Mercy's Destiny: Montgomery's Vampires Trilogy (Book #3) (Montgomery's Vampires Series) (10 page)

“Chasers? You mean . . . hunters?” I asked. “Vampire hunters?”

“Yes,” Richard said. “Vampire hunters, sure, and hunters of other dangerous creatures: cobras, crocodiles, polar bears, sharks, and hippos. But vampires were the ultimate score. It was the ultimate demonstration of masculinity to conquer a creature so lethal.”

Score? Conquer?
Yikes.

Richard said, “Whether he saw some of himself in us or was merely intrigued by how we’d defeated the vampire, the crime boss asked us to work for him exclusively, running rum and errands for his business. Of course, when a mobster ‘asks’ you to work for him, it’s not really an invitation as much as a demand. Sampson and I couldn’t refuse.

“I made a lot more money under the mobster’s employment, which both frightened and pleased my parents. As I grew older, and my boss began to trust me, I was treated less like an employee and more like a son. My own father had grown distant with me because of my crime affiliations, so I was closer to my boss than my own father, in a way.” Richard didn’t seem too unsettled by this, not being close with his father. Staying close to family was clearly not a priority for my great-grandfather, which explained a lot about how Grams was treated.

“When I turned eighteen, my boss inducted me into a hunting society he belonged to. It was a gentleman’s club, of sorts. It had been running for a very long time—since the days of George Washington. It was a worldwide organization, with members as far away as South Africa, Australia, Russia, and all over Europe . . .” He trailed off. “I assume you know what
worldwide
means. It was not only comprised of criminals, understand. There were many legitimate members in the group who were prominent public figures: politicians, business owners, and even a few moguls. We’d get together, drink, gamble, and discuss politics, etcetera. And, mainly, we’d discuss vampires.”

I wasn’t so sure that I wanted to hear the next bit.

“Though our views on politics varied, we were all in agreement on the subject of the undead. Vampires, as you are aware, are a danger to the human race. They do not provide any benefits to humanity whatsoever.”

I ground my fist into my thigh to keep myself calm, because I could feel my temper starting to flare. “What benefits
could
they provide?”

Richard waved a hand. “Oh, many. If they
really
wanted to advance humankind, they could take it upon themselves to take out the trash.” He sniffed. “They could go into ghettos and cleanse the projects, clean up our streets by draining the homeless, assassinate criminals in our prisons . . . They could purge the world of the lazy, the weak, and the stupid. It would be so fitting, wouldn’t it, if vampires ridded humanity of all those who aren’t contributing—leeched from the leeches? Think of how much more advanced civilization would be if vampires had spent centuries eradicating undesirables from our planet.”

“Right.” I couldn’t
believe
that I was actually related to this hideous human being. No wonder Grams had decided to bail. I was beginning to think that she would have left home on her own volition, had they not thrown her out.

“But, no, vampires do no such thing. Vampires go to blood banks, don’t they? Which is a shame.” Richard sighed. “But the blood banks, ironically, were how Maxine and I found out that you’re a supporter of our cause. So at least they’ve been good for one thing.”

I asked, “Me? A supporter of . . . your . . . cause?”

Maxine leaned forward and winked like we were sharing a secret. “We have contacts on the inside.”

I was so lost. “The inside of what?” Were my great-grandparents off their rockers?

Richard folded his arms across his chest, annoyed by my inquiry, like he didn’t have the time or the desire to clarify. Details, details. Now here was a man on a mission, a man with something to say. “You gave your blood,” Richard said, “to eradicate vampirism. The serum?”

“The . . . serum?” I parroted.

“But what we can’t figure out is why the serum stopped being made,” said Maxine. “We were hoping you could shed some light on that for us.”

