Manny had never felt so powerless in his life.
“’Scuse me,” his semi-brother said, “I need another drink.”
As Butch peeled off and went into the other room, Manny watched him disappear through an elaborate archway. “You know, I’ll second that on the hooch.”
“My house is yours,” the king said darkly. “Bar’s that way.”
Fighting back an odd urge to bow, Manny nodded instead. “Thanks, man.” When knuckles were presented, he tapped them and then gave Jane and her husband a nod.
The room he walked into was like the best horse racing hospitality suite anyone had ever seen. Hell, they even had a popcorn machine.
“More Lag?” the guy muttered from across the way.
Manny pivoted and found himself measuring one fuck of a bar. “Yeah. Please.”
He brought his glass over, and gave it to the man. And when the sound of Scotch splashing seemed loud as a scream, he wandered up to a sound system that could probably be used to play Madison Square Garden.
Pushing the buttons, he called up a mix of . . . gangsta rap.
Quick shift and he was into the high-def radio, on a search for the metal station. As Slipknot’s “Dead Memories” started banging, he took a deep breath.
Nightfall. He was just waiting for nightfall.
“Here,” the cop said, delivering the liquor. With a grimace, he nodded to one of the speakers. “You like that shit?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, that’s one way we ain’t related.”
Payne’s twin put his head into the room. “What the hell is that noise?” Like someone had decided to speak in tongues. Or maybe bust out some Justin Bieber.
Manny just shook his head. “It’s music.”
“Only if you say so.”
Manny rolled his eyes and retreated into a very dark, dangerous place in his mind. The reality that there was nothing he could do for his woman at the moment made him want to hurt something. And the fact that it appeared he had some vampire in him was exactly the kind of revelation he did not need on a day like today.
God, he felt like death.
“Pool, anyone?” he said numbly.
“Fuck, yeah.”
“Absolutely.”
Jane stepped in and gave him a quick hug. “Count me in.”
Guess he wasn’t the only one desperate for a distraction.
FIFTY-FIVE
As Payne sat on something padded with her hands in her lap, she surmised that she was in a car because the subtle vibrating sensation was similar to what she had felt when she had traveled beside Manuel in his Porsche. She could not visually confirm such, however, because just as the Bloodletter’s soldier had promised, she was blindfolded. The scent of the male in charge was beside her, however; although he was frozen in place, so someone else had to be piloting the vehicle.
Naught had happened to her in the intervening hours betwixt their confrontation and this ride now: She had passed the daylight time sitting on the leader’s bed, knees tucked in against her chest, both of the guns next to her on the rough blanket. No one had bothered her, however, so after a while she’d stopped prickling at each noise from above and relaxed some.
Thoughts of Manuel had soon commanded the majority of her attention, and she had played and replayed scenes from their tooshort time together until her heart ached from the agony. Before she’d known it, though, the leader came back down to her and asked her if she required a repast before they left.
No, she hadn’t wanted to eat.
Thereafter, he had blindfolded her with a pristine white cloth—one so clean and lovely that it made her wonder where he had come up with it. And then he took her elbow in a firm grip and led her slowly up the stairs he had carried her down previously.
It was hard to know exactly how long they had been in the car. Twenty minutes? Maybe a half hour?
“Here,” the leader said eventually.
Upon his command, whatever they were in slowed, then stopped, and a door was unlatched. As fresh, cool air wafted in, her elbow was taken once again and she was steadied as she stepped out. The door shut and there was a bang—as if a fist had been knocked on a part of the vehicle.
Spinning tires kicked up dirt onto her robe.
And then she was alone with the leader.
Although he was silent, she sensed him moving behind her, and the fabric about her head was loosened. As it fell free, her breath caught.
“I thought if you were to be released, it should be upon a view worthy of your pale eyes.”
The entire city of Caldwell was revealed down below them, its twinkling lights and streaming traffic a glorious feast for her vision. Indeed, they were upon the shoulders of a small mountain rise, with the city sprawling out at their veritable feet by the banks of the river.
“This is lovely,” she whispered, glancing over at the soldier.
As he stood a ways away, he was remote to the point of being removed, his disfigurement hidden in the shadows he had stepped back into. “Fare thee well, Chosen.”
“And you . . . I still know not your name.”
“True enough.” He gave her a half bow. “Good evening.”
With that he was gone, dematerializing away from her.
After a moment, she turned back to the view, and wondered where in the city Manuel was. It would be in the thicket of tall buildings, so going by the bridge’s location, it would be . . . there.
Yes, there.
Lifting her hand, she drew an invisible circle around the tall, thin construction of glass and steel that she was certain was where he lived.
As her chest pained her and she became breathless, she tarried a moment longer and then scattered north and east, toward the Brotherhood’s compound. There was no enthusiasm to the trip, just an abiding obligation to inform her twin that she was in fact alive and unharmed.
When she took form on the stone steps of the vast mansion, she approached the double doors with a strange dread. She was grateful to be back to a home of sorts, but the absence of her male hollowed out any of the joy she should have felt at the reconnections that were to come.
After she rang the bell, the door into the vestibule immediately unlatched and she was able to step out of the night—
The second, inner door was opened even quicker by the smiling butler.
“Madam!” he cried out.
As she entered a foyer that had charmed her from the moment she’d first seen it days ago, she had a brief impression of her shocked twin leaping into the archway of the billiards room.
Brief was all she got of him, however.
Some great force knocked Vishous out of the way so hard he went flying, the glass in his hand popping out of his hold, whatever drink was in it spraying into the air.
Manuel ripped into the foyer, his body surging forth, the expression on his face one of disbelief and terror and relief all at once.
Except it made no sense that he was running toward her, no sense that he was here in the—
He had her in his arms before she could finish the thought, and oh, fate, he smelled the same, that dark spice that was unique to him and him alone flooding her senses. And his shoulders were just as wide as she remembered. And his waist just as lean. And his embrace just as wonderful about her.
His strong body shook as he held her tightly for a moment and then he backed off as if he were afraid he was injuring her.
His eyes were frantic. “Are you all right? What can I do for you? Do you need a doctor? Are you hurt—I’m asking too many questions—I’m sorry. God . . . what happened? Where did you go? Shit, I have to stop . . .”
As romantic reunions went, perhaps those were not the flowery words some females would want to hear, but to her, they meant everything in the world.
“Why ever are you here?” she whispered, putting her hands to his face.