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Not that he needed MF’s approval, but it did him no good to go without it either. This mission was difficult enough without having to listen to his team—errr…the idiots who followed him—whining all the time.
He went on, “I will have Pet drop this note and my offering outside the vampire’s lair. She will be in no danger if she does as I say.” Pet had been instructed to fly fifty feet above the entrance to the vampire’s cave and then release the package. The vampire wouldn’t even know she was there.
“I don’t like it.” MF shook her head.
“We don’t either, man,” Bonbon said, licking his tiny furry balls swinging back and forth.
“Must you?” Damien winced.
“Mustyoukeep asking that question?” Bonbon replied.
Damien zipped up his backpack beside MF on the bed. “If anyone else has a better idea, let me know. If not, shut the hell up.”
“Give him your Armani,” Gorgonzolina piped up. “If you really want to win him over, go all in.”
“I’m not giving him my emergency travel Armani,” Damien protested. “That suit cost fifteen thousand dollars, not to mention the custom tailoring, mother-of-pearl cufflinks I found specifically to match that shade of black, and the gray scarf made from four-week-old angora rabbits, woven by an old woman with the softest, most dexterous fingers known to man. The ensemble is priceless.” Also, he never went anywhere without a spare suit. One would be surprised how often they came in handy.
Pet, MF, and the two demons stared with contempt.
Why the fuck was everyone glaring at him? They knew he loved his suits. Just like he loved convertible automobiles, the wind in his thick hair, expensive scotch, and cheap Chinese food. A man needed his comforts, not because he was fussy, but because he was immortal and needed something to look forward to.
MF stared, her eyes flinching with disapproval. “Do you or don’t you love Willa and Sky?”
“I love no one. I never have. I never will.”
God damn, tailor. You are so pathetic. Not willing to kill. Not willing to love. Not willing to give up your travel suit. Stand for something, brother. Anything. Or move the hell over and let me drive. Because I fuckinguaranteeyou, I’ll stand. I’ll slice, chop, choke, and butcher, too. Five in one, baby!
Damien drew a slow breath. They were all ganging up, attempting to emotionally manipulate him.
But here were the facts: that ascot was silk. One of a kind. Dyed with Pompeian ash spewed in 79 AD. It was said that when the fabric shimmered in the moonlight, you could see your death. He’d never witnessed such a thing, but any gentleman worth his salt would know that the ascot was the finest this world had to offer.
If Damien gave up his suit now, along with the ascot, what would be left to bargain with? A sex fairy, two smelly Chihuahuas, and an ex-vampire?
“I will throw in my travel scarf just so he knows I mean business,” Damien said, pulling it from his backpack. “But the suit stays here as a possible bargaining chip.” He rolled the note inside the ascot and scarf and handed them to Pet. “Pet, I mean it. You go, you drop, you return. No detours to mushroom patches, no stopping to make out with tropical flowers because they remind you of vaginas, and absolutely no talking to that vampire. Got it? Because if you fail, it will cost Sky her life. You like Sky. She’s your friend, remember?”
Pet nodded.
“Good. Off you go.” He opened the hut’s door, and Pet fluttered off.
“What was in the note?” MF asked.
“The truth.”
“You told him Cimil’s going to murder your two exes?” Bonbon asked.
“Yes. Also, if he did not help me, and they died because of it, I would personally invest in building an amusement park on his doorstep. Also, I offered him some new suits if he came to LA.”
“Do you think this is going to work?” MF asked.
“All the man must do is visit Cimil, make a few vampires, and then he can return to his cave. What is there to think about?”
Of course, there was only one issue: Damien had no clue why the vampire was hiding out in the jungle to begin with. Made bargaining a little difficult.
“So is it normal that the men eat alone?” Damien asked as Brutus turned the wild boar roasting on a spit over a large fire. Meanwhile, the women were up the hill, gathered around a massive bonfire, eating their dinner.
“Trust me,” Brutus said, “you don’t want to get anywhere near them when they eat. They turn feral.”
The other ex-soldiers around the fire nodded in agreement.
