The Blood Order (Fanghunters Book Two) (39 page)

Well, as usual, things had been left for him to handle. He almost got a shot on her down in the lobby; he wounded her, he knew that much. How badly he didn't know, but he still tagged the bitch, and so he could do it again. He'd just have to take charge of things. "Goddamned faggots, can't rely on them for shit," he growled as the guy at the desk flicked up yet another camera image from yet another floor.

"Where in the hell is she?" Nixon grunted to himself.

Then, something flickered across a screen out of the corner of his eye. His head whipped around toward the screen and he pushed his face in. "There!" he said, pointing at the image. "Zoom in!"

He watched the screen with unblinking eyes. A shadow flitted across the screen like a pool of water. Then, a face came into the light. The face of the bullfrog.

"Freaking A," Nixon said to himself. "What floor is that?"

"Twenty-nine."

"Twenty-nine? Meatpack Food Solutions." Nixon grinned. "Let's rock n roll." He grabbed his Glock, pulled back the slide and stuffed it in his belt. "Get the elevator working again," he ordered.

T
rixie's mind swam with incredulity, disbelief, and downright denial.

She shook her head, hoping in vain the scene ahead of her wasn't real. But it was there, in full view, in total terror. She stared in morbid bewilderment at the bodies. They'd been hung upside down with hooks like hunks of meat, their arms dangling down toward the floor, their limp fingers pointing at a metal bucket below. Now she knew what that dripping sound was; blood was draining into the buckets from the corpses. From their necks. Their heads had been sliced clean off, now only bloody stumps remained, bleeding freely. The buckets were filling at a steady pace, collecting the blood for it to be bottled.

A noxious stench of fresh blood and decaying flesh then hit Trixie's nostrils. She threw a hand up to her nose and mouth and looked away, her eyes closed tight. It was like being trapped inside an unkempt butcher store.

"My God, my God, My--"

She dared to look back again. The decapitated corpses were still there, draining their blood into metal buckets. She noted with a sense of grim irony that the Order held no discrimination; the whole palate of the human race was represented: black, white, brown, yellow, men, women. They were all there. She stared on in mortified wonder. This was the Order's food. This was their... storeroom. Meatpack Food Solutions.

She shook her head in total disbelief. Did they have fangheads overseeing this? Blacklake? And who were these poor people when they were alive? Vagrants? Missing persons? Dissidents? People who discovered the Order and what it really was and so had to be silenced? She nodded her head in understanding. Whoever the victims were, the Blood Order's policy of no biting could only result in this. She should have realized it before. How else could they get their food if they couldn't jab for it?

"And this is what Dad had a pact with?" she asked herself in disgust, staring at the jungle of limbs in both revulsion and sorrow. "And this is what I'm supposed to give myself up to?" Her mouth tightened in anger. "No," she said through clenched teeth. She shook her head. "No, no, no. No!" she repeated adamantly, slamming her hand on her thigh. "Never!"

A ping from outside made her start. The elevator. She backed up, pressing herself against the cool steel wall of the cold room. The elevator doors slid open. Then, a gruff voice, "Come on out! I know you're in here."

It was that same voice from the merc's radios earlier on. Nixon.

She grabbed her dart gun and held it up by her face.

"Come on, little rabbit," Nixon said in a nasty voice. "Come out to play."

Her eyes whirled. She was trapped in the cold room with the dead bodies. Her only clear way out was also the only way in. And Nixon was on his way.

"You can run, but you can't hide," Nixon informed her, his voice now very close.

Trixie held her breath, her dart gun ready. Although she was shivering cold, sweat was forming on her forehead. She licked her lips. They were dry.

"We got cameras everywhere.
All
over the place," Nixon stated.

Trixie tightened the grip on her dart gun.

There was a brief silence. And then the cold room door flew open. Her reaction was instant. She thrust the muzzle of her dart gun forward, getting it in Nixon's face before he even laid eyes on her. His reaction was instantaneous. He threw a hand up in her direction. Cold iron prodded against her cheek. Her eyes rolled down toward the barrel of the gun he was jamming into her face.

They both froze; a quick pull of the trigger on either side would end things fast.

"After you, sweetcheeks," Nixon said with a wink. "Ladies first."

Trixie didn't move an inch.

A sick grin spread across Nixon's chiseled face. "So, you found the pantry, huh?" he asked, that grin getting twitchy.

"This is what you guys protect?" Trixie asked, her top lip curled back in contempt. "Murder?"

"We work for whoever pays us the most, sweetcheeks."

"Spoken like a true mercenary."

"We do have time for some fun as well." He pulled back his hand, making Trixie flinch. The muzzle of his gun flew away from her cheek. She eyed it with distrust as Nixon aimed it at the ceiling. He raised his other hand in the air and backed away, his eyes never leaving Trixie's dart gun. He was vulnerable, open to an attack.
Shoot him, Trixie!
her instincts yelled.
Shoot him now you've got the chance. Take him down and get out of here!

But, for some strange reason she was frozen to the spot, her dart gun still aimed at him. Nixon then stuffed his gun in his belt and raised his fists on the air. "Let's get this shit done the old fashioned way. What do ya, say?"

Trixie frowned. She looked up and around at the headless corpses and a rush of anger boiled up inside her.
Yeah, shooting this goon with a tranq is too light for him. He deserves more punishment.
"All right, Jack," she said, stuffing her dart gun in her belt. "If that's the way you want it."

