Rogue (Sons of Sangue Book 4) (27 page)

His mistake.

One he would forever regret.

Now Mircea needed to bide his time. Take what belonged to Vlad and aim high. The opportunity would present itself to take out Kane … and he would. He may have told Vlad he’d give Kane the choice as to whom would forfeit their life, but Mircea’s mind had already been made up. He’d taunt his brother, make him wonder what Mircea’s plans were, not knowing who of his offspring to protect. If he convinced Vlad into thinking he meant harm to Kaleb’s offspring, he’d leave Kane unprotected. Kane’s guard would be down, looking to protect those he loved, and Mircea would eventually be presented with his opportunity.

Kane was no match for his strength.

He’d be easy enough to take out.

The door to the townhouse opened and Kaleb’s little mate stepped out, one baby in her arms, and young Stefan at her feet. The woman was pretty enough with her short, dark bob and exotic appearance. His nephew definitely had good taste. Which was more than he could say for Kane. The man had given up Rosalee for the blonde who could never compare. Cara had served her purpose, taking Kane away from Rosalee once and for all, so he had only been too happy to grant Kane the permission to mate again.

Life had been so fucking unfair.

Mircea picked up his phone and dialed Vlad’s number. The cell began to ring. Kaleb’s mate strapped the small baby into a stroller. Picking it up from the porch, she walked it down the brick steps and waited for Stefan. He giggled and trotted after his mother. She reached out and grabbed his hand, then used her free one to push the stroller, heading in the opposite direction from the little coffee shop.

A nice day for a stroll.

Time to taunt his brother.

“What the fuck do you want, Mircea?”

His eyes stayed trained on the trio, though he could care less what was on their agenda. Mircea smiled. Vlad was so easily rattled. “Is that any way to greet your brother?”

Vlad sighed, the sound traveling through the mic of the phone. “What do you want, Mircea? Please tell me it’s to let me know you have returned to Italy.”

“Not a chance.”

“Then to what do I owe the displeasure?”

“Stefan is growing into a cute little boy. All that curly brown mop of hair. He’ll no doubt be a lady killer like his daddy one day.”

“What the hell are you saying, brother?”

Mircea chuckled. “His blue striped shirt and khaki shorts look adorable on him. And I have to say, Kaleb’s little mate looks stunning in a pair of skinny jeans. Your grandson is one lucky man.”

“You son of a bitch. You touch them—”

Mircea looked at his nails. He was in desperate need of a manicure. “You have no worries … for today anyway.”

Vlad growled. “You’ll wish for death if you so much as harm a hair on their heads.”

“You’ll have to find me first, dear bother.”

“Oh, you can count on that.” Vlad’s menacing growl spoke of Mircea getting beneath his skin.
About damn time.
“You best be saying your prayers to whatever god you believe in.”

Mircea smiled. “Who needs a god when you have immortality?”

Vlad’s curses traveled through the line, just as Mircea ended the call. Oh, he planned to take Kane’s sorry excuse for a life, but first he’d enjoy a little game of cat and mouse with his younger brother.

* * *

Anton walked into Hade’s Nest, his eyes taking the briefest of moments to adjust. He spotted Tamera the minute he cleared the door. The stifling heat had little to do with the atmosphere and everything to do with his rising ire. What the fuck did she actually think she was doing, coming into this bar alone? No wonder she had to call him to get his ass back to Santa Barbara pronto. She was playing with fire in a den full of lowlifes. Any one of them capable of trying to take advantage of her, or worse … rape her.

Though pity the fool who tried.

With her vampirism, not a single man in here would stand a chance against her. Put them altogether, though, and she wouldn’t stand a fighting chance. Tamera was still new and she wasn’t as strong as a vampire who had spent decades honing his skills.

He skirted the long black, painted bar, which was lined with several Devils sitting on the stools. Some wearily glanced his way, probably wondering what the hell he was doing back in Santa Barbara when Tank had ordered him north, while others ignored his presence. With any luck, he’d nab Tamera and get the hell out of town before running into the president. Oh, these little fuckers would certainly rat him out, but at least by the time Tank heard, he’d be back on the road to Oregon.

