Reborn (Shadow Falls: After Dark #1)(62)

“Actually, I was looking for the owner.”

“And you’ve found him.”

“I thought … The website showed—”

“My stepfather recently died.” He didn’t sound upset.

“Then in that case … Yes. You can help me.” Her heart raced. It was decision time. Ask him outright for information, or ask questions as if interested in faking her own death.

“I was … my cousin’s funeral service was held here.”

“Was it?” he asked.

He didn’t look like the type to hand over information.

“My cousin wasn’t really dead,” she said.

The six-foot-plus vamp nodded. “I’m assuming you’re looking to follow in his footsteps? How long have you been turned?”

“I’ve considered faking my own death,” she answered, thankful it was the truth. But she neglected answering his second question.

“I also had an uncle whose service you held … years ago.”

“The strand of virus you carry must be strong,” he stated.

“I was hoping to find my family. Do you … do you keep records?”

“Me? Not so much. But my stepfather—God rest his weak do-gooder soul—was a stickler for such.” His cold smile told her just how much he cared about his stepfather. “Of course, this is no longer his business. The rules and such have changed.”

“Do you still have his records?” she asked.

“Lucky for you I haven’t gotten around to tossing them out yet. But, as I said, this isn’t my stepfather’s business anymore. I … don’t offer my services for free. I offer fresh turns at a new life. And in return I ask for a few years of their service to either myself or one of my clients who are in need of various domestics.”

“Domestics?” she asked, thinking “slavery” sounded like a better term. Or hadn’t this kind of thing happened in the past and they called them indentured servants?

His gaze moved over her with the same kind of disgusting look as the drunk creeps on the street. She had a feeling she knew what kind of services he’d expect.

“If you’d like, we can go back to my office and discuss the legalities of the contract.” He waved for her to follow him.

“There’s a contract?” She didn’t move, unsure going back with him was wise. Then again, she did need to see those files. Decisions, decisions.

“Oh, yes. We are careful not to break any laws that might bring us trouble. Being a fresh turn, you may not know it, but there are officials who monitor supernaturals. Idiots who think we should be registered and regulated.”

Yeah, I kinda help those idiots out. “Really?” she asked, not lying again. But too bad about him not wanting trouble. As soon as she left here, she was contacting Burnett and the FRU about this little operation. He’d read her the riot act for coming here, but she had a feeling the riot act would be worth it. Her gut told her this guy needed to be stopped.

She felt someone walk behind her. And not Kylie or Miranda. The heavy footsteps told her it was someone big. She really needed her hearing to stop going out on her so she’d be better prepared to deal with heavy-footed surprises.

“Why don’t we do as Mr. Anthony suggested and follow him?” The guy behind gave Della a nudge—a strong one. One that left a strong suspicion that signing that contract wasn’t really a choice.

She took the next few steps, then hesitated, praying Kylie and Miranda would move with her. When the big dude poked her again, she continued following Mr. Anthony.

He led her to a huge office, with a whole wall lined with file cabinets. She nodded to them. “Are those your father’s records?”

He glanced back. “As a matter of fact, they are.” He smiled. “Let me explain to you how this works.” He motioned for her to take a seat in the straight-backed chair in front of the big oak desk.

“Why don’t you sweeten the deal first and let me peek at my cousin’s and uncle’s files?”

He propped his butt on the side of his desk and chuckled. “You are a bit obstinate. But I have several clients who actually prefer a little spunk in their servants.”

He had no idea how much spunk she had.

“Sit,” he ordered.

She debated whether doing as he said would win her anything, then decided to try. She lowered herself into the chair. Her elbow touched something sticky. Glancing down, she noted the duct tape hanging from the arm of the chair as if someone had been confined there.

Trying not to show any emotion, especially any trace of the fear that curled up inside her chest, she faced him again.

“Now what?” she asked. Her gaze shifted behind the man to where about six rolls of duct tape sat on top of the file cabinet. Taping people up must be his thing.

He stood up, reached into his desk, and handed her a piece of paper. “The contract is simple. You agree to work for two years, exclusively for the person I assign as your guardian. Your title and the type of work required of you will depend upon your guardian’s … needs.”

The way he said “needs” made her skin crawl. “And if I don’t like the work?”

“If you choose not to complete the tasks that are assigned to you, your guardian will try to persuade you otherwise.”