The Better to Eat You With: The Red Journals (4 page)

He
arrived at the driver's side of my truck and turned to face me.

Bam!

I swung
the baton and caught him hard on the side of the head. The force of the swing
and the momentum of his turn sent him spinning sideways, bashing his head on
the side of my truck and denting it. I sucked in an outraged breath, as he
sprawled out cold on the ground.

"Mother
F!"
What is his head made of? Marble?

Inspecting
the cranium-sized dent in my truck, I turned and scowled down at the
unconscious figure on the ground. "Scurvy knob jockey. Granite skull
much?" I kicked his leg before pushing back the truck bed cover and
tossing in the silver baton.

Lifting
him up on my shoulder—not easy with a tall bloke but I have a knack for it—I
walked around to the end, and dropped his backside on the edge. His body
slumped back, a satisfying thump sounding when his head hit the carpeted bed. Snickering,
I hefted his feet in after him, slammed up the end, covered him up, and hopped
into the driver's seat. Confident my hybrid strength would keep him out cold, I
drove off to my little personalized lock-up for some questioning.

"Encroach
on my territory, will ya? Not on my watch, bitch."

Somewhere
between Summerville airport and Pine Forest Country Club, is a little
industrial estate where you can rent or buy garages. Of course, for privacy
sake, I own one. After much redecorating—by way of sound proofing, reinforcing,
and installing silver flecked, iron laced, titanium steel cages—I now have a
wonderful little prison going on. When on the rare occasion my quarry was
wanted alive, this is where my employer collected, if they were so inclined. Some
just like their property escorted to a private jet. For me, personally, I much
prefer an outside place for the meet-and-greet. The idea of some other Immortal
knowing where I live gives me the heebie-jeebies!

Parking
the truck outside my garage in the empty lot, I hopped out and unlocked the
doors, swinging them wide. Flicking on the light switch, I watched the halogen
lights flicker and then pool light over each cell. I have four, all in a row
down the left hand side of the garage. I smiled faintly as I narrowed my gaze
and checked, as was habit, the sparkly silver and copper-colored flecks in the
bars.

Spinning
on my heel, I pulled a thin hair-tie from my coat pocket, and scraped my hair
back into a ponytail.
No need for it to be down and lovely now, eh?
I
headed over to the truck and flipped down the back, shoving back the cover on
the bed. The deep gouge left from the baton when I'd hit him had already
healed, but the bruising and swelling was still pretty evident. However
satisfying that was, it didn't compare to the distaste at having to haul his
ass into the garage. Sighing—I never did like manual labor —I pulled his legs
to the edge of the bed, and tapped down his jean pockets.

"Hmmm,
what do we have here?" From his front right-side pocket, I managed to slip
free a rectangular shaped bit of black plastic. It felt pretty hefty, and had
ridges down one side that looked like it was meant to be held in a big hand.
This was one serious switchblade, if I've ever seen one.

"This
looks military," I murmured softly, glancing up at his face. "You
might be built like a brick shit house, mate, but you ain't military."
Shaking my head, I twisted to slide the switchblade in my back pocket and missed,
because I was wearing a skirt, not jeans! "Shoot."  I swooped down to
grab it.

"Bad
kitty."

My head
whipped up at the sound of his deep, rumbling voice. "Sonofa—"

His hand
flew out, a flash of silver, an explosion of pain in my temple—Right before
everything went dark, I managed to think,
Was that my baton?

It was a
savage ache in my shoulders that awakened me, as well as a pounding in my head.
It felt as if a bunch of tin cans were having a party in my skull, using my
eyes as disco balls. Groaning, I went to grip my head, only to realize I
couldn't. Frowning, I blinked open my eyes, squinting past bright lights, and
instantly noticed I was upright with my arms were stretched above my head.

Where's
my favorite red coat?

I was
dangling from a pair of cuffs linked over the bar at the front of one of my
cells. No wonder my shoulders were aching, my feet dangled at least a foot
above the ground.
Damn being short.
Instantly, I jerked my whole body,
trying to either break the cell bar, or the cuffs—both of which I knew weren't
possible, because
blow me
, they were
my
cuffs and cell.

"'Bout
time, love."

I jerked
my head around, and hissed in a breath when it throbbed sickeningly.
I think
this guy hits harder than I do.
No shit, Sherlock.

"Thought
you were gonna sleep all day!"

"All,”
I croaked and swallowed, “day?" I peered up at the dark-haired vamp, my
stomach lurching into my throat when he grabbed a chair, dragged it screeching
across the cement floor, and dumped it in front of the cell. His head was
completely healed now, no bruising at all.

All
day?

He dropped
down into the chair, my cell phone in his hand, his heady aroma making my head
swim even worse. "Yeah. I obviously didn't hit you hard enough because it’s
only been a few hours. But don't worry," he sneered. “I won't make that
mistake again."

I swallowed
again, this time less from a dry throat and more from the fact that I might
actually be in trouble.

"Now,"
he clapped his hands remarkably loud, making me wince, and leaned forward,
elbows on his knees, "who do you work for?"

I scowled
at him before plastering a distinctly haughty, blank look on my face. "No
one." And it was the truth…technically. I hadn't agreed to hunt anyone,
yet.

He
snorted and came to his feet. "Really? Because I escorted a
girl
to
her car and woke to find a
woman.
So,” he fixed steely eyes on mine, “
who
…do
you work for?" he repeated, like I was dippy or something.

I
blinked, very slowly, enunciating, "
Me-e-e
."

"That's
a shame," he sighed as if I'd refused to go to prom with him. And before I
could even form a frown, he backhanded me across the face.

To say
the least, it stung, made my head spin like a bitch and I could taste blood. Joy.

"Tell
me who sired you, then," he said. "That's got to be an easier subject
for a pretty little thing like you."

