Authors: Chloe Neill
Drink Deep (24 page)
He wanted to exterminate them, starting with me.
With the gun pointed at me, I didn’t have a lot of options. I couldn’t grab my cell phone, and calling out for humans within hearing range would only put them in the line of fire. I couldn’t take that risk. With my increased vampire strength, I might be able to best McKetrick in hand-to-hand combat, but he rarely traveled alone. He usually came with a pack of equally brawny guys in unrelieved black, and although I hadn’t seen them yet, I couldn’t imagine they weren’t out there waiting for me.
So I opted to use one of my best talents—stubbornness.
“What exactly do you think taking me out is going to accomplish? You’re only going to piss off vampires and incite humans who don’t want murder in their city.”
McKetrick looked hurt by the accusation. “That’s incredibly naïve. Sure, there may be a few in Chicago who don’t realize the breadth of the vampire problem. But that’s what this is all about. People need something to rally around, Merit. You’re the rallying point.”
“You mean the ashes I’ll become? You know that’s all that will be left, right? A cone of ashes, there on the sidewalk.” I gestured down to the concrete below us. “It’s not as if you’ll be standing over the dead body of a fallen vampire. Believe me—I’ve seen it.”
I said a silent prayer of apology to Ethan’s memory for my callousness, but given the twitch in McKetrick’s jaw, I kept going. “It’ll look more like you emptied a vacuum cleaner than staked a vampire, and that’s not exactly going to make great television. You aren’t even at the front lines.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means there’s a mess of humans outside Cadogan House right now protesting our existence, and the National Guard is on its way. Why aren’t you out there with them? Getting to know them? Recruiting like-minded souls? Oh,” I said, nodding my head. “I get it. You don’t really like people any more than you like vampires. You just like playing the hero. Or what you imagine to be a hero. I personally don’t think genocide is terribly heroic.”
He slapped me across the cheek hard enough to make my head ring, and I immediately tasted blood.
“I will not,” he menacingly said, stepping even closer to me, “let some little fanged bitch turn me from my mission.”
My anger—aided by my knife-edge hunger—began to spread through my limbs in a gloriously warm rush that pushed the chill from my bones.
“Your mission? Your mission is murder, McKetrick, plain and simple. Let’s not forget that. And I’d reckon that what you know about me—or vampires—would fit on the head of a pin.”
“Check the sky,” he said, pushing the barrel of the gun into my chest. “You think that doesn’t have something to do with you?”
“Actually, it has nothing to do with us,” I told him, but spared him the details about the other groups it might have had something to do with. There was no point in putting them on McKetrick’s radar, too.
“How could it not have something to do with you? What else could be responsible for this?”
“Global warming?” I suggested. “Have you recycled today?”
That earn="3mbs ied me a punch in the stomach that put me on the wet ground on my knees. I coughed a little, exaggerating the injury. It had definitely hurt—but not that bad. I think he’d pulled his punch a little at the end. Maybe punching a “fanged bitch” was harder than giving her a good slap across the face. His thinking I was more delicate than I actually was only worked to my advantage.
“You’re a sadist,” I spat out.
“No,” he patiently said, “I’m a realist. You make me violent. You make me fight a war I shouldn’t have to fight.”
“Blaming the victim is so last year,” I told him. I braced for a kick, but nothing came. Instead, he crouched down on his knees, his brows furrowed in concern.
“You don’t understand.”
“I do. You’re an egoist, and you think you know more than anyone else in Chicago. But really, McKetrick, you’re an ignorant coward. You’re fighting to take away our rights, and we’re the ones trying to solve the problem. Your ego has blinded you. I feel sorry for you, actually.”
That was apparently the end of his patience. He stood up again, stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled. Two men in black fatigues ran toward us. One pointed another wide-barreled gun at me, while the other wrenched me to my feet and pulled my arms behind my back.
I cursed him—loudly—and stomped on his foot, but McKetrick’s barrel at my chin was a pretty good deterrent for more violence.
