn this weapon in to the police.”

Then he just looked over at her.

“It is all right, Manuel. I can take care of my presence with the guard so naught will be known. Do what you must.”

On a nod, he took out a small phoning device, opened it, and hit a few buttons. Putting it up to his ear, he said, “Yeah, my name is Manuel Manello and I was held up at gunpoint in my vehicle? I’m at the Tricounty . . .”

As he spoke, she looked around, and thought she didn’t want it to end like this. Except . . .

“I have to go,” she said as Manuel hung up. “I cannot . . . be here if there are going to be more humans. It will just complicate things.”

His phone slowly lowered to his side. “Okay . . . yeah.” He frowned. “Ah, listen . . . if the police are coming, I need to remember what just happened or—shit, I’ve got a gun in my hand for no reason I can give them.”

Indeed, it would appear that they were trapped. And for once, she was grateful for an imprisonment.

“I want you to remember me,” she said softly.

“That wasn’t the plan.”

“I know.”

He shook his head. “You are the most important piece in all this. So you have to take care of yourself and that means wiping me—”

“Dr. Manello! Dr. Manello—you okay?”

Payne glanced over her shoulder. The first human male they had seen at the desk inside was running across the lawn in a panic.

“Do it,” Manuel said. “And I’ll figure something out—”

As the scampering guard came up to them, Payne faced the new arrival.

“I was on my rounds,” the man said, “and when I was checking the offices at the other end of the building, I saw you through the window—I ran as fast as I could!”

“We are fine,” she said to the guard. “But would you look at something for me?”

“Of course! Have the police been called?”

“Yes.” She touched below her right eye. “Look at me, please.”

He was already locked on her face, and the extra focus just made her work easier; all she had to do was open the way into his brain and put a mental patch over everything that pertained to her.

As far as the human knew, her surgeon had come and gone alone.

She kept the man in a trance, and turned to Manuel. “You need not worry. His memories are so short-term, he will be fine.”

From far off, a howling sound rang out, high-pitched and urgent.

“That’s the police,” Manuel said.

“Then I shall go.”

“How will you get home?”

“In the same manner as I got out of your car.”

She waited for him to reach for her . . . or say something . . . or . . . But he just stood there with the cold, silent night air between them.

“Are you going to lie to them?” he asked. “And tell them that you scrubbed me?”

“I do not know.”

“Well, in case you need to come back to do that, I’m at—”

“Good night, Manuel. Please be safe.”

With that, she raised her hand and quietly, inexorably disappeared.





FORTY-THREE


As tricks went, this one was f*cking weird. “So where’s your friend at?”

Karrie Ravisc, a.k.a. Kandy on the streets, had been doing the whore thing proper for about nine months so she’d seen a lot of shit. But this . . .

The huge man by the motel room’s door spoke softly. “He’s coming.”

Karrie took another toke and thought, Well, at least the one in front of her was hot. And he’d also paid her five hundred and set her up in this room. Still . . . there was something off here.

Weird accent. Weird eyes. Weird ideas.

But very hot.

As they waited, she lay buck-ass naked on the bed with all the lights off. It wasn’t totally dark, though. This john with the heavy wallet had set up a big boxy flashlight across the room, over on the cheapie dresser. The beam was pointed so that it shone on her body. Kind of like she was onstage. Or maybe a piece of art.

Which actually was less weird than some of the things she’d done. Shit, if prostitution didn’t make you think men were nasty, sick bastards, nothing else would: Aside from your run-of-the-mill cheaters and the types who were on power trips, you had f*ckers with foot fetishes, and those who liked to get spanked, and others who wanted to get pissed on.