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No knife or stake, and his only clothing were tight black pants.
A part of my mind registered that we’d caught him by surprise as I flung up my left arm to block him. Bajoie leapt to my aid, but I was already bringing my switchblade up with my right hand.
“He’s mine,” I growled, and sensed rather than saw Bajoie fall back.
During our fight on the beach, Redbone had had the edge, but now the sun was fully above the horizon. Even a powerful vampire like him was slower, sleepier. This time, the playing field was even—and all things being equal, I’d put my combat skills up against a vampire’s any day.
With a feral grin, I twisted my hand and aimed an underhand blow at the unprotected spot right below his ribcage, drawing first blood. He jerked back, but not before I pressed it up toward his heart. I missed, but a dark stain bloomed on his abdomen, tinging the air with iron.
He growled and touched the wound, his confidence shaken. We eyed each other grimly. I feinted right and he lunged at me.
I was waiting. I punched the knifepoint into his chest, aiming a little to the left to pierce his heart. Blood spurted. I’d hit the widow-maker, the artery that carries fresh blood into the heart. Sever the artery, and the heart stops dead almost immediately.
But Redbone was strong. His hand clamped on mine. “Half-breed bastard.” His fangs glinted, sharp and white, in the dim light.
I thought of how he’d treated Mila—and shoved the blade deeper. “This half-breed,” I snarled, “will see you in Hades.”
His eyes glazed over, and then he slumped forward. I jerked out my blade and let him fall to the concrete.
“That was for Camila,” I said as he stared up at me, dull-eyed. “And this is for me.” I punched the blade into his chest a second time and watched as his skin blackened and began to crumble to ash.
As I cleaned the blade on Redbone’s pants, Isaac Bajoie clapped me on the back. “Nice job, sir.”
Yep, Bajoie definitely hadn’t been a fan of his kapitán.
I grunted in acknowledgment and gestured at our security expert. “Open the damn door.”
He lurched into motion. “Yes, sir.”
As soon as he had it unlocked, I ordered the others to stand back. You never knew if a trap waited on the other side.
Bajoie stepped forward. “Allow me.” The enforcer’s expression was respectful. I understood he was volunteering himself as a guinea pig like a good second would.
I jerked my chin in assent, and he kicked open the door.
Joey Vittore was pressed against the opposite wall, hands clenched, his youthful face haggard. Fear came off him in waves.
The cell was pitch black. The bastards had kept him in the dark.
But he bravely raised his fists, bared his teeth. “Stay back.”
Bajoie took a few steps inside and then gave me a thumbs-up. “It’s clear.”
I was already moving forward. “It’s me,” I told Joey. “Gabriel Kral.”
“Yeah?” he said without dropping his fists.
“We’re here to take you home. Your sister Camila sent me.”
He did a doubletake. “Gabriel? S’that you?” He blinked rapidly, and then lowered his fists and took a wobbly step forward. He grabbed my arm. “You’re not a dream?”
“It’s me.” I urged him out the door. “I’ll explain everything. But first, let’s get the hell out of here.”
He stumbled into the hall and then dug in his heels. His curly black hair was matted against his head and he appeared dazed, with dark smudges beneath his eyes and his pupils enlarged as if he’d been drugged. Even the feeble hall light made him wince and put up a hand to shield his eyes.
My gaze locked on the bite wounds on his throat. The bastards had already started feeding on their new blood slave.
“What about Mila?” he asked hoarsely. “We have to help Mila.”
