As I navigated my bike around the angry drivers who’d gotten out of their cars, I followed my mark. He darted into the Parisienne Hotel as a group was leaving. I took advantage of them, opening the doors, and drove in, giving a polite thank you as I passed by. The man holding the door openly gaped at me.
If only I’d been wearing a cowboy hat I could tip in his direction.
My target continued to half-run, half-stagger as he looked over his shoulder at me. The sword still hung over his back.
The thought of letting this douche canoe get away with that weapon turned my stomach into a sloshy mess of ice and fear. Grim was death itself, yet that weapon could kill him. The thought of losing him made the frozen anxiety churn, and a sweat broke out on my brow. I couldn’t lose him.
Despite my smooth entrance, the casino floor was jam-packed with gamblers and late-night partiers. I wouldn’t get any farther like this. I parked and shut off the bike. I pushed my hot pink riding glasses up onto my head as Cupcake and I hopped off and started running after him.
No one would get out of my damn way. By the time we chased him to the elevators, the doors closed. In that last second of visibility, the motorcyclist flipped me the bird.
That little fucker.
As annoying as this was, deep down, I was riding a high. Before someone had turned me into a vampire, I was a bounty hunter. Tracking down and chasing skips gave me a thrill, and a purpose. Though that life lay far behind me, the taste of it flooded my mouth as I jumped on the elevator next to the one he’d disappeared on. Cupcake stayed hot on my heels.
Closing my eyes, I focused all my heightened senses on the scent of the motorcyclist.
I sure could have used these bloodhound abilities when I’d been bounty hunting before. In the past, this is where I would have lost him. He could get off any floor of this hotel, and it’d take me far too long to catch up.
But the faint ding of his elevator reached my sensitive ears, and I knew exactly where he’d gotten off.
My lips split into a smile.
The breeze up on the rooftop bar blew cool. I was grateful to be wearing Cookie Monster—my favorite bright blue faux fur coat. Colored lights illuminated the white couches where partygoers lounged. Music bumped through the club inside but faded out on the patio so people could talk. Glass surrounded the outdoor area to serve as protective fencing without obstructing the view.
I didn’t know how the motorcyclist got in, but my name was all but etched into the VIP lists across the strip.
A man in jeans, with ruffled hair, and a gray, sweat-stained shirt, stood at the corner edge of the rooftop bar. I tapped his shoulder.
“Excuse me,” I said. “I think you have something I need.”
He whipped around, his eyes wild with sudden terror. The motorcyclist had shed his helmet and bodysuit somewhere up here. But in doing so, his scent became only stronger, making it easy to pinpoint who he was even though I hadn’t seen him out of his black cycle suit.
Thin-framed, with a long face, he was practically a teenager. He stuck out like a sore thumb in his rumpled clothes, amidst all the popped collars and flashy rhinestone dresses. The smell of vodka, pheromones, and perfume filled the air, while the guy in front of me stank of fear and something strange I couldn’t identify.
Behind him, the crisscross of metal rose into the night. A replica of the Eiffel Tower gave partiers a unique view. He’d trapped himself in this corner, and there was nowhere left for him to run.
“Where is the sword?” I asked, holding out a hand. He must have stowed it away with his helmet and race suit.
The surprise in his eyes flattened as he shook his head.
I dropped my arm. “Listen, the chase was fun while it lasted, but let’s get one thing straight. If someone wants your shit on Craigslist, the polite course of action is actually let them buy it.”
Cupcake gave a little yip of agreement that was positively adorable. Too bad I was the only one who could hear it.
Instead of answering, the guy jumped up onto the ledge, a foot balanced atop the glass partition.
Conversation hushed around me as people nearby took notice. Though they likely thought this was some kind of impromptu Vegas side show.
“Whoa.” I raised my hands. “No need to get dramatic.”
“You cannot stop a god,” he said, matter-of-fact.
I wanted to point out that’s literally what I could do with the sword, but he teetered precariously on the ledge. “Why don’t you come down from there and tell me more,” I suggested in a soothing tone.
He jerked when I took a step forward. I stopped in my tracks, hands held up to reassure him I would stay put. The surrounding crowd watched with fascination.
“What’s your name?” I asked, touching my chest. “Mine is Vivien.”