In a kneejerk response, I chanted, “No-no-no-no. That wasn’t . . . No. You guys have it wrong. I didn’t
volunteer
to make the serum,” I shook my head. “Hm-mmm, no. I had given my blood to . . . to somebody for an entirely different reason.” I did not clarify who that somebody was—a vampire—or that I’d given my blood in order to revert the love of my life back to immortality. “And then, unbeknownst to me, that somebody took my blood and made the serum with it.”

Translation: I am most certainly not on the same page as you two, you crazy-ass bigots. I’m not even in the same book—nay,
library
—as you two.

“Oh?” said Maxine. She exchanged a look with her husband that was difficult to decipher. It was surprise, maybe, mixed with aggravation. I was willing to bet their so-called source on the inside was going to get an earful. 

“Is that why you’ve come here?” I asked, starting to piece it all together. “You think I hate vampires like you do?”

Richard straightened. In a terse
don’t be silly
voice he said, “We don’t
hate
vampires, Mercy, any more than we hate poisonous spiders or mosquitos. We simply recognize their threat and do not feel that they are a benefit to humanity.”
Po-tay-toe, po-tah-toe
.

“Okay,” I said, still no closer to figuring out how this related to Grams. “So you came here because you thought I recognized the supposed threat vampires pose on humans? Is that why you gave me the million dollars, because you want me to join your cause?”

Maxine simpered indulgently. “No, darling, we gave you the money because you are our great-granddaughter and we’ve missed you.”

Mm-hmm. Right.

“We’d also hoped,” Richard said, now simpering like Maxine, “that you’d be willing to give us some of your blood.”

There they were, Great-Grandmother and Great-Grandfather Nolan, grinning at me like two hungry piranhas. I did not like it one bit.

“Why would you want my blood?” I asked. “What would you do with it?”

“Haven’t we made that evident?” Maxine said with over-the-top cheerfulness. “We want to remake the serum.”

Uh, what? “Why?”

Richard clicked his tongue. “
Why
isn’t important, Mercy. What
is
important is your willingness to help us. That isn’t very much to ask, is it? A bit of your blood in exchange for one million dollars?”

“So there it is.” I stared at them coldly. “You were hoping to bribe me. Isn’t that nice?”

“Pardon me,” Maxine said, reaching her tiny hand into her dress pocket to extract a cell phone. Had I not been so pissed off, I might have snickered. It was funny to me, seeing somebody so old and posh sending a text message so furiously. It was a sight rarely seen, the elderly on smartphones.

“I’ll give you your money back, if that’s what you want,” I said. “But I’m sorry, I can’t give you my blood. I don’t share your beliefs about vampires.” And pretty much everything else they thought about humans . . . and even animals, for that matter.

I didn’t hassle with trying to change their minds. I could have told them that I knew some really great vampires and even loved quite a few of them, but I didn’t. When people were as delusional and hate-filled as these two . . . Well, they were simply beyond reason.

Maxine nodded at Richard and then they stood.

Even though Mr. and Mrs. Nolan were insane hatemongers, I felt kind of bad, being so snappish with them. They were
still
family—the only family I had left. Maybe we could find a way to get along, like those families with completely opposite worldviews. At holidays we could have a list of things we didn’t discuss. For some families it was religion or politics; for ours it would be vampires.

I chased after Maxine and Richard like an ankle-biting Chihuahua as they strode for the door. Richard was moving much faster than he had out by the car, and I realized that he was a lot nimbler than I’d previously believed.

“You two don’t have to leave,” I smiled. “I wasn’t throwing you out, only declining your, uh, offer to take my blood.”

“I’m afraid we must be going,” Maxine said. Richard helped her with her coat.

I stood there awkwardly, not sure if I should hug them goodbye, try to make plans for a future visit, or ask them if they wanted me to cut them a check for their million dollars.

“It was great to finally meet you,” I lied as I opened the door for them.

Richard and Maxine said nothing, their gazes fixed over my shoulder. I turned around and my mouth dropped open. Standing outside was a scowling man. He had to be at last seven feet tall.

He was holding a syringe filled with yellowish liquid.

