Hell's Belle (3 page)

CHAPTER 3

"So do you always require police protection, or was tonight just for my benefit?" Max teased me as we stepped into the frigid night.

I inhaled the cold air, taking it deep into my lungs. "It's never that exciting at Babe's. Tonight was definitely weird."

"Well you proved you can hold your own in a bar fight," Max said, rubbing at his jaw.

"Yeah, but drunks and junkies are easy to bounce." I tried to sound casual but I was sure he could hear my racing heart.

"What did he say to you back there? It didn't sound English." Max looked at me, curiosity mixed with uncertainty, like he wasn't sure I was telling the truth. Which, you know, I wasn't.

I shrugged. "Pig Latin?" God, I was not up for this conversation.

I stopped short and stared into the shadows across the street. Marcello was there. I could sense him, even though I couldn't see him.

"You see something?" Max gripped my arm and followed my gaze.

"Nothing.
Nothing at all. Just a little spooked," I said giving Max my best brilliant smile.

I made my way down the hill that Babe's was perched on, with Max close behind me. The sound of loud music came from a bar that was tucked down a side street.

"Funny, of all the bars for a junkie to hit..." Max stared at the other bar, clearly a better mark for a robbery, with its location off the main drag.

"Drugs make '
em stupid," I said with a shrug. "So what's an FBI guy doing at a dive bar anyway?" I hoped to divert the conversation.

"Trying to take a break from crime scenes," he quipped.

"Clearly you weren't very successful at that," I retorted.

"Very observant," he countered.

I knew Marcello was lurking behind us. We had to get out of there, and my ride was right in front of us.  

I laid a smile on him and unstrapped the helmet from the bike. "Put this on." I shoved it into his hands.

Max's jaw dropped at my custom Triumph. It took my best friend and partner Frankie months of intricate fabrication to get this bike into fighting shape. The 2007 Bonneville base was stripped bare of non-essential hardware, keeping it light. With its low-to-ground profile and black-on-black paint job, it was stealth. Now it was one sick ride.

"I bet I can beat your FBI-issued Suburban in a street drag," I said with a grin. I mounted the bike, turning the key in the ignition. The engine purred. "Get on."

“You’re joking, right?” He crossed his arms across his chest and gave me a withering look.

“I don’t joke about my Triumph.” I patted the rear seat.

“You landed on your head back there.” He said it slowly, like he was talking to a child. “I really don’t think you should be driving a motorcycle.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure,” I grumbled, but I knew he was right. I felt a little woozy. But that might have been hunger, not the blow to the head. My metabolism spikes when I get vamped up.

With Marcello lurking, I didn’t want a drawn-out pissing contest over who drove, and I had no idea where he was parked. I got off the bike, yanked the helmet out of his hands and shoved it on my head, hard, immediately sorry that I used so much force.

“You know how to do this?” I motioned to the Triumph. Grinning from ear to ear, he jumped on the bike.

I climbed on to the rear seat. It felt weird to be on the back. I slipped my arms around his narrow waist, feeling solid abs under the bulk of his winter coat. It was a small consolation to allow someone else to drive my baby.

Max gunned the engine, and I held up my hand in a goodbye salute. Marcello had vampire speed, but he couldn't keep up with the Triumph. Frankie made sure of that.

CHAPTER 4

I sipped the piping hot coffee, enjoying the sensation of ice melting from my body. The coffee was out-of-a-vending-machine nasty, but it was hot, and I needed some heat. Riding a motorcycle was not the most prudent way to get around New England in the dead of winter. But fleeing vampires requires a level of speed and agility that most cars don't have.

I sneaked a peek at Max through the steam of my coffee. Even ruddy from the cold, he had a fantastic face.

We were at the Rhode Island Hospital ER, since I didn't know where else to go and needed to get out of the area fast. But Marcello didn't tail us, so we were good.

"You know, I was going to offer to use my car," Max said. He looked amused. Cold but amused.

"Consider tonight an adventure." I swallowed a mouthful of coffee.