Tamera looked up, her slim smile broadened as he approached the booth she sat in with a couple of his MC brothers. Thankfully, she had chosen the less radical ones. And although she had basically called for his help, she looked completely at ease sitting there. Tamera was playing her role well.

“Hey, babe?” Tamera asked, already scooting out of the booth. She wrapped her long arms around his neck and planted a kiss on his lips. Granted it wasn’t an open mouth one, but damn just the same. “What took you so long?”

Anton motioned for Stitch to get the hell out of the booth, then he allowed Tamera to slide in first, before he sat next to her. Stitch sat across from him with another one of the Devils.

“What the hell were you two doing hitting on my girl?” Anton asked, leveling his glare on the two men in front of him.

Stitch spit a stream of tobacco onto the floor, then smiled. Chew coated his yellowed teeth. “We weren’t hitting on her, Rogue. We were keeping her safe from the other assholes in here. You should be thanking us.”

Anton raised a brow. “I need to kick someone’s ass?” Because he would if anyone had laid a hand on Grayson’s mate.

“Spider was trying to work it—”

Stitch didn’t get another word out before Anton rose and headed in the VP’s direction. The man turned when Anton stopped a mere foot away. Spider gave him a once-over, then turned back to Boston and ignored the fact Anton had just invaded his space. Either too cowardly to tell Anton to back the fuck up, or too stupid thinking he didn’t need to give Anton the time of day. Gripping Spider by the shoulder, he forcibly turned the man to face him again.

Spider sneered. “You got a fucking problem, Rogue?”

“You touch my girl?”

He rolled his bloodshot hazel eyes. Apparently he had been drinking for some time, which gave the man equal amounts of liquid courage and stupidity. “If I recall right, you’re not even supposed to be in California. Club P sent you to Oregon with Preacher. You’re supposed to be keeping an eye on that two-bit dealer.”

“Doesn’t answer my question, Spider.” Anton stepped forward, looking down his nose at the man. “You think sending me north gives you rights to my woman?”

Spider squared his shoulders, his hands fisting at his sides. “I’m VP. I have the right to fuck your woman if I want.”

Anton didn’t give the man a chance to move. He drew his fist back and punched Spider in the nose. Bones cracked, blood splattered, tears pooled in the man’s eyes. He covered his nose with both hands and swore up a blue streak. If Spider was smart, he’d back the fuck up and apologize. Anton counted on him not being.

He growled a, “You son of a bitch,” before he rushed Anton, only knocking him back by a foot, and only because he hadn’t set a good stance.

Anton fisted the neck of his grimy white T-shirt and lifted him easily off the floor. Even though the man was damn near as tall as him, he was all lean muscle, nowhere near a match for Anton even if he wasn’t a vampire. Backing him to the wall, Anton slammed Spider against it hard enough to rattle some sense into him, as well as a few of the framed pictures on the wall.

Spider struggled in his grip, getting the man’s blood on Anton’s hands and shirt. His nostrils flared and his gums ached as his fangs threatened to make an appearance. Anton bit back the urge to rip out the fucker’s throat. Releasing his right hand, he punched Spider in the face again. One of his eyes instantly swelled.

“You walk away and I’ll release you. You threaten to touch my woman again, and I’ll fuck you up, Spider, VP or not.”

He struggled again, his feet kicking out but not finding purchase. Anton dropped his hold and the man dropped like a sack of potatoes, buckling at his feet. “Stay down, Spider. You won’t win this.”

True to his nature, Spider stumbled to his feet and rushed Anton again. Anton stepped to the right, sticking a booted foot out. Spider went sprawling to the filthy wooden flooring, his hands breaking his fall. He jumped back up and faced Anton. By this time, they had gathered quite the crowd circling them. Most were Devils. Taunts and snarky remarks were tossed about. Some telling Spider to be smart and stay down while others egged him on. Tamera stood in front of the crowd, arms crossed beneath her breasts, a smirk on her full red lips. Anton could tell she was enjoying the show.

