I looked at Slade with new eyes. Sure, he was no altruist, but his accomplishments were impressive. He’d also managed to escape the Dominae’s hold and build a new life for himself. If staying in New York didn’t mean I’d risk running into mages everywhere I turned, I’d almost consider staying and working for him on a more indefinite basis.
“Anyway, I better head out before the sun rises. My apartment’s a few blocks away.” He grabbed a cell phone from his jacket. “This has my number programmed. Just hit ‘one.’ If you need anything, let me know.”
I took the phone and stuck it in my pocket. “Thanks.”
He looked around as if trying to think if there was anything else I needed to know. “Oh, there’s bagged blood in the fridge. I have Earl restock it regularly, so it’s fresh. Help yourself.”
I grimaced. Bagged blood. Ugh.
“Okay, I’m off. Try to get some sleep, okay?” He put his hand on the side of my face, and his thumb stroked my cheek. I considered being offended by the presumptuous contact, but truth was, it was comforting. After weeks among mages and their fucked-up customs and rules, being around Slade felt comfortable. Easy. Like putting on a favorite pair of broken-in jeans.
Only Slade stepped closer. The look in his eyes told me his thoughts had taken a less platonic direction. In my exhaustion, my reflexes were muted. He leaned in, and I was still processing the fact he was about to kiss me. But just when it clicked I needed to stop him, he changed path and kissed my cheek. “Good night, Sabina.”
I watched him walk out and shut the door. I heard the bookcases slide back into place. And a few minutes later, I listened to the sounds of him and Earl closing down the bar. Only when I was sure I had the building to myself did I collapse on the futon. I was out a few seconds later.
That day, I dreamed about being burned at the stake. As I screamed in agony, I looked out over the crowd. Maisie was there, sobbing as she clung to Orpheus. Adam and Slade were punching each other while Giguhl cheered them on. And Stryx sat on Lavinia’s arm as she danced around my funeral pyre.
28
To Slade’s credit, he’d patiently ignored me for an hour before he broke.
“All right, dammit.” He slammed his pen down on his desk. “Stop pacing before you wear a rut in my carpet.”
After being plagued by strange dreams all night only to wake up to a bag of cold blood, I’d woken in a shitty mood. I’d spent an hour in the bar spoiling for a fight before Slade demanded I go to his office.
I stopped and smiled. “You got something for me, after all?”
When I’d asked earlier, he’d said it was too soon. Probably he was right, but I didn’t care. I needed to do something before I went crazy.
“Yes, but don’t get too excited. It’s a small job. There’s a vamp who owes me some back blood taxes. I need you to go convince him bringing his account up to date is in his best interest.”
I’d spent a few years being an enforcer for the Dominae out in L.A. The job involved delivering a bunch of broken noses and shaking down the scum of the earth for overdue tithes. Before I got promoted to full-fledged assassin, I knew every vampire club owner, porn peddler, and pimp in the City of Angels. So I knew a little something about convincing reluctant debtors to pay up.
“How persuasive do you want me to be?”
“Very. This guy’s a real asshole. By the time I figured out he was cooking his books, he’d been underpaying for years. And now he’s two weeks late on his payment.”
My hand curled into a fist, itching to be put to use. “I’ll take care of it.”
In addition to his role as professional pimp, Tiny Malone also owned a strip club called The Fang Bang. Located in Alphabet City, the club catered to horny vamps. Upstairs, Tiny rented out rooms to the nymphs he kept on staff for clients who preferred their blow jobs fang-free.
The club consisted of one large cave-like room drenched in red light. On a stage toward the back, a female vampire gyrated her hips in time with “Blood Sugar Sex Magik.” Her tits were real—implants never took in vamps—and covered in silver glitter that matched her G-string. Another chick lay on the bar, dripping blood from a bottle onto her rack. A few horny male vamps watched mesmerized as she licked the blood from her nipples.
I headed straight for the bar on the opposite end from the blood show. A male vamp eyed me from a nearby stool. His greasy red hair hung limply to his shoulders, and his right hand was busy in his lap. I avoided his leer as I tried to get the bartender’s attention. The three-hundred-pound barkeep stood next to the female on the bar, making sure none of the onlookers helped themselves to a free grope.
When he finally noticed us, he held up a finger. I took the opportunity to get the lay of the club. Several males were clumped in front of the stage watching the female in the silver G-string rub her crotch against the pole. Around the perimeter of the room, other girls gave lap dances to males with shadowed faces. Other than the front door, I saw only one other exit, which seemed to lead to a hallway—probably the “blood rooms.” They were like champagne rooms you’d find in mortal strip clubs, only instead of bubbly, customers got blood with their private shows. Typical setup for this type of club.