“We’re so sorry about this, Mercy,” said Maxine from behind.

And then came the sting in my arm.

10

My head was throbbing and I felt dizzy. Somewhere in the distance the radio was playing some awful heavy metal tune with lots and lots of guttural screaming. The air was a repellent potpourri of pot smoke, cheap aftershave, and rotten fast food wrappers. 

I attempted to sit up, and that’s when I realized that I was bound, my legs and arms tied with what felt like ropes. I couldn’t tell exactly what was restraining me, since there was a hood over my face. I had no idea how long I’d been out, but I didn’t think that it had been that long. The cloth of the hood was transparent enough that I could see that it was still daylight. I was positioned on my side with lots of space to worm-wiggle around on the floor, so I didn’t think I was in my great-grandparents’ vehicle. The mountainous thug must have put me in a van.

We were definitely on the move. I was certain of that because I could feel smooth, rhythmic bumping through the floor below. Where we were headed, I could only speculate, but we appeared to be travelling to our destination on pavement.

I did a swift mental scan of my body. I was relieved to note that I was still fully clothed. I didn’t feel like I had been hurt or violated, thank goodness, except for the shot I’d taken in the bicep.

I didn’t scream or cry because I knew that it wouldn’t get me anywhere—not that I could be heard over the heavy metal, anyway. More depressingly, I’d been around enough homicidal maniacs recently that a kidnapping so tame had barely raised my pulse. After one has witnessed the awful physical damage vampires could inflict with their bare hands, humans just didn’t seem as fierce by comparison. My outlook would probably change mighty fast, though, if my stinky driver friend pulled a gun on me, which I didn’t believe he’d do. If my great-grandparents had wanted me dead, they would have offed me back at the house. They needed my blood first.

It was the
after
part that concerned me.

Well, that escalated quickly
, I thought, thinking of the scene by the front door.

Call me crazy, but usually when a person declines an offer, the next logical step is
not
to drug and kidnap that person in hopes of forcing them into agreement. Who
does
that? Richard and Maxine could have implored me to reconsider, maybe. They also could have tried to get to know me longer than, say, fifteen minutes before they sprang all the serum madness on me (though I wouldn’t have gone along with their insane cause even after fifteen years).

Family or not, I decided that I loathed my great-grandparents. If they turned around and brought me home at that precise moment, I still didn’t think I could tolerate holidays around the table with them. I’d lived my whole life without having them in it and I’d been just fine.

And I was going to keep their million dollars.

Assholes.

I heard the unmistakable sound of a blinker clicking, and then we slowed. The floor underneath bumped as the van turned onto rougher terrain. It sounded like gravel. My trepidation increased with each minute we drove on and with each rocky thump that came from beneath. The further we were off the main road translated into the further we were away from civilization. Though San Francisco proper was a metropolis, one only needed to drive an hour outside of the city to be in the countryside. Having no definite idea how long I’d been out, we could have been as far north as Napa or as far south as Salinas, two areas with lots and lots of open space to stash a hostage.

Finally we stopped, as did the ear-splitting shrieks from the radio. I could deal with the rank aftershave and funky fast food smells, but that racket blaring from the speakers was doing my head in.

From the front of the van came the electronic crackle of a walkie-talkie. “Is she up?” asked the distinctly warbled voice of Maxine.

The thug groaned, as if he’d been taking a nice Sunday drive and was suddenly reminded of the kidnapping duties he’d long forgotten. His mammoth hand gripped the top of my dome and he gave it a rough shake. “Hey, you awake?” he asked with boredom. “Hey?”

I remained motionless, my hope being that I could fool him into believing that I was asleep, catch him off-guard, and then make a run for it after he untied me.

Fat chance.

The walkie-talkie crackled once more. “Is she up or not, sonny?” This time it was the intolerant snarl of my lovely great-grandfather. “Speak up!”

“Hold on,” the thug answered. “I’m checking.”

