Red-Headed Stepchild (Sabina Kane #1)

Red-Headed Stepchild (Sabina Kane #1) Page 9

I walked past the railing to the bar on the far wall. Most of the vamps waiting for drinks were young. They tended to like Goth clubs like this one because the patrons were easily seduced.

I eased my way into an open space and waited for service. A few of the vamps cast curious glances my way. I didn’t see any familiar faces, so I ignored them.

After a few minutes, the bartender finally deigned to notice me. “What’ll it be?”

“A-pos with a shot of vodka,” I said.

He paused. “What?”

“A-positive,” I enunciated, “with a shot of vodka.”

“We don’t serve blood here.” He said it like it was the most obvious thing is the world.

“Why not?” I asked. “You used to.”

“Some mortals are getting the passwords somehow, so we have to be more careful,” he said.

Freaking mortals. “Fine,” I sighed. “Just the vodka then.”

When the drink finally arrived, I spotted a couple of free chairs near the railing. I settled back into one, which gave me a good view of both the VIP area and the dance floor below. A few other vamps lined the balcony railing, scoping out potential meals below.

It didn’t take long for company to arrive.

“So you’re the notorious Sabina Kane.” Despite the concussive music, I heard him clearly, taking note of the slight accent. He wore a silk shirt open at the throat to reveal a thin gold chain. A matching hoop winked from his right earlobe. Combined with the accent, the full effect screamed Eurotrash.

I took a sip from my vodka. “Look, if I killed one of your family members, you’re going to have to take a number.”

He smiled. “No, nothing like that. Allow me to introduce myself. Franco Allegheri, at your service,” he said with a slight bow. The movement caused a cloud of cologne to drift in my direction. I grimaced, overcome by the scent of musk.

I crossed one booted foot over my jean-clad knee. “Sorry, Frank, but I’m not looking to get serviced tonight.”

He grimaced at my use of the Americanized version of his name, but didn’t correct me. “You misunderstand. I represent a certain party who would like to contract your services.” He motioned to the chair next to mine. “May I sit?”

I shrugged. Inside, I did a little happy dance. If my hunch was correct, Frankie Boy worked for Clovis.

He sat in the club chair across from me. I waited as a waitress came to take his drink order. He asked for a martini, which left me in serious doubt about his character. After she left, I sipped on my drink and waited.

“My employer—” he began.

“And who would that be?”

He smiled again, a tight expression totally lacking in friendliness. “I am not at liberty to divulge his identity at this time.”

I leaned forward, finishing off my drink before speaking. “Well, Frank, I am not at liberty to discuss my activities with strangers.”

He nodded. “Would it help if I mentioned my employer and you shared a friend in common?”

“Depends on the friend.”

“David Duchamp.”

My stomach dropped. I’d managed to avoid thinking about David until now. I didn’t enjoy the reminder.

“My employer would like to extend his condolences on Mr. Duchamp’s recent passing.”

I nodded slowly, wondering how much Clovis knew about the circumstances surrounding David’s death.

“My employer would also like you to know that he is aware that you were merely carrying out orders. He does not hold you responsible for Mr. Duchamp’s death.”

Well, that answered that question.

“Boy, that’s a relief,” I said. “But I didn’t kill David.”

Frank sent me a look, clearly indicating we both knew that was bullshit. “Nevertheless, my employer would like to offer you his friendship.”

“How does your employer know I would be a good friend to have?” Normally, this kind of verbal poker made me impatient. But I found myself enjoying the game. If I played my cards right, I’d be on my way to San Francisco to kill Clovis in no time.

The waitress came back then with Frank’s martini. I ordered a beer before she took off again.

“Sabina, might we speak candidly?” When I nodded, he continued. “Word on the street is you’re looking to become an independent contractor. My employer believes you and he might be able to form a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“Mutually beneficial?”

“Indeed.” He nodded. “My employer would like to offer you protection from the Dominae and other unsavory elements in return for your services.”

I laughed then. “And what makes him think I am in need of protection?”

“Didn’t you just imply you have a line of angry vamps waiting to seek revenge for your past deeds?”

“True,” I said. “But remember those skills you mentioned?”

He shifted in his seat. “Please understand. I do not mean to suggest you cannot take care of yourself. However, given your circumstances plus your … shall we say questionable heritage, my employer feels you would benefit from an alliance with his cause.”

