Minion (27 page)

A strange calmness overcame Carlos as he felt strength enter his body. There was a weightlessness that he couldn't describe. He raised his hand to feel his throat and neck, and he was awed when he pulled it away—there was no blood, no gaping wound. He looked down at his hand as Nuit continued to circle him. All the pain in his body was gone.

“The bastard immediately healed. But we still have a deal. I made you!”

Carlos surprised himself by laughing. Instinct made him know that somehow in this weird transaction, he'd gained the upper hand. He studied the angry and worried expressions of the group. Yes . . . he may have died, and might even now be in Hell . . . but if that was his fate, well then, he'd make the best of it.

Another wave of strength poured through Carlos. He looked at the night with new eyes. In the darkness he was able to make out even the veins in the leaves high above . . .
In the dark?
He trained his ears on the distance, and focused on a mouse scurrying from an owl. He rolled his shoulders, let his head drop back, and howled. Power. Infinite power made him drunk, and he laughed again.

“So, you did make me,” Carlos finally breathed out. “So much for so little.”

Nuit held up his hand to the group that appeared ready to lunge at Carlos, and then he smiled. “Gentlemen, gentlemen. Is this how we treat a new brother who has a marked territory? You cannot kill him anyway. He's stronger than you. Did you witness how fast he turned? I'm more interested in how—lost guardian. Whom did you do a deal with? You had to form another alliance in order to heal so quickly, to turn so fast.”

Carlos looked at Nuit and shrugged. “We all have allies,” he bluffed. “It's advisable for business. And you can't kill a dead man twice. If I'm in Hell, then so be it. Knew that I was going there when I died—now or later. What difference does it make when?” His voice trailed off as a renewed current of energy swept through him. “I just never knew it would be like this,” he breathed, feeling an erotic pull to the sensation. “A much underrated place in the universe.”

Nuit laughed. “You will make the adjustment just fine. Now bring me the girl.”

Carlos fixed his gaze on Nuit. “Being one of whatever we are gives you a rush, doesn't it? I can dig it.” He ignored the request. Nuit could have any of the women he screwed from the groupies that hung on him at the clubs. A woman from his club harem was incidental. Nuit had gotten the short end of this deal. Carlos felt a chuckle of satisfaction threatening his composure but secreted away his victory.

“The correct term for our race is vampiri. We are vampires.” Nuit snarled, and began walking away.

“You are bullshitting me, right?” Carlos tried to play it cool, but there was no way to keep the panic from his voice. He'd tried to offer one of his usual, blasé sneers, but the comment had come out more like a question than the sarcastic blow-off
he'd intended. No, he couldn't just blow
this
off. Vampires? This
had to be
pure bullshit. Impossible. They were just jacking with his head.

But before Nuit could respond, Carlos stooped and grabbed his stomach. His insides suddenly felt like they were on fire. His guts moved as though snakes infested them, and a hunger gripped him that made him cry out—his agony ending in a wail. Wolves in the distance cried with him, and he dropped to his knees, digging his fingers in the dirt. Retractable claws came from his nail beds, and he could feel his ears lay back against his skull as his jaw unhooked itself. A burn filled his mouth, and he leaned his head back, panting. Soon his teeth began to rip through his gums and fill his mouth. His whole body convulsed and trembled.

“Hmmm . . . painful, I know. Pity,” Nuit said in a calm tone, looking at Carlos with an evil grin of triumph. “It doesn't have to be this way, however.”

The agony that seared Carlos's abdomen made him stare up at his tormentor for mercy that he knew would not come. A deal was in the offing; instinct told him that much. But with his insides crawling, he couldn't think, much less respond. Fallon Nuit grabbed his shoulder with an air of disdain, and the mere touch temporarily abated the pain.

“You have no idea who you're attempting to negotiate with,” Nuit said coolly. “Perhaps I should show you, and then you'll stop struggling against your fate. There is a much more dignified way to proceed than this.” Nuit shook his head and made a little clucking sound with his tongue. “Arrogance is laudable . . . but not against me.”