“Well, hurry it up, Jason! All we need is for some busybody to drive by and see what we’re doing.”

This time, Jason (seemed like such a genteel name for a kidnapper) thumped me on the skull. He pulled off my hood, ripping some of my hair out in the process. I tried not to flinch. “Hey, girlie. You awake or not? I don’t care either way, but if you’re asleep I’m going to have to give you another shot. And this one ain’t gonna be as easy as the first. It’s basically pharmaceutical speed.”

I sighed, opening my eyes. “I’m awake.”

“Humph. Thought so.”

Jason spoke into the walkie-talkie and then went around the back of the van and pulled open the double doors. He untied my legs so I could walk, but he kept my hands tied behind my back. The rope binding my wrists was itchy and synthetic, and it bristled my skin like thousands of tiny shark teeth.

I felt like crying once I saw the surroundings. It didn’t matter which direction I faced: hills surrounded us on all sides, many of them studded with row upon row of grape vines. So we were near Napa, then.

I couldn’t see why Jason felt the need to keep me tied up. If I did escape, where in the hell did he think I’d go? The nearest neighbor was probably over a mile away. Surely they’d be able to catch up with me in the van before I’d even made it down the driveway.

Breaking up the horizon was an ostentatious McMansion at the foot of the driveway. Jason, tugging me along by the bicep, led me towards it. I looked back over my shoulder and shot my great-grandparents a filthy look. They looked back at me and kind of smiled, sheepish, as if they’d forgotten to send me a card on my birthday. Oopsie!

As I was being tugged along, I came up with all kinds of cold-blooded remarks I could have yelled back at them.
You wait until my friends at VGO hear about this! If my boyfriend hadn’t been kidnapped himself, he’d be here kicking all your asses! Grams said you two were dicks!

I, of course, kept all these things to myself.

When we neared the mansion, Jason made a sharp left turn and led me around to the back. A freestanding shed stood about fifty feet beyond the house. It was one of those premade numbers people with nicer homes used to store their lawnmowers and tools. But this shed was larger than usual, more the size of a detached garage.

Jason pulled a key ring from his pocket and unlocked the shed door while my great-grandparents hovered about twenty feet back. The inside of the shed was void of furniture, barring a mattress on the floor in one corner. It was made up with a single wool blanket that made my skin prickle just looking at it. On top of the blanket was a single towel, a mini bar of soap, a pair of white cotton women’s underwear, two white socks, and a grey sweat suit. There was a very basic sink and toilet with no seat. In the far corner was a four-by-four square of floor tiling and a drain. Jutting out of the wall in front of the square was a plain pull knob, and above the knob was a stubby copper pipe: the shower. The only light was a single bulb screwed into the ceiling. There were no windows, just a few metal slats in the wall by the shower, probably to let out moisture.

It was a prison cell, minus the bars.

I was instantly fearful. This was not some half-assed hostage-stashing spot they’d thrown together, like, say, a closet in the back of the house with a Rottweiler standing guard. No, this place had actual
plumbing
, which meant that my kidnapping had been premeditated. It was either that, or this was the spot my great-grandparents regularly took all their abduction victims. Both possibilities were equally terrifying. 

What was more worrisome than the shed was lack of concern Jason, Richard, and Maxine showed for concealing their identities. From what I’d gleaned from true-crime shows, kidnappers who planned on letting their hostage go would wear masks about ninety percent of the time. When they didn’t make an effort to hide their face, that usually meant the hostage was in trouble.

But this was my family, I reminded myself.
Yah, the family who tossed Grams out pregnant . . . The family who didn’t bother making contact until they realized I had something they needed . . . The family who had a thug drug me, tie me up, and then throw me in the back of a van.

“Will you behave if I untie your hands?” Jason growled.