The bartender finally pulled himself away and approached me. “What?”
Tiny needed to talk to his staff about customer service. I smiled at the asshole. “I’m looking for Tiny Malone.”
He jerked his head toward a dim corner of the club. “Over there.”
I squinted through the haze of cigarette smoke and pheromones. Sure enough, an obese vampire surrounded by strippers sat in a corner booth, puffing on a cigar. “That’s Tiny?”
The bartender shot me a look. “It’s called irony. Look it up.” With that, he turned to yell at a male who was getting grabby with the girl dancing on the bar.
I took a deep breath and made my way toward Tiny. Surrounded as he was, I tried to think of some way to get him alone. Then it occurred to me I was the only female in a strip club not wearing pasties and a G-string. I pulled the bodice of my tank top lower and adjusted my bra to show a little more cleavage.
When I reached the table, I stood across from Tiny. He looked up, his eyes bored. I preferred to believe this was a side effect of looking at bare tits all day, and not a commentary on my own assets. “Are you Tiny?” I asked, putting a little flirt into my voice.
“Who wants to know?”
“My name’s Candy. I heard you were looking for some new girls.” I’d heard no such thing, of course. But in my experience, even if guys like Tiny weren’t hiring, they wouldn’t pass up a chance for a private audition from some new talent.
Tiny heaved his bulk forward, leaning his elbows on the table. “You got any experience?” His eyes assessed my boobs as he talked.
“Yeah, I used to work at the Tit Crypt in L.A.,” I said, rattling off the name of a club I’d actually been to.
His eyes narrowed. “Your tits are kinda smallish.”
Gods, this guy made my skin crawl. I made a mental note to demand a few hundred extra from Slade for my suffering. I forced a casual shrug. “Never had any complaints.”
“Well,” he said, “let’s see ’em.”
I tilted my head. “Excuse me?”
“Your tits, honey. Need to see the goods.”
Cold sweat broke out on my chest. I should have expected this. The idea of baring myself to this pig made me want to puke. However, if I refused, I’d have no chance of getting the pig-man alone.
“How about I give you a private show instead?” Bile rose in my throat. I choked on it as I said, “I’d love to show you my moves.”
“That can be arranged.” Tiny’s eyes lit up. “Why don’t we go back to my office?”
Tiny shoved one of the strippers out of the way. She whined, but a glare from her boss shut her up. He tried to heft his massive proportions out of the booth. The stripper grabbed his hands and pulled until Tiny’s belly became unwedged. His body flew forward, nearly knocking the stripper on her ass. I bit my tongue to keep from laughing.
Until he put his arm around my shoulders. Then I had to concentrate on not punching him right there in the middle of the club.
Tiny’s hand brushed my breast as he ushered me through the black curtain next to the stage. My skin crawled, but I gritted my teeth. Soon the charade would be over and I’d finally get to show Tiny my real skills.
The dark hallway smelled of stale beer and illicit sex. A curtain to my right was open just enough to see a cherry-red head bobbing in a guy’s lap. The customer had one hand on the chick’s head as he drank blood from a champagne flute with the other. Classy.
Tiny made no attempt at small talk. Instead, he led me to a door at the end of the hall next to a heavy metal door with an exit sign glowing above it.
I’d never seen an office with a bed in it before. The room was barely big enough to contain both the bed and Tiny. He walked right over and lowered himself onto the edge. He lit a cigarette and tossed the lighter aside. “Well”—he patted his crotch—“come on. I don’t got all night.”
I smiled at him and went to lock the door. He leaned back. When I turned back toward him, I got an unfortunate glimpse of his member. Looked like I’d finally discovered the real source of his name. Irony, my ass.
Tiny grabbed himself and waggled his dick like bait. “Hit me with your best shot.”
I sashayed across the room, a teasing smile on my lips. “I can’t wait.”
I grabbed him by the lapels and hauled his ass off the bed. My fist finally got its wish and slammed into his fat mouth.
“Ooh, someone likes it rough.” A trickle of blood smeared the corner of his grin.
“Shut up, asshole.” I punched him in his gut. “The Shade sends his regards.”
Tiny seemed to catch on then. He shoved me hard. I slammed into the table. Dildos scattered across the floor. I jumped over them and grabbed the back of Tiny’s shirt before he could reach the door. Wrapping my arm around the bulk of his neck, I jerked him back.