Too weak to even brush off Nuit's hold, Carlos again felt himself moving fast—but not falling. It was as though he was instantly airborne. A rush of night wind slapped his face and
blew back the sweat-soaked hair that had clung to his scalp, sending a cold chill against it as the scenery below him became a blur of dark green forest, and then buildings, lights, followed by a hard crash against a smooth surface. Rock music made him cover his ears for a moment. Dazed, he was staring at a pair of expensive black shoes, and without looking up he knew he was at Nuit's feet. The piped-in music made the floor beneath him pulse. Nausea consumed him, and he nearly dry heaved to the beat of the acid rock sounds.

For a moment, Carlos allowed his cheek to rest against the coolness of the black marble floor. Drenched with perspiration, his clothes stuck to him, and soon mild laughter entered his ears. Too disoriented to immediately stand, he peered around his new environment, and was met by a scene that his mind could not comprehend. Never in his life had he witnessed such a decadent display of pure wealth.

“This is all mine,” Nuit said proudly, waving his arm as he spoke toward several well-dressed henchmen. “Just like they are all mine. But there's more.”

Pushing himself up to a sitting position on the floor, Carlos stared at the luxurious black leather sofas, marble and gold-chrome furnishings, and the huge marquee that said
BLOOD MUSIC, INC
., which took up half of the walnut walls by the elevators. The receptionist's area alone was a massive twenty-foot semicircle of marble with the company's logo engraved in it, and a stunning blonde with ruby-red lipstick gave him a sly glance, her smile widening just enough to show a hint of fangs. She toyed with a gold chain at her throat that ended with a crest at her voluptuous cleavage. Mounted gold and platinum records in heavy chrome frames lined the wall behind her, but she cast no reflection in their glass casings. Nuit chuckled, and pulled Carlos to stand.

“Just one of the many benefits of this lifestyle,
n'est pas?
”

There was no other response but to nod. Carlos's gaze ricocheted around the lobby. Although surrounded by windows on three sides, he had no idea how high up he was. The only thing he was able to tell was that there was no other building blocking his view. A pounding headache pierced his temples, stabbing his brain with the artificial track lighting.

“You like?” Nuit pushed Carlos forward without touching him, but by simply waving his hand. “Sixty-six floors, L.A. earthquakes notwithstanding, with six hundred and sixty-six employees who all belong to me. However, this is only a paltry example of my holdings. Why don't we take a little tour?” Nuit rounded him to lead the way.

Again, Carlos felt his body moving from an external force as against his will he stumbled behind Nuit down a wide corridor bustling with activity and crowded with expensively dressed employees. Modern art, murals, and Grammy replicas encased in Lucite collided with awards, mounted covers of
Rolling Stone
magazine, Teen Choice Awards, and MTV Awards, the glare from platinum and gold records making him squint. Photos of top Hollywood stars alongside recording artists and a who's who in the entertainment industry created a veritable wall of fame as they walked while all the while hunger clawed him.

Each busy female they passed looked better than the last, and each woman gave a sly, deferring smile toward Fallon Nuit as they made their way deeper into the Blood Music terrain. But what Carlos couldn't figure out was, why in the world would Nuit want any woman from his clubs? It seemed like the entire
Baywatch
set had been emptied into the Blood Music offices. Brunettes, redheads, blondes, sisters with braids, and every male that walked by was buff, wrapped in designer gear; no one appeared to be over thirty-five in the whole joint.

“You've noticed my substantial evening staff,” Nuit announced
over his shoulder, pride oozing from his voice. “While we have a significant day-presence in the building, I'm sure you can appreciate that a considerable number of those in my employ do their best work during evening hours—so we have flexible scheduling to accommodate such necessary preferences. Diversity.”

Staffers quickly nodded at Nuit, moved out of his way, practically genuflecting as he passed and ignored them. With a wave of his hand, the double onyx-and-chrome doors to a huge conference room opened. Nuit crossed the threshold and sighed.

“Permit me to introduce my marketing team,” Nuit added with bravado, motioning toward a large ebony table that had a backlit, glass-etched world map in the center of it, and then toward a huddle of three men and three women—each bearing fangs when Nuit pushed Carlos forward. “Ladies and gentlemen, meet our newest employee, Carlos Rivera.”

