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My companion easily kept her balance, even crouched on the floor as she was. The too-big hoodie hid her upper body, but her legs were long and strong and supple. The legs of a dancer—or a black belt.
The heavy dark hair had fooled me into thinking she was older, but now I could see it was probably a wig. The color didn’t fit her roses-and-cream complexion. Her real hair must be lighter—blond or even red.
And she was younger than I’d first thought—around my own age, twenty-seven.
Behind my back, I twisted my wrists, trying to work them out of the plastic cuffs. The blond asshole had cinched them good and tight.
“Who are you with? The Paris Syndicate?” It didn’t make sense, because Paris was one of my father’s allies, and besides, she had an American accent, but it was the only explanation my foggy brain could come up with.
A shake of her head.
I strained at the cuffs again, this time trying to break them apart. “Not the Paris Syndicate, then,” I said to distract her. “The Fuentes?”
The Fuentes Syndicate had started in Chile, then crept north, first into Central America, then Mexico. Now it was trying to expand into the United States, including the Kral Syndicate territory on the East Coast.
She didn’t bother to respond, just stared at me, playing with that damn switchblade.
Snick, snick.
I felt in my back pocket for my phone. My last call had been to my older brother Gabriel in New York. If I pressed Send, he’d guess something was wrong when he answered and heard me speaking to a strange woman.
“I have it.” Snick, snick.
“Have what?”
“Your phone.”
Damn. I closed my eyes and shifted against the wall of the van to ease the strain on my shoulders. It didn’t work.
I opened my eyes again. “What’s your name, anyway?” I didn’t expect an answer, but once again she surprised me.
“Reaper.” A feral smile. “They call me Reaper.”
Ohh-kay.
“Well, Reaper, what’s this about? You haven’t staked me, so I’m guessing it’s money.”
“Yet.” Snick, snick. “I haven’t staked you yet.”
This time her smile was enough to shrivel my balls, but I was damned if I’d let her see it. “So it’s about money?”
A shrug. “Don’t ask me. I’m just the hired help.”
Like hell she was. That operation had been too smooth. And tranquilizers that could knock out a dhampir weren’t that easy to find.
They had to have made me as a Kral. I’d been too exhausted for my glamour to fool anyone but a human. So why kidnap me? My best guess was they planned to extort a ransom from my dad.
Hell. Father was going to be pissed off. Bad enough that I spent all my free time working for human aid organizations instead of his syndicate, but now I’d allowed myself to be kidnapped.
Reaper pulled off the wig and shoved it into the front pocket of her hoodie, then removed the sunglasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose.
I gaped at her. Her real hair was a bright, silky platinum. She had a heart-shaped face and large gray eyes fringed with dark, curly lashes.
Holy Dark Lady. I’d been abducted by a long-legged, badass sprite.
Her mouth bent down. She shoved the sunglasses back onto her face. “Take a picture, why don’t you?”
“I would,” I growled, “if I had my phone.”
