Lover Unleashed (Black Dagger Brotherhood #9)(153)

The safe.

Gunning for the closet in his room, he cracked the combo and unlatched the little door. With quick hands and a rock-solid mind, he took out his birth certificate, seven thousand dollars in cash, two gold Piaget watches, and his passport. Dragging over a random bag, he crammed all of that into the thing, along with his computer and charger. Then he picked up two more duffels that were all but throwing up clothes and blasted out of his condo.

As he waited for the elevator, he realized he was checking out of his life. For good. Whether he ended up with Payne or not, he was not returning here—and that wasn’t just about the physical address.

The moment he’d given his keys to Jane, for the second time, he’d turned a corner in a metaphorical snowstorm: He had no idea what was in front of him, but there was no going back, and he was fine with that.

Back down on the street, he tossed his shit into the trunk and the rear seat. “Let’s do this.”




About thirty-five minutes later, Manny was once again in the foggy terrain of the vampires’ mountain.

Glancing down at the near-ruined cell phone in his palm, he prayed to God that this possible link between him and Payne brought them back together again—and gave him a shot at what he’d thrown away—

“Holy . . . shit . . .” Up ahead, emerging from out of the strange haze, a tremendous pile of rock loomed, big as Rushmore. “That’s a . . . f*cking house.”

Mausoleum was another word for it.

“The Brothers take security very seriously.” Jane pulled the car up in front of a set of stairs that was worthy of a cathedral.

“Either that,” he muttered, “or someone’s in-laws have a quarry.”

They got out together, and before he snagged his bags, he surveyed the landscape. The retaining wall that led off in both directions rose to a good twenty feet off the ground, and there were cameras all over its exterior, as well as twists of barbwire across the top. The mansion itself was enormous, sprawling in all directions, looking to be four stories high. And talk about a fortress: All the windows were covered with sheets of metal, and those double doors? Looked like you’d need a tank to get through them.

There were a number of cars in the courtyard, some of which, under other circumstances, he’d have had a serious jones for, and also another, far smaller house made from the same stone as the castle. The fountain in the center was dry, but he could imagine the peaceful sounds it would make as the water fell.

“This way,” Jane said as she popped the trunk and took out one of his duffels.

“I’ll get that.” He took what she’d grabbed, as well as the other two. “Ladies first.”

She’d called her man on the way in, so Manny had a pretty good idea that Payne’s people weren’t going to kill him outright. But who could tell for sure?

Good thing he didn’t give a shit about himself right now.

At the grand entrance, she rang the bell and a lock switched open. Stepping inside with her, he found himself in a windowless vestibule that made him think of a jail . . . a very classy, expensive jail with handcarved wood panels and the scent of lemon in the air.

No way they were coming out of this space unless someone let them.

Jane spoke into a camera. “It’s us. We’re—”

The second set of doors was cracked immediately, and Manny had to blink a couple of times as the way in was opened. The brilliant, colorful foyer on the far side was nothing he’d expected: Majestic and with all the hues of the rainbow, it was everything the fortified exterior was not. And dear Lord, it seemed like every conceivable type of decorative marble and stone had been used . . . and holy shit from all the crystal and the gold leafing.

Then he stepped inside and saw the frescoed ceiling three stories up . . . and a staircase that made the one from Gone With the Wind look like a stepladder.

Just as the door shut behind him, Payne’s brother came out of what looked like a poolroom, with Red Sox by his side. As the vampire strode forward, he was all business as he put a hand-rolled between his fangs and jacked up his black leathers.

Stopping in front of Manny, the two of them locked eyes . . . until you had to wonder if it was all going to be over before it started—with Manny being made a meal of.

Except then the vampire held out his palm.

Of course—the cell phone.

Manny dropped his bags and took the BlackBerry out of his coat pocket. “Here—this is—”

The guy accepted what was offered but didn’t look at the thing. He just shifted it over to his free hand and put his palm out again.

The gesture was so very simple; its meaning very, very deep.

Manny grabbed for that palm with his own, and neither of them said anything. No reason to have to because the communication was clear: Respect was paid and accepted on both sides.

When they dropped palms, Manny said, “The phone?”

For the vampire, getting into the thing was the work of a moment.

“Jesus . . . you’re fast,” Manny murmured.

“No. This is the one I gave her. I was calling it every hour on the hour. The GPS is busted—otherwise I would have given you the addy you found it in.”

“Fuck.” Manny rubbed his face. “There was nothing else there. Jane and I combed the alley—and I’ve driven around downtown for hours. What now?”