A series of disgruntled snarls met Carlos, and Nuit laughed.

“I know, don't worry. Once he feeds he won't still smell so human. But please, show him our holdings.”

A tall, angular blonde sashayed from behind the table and nearly purred as she sidled up to Nuit. Her black sheath clung to her gaunt hipbones, and her nipples hardened beneath the semi-sheer fabric as she neared them. She licked her lips and stared at Carlos.

“Has he been broken in yet?” she murmured, her gaze narrowing on Carlos.

“No, love, this one is for Raven,” Nuit intoned with a smile, cupping her face with his hand. “Next time.”

She let out a sigh with the pout, and walked back toward the table and picked up a red laser pointer. “We have the entire North American territory, with expansion throughout the Caribbean.” She eyed Carlos with a bored expression reinforced by
her equally weary, disgruntled tone. “We have the Pacific Rim, and Europe to the old Czech Republic—”

“That includes Transylvania, one of the most historic landmarks, I might add,” Nuit cut in. “My dearly departed mentor brought fame to that region. Now I own what he owned, and then some.”

The blonde nodded. “We've recently picked up Moscow, Brazil, and a section of East Africa. We have a lock on five key locations for the international concert, sir.”

“Carry on,” Nuit ordered, dismissing the team as he turned to face Carlos. “Some of the other territories are still in dispute, but that is a mere temporary inconvenience. Shall we go to my office and have a drink?”

Carlos hated the way his body was forced to move, and the satisfaction of power that Nuit lorded over him. Each question Nuit proffered was rhetorical, teasing Carlos as though he had an option to do anything else but follow. His legs walked against his will down another bending corridor and another female smiled at him as she stood up behind her desk.

“Mr. Nuit,” the sexy, dark-haired secretary murmured, “the senator called while you were out, and I have three CEOs that would like to book a late-dinner appointment with you.”

“Isabella,” Nuit crooned, “tender my regrets to the CEOs and have one of my vice presidents handle those nominal social affairs. Smooth it over by sending the yacht for them with a nice assortment of the girls on it. But do get the good senator for me on line one, won't you, darling?”

When she smiled, Carlos felt the immediate erotic pull that arced between the two. Nuit chuckled low in his throat.

“Forgive me. I have been rude. Isabella, Carlos Rivera . . . my newest hire.”

She studied Carlos with an assessment that made him feel
naked. “Will he have direct access to you, Mr. Nuit, or should he go through any particular screen?”

“No,” Nuit replied with a half smile. “This one won't require a screen—I made him myself, and we have pressing matters that will require my personal oversight of his assignment.”

She nodded and sat down, and began to carry out Nuit's previous instructions as Carlos found himself being ushered into an inner office.

Several artists that he recognized were lounging around on a wide, circular, black leather sectional sofa facing a half-moon-shaped glass table. Once more, Carlos could only stare for a moment. It looked like an entire neighborhood's shipment of pure Peruvian rock cocaine had been dropped in the center of the small table. Dazed artists passed the hose from a giant, six-foot water pipe to each other. Carlos sniffed the air while the pinkish-white smoke filled the pipe cylinder, and oddly he felt himself salivating for some unknown reason.

The artists gave him a cursory glance before going back to their get-high. Why was the burning sensation coming back to his stomach? Carlos glanced at Nuit who had an amused smirk on his face. The pain was getting worse, yet he hadn't said a word to further piss off Nuit! Hunger buckled Carlos's knees.

Crack, opium, heroin, hash, Ecstasy, acid, ludes, Vs, weed, and top-shelf liquor graced the table. Carlos didn't have to see it, he could smell it burning, taste it all in his mouth as it coated the back of his throat. He knew each product that he'd distributed by heart. Everything laid out was potent, pure, and stronger than anything he'd ever sold. But the hunger?

His line of vision became riveted on the thick, bubbling, dark liquid in the water pipe. Carlos watched the surface of it splash red globs of wetness against the Oriental design of a translucent dragon. The siphon of a smoker sent a rhythmic sound throughout
the room beneath the ever-present music, creating a dense cloud of smoke within the pipe chamber before it was sucked out in a hit too large for one person to consume. Then he scanned the room.