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Weeping instantly started from the hallway, followed by scraping sounds as Justina dragged herself into the room.
“I’m alive, but I can’t walk,” she said with a moan.
One of the guns rose a notch. “You’re dead, vampire.”
“Yes, kill him!” Justina sobbed.
“Before you shoot, ask yourselves why a vampire couldn’t catch a human without smashing every stick of furniture in her house first?” Bones said in a calm tone. “I suppose my fangs must be having performance issues, too, and that’s why I struck her instead of bit her, and don’t get me started on why I didn’t just mesmerize her into compliance. Really, Justina,” Bones added, “thetrulysmart move would have been to stab your neck with a meat prong to mimic a vampire bite, and then fake unconsciousness next to the phone you somehow heroically managed to use before you passed out.”
“Fuck you,” Justina snapped, her weak voice now gone.
“He has a point,amigo,” one of the helmeted men said.
Must be Juan Rodriguez, the car thief Cat had plucked from prison three years ago after Juan successfully beat off an attack of no fewer than five inmates. Bones didn’t know how Cat had heard about that, but she’d admired Juan’s fighting skills enough to use her connections and have him join her team.
Anger plumed off the other helmeted man. “I don’t care.”
And this must be Tate. Considering Cat’s picture by his bed, Tate had many reasons to want Bones dead, but he was also former Special Forces. Jealousy or no, soldiers followed orders.
“Pull that trigger only if you’re sure your boss isn’t interested in what I know about Ian,” Bones said lightly.
“Who the fuck is Ian?” Tate snapped.
That’s right, Tate would have only heard the name Liam Flannery-the alias Ian had been going under when Don sent Cat after him.
Bones smiled. “Ask your boss.”
“If he so much astwitches, you light him up,” Tate said, and then walked away a few paces.
“What are you waiting for? Kill him!” Justina urged.
“Cooper, get her outside,” Juan said.
Another helmeted man went to Justina. He only helped her up with one arm, though, leaving his shooting hand free, and he never took his attention off Bones. Well-trained, indeed.
“Yeah, it’sthatvampire,” Tate muttered into a mobile on the other side of the room. “He’s surrendering, but I don’t buy it, and he said something about a vampire named Ian-”
“What?” Don interrupted. “Bring him in. Now.”
“But he beat on Cat’s mother,” Tate began.
“Bring himin,” Don repeated icily.
“Acknowledged,” Tate said after the briefest pause. Then, he hung up and shouted, “Get the capsule!”
Outside, a flurry of sounds commenced. Bones’s lips curled. “Readying my chariot?” he asked sardonically.
Tate’s black visor hid his smile, but Bones heard it in his voice as he said, “Oh yeah, and soon, you’re going towishI’d killed you.”
26
Two hours later, Bones was convinced that Cat hadn’t designed the capsule. Something this vicious could only come from Justina.
Silver spikes speared him through the wrists, thighs, and chest before opening in a hellish version of mini grappling hooks. If he tried to pull free, those hooks would shred him, not that he had the space to pull free. The capsule was filled with dense metal contoured around a man-sized shape, allowing only room for its occupant plus those damnable silver spikes. The jostling from the drive to the compound made it feel like acid poured from those spikes, too. He might know it was only his body’s reaction to silver, but the agony made him wonder.
When the capsule finally opened again, nearly all his blood had drained into the metal grate at his feet. Between that and silver poisoning, he felt sick, weak, and exhausted. Only rage kept him upright when those hooks suddenly folded flat and the spikes retracted back into the wall, releasing him.
Bones looked around. He was in a small room that resembled an airplane hangar, except he was underground. The lack of sound above him told him that.