The VP jumped to his feet. “I’m going to fucking kill you,” and he rushed Anton again.

Anton growled as he grabbed Spider’s wrist, turned him and yanked his arm behind his back. His forearm wrapped his neck, pulling him flush against his chest. “You give yet, asshole?” he said close to his ear.

Dumb ass shook his head. “You let me go and I’m taking you out.”

Anton chuckled. “Wrong answer.”

Putting pressure on his carotid arteries, Spider went limp in his arms within fifteen seconds. Anton sat him in the nearest booth before he glanced around at the rest of the MC. “Anyone want to be next?”

The men shook their heads, grumbling beneath their breaths, and went back to what they had been doing before the idiot VP took him on. Anton approached Tamera. Her smile widened. He led her back to their booth with his palm in the low of her spine. Stitch slid into the booth across from them again. Stretching his arm across the back of the booth, Anton’s fingers lightly caressed her shoulder. He needed to come across as her beloved, hoping he wasn’t overstepping her comfort level.

Last thing he wanted when this was over was Grayson kicking his ass for putting moves on Tamera, even if the job called for it. Hell, he should be kicking Kane’s ass for putting her in the predicament in the first place. If his phone wasn’t working, then he should have gotten her out of there.

Anton looked at the blood on his hands. He needed to clean up. The bartender must have caught Anton inspecting the filth on his hands, for he walked over with a wet bar towel and tossed it at him. He caught it, thanking the man. Quickly divesting himself of the blood, staving off his and no doubt Tamera’s reaction to the scent, he then tossed the rag back to the bar.

He glanced at Tamera. “Spider hurt you?”

She shook her head. “Not that he hadn’t insinuated what he wanted from me.”

“Your reason for calling me home?” Anton hoped she understood his reference to Santa Barbara as his home.

“That and I missed you, babe.” She gave him a dazzling smile.

“What were you doing here?” Anton’s lips turned down. He didn’t need to put on a face of displeasure, finding Tamera in Hade’s Nest. Hell, no. It more than displeased him. This was no place for a woman. “This isn’t the best place for my woman to hang out.”

“I was working on a story for the paper.”

His brow creased. “What story?

Tamera reached for his hand and intertwined her fingers with him. “The newspaper wanted an informational piece on MCs. I thought I might as well start with your MC.”

He glared at Tamera. “You should have waited for me.”

“You were gone. My story couldn’t wait.” Tamera feigned innocence. “Besides, you’re here now.”

Anton held her gaze for a moment before asking, “Get anything interesting?”

“I was just talking to Stitch. Obviously, my chat with Spider hadn’t gone as well.”

“And?” Anton was hoping she’d bring up Joseph’s execution. He couldn’t very well bring it up, not without raising suspicions.

She shrugged. “I was hoping to do a story on your rivalry with the Oregon MC, the Sons of Sangue.”

“Seriously? You looking to start trouble?”

“Not really. I heard a Sons’ member died about a week ago, execution style. It sounded like a scoop. But no one here seems to know anything about it. Although, Spider had an unusual reaction to my investigation. He pretty much told me to keep my pretty nose out of it if I wanted to live.”

Heat rose up Anton’s neck. “Did he?”

“That’s why I called you.” Tamera winced. “Thought I might be getting in over my head a bit.”

“Did you?” Anton shook his head and grumbled beneath his breath. “I just wish I would’ve known he threatened you before I busted his nose. I would’ve been a lot harder on his ass. You know anything about the execution, Stitch? I haven’t heard anything about us ordering a hit on any Sons of Sangue member.”

Stitch scratched his neck, just beneath his ear. He looked around, as if making sure no one was listening. “No one’s saying anything about it. Honestly, if a Devil ordered the hit, no one’s claiming it.”

“So either it came down from Tank or Spider and everyone’s being tight-lipped, or someone else took out the Sons’ member.” He turned to Tamera, tightened his arm about her shoulders, and brought her closer. “How about we get the fuck out of here? I’ve been gone for a bit and I could use a little lovin’.”