My eyes narrowed. “Listen, asshole, my ‘questionable heritage’ is none of your employer’s business. This meeting is over.” I rose to leave. As expected, Frank stood quickly and grabbed my arm.

“Wait,” he said. “Forgive me if I’ve offended you. Please sit. There’s more.”

I paused as if weighing my options. Finally, I pretended to be reluctant as I sat, nodding for him to continue.

“I had a reason for bringing up your mixed lineage,” he began. “You see my employer is trying to end the ongoing tension between the vampire and mage populations. He believes we can all coexist peacefully.”

The waitress brought my beer. I nodded for him to continue after she’d gone. I’d need the drink if I was going to have to sit through a speech about how all the dark races should hold hands and sing “Joy to the World.”

“Seeing as you are of both races, my employer thought you might be open to his ideas.”

“He was mistaken.”

Frank smiled. “Perhaps you’ll consider meeting with my employer anyway. I think you’ll find his ideas quite revolutionary.”

I sipped on my beer, pretending to think it over. Inside, I was mentally creating my packing list. Perhaps I’d buy a new black Burberry trench for all that foggy San Francisco weather.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’d feel better if I knew who your employer was.”

Frank’s jaw clenched. I could tell he was losing patience. He sighed and said, “I’m really not supposed to tell you.” The tone he used indicated he was lying. Surely, Clovis had known I would demand to know this information.

“But, as long as you promise not to tell him I told you?” He looked at me expectantly.

I nodded solemnly.

“Clovis Trakiya,” he said dramatically.

I pursed my lips. “Hmm, never heard of him.”

Frank looked shocked. I smiled on the inside, hoping the little dig would make its way back to Clovis. Frank opened his mouth to speak, but I held up a hand.

“But if what you say is true, I’d agree to at least meet with him. What could it hurt, right?”

Frank’s smile was genuine this time. Obviously, he’d been worried about going back to Clovis with bad news.

“How soon can you make it to San Francisco for the meeting?”

I leaned back in my chair and took another swig from my beer. “Well, Frank, I tell ya, it just so happens I have some room in my schedule day after tomorrow.”

7

I left Phantasmagoria feeling better than I had in days. Things were finally coming together. I’d meet with Clovis in a couple of days and hopefully in a week or so he’d be dead.

It wasn’t lost on me that my eagerness to do this job had a lot to do with David. The rational part of me knew that killing Clovis wouldn’t bring David back or erase the fact he’d betrayed the Dominae. But the other side, the one that made me irrational, wanted to punish Clovis for his role in leading David in the wrong direction. Sure, I knew David made the choice to work with Clovis, but that didn’t matter. In my mind, this whole mess was Clovis’ fault for thinking he could threaten the Dominae’s power. Now that I was on my way to see the job done, I felt more at ease.

Humans filled the sidewalk as they spilled out of the clubs on Wilshire. Music, car horns, and laughter created the usual Friday night soundtrack. I dodged a few drunken co-eds and turned on a side street. I’d parked my Ducati about a block away in an underground parking lot beneath an office tower. The beauty of motorcycles is how easy they are to get around those pesky wooden arms at garage entrances.

I ducked into the lot and walked down the ramp to the level below. My footsteps echoed against the gray concrete walls. I’d just turned the corner when I heard the footsteps following me. I turned slowly, ready to scare off any drunken frat boys who might have mistaken me for easy pickings. Instead, a group of nasty-looking male vamps came around the bend. Something told me they weren’t lost.

I recognized two males at the front from Ewan’s bar—Dumb and Dumber. They were the friends of the guy I’d smoked. Behind those two, stood four other huge males. If you put all six of them together, you’d probably get a cumulative IQ of 100. However, it doesn’t take much smarts when you have fangs, muscles, and guns to do your talking.

I held my hands up, trying to buy some time. “Evening, boys. What’s up?” As I talked, I scanned the area for exits. Besides the ramp, a door marked “stairs” stood at the opposite end of the parking lot. The Ducati stood about six feet behind me and was the only vehicle in the lot.

“What’s up is you’re going down, bitch.” Dumber had no neck and his biceps were like barrels. Obviously, he also felt he had a great sense of humor. It was sad, really.