"Oh, it is," Nixon replied with eager eyes. "There's no better feeling than crushing a bullfrog with your bare hands."

"Well, you'll have to catch me first!" Trixie launched into an attacking summersault. Nixon's grin vanished in a flash and he prepared to defend the attack. Trixie made it as far as the second flip when her injured hand roared at her. Pain rocketed up her arm, forcing her to veer off course. She smacked into the cold room wall with a clang and fell flat on her butt. She winced in the pain juddering up her spine.

Nixon erupted into cigar-choked laughter. "Looky, looky," Nixon said, managing to finally control his cackling. "The bullfrog's been incapacitated." His mouth became a slit. "Now, move in for the kill, boys!"

He stormed over to her like a bear on the attack. Trixie's eyes widened. Ignoring any pain, she flipped herself up onto her feet with a small yelp. She barely had time to put up a defense when a bloated hand snatched hold of her neck. His thick, tentacle-like fingers squeezed, blocking off her air; it was like being in the grip of an octopus. Beyond the haze of asphyxiation, his crazed eyes burned, hot and wild, a pleasure-addled grin twitched across his cheeks as the seconds ticked by. "Oh man, this feels good," Nixon said through clenched teeth, his black eyebrows dancing, his cheeks trembling under the pressure.

Trixie's tongue popped out of her mouth. The blood was rapidly building up in her head; it pooled in her cheeks, her brain, her eyeballs.

"Come on, let's hear that neck snap!" Nixon sneered.

Trixie's world was a bloated sea of panic. Her head felt like it was about to burst. She knew she had to something quick before her eyes popped out of her head. She grabbed hold of Nixon's chunky forearm; it was so thick she could barely grip it.

Nixon's stained teeth beamed at her, his eyes twinkled with bloodlust. "Come on! Come on!" he repeated. "Break!"

He squeezed tighter.

Trixie body acted on impulse. She jacked a leg back and lashed it forward. Her kneecap connected square with Nixon's groin. An insta-groan bolted from his chest, his face contorted in cross-eyed agony. Both his hands flew to his crotch, freeing her of his vise-like grip. She staggered back, gasping for breath as if she'd just been held underwater for five minutes. She rubbed her bruised neck, her throat hoarse. She watched with bleary eyes as he slunk back into the corner, doubled-over.

"You... frickin... bullfrog!" Nixon squeezed out of his throat in between bouts of excruciating pain.

Trixie finally managed to catch her breath. "You know what?" she said in a grainy, coarse voice. "Forget the games, I wanna find my dad." She grabbed the handle of her dart gun, whipped it out of her belt, and aimed it at Nixon.

Nixon held out a defensive palm. "Nuh-nuh-nuh--" he stammered.

"Yes, yes, yes!" Trixie replied and fired off a dart. It hit him right in the center of the palm he was showing her. He groaned one final time and then fell to the side. He hit the deck and became still, his hand still clutched to his crotch.

Trixie huffed. "That's for calling me a bullfrog," she said to him. She looked away in disgust, still rubbing her neck.
Christ, what the hell was I thinking taking on a brute like that in hand-to-hand?
she asked herself in angry disbelief.

"Professionalism, girl. Focus!" she told herself.

She had to save Dad and Dom, not get herself killed for nothing.

"Yeah, I know," she said to herself, her eyes falling on a hand pallet truck in the corner of the fridge. "I know," she repeated before she went and grabbed Nixon's radio, and got back to work.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

S
ammy stepped through the Japanese blinds, his head bowed. Dom watched him as he passed by; he looked pissed. Pissed and scared. He straightened his jacket as he approached Leviah, who remained slumped in his recliner.

"Well?" Leviah asked.

Sammy cleared his throat. "She, uh..." He gave Dom and Vincent a brief glance, before turning back to Leviah. "She got away," he said in a quiet tone.

Leviah huffed. "Why am I not surprised?"

"What, uh, what do you wanna do?"

"I want to jump out of the nearest window!" Leviah snapped. His chest heaved; Sammy had an uneasy look to the side. Leviah then cooled. "It's one person. One!" He held a slender finger in the air. "We've got a mercenary army in this place." He rubbed his temples. "If these knuckleheads cannot find her soon, I'll have to go on the hunt myself."

A sudden voice then rang out from somewhere.
"Anyone there?"
it asked.

Everyone in the room stopped and looked around.

"If there's anyone there, can you answer? It's Trixie."

Vincent's eyes lit up.

Sammy stomped over to a nearby desk. He grabbed the radio and answered the call. "Where are you?"

"I'm around,"
she told him.

"You gonna give us what we want?"

"Are my dad and Dom okay?"

"That's not what I asked."

"I need to know they're okay first!"

Sammy huffed. He turned to face Leviah, who gave him an eager nod and pointed toward their two captives. Sammy turned the radio their way. "Say hello, boys."

"Trixie!" Vincent said out loud.

"Hi, Daddy."

"It's so good to hear your voice," he said, his own voice getting croaky.

"It's good to hear yours too. Is Dom okay?"

"I'm fine, Trixie," Dom said out loud.

Sammy then returned the radio up to his own mouth. "You happy that they're safe and sound?"

"I'll only be happy when all three of us are out of this craphole and back home."

"Well, if you want that to happen, you know what to do."

Trixie sighed.
"Tell me what floor you're on and I'll come up and hand the relic over."

Sammy hesitated. He turned toward Leviah. Leviah gave him a studious stare. After a few seconds, he nodded.