“Yes,” I said, resigned. I was far too deflated to conjure up a clever plan. I was pretty much stuck where I was, unless a sudden and implausible
deus ex machina
swooped down from the heavens and saved me: a strapping superhero, perhaps, or a platoon of vampire-loving soldiers, sent courtesy of the VGO.

I rubbed at my raw wrists after Jason cut off the rope. I looked past his shoulder and asked Maxine and Richard, “Why are you doing this?”

“We’re doing this, Mercy, because you refused us your blood,” Richard explained.

I hated it when people took questions so literally. “What do you plan on doing with me?”

“That depends on how you conduct yourself,” Maxine said tartly, and then she and Richard turned around and walked into the mansion.

Jason made a move to leave as well. “I’ll be back in a couple hours with some food. If you get thirsty, it’s safe to drink from the tap. It’s filtered.”

“Hey!” I yelled. “You can’t lock me in here like an inmate! When are you going to let me go?”

Jason stepped out and shut the door. I banged on it as he locked it from the outside. “Hey! That’s it? You’re leaving me in here?” I screamed, not even sure if he was still out there listening. “Nothing to eat? Nothing to drink? Nothing to . . . to read? What am I supposed to do in here?”

What I was supposed to do in my new home was wait. But wait for what? Well, that much was obvious. I was to sit there and wait for my demented family to come in and rob me of my blood. And what were they going to do with it? That was obvious, too. They were going to use it to replicate Leopold’s serum.

But once they had Leopold’s serum, what then? Were they planning on sneaking up behind vampires on the street and injecting them in the arm with it? (It wouldn’t surprise me, in view of their fondness toward the use of needles.) Or were they going to attempt to kidnap the entire vampire race and force the serum on them? (Again, wouldn’t surprise me.)

My great-grandparents were jerks, but that didn’t mean that they were impulsive jerks. It was apparent that they’d planned my abduction, so it would be only natural that they’d already have a plan set in place for the serum. I didn’t want to start thinking about what would happen to the vampire race if their plan succeeded. And I especially
didn’t want to think about the implications of my blood being used to commit vampire genocide, because then that would mean Michael Graves and his prophesies had been right all along. It would mean that I truly was the Cataclysmic responsible for ending all vampires.

It struck me, then, how long it had been since Michael had crossed my mind. Not so long ago I’d thought about him every single day— sometimes once every waking hour. That seemed like another lifetime ago.

Shortly before Michael’s death (and by “death,” I mean that he was slayed by Marlena), he’d shared with me his prophecies of the future. He’d claimed that a human who’d come from a special bloodline that only he could detect—a so-called “Cataclysmic”—would be responsible for eradicating all vampires. He’d even gone as far as sketching drawings of his predictions in psychotic scrapbooks; the scary part was that I’d seem many of those sketches come true with my own two eyes.

Now I was questioning if Michael’s grim forecasts might have been right.
Was
it my true destiny to exterminate vampires? I really, really hoped not. I would sacrifice myself before I’d let my long-lost relatives use my blood to kill off a whole species.

Looking around my cell, it was obvious that Maxine and Richard had considered my outlook. There were absolutely no sharp objects in the room, should I get it my head to slit my wrists. Even the mattress I was sitting on was made of memory foam, so no sharp springs inside—nothing strong enough to hang myself with, either. And if I did off myself, couldn’t my blood still be taken from my dead veins, anyway? Of course, it was easy to be Ms. Big Talker when thinking about martyring myself hypothetically. But, come on, I had to psyche myself up just to pluck my eyebrows. So I doubted that I’d actually be able to end my own life if it came down to it.

I concluded that now was not the time for bleak speculations.

I had an escape to orchestrate.

It took all of three minutes for my hopes of getting out of there to be crushed. Unless I could make myself turn into mist, I wasn’t getting out through the ventilation slats. I’d need a chisel or a chainsaw to hack my way through the wall within a reasonable amount of time. I jiggled the knob to test the lock, which was a heavy bolt style that would be impossible for me to pick with the zero tools at my disposal.