“Put her in the vehicle,” McKetrick said. “We’ll take her back to the facility.”
Seeing “the facility” would definitely help me close McKetrick’s operations, but it seemed unlikely I’d ultimately survive the visit. Getting into that car was a death sentence, so I fought with all my might. I squirmed in the goon’s arms, and as he struggled to keep me upright, shifted my weight and kicked out at McKetrick’s gun. It flew from his hand. He immediately went after it.
The goon’s grip loosened in the chaos, and with a quick back kick to the jewels and a low roundhouse that connected squarely, I put him flat on his back.
“That’s one of my favorite moves,” I told him, thinking of a conversation Ethan and I’d had. Too bad I was fighting this one solo.
“Get her,” McKetrick said, having plucked up the gun a few feet away and begun walking back to me, arms outstretched.
I turned to run and ran squarely into goon number two. I looked up at him, smiled a little, and offered another below-the-belt kick. This one was smart enough to anticipate the move. He blocked it, but he wasn’t the first man who’d blocked one of my kicks. I ducked a punch, and while I was down pounded a fist into his shin. When he hopped in pain, I jumped up and executed a picture-perfect crescent kick that put him on the ground.
That was two goons on the ground with well-executed kicks, but I didn’t even have time to enjoy the victory before a jab to my kidney put me on the ground again.
I looked behind me.
McKetrick stood there, gun outstretched, arm shaking with obvious fury.
“I have
had
it with you,” he said, trigger finger shaking.
had
it with you,” he said, trigger finger shaking.
After being beaten down by Celina on another rainy night, I’d made a promise to myself. So I stood up and gazed back at him, forcing myself to look calm—and locking my legs skin>
“If you’re going to stake me,” I told him, “you’ll do it while looking me in the eye.” I prepared myself for the shock: to feel the sharp sting of splinters if he happened to miss my heart, or to lose myself completely if his aim was true. I was brave enough to admit that either end was a possibility.
He extended the gun toward my chest, just above my heart.
I tried one final ploy. “I appreciate this, you know.”
I watched him fight the urge, but he still asked the question. “Appreciate what?”
“What you’re doing.” I took a miniscule step forward, pushing my chest into the muzzle of the gun. “Making me a martyr. I mean, I get that you’ll have to make up some tale about how I tried to hurt you and you saved the city of Chicago from me.” I lowered my voice a bit. “But the supernaturals will know, McKetrick. The vampires. The shifters. They like me. And they won’t believe you.”
I stood up on tiptoes and looked him in the eye. “They’ll
find
you.”
find
you.”
Funny thing about anger—it could help you, or it could hurt you. It could ruin your composure, and make you blink.
McKetrick blinked.
“You bitch,” he said, teeth gritted. “I will not let you ruin this city.” The gun wavered, shaking in his hand just a bit. I took the opportunity, striking up beneath the gun and pushing it out of his hand. It flew through the air and skittered across the concrete.
He dived for it.
I could give credit where credit was due: McKetrick was bigger and brawnier than me. But I was faster.
I got there before he did, scraped fingers against asphalt to ensure the gun was safely in hand, and by the time he reached me, turned it on him.
His eyes widened. “You are ruining this city.”
“Yeah, you said that. I’d like to point out, though, that vamps aren’t pulling over civilians and threatening them, nor are we pointing guns in their faces.”
He growled, spit out a few more curses, and moved to his knees. “Does this make you feel powerful? With me down on my knees before you like some sycophantic human?”
“No. And you know why not?” I gave him a pistol-whipping to the temple that put him on the ground and knocked him out cold. “Because I’m not you.”
I closed my eyes just for a moment—just for a moment to breathe—and then opened them again at the sound of squealing tires.
I looked back. The two goons had disappeared, and the black SUV was peeling down the street.
“So much for loyalty,” I muttered, then looked down at McKetrick and around the neighborhood. The bus stop was a few yards away, but the eastern sky was beginning to lighten. I didn’t have much time, so I was going to need backup.
Lightning still flashing around us, I dragged McKetrick into the bus stop and propped him up against the bench. I pulled out my phone.
Catcher answered with a question. “What do you want, Merit?”
That entire house was testy this week, and I was beginning to reach the end of my patience with the Bell/Carmichael clan. Still, I had work to do.
I gaveizety him my address. “If you can get here fast enough, you’ll find McKetrick in the bus stop, out cold.”
“McKetrick?” he asked, his voice suddenly suffused with a lot less snark. “What happened?”
“He and two of his goons surprised me in the Loop. Same song and dance about hating vampires and wanting them out of Chicago. But with a really bad twist. He has, or at least claims to have, aspen bullets. I managed to grab one of his guns, but not his goons, who took off. He also mentioned he has some kind of facility. I’m hoping he’ll give you some details.”
“That would be helpful. You interested in pressing charges against him for assault and battery?”
“Only if it’s necessary to keep him locked up.”
“Shouldn’t be,” Catcher said. “If you’ll recall, we’re no longer affiliated with the city. This is just a couple of guys having a friendly conversation off the record. Funny how the Constitution is no longer an issue.”
Maybe not, but that didn’t mean my grandfather couldn’t still end up in hot water for kidnapping. “That’s your call. But I don’t know how long he’s going to be out, and since the city’s going to start stirring pretty soon, you might want to give Detective Jacobs a heads-up. You don’t want a random CPD uniform finding him before you get here.”
Jacobs knew my grandfather, and had interrogated me after a dose of V, the drug Tate manufactured for vampires, had turned the Cadogan House bar into a deadly mosh pit. Jacobs was cautious and detail oriented, and he was honestly on the side of truth and justice. There weren’t a lot of people like that around anymore, so I’ll deemed him an ally.
“I’ll float the idea to Chuck, see which direction he wants to take. I know he wants to stay on the good side of the CPD, but there’s something to be said for testing this newfound freedom the mayor has given us.”
I heard the sounds of shuffling. “We’re leaving now,” he added. “Should be there in twenty.”
“It’s nearly dawn, so I’m heading back to the House. And speaking of your newfound freedom, any luck arranging a second meeting with Tate?”
“I’m working on it. I’m cashing in the political capital we’ve got, but the bureaucrats are greedy. Kowalczyk’s made them nervous. I’ll let you know tomorrow night.”
“I would appreciate it. Hey—while I’ve got you on the phone, hav
e you ever smelled anything weird around Tate?”
e you ever smelled anything weird around Tate?”
“I make it a habit not to smell politicians or convicts.”
“I’m serious. Whenever I’m around him, I smell lemon and sugar. And a little while ago, after the downpour, I smelled it again—like there was some sort of similar magic flowing from the rain. Like he’d been involved in it somehow.”
“We got a little rain out here, but I didn’t smell anything. I wouldn’t put a lot of stock in smells. Besides, Tate’s locked up. What could he do?”
So he said. I knew there was something in it, but I let it go. “Take care. Be gentle with our soldier.”
“Not that he deserves it,” Catcher said, and he hung up the call.
The edge of the sky now searing yellow, I put the phone away again and left McKetrick in his bus stop, looking like a partygoer who’d had a little too much fun.
Lucky him.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE BEST PART OF WAKING UP . . . IS TYPE A IN YOUR CUP
I
called Kelley on the way to give her an update about McKetrick and reached the House a bit too close to dawn for comfort. I ran from my car into the House, only barely realizing in my sun-fed exhaustion that the protestors had quieted, no doubt thanks to the two dozen camouflaged members of the National Guard who stood at equal points around the fence.
called Kelley on the way to give her an update about McKetrick and reached the House a bit too close to dawn for comfort. I ran from my car into the House, only barely realizing in my sun-fed exhaustion that the protestors had quieted, no doubt thanks to the two dozen camouflaged members of the National Guard who stood at equal points around the fence.
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