Blood Judgment (Judgment Series) (51 page)

But which way had they gone? To the right of the van, the street was well lighted. The opposite side was a little darker, not having as many street lