AllFreeNovel
Share Us
As she waved them off, she zipped the receipts into a cash bag. Locking the door after the two girls, Manuel already having left, she carried the bag into the office to stash in the little safe. Out of habit, her enhanced senses registered their cars starting, the parking lot emptying.
Five minutes later, she felt him.
Laurent had taken her blood, part of an overlord's right and a way of monitoring her specific whereabouts within a certain geographical range. While she didn't have the same ability, never having tasted his blood, a vampire always sensed the proximity of another vampire. There was only one who could be coming to these doors.
Forcing herself to finish putting the money away, she took a deep breath. Whatever happens, I just have to get through it. That's all.
She strode back into the main saloon, to the entry doors. He wouldn't knock. He knew she knew he was there. Did he expect her to cower, to try to run? She wouldn't do that. She'd made her choice. It was all public now, in process with the Region Masters.
She made damn sure her hands didn't shake as she unlocked the door, though things quaked deep inside. As she pushed open the double panels, no one appeared to be there, but she left them wide open and went back to the bar. While she waited for him to make his predictably dramatic entrance, she mixed his favorite drink, set it on the bar. Then she came back around and stood before it. She wouldn't hide from him.
He came out of the darkness just like in a horror movie. Not there, then suddenly there. He could have been across the parking lot and moved that fast. He didn't have to pretend to be a nightmare though. He was her worst nightmare, about to come true.
She stood erect, hands at her sides curled into fists to steady herself. Her heart beat erratically and her stomach was a bundle of knots, but she projected a calm she didn't feel.
Laurent looked exactly as she remembered him--tall and lean. Not Dix's leanness, sunbaked hardness from ranch work. More like a slender, refined knife blade. Appearance didn't matter, however, when it came to vampire strength. Even the weakest vampire could practically tear a building off its foundations, and Laurent was nowhere near the weakest.
His razor-cut black hair just touched the collar of his silk turtleneck, every strand perfectly in place. The jacket of his custom-tailored suit was open, the gray fabric moving with his body. The diamond in the pinky ring he always wore winked in the low light of the bar. If not for the rage so visible on his face and blazing from his black, black eyes, he could have posed for an ad campaign for a successful New Yorker.
One step behind him was Claudio, his servant. Laurent never moved without the exceptionally beautiful male, who had tawny-brown eyes, sensuous lips and black hair that fell in waves from his brow and to his collar. His physique--toned body, tight ass--complemented Laurent's similar vampire perfection. But what made her blood run cold were the two vampires with him, Ernesto and Mike. Both dressed in black, they looked like the personal security force they were. Both men bore a crescent scar on one cheek, marked by Laurent's blood so that when he'd carved it there it would be permanent. Usually, that only worked on servants, but Laurent had done it over and over until it became permanent.
Whatever either male had done to him, it had earned them the sentence of always being under his thumb, following his every order. Perhaps at one time they'd been decent souls, but he'd chosen well. They'd embraced the sociopathic personality of their Master and executed his most brutal wishes without hesitation or emotion.
While ostensibly Laurent used them for general security at the bar with his human patrons, they did his enforcement work with vampires in his territory. That way Laurent could choose a la carte which torments he handled personally and which ones he could watch.
Ernesto turned the deadbolt in the door and took up a stance in front of it, as if they thought she might try to bolt through it. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction. Ernesto had the look of a sleek Hispanic undertaker, his eyes deep set in his smooth brown face, mouth a thin line. Mike, his thick tail of auburn hair a straight line down his broad back, walked to the rear of the bar, disappearing down that hallway to verify that door was locked as well.
Her attention snapped from that to Laurent, who'd stepped forward, bringing him within a foot from her. The hatred in his expression drilled holes in her body.
"Hello, Laurent." She was surprised there wasn't a hint of a tremor in her voice, because inside the shaking was getting worse. Far worse.
"So proud. You'd have done better to let your fear show, Selene. Shown some humility."
His arm moved so swiftly it was a blur, his hand cracking across her face with the force of a wooden board. It spun her around, making her hit the bar, but fortunately she'd left his drink out of range. It shook but didn't spill a drop. Why that made her want to bark out a hysterical laugh, she didn't know.
She pressed her lips together, sealing in any cry of pain. Straightened to face him again.
"You betrayed me, bitch."
Crack! He struck her other cheek. He probably thought of this one as more of a love tap since he snapped her head back, rocked her on her heels, but she was still on her feet. The pain sang through her nerve endings, preparing her for more to come.
"What? No argument here?" His lip curled with disdain. "No excuses? No pitiful explanations?"