Clearly the ER was the popular place to be at 2 AM on a Monday night in Providence. The place was packed. Gunshots, knife fights, beat downs, car crashes. The worst of humanity was staggering through the automatic doors.
Muzak played softly in the background, adding a surreal quality to the blood and gore amplified by harsh florescent lighting. I was sure I looked like a damn goddess against the bluish hues.

Honestly, all the blood was starting to get to me. I hadn't eaten in hours, and cravings were starting to kick in. I rubbed my beer-crusted head and tried to focus on my crunching hair and not my rumbling stomach. I would’ve killed for a rare steak, or even a burger. But at the rate things were moving, I wasn't going to make it out of there until way past breakfast.

I dropped my gaze to the outline of Max's muscular leg, snugly wrapped in his worn jeans. I could almost see the femoral artery pulsing through the curve of his thigh. I closed my eyes and considered what it would be like to sink my teeth into him, his blood warm and salty, slightly metallic.

"Want a candy bar or something?" Max's voice snapped me out of my gory daydream.

I opened my eyes to Max standing over me, watching me curiously. I nodded. The head move made me woozy. Not good.

Max felt my forehead. "Are you alright? You just went completely pale."

"Blood sugar," I whispered, closing my eyes again. I was having a hard time focusing. All I could smell was the coppery sweetness of fresh blood.

"I'll get you a candy bar." He ran his hand down my cold face. "Try to stay awake. Okay, Nina?"

I nodded and another rush of fresh blood hit my nose. It was a damn bloodbath in here. I wasn't sure a candy bar was going to cut it.

I took a deep breath and opened my eyes. Max turned the corner, heading towards the vending machines. There was a nurse sitting alone behind the front desk. I had to get out of the waiting room and away from all the free-flowing blood.

The few steps it took to get to the nurse felt like a mile. I kept my focus on her, the only non-bloody human in the room, as I inched my way through a gauntlet of open wounds. She looked up, eyes bored and tired. I didn't like doing what I was about to do, but her surly attitude made it so much easier.

"I need to see the doctor now," I said calmly, looking into her eyes.

"You have to wait your turn, honey." She snapped her gum and turned away.

I took her arm and turned her back to face me. "It is my turn." I glanced down at her nametag. "Jackie... Don't you think it's time for me to see the doctor?"

We locked eyes. Her shoulders dropped and her body relaxed. She looked down at her list of incoming patients, and smiled brightly at me. "Why, yes, here you are. It is your turn. Follow me, please."

"Max," I called as he rounded the corner, his hands loaded with about ten different candy bars. He nodded and followed behind.

I rarely use my ability to compel humans to my will. Generally speaking, I don't mind being part-vampire. But along with the blood lust, brainwashing another person to do my bidding makes me feel demonic. But I would rather compel someone than suck them dry. Tonight was about picking the lesser of two evils. I could live with that.

Jackie showed Max and me to a tiny room and left, still smiling sort of blankly at nothing in particular. The pang of guilt was quickly assuaged by no longer being surrounded by open wounds.

"I just wanted a bar, not a whole candy store," I snatched an Almond Joy from the pile of sweets Max dropped on the gurney.

"I didn't know what kind you liked." He looked a little sheepish.

"Thank you." I smiled, unwrapping the chocolate. I savored the first bite.

"You look a little better." Relief edged his voice. 

"Yeah, I feel a little better. Maybe we should go," I suggested.

"Nope." His muscular frame blocked my exit. "You need to see a doctor, especially since you looked like you were about to pass out on me back there. Unless you want me to drive your bike again?”

I cringed. He ground a few gears on the ride over. I was worried about the transmission.

“So you are my ride back to my car," he continued with a smirk. "I need to make sure I am safe on the back of your Schwinn."

He had no idea how close he was to getting his blood sucked.

The doctor breezed in and Max flashed his badge. He went over the events of the evening with the MD, who proceeded to poke and prod my head and neck.

"Rusty blade gets an automatic tetanus shot," the doctor said as he pointed a flashlight in my eyes. "And you have a mild concussion."

