Bled Dry (32 page)

Hurling his overcoat at him, she whirled around and tossed back over her shoulder, “Oh, and by the way, I told Donatelli he’s my father so that he would have an interest in saving me from Gregor. It worked, but now I have no idea what he’ll do with that information.”

Wonderful. Just
fantastique
.

Using his coat, he wiped the blood off his sword, and followed her down three flights of stairs to the elevator, suddenly feeling like a naughty schoolboy.

Arms folded over her middle, she stared up at the elevator numbers and gave little huffs and sighs of impatience.

Corbin could not tolerate the ridiculousness of their silence. “Brittany.” He wrapped his arms around her, bloody sword under his coat and all. “I was terrified they would harm you. I am so glad you are safe.” Leaning into her, he breathed deeply the scent of her body, her hair, and kissed her temple. It was calming to hold her, and he closed his eyes, pulled her closer. “I love you. It amazes me how much.”

“I love you, too,” she whispered, stroking her fingers lightly across his arms.

“I do not know what I would do if something happened to you.”

“Nothing happened to me.”

“I know. And nothing will as long as I have breath.” The elevator dinged at the first floor. “Now let’s find your sister so you can go home and relax. I have to check on Chechikov.”

Turning, she frowned. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“What stupid? What are you talking about? I’m just going to see if he is dead.” He covered the sword with his overcoat as they stepped off the elevator, knowing the Bellagio security would find it fascinating that a pregnant woman had shown up on their elevator cameras standing next to a sword suspended in midair. They would probably wonder if the building was haunted.

“Don’t provoke him. You won. Leave it at that. There’s no reason to pick another fight with him.”

There it was again. That implication that he could not win in a battle. He tried not to lose his temper. “Go with Alexis and sleep. I can handle Chechikov.”

She shook her head with a soft smile. “Boys.”

Kissing her forehead, he put a hand on her tight belly. “Girls.” He saw her sister pacing anxiously by a seating group of sofas in the lobby. “Now there is Alexis. Go.”

“Fine.” She went with a wave and a last admonishment. “Be careful!”

“Yes, yes.” Corbin picked his way through the casino and out a back door marked for employees. It took several minutes to find the loading dock that Chechikov had dropped down onto. Fortunately, there wasn’t a lot of activity in that area at night. The truck seemed to be parked in the loading dock waiting for the next shift to unload. Putting his coat back on, Corbin jumped up on the fender, and leaped onto the roof. He could see Chechikov lying on top and knew immediately he was still alive. He could hear his heart beating, the noisy rattle of his labored breathing as he moved in closer.

The neck wound was healing, but his eyes were glazed with pain, his arm bent at an odd angle. Corbin did not want to kill him, because he was certain that would not sit well with the tribunal. Also, he was not entirely sure how Brittany would react to that. But he knew leaving Gregor to recover would be dangerous. There would be nothing then to prevent him from abducting Brittany or the baby at a later date.

“Atelier,” Chechikov said, struggling to sit up.

“Chechikov. I see you have suffered no permanent damage from your clumsy tumble,” Corbin said, feeling not a single ounce of pity for him.

Gregor gave up the effort and fell onto his back. “Rot in hell. Go and leave me alone to heal. You won’t kill me, I know you won’t. You are too soft, like Carrick. Even like Donatelli.” Gregor closed his eyes briefly, then opened them and locked gazes with Corbin. “And when you have forgotten all about me, and you’re living your charmed, self-important life, with your pretty little mortal girlfriend, I’ll come for her. And when I’m done with her, after I’ve raped her over and over, taken her blood, broken her bones, forced her into submission on her knees, my cock in her mouth, she’ll wish she were dead. But I won’t kill her. I’ll play with her, torment her, until I’ll leave a knife out or maybe a gun and she’ll kill herself rather than have to suffer one more minute. And the whole time she’ll wonder where is my lover? Why won’t he save me? Corbin, Corbin... ” Gregor mocked, his voice a high-pitched imitation. He sneered. “But you’ll never find her, not until her body is filled with rot, and the vultures have pecked out her eyes.”

Corbin wanted to kill Gregor, take his head off with one slick swipe of his sword. He could do it, and Gregor wouldn’t be able to defend himself. But that was too good for the bastard. So he sat down next to Chechikov, calmly, coldly, and listened to him hiss and spit his threats, his vile promises. Corbin said nothing, but stared out behind the Bellagio at the labyrinth of Dumpsters and employee parking lots, the reality behind the illusion of the casino, and waited.

And when he saw that Chechikov’s neck had healed sufficiently, and he was starting to move restlessly on the truck, testing his healing bones, Corbin reached into his overcoat and pulled out his portable lab kit that he carted everywhere. The kit in which he had stored his triumph, his vaccine. Loading a syringe, he plunged the needle into the vial and withdrew the clear liquid.

Gregor was coughing, but still managed to say, “What the fuck are you doing, you French pussy?”

Corbin turned and ripped Gregor’s sleeve up. There was a plump, rich vein hovering right at the surface of his inner elbow. Waiting for him. Perfect. This was the best solution, the most logical way to protect Brittany and the baby.

So he pricked Gregor with the needle, and injected him with the vaccine that would suppress his vampirism virus and essentially return him to mortal.