What was
he implying? That I traded myself for a shot at forever, or that I really was so
dippy I couldn't remember my employers’ name? Either way, it didn't matter. I
almost sighed in resignation of my next hit. I didn't know my sire —neither of
them. I never knew the wolf that had bitten me and hadn’t given him a chance to
introduce himself before I tried to box him with the sharp end of an axe. I
didn't know the Vampire either. I had hit him with the blunt end of the same
axe.

"Hmm?"
I made a show of thinking about it as I tongued my split lip. "Oh, I
know!" Pause for effect. "Bob Schroeder." Bam! Bitch slap to the
other side.

Matching
set! Like shoes, underwear or stationary.
My mind, I swear, carried on, going long after my head had
stopped its rotation.
Oh, hey, look! You have got matching bruises on your
cheeks—just not the ones you thought!

"Why
did you attack me?"

Well,
now, that one I could answer. "You are in my territory," I replied,
tonguing my lip again.

"Your
territory?" His brows shot up. "A tiny scrap of feminine indignation
like you?" He snorted.

I
scowled.
Don't dis the shortness!

"This
is
my territory."

"If
it is, then your sire must have given it to you. So, again, we're back to who
sired you?"

Because
I obviously couldn't take it on my own? Bastard!

"It
is
mine, and I already told you Bob. He's a real neat guy. Likes baseball, d’ya
know that?" I told him louder, nearly yelling as I turned my gaze back to
him, wishing like hell I could reach the chains around wrapped my wrists and
strangle him. Damn cuffs made it impossible!

He
backhanded me again, his face a cold, furious mask. "Tell me!" he
spat, his eyes beginning to spark a golden yellow.

"No!"
I spat back with such force I swayed, cheeks flaming.

"Who
is it?"

"Oh,
for goodness—"

"Who
is it?"

"Seriously—"

"Who
is it?"

"I
don't know—"

"Liar!"

"I
don't!"

"Answer
my questions!" he demanded.

Is he
dense?

"I
already have! I'm self-employed, and I don't know my sires, so quit hitting—"

"Sires?"
He stared at me.

I closed
my eyes as the realization of what I had just said sunk in.
Shit…how hard
did this guy hit me?

"What
did you mean, sires?" He shifted closer, eyeing me with an intensity that
tightened my gut like lead weight. His scent wafted around me like a sea of
fragrant bubbles, caressing my skin, making me fight not to shiver. I pressed
my lips together in a thin line, refusing to speak again, however many times he
hit me.

Dammit,
Red, nice going. Where the hell did your brain go tonight? Your main brain is
obviously in your metaphorical dick, because it sure as hell ain't in your
head. Some spy you'd make, losing your cool after two minutes! Jeepers!

I blinked,
and suddenly, he was right in front of me, his bright green eyes consuming
everything in sight and swirling with golden tendrils of lightning flickering
through the iris. It was really quite beautiful, this one particular trait of
vampirism, especially when framed by thick dark lashes and creamy pale skin,
and a scent that was sharp, intoxicating and potent. But the power radiating
off him made my skin tingle and crackle.

I
shuddered out a breath, finally saying, "Yeah, you can't mind-control
me." The gold lightning stopped abruptly and he blinked, and on went my
bravado. "Although, you are pretty hot. Maybe if you strip, I'll be more
co-operative." I grinned and wagged my brows, praying my heart would stop
pounding, because I knew he could hear it.

A target
had taunted me like that before, using sexual innuendo and the fact that I was
female against me. He had assumed wrongly. Just because I was a woman, didn't
mean I got offended by everything sexually disgusting or provocative. At first,
it had been funny, but after a while, it was just repetitive. I remembered
being so irritated I'd ended up just knocking him out to shut him up.

Maybe
vamp guy here will do the same with me, so I won't have to worry about
answering his questions?

"What
are you?" he breathed, leaning in close again.

His power
was pounding me from head to toe, tingling across my skin and making me think
things highly inappropriate for the circumstances.
What was my game plan?
His scent wrapped around me like a thick blanket, making my thoughts fragment
under a barrage of naughty images before I could answer.
Oh yeah! That was
it?

"Uh,
take your shirt off, and I'll give you a hint," I leered, or I tried to. I've
never leered before, and it felt kind of like a cringe on my face.

His lips
curved in amusement confirmed it. "You smell like Vampire, but your heart
pounds so fast."

Vampires’
hearts beat, but only after heavy exertion, and even then it’s, like, only one
or two thuds. Mine was like a butterfly on amphetamines.

He leaned
in then, his lips brushing my neck, his hands brushing the bare skin at my
waist beneath my top. "But there's so much more, isn't there?" His mouth
whispered over my neck as he spoke, and my senses zoomed in on the sensation
sparking under them. The hint of teeth grazed, and my whole body tensed as I
fought the shiver of gooseflesh and the pains in my chest spreading outwards
with every frantic beat of my heart.

My attraction
was swiftly turning to panic. "Are you going to bite me?" I asked, my
voice shaky, the scent of my own fear acrid and insulting as it fragranced the
air around us. The very thought of being bitten suddenly became clear and
precise, frozen and bitter cold in its clarity. I didn’t want to be bitten. I had
been bitten twice before, and still had the scars. I didn’t ever want to be
bitten again. Not ever. By anything.

"Maybe?"
he murmured, lips tracing my throat, his words barely audible past my own labored
breathing and pounding, rushing blood. "Or, maybe you should be asking
me...where." His fangs scraped the fragile skin swelling my breast, my
low-cut top no protection whatsoever. Every panting inhale pressed his fangs
into my skin, and yet, I couldn't make my breathing slow or even…

His cool
fingers tingled up the softness at the top of my inner thigh.