Max looked vindicated. The doctor prepared the shot, and I looked the other way as he inserted it into my arm. I may be a bad ass, but I hate needles.

"Take acetaminophen and try to keep still for 24 hours," the doctor said. He swabbed at the puncture wound with an alcohol pad and then applied a Band-Aid, though I knew full well the needle prick already closed. "Can you do that?"

Twenty-four hours in bed? Good luck with that
.

Max stared at me, "Yes, she will stay in bed for the next 24 hours."

"You sound pretty sure of that," I said sarcastically. I raised my eyebrows at him, and he held my gaze with such a fierce intensity that I looked away. My heart was pounding. I felt my blood rush to my pelvis.

I lost the staring contest. Max managed to fluster me, and he knew it. And he was savoring the win.

"Good," the doctor said absently, his nose buried in my chart. "We're all set here then."

He moved swiftly out the door. Max picked up the bike helmet and held it out to me. "Looks like I'm driving."

"The hell you are," I yapped, pushing the helmet into his stomach. "If you're worried about my driving, call a cab."

I stalked out of the room. I could almost hear him rolling his eyes as he followed behind me. 

Frantic shouts interrupted our witty repartee.  I pressed myself into the wall as a crush of medical personnel rushed down the hall surrounding a stretcher. They were moving fast, but not fast enough. Blood-soaked sheets were piled on top of a young male. The medics had the sheet pulled down to the man's stomach. One of the doctors had his hand inside the man's chest cavity, which was torn open. Shattered bones poked out, the jagged edges of skin and flesh hung down to meet his torso. I couldn't take my eyes off the carnage. A shudder ran through me and I felt my adrenaline boost. I wanted to throw up and have a snack all at the same time.

God, what is wrong with me tonight?

I shook it off and looked over at Max. His cell phone was chirping. Looking at the caller’s name, he scowled. He strode down the hall to take the call. I was left cooling my heels.

I could hear the doctors and nurses rallying to save the man in a room down the hall. Machines beeped and voices called, getting louder and more frantic. “Damn it! We’re losing him,” a female voice cried out. The sound of shouts died down as the sustained beep of a heart rate monitor told me they lost the victim. A cold gust of wind slipped past. I shivered.

A man stepped right through the curtain and looked directly at me. He was dead, an apparition, and his body kind of rippled as he moved, not quite translucent -- I could make out his face, his eyes, his youthful physique -- but he was definitely not a solid form. I blinked and stared at time, dumbfounded. He was a ghost. I had never actually seen a ghost before. They don’t physically appear to humans. Or vampires.

He was young -- I'd put him at 19, maybe 20 -- with a handsome, brooding face that carried several scars. His arms were inked with a mix of tattoos, including a giant cross on his bicep. But his eyes gave me a start -- they were haunting and old. He had clearly lived a life much longer than his birth years. And it didn't look like he was going to find much peace in death either.

The ghost's eyes went from haunted to
determined. His form moved swiftly down the hall, and pushing towards me. I drew back, once again pressing myself against the wall. But it was too late. My body tensed up against the cold, wet thickness of ghostly goo that ran right through my own body. I shuddered. Gross.

Just then, Max returned, pushing his phone back into his pocket. He looked surprised to see me pressed against the wall.

"You okay?" he asked gruffly.

"Yeah," I peeled myself off the wall to walk to the exit. I lost track of the ghost.

"Will you be alright on your own?" he asked. "That was the Providence PD. There was another murder and a victim was found alive. He’s here at the hospital. I am going to stick around and see if he’s up for questioning after the doctors are done with him." He nodded at the room that the ghost came out of. Guess the ghost was the victim they thought was alive.

"He’s not talking," I shook my head sadly. “He didn’t make it.”

Max turned and kicked the wall, frustration twisting his chiseled face. 

"Want to drop me at a crime scene then?" he asked grimly.

"Why not," I said with a shrug. "It'll be the perfect nightcap to an evening like this."