“Have a nice, long recovery, Gregor,” he said, tucking the syringe back in the carrying case. “And stay the hell away from my girlfriend.”

He walked away with Gregor’s groans of agony ringing in his ears.

Ringo only vaguely remembered entering the Ava, Carrick’s casino. He had been flying at the Bellagio after he had picked up the girl for Donatelli, but it was vague after that. He thought maybe he had slept, and he’d woken with a serious erection and an anvil of guilt pressing down on him.

So he must have decided to look for Kelsey, and when he hadn’t found her at the Hilton—in fact, had discovered she’d paid their bill and checked them out—the Ava had seemed the logical place to look next. But he had gotten distracted by the blackjack table, and the fact that he had cash in his pocket from the job.

It wasn’t with a lot of surprise, though, that he saw his wife slide into the chair next to him, her lips in a straight, angry line. She always had a way of turning up.

“Hey, babe,” he said, giving her a smile. She really was pretty, his wife, her hair glossy and smooth, complexion flawless. “I was looking for you.”

“Obviously very hard,” she said.

Was that sarcasm? Kelsey didn’t do that tone with him. Ringo didn’t like the frown on her face so he nudged her with his knee and smiled.

“This is where we first met,” he said, throwing his hand out so far, he accidentally hit the woman next to him. “Sorry.” He leaned back toward Kelsey. “Isn’t that romantic?”

“How much did you have?”

Six, maybe seven glasses. He wasn’t sure, really. And it was better not to piss her off when he was feeling friendly, horny, ready to make nice. “Not much. And that was an accident.”

With a sigh, she glanced at the table. “I have a room upstairs. Are you going to come to bed?”

Hell, yeah. “Deal,” he told the dealer.

The card was flipped. “Over. House wins.”

Ringo saluted him. “Have a good night.” He lifted his cigarette out of his ashtray and smiled at Kelsey. “Lead the way, babe.”

She didn’t speak to him the whole way to the elevator, and her silence bothered him. Kelsey wasn’t the silent type. “Okay, I screwed up, is that what you want me to say? I’m sorry. Really, really sorry.”

As they waited for the doors to open, he threw his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. “Give me a break, Kels.” He loved the way the lights bounced and swam when he was on a trip, and he could have sworn there was a halo of light around Kelsey’s head. A fucking halo. He tried to lick it, but there was nothing there.

“What are you doing?” she said, swatting at him.

He laughed, feeling good, so damn good, he didn’t even understand it. “I love you, you know, you make me crazy, but shit, I love you. It’s like you and me, we’re both such fuck-ups we belong together.”

With a small smile, she said, “I resemble that.”

That made him laugh again, loud and full, and he gave her a nudge forward when the elevator opened. “What floor’s our room on... ”

Ringo’s laughter died out. In the mirror in front of them on the back wall of the elevator, he couldn’t see either one of them, just the potted plant on the console table behind them. Just the plant and his brother Kyle.

“Holy shit.” Ringo swung around but there was nothing there.

Looking forward, there was Kyle again, watching him steadily, carefully, not smiling. The elevator doors started to slide shut, bumping into him.

“What?” Kelsey asked.

Shaking his head, Ringo moved forward, letting the door close. He blinked hard. “Shit. Bad trip.”

That was all it was. Nothing more.

When Brittany woke up, she noticed two things immediately. She had slept for fourteen hours, since the clock in the guest room at her sister’s apartment read 2 p.m., and Corbin was sitting in a charcoal-colored overstuffed chair next to the bed, watching her.

“
Bonjour.
How are you feeling?”

“Stiff. Thirsty.” She smiled up at him, stretching her arms over her head. “But fine. How are you? All in one piece still, that’s good.”

“Yes, all in one piece.” Reaching a long arm, he brushed her hair back off her face. “We need to talk.”

That sounded ominous. “Okay.” Propping the bed pillows behind her, she sat up and fixed the straps on her tank top. He looked serious, and tired. He probably hadn’t even been to bed yet himself.

“Gregor is no longer a threat.”

“He’s dead?” Brittany wasn’t sure how she felt about that. There should be remorse, pity for a man who had become so twisted, but she had a hard time dredging up any sympathy.

“No. Not dead. But taken care of.” He moved over to the bed and sat on the dove gray sheet next to her thighs. “I do not want you to worry about him.”

Well, that was illuminating. If he thought she was going to leave it at that, he had forgotten what century they were in. She wasn’t the delicate little miss who couldn’t take the truth. But before she could argue the point, he continued.

“And Donatelli, in order to save his own ass, and to protect both himself and you from Gregor, has joined your brother-in-law’s political campaign. He understands that he is to have no contact whatsoever with you or the baby.”

“What?” Brittany didn’t consider herself up on vamp politics, but she’d been forced to learn enough to know that Donatelli had previously been Ethan’s opponent, and he had lobbied for population growth, something Ethan didn’t support. “Why the hell would he join Ethan’s campaign? Why would Ethan let him do that?”

“Because Gregor is still running against Carrick, and he has something of a celebrity status in the Nation. Sort of like an Oprah of the vampires. With Donatelli on his side, he had the potential to win. But with Donatelli switching camps, going over to a sworn enemy, everyone will be suspicious of Chechikov. And together, Carrick and Donatelli make a powerful statement of unity. Everyone—Impures, ancients, conservatives—is happy.”