She didn't have the energy to spare for them. Excesses of pain or fear could shatter the mindshields of a younger vampire. Quinn wasn't far enough away. If he felt her fear or pain, he could be back on his plane and at her door within an hour or two, and she had no idea if Laurent was going to make this an all-night torture session. Quinn couldn't be allowed to feel her distress. She didn't want him anywhere near this.
Running her tongue over her split bottom lip, she tasted her own blood. She knew it wouldn't matter what she said to Laurent anyway. He'd come here with an agenda and nothing she did or said would make a difference.
"I took care of you. I saw to your welfare. I made sure you had a roof over your head and proper training."
"No." The word was out of her mouth before she could stop it. She felt the sparks snap from her eyes. "You used me, Laurent. I was a hard worker, running that bar for you. You left me with nothing for myself."
God, she was so stupid. This time he used his fist, making contact with her nose. The impact drove her to the floor, her head smacking against the base of the bar. The crunch of cartilage came with a lightning bolt of agonizing pain, more blood. Dizziness washed over her and she swallowed against the nausea surging to her throat.
"Get up." His voice was like the crack of a whip. "Now."
Breathing unevenly, she rose to her feet, clumsy and awkward. She was barely upright before his fist connected with the side of her head, more forceful than the previous blows. Her head hit the rim of the bar this time, the force of it driving her into an awkward heap on the floor again. The blood ran freely from her nose. Forcing her gaze upward, she saw Laurent staring down at her, his hatred and thirst for vengeance blazing even more brightly.
He kicked her, sending a lightning bolt of pain through her kneecap. "You ran away. Ungrateful bitch. After I gave you everything."
She bit back a cry, but not a retort. "You made...me...a slave."
Why couldn't she just keep her mouth shut, take her punishment and crawl away to heal? Why did she have to goad him this way? Butch had warned her to take her punishment and move on, hadn't he?
"Death is often the punishment for runaways." He prodded the damaged kneecap again. "It's an unforgiveable disloyalty. And for what?" He looked around the bar with disdain. "A hole-in-the-wall hangout for the great unwashed? In a lowlife place like Texas? I gave you the sophistication of New York and you threw it back at me."
Death. His words stabbed her with fear, but not for herself. Oh God. If Laurent killed her, Quinn would drop wherever he was, his heart stopping, his life force connected to hers. She'd done that to him.
With every ounce of will she had, she forced herself to stay silent. To do or say anything could seal Quinn's fate. Keep silent, she told herself. He's bluffing. He enjoys torture too much. Death takes all the fun away from him. He hadn't killed the one he'd tortured in front of her, all that time ago, though she remembered the vampire had begged for death before it was all over. She'd say she'd die before she gave Laurent the s
atisfaction, but...
"So brave. Not a word out of her." He cast a look at his three minions before shooting his gaze back down at her. "Maybe you want the mercy of death. But you know me far better than that. Death would not be nearly painful enough for you, nor would it give me enough satisfaction. Plus the Region Masters tend to whine if we take choices away from them."
He snapped his fingers at Claudio. The servant, his expression impassive, reached beneath his coat and drew a knife from a scabbard. The long blade reflected the faint light from the ceiling fixtures. Though that should have captured her full attention, Selene found her eyes drawn to Claudio's face instead. Did he and Laurent share the bond she and Quinn did, that emotional closeness? She didn't see how it was possible. Laurent was far too much of a sociopath. She'd have pitied Claudio, except like most servants, his choice to become a vampire's servant was a willing one. Sometimes she'd found his near constant silence even more chilling than Laurent's self-serving monologues.
Laurent drew the flat of the blade across his open palm in a lover's caress, once, twice, three times. From her ungainly position on the floor Selene stared up at him, her heart thumping. Was he planning to carve his initials on her back as he'd done to that other unfortunate vampire? Mark it over and over with his own blood, like he had the scars on Ernesto's and Mike's faces? She'd skin herself before she'd let herself be marked with his name forever.
"Lift that piece of rubbish up," he snapped.
Mike and Ernesto hauled her upright. She tried to plant her feet but her wrecked knee hurt so badly she couldn't put any weight on it. She simply hung there, suspended between the two thugs.
"Strip her," Laurent ordered.
Rough hands tore her dress from her body, tossing the remnants aside before ripping away her flimsy lingerie. Pretty things she'd worn even though Quinn wasn't going to be here tonight. She'd anticipated talking to him before dawn, taunting him with what she was wearing, perhaps bringing herself to climax for him while denying him the right to touch himself on the other side of the phone until she commanded it.
The air scraped over her as she was stripped, making her flesh go cold. Why being raped by Laurent horrified her more deeply than anything else, she didn't know. Maybe because all she could think of was Quinn inside her body, his hands moving with such care over her, even at the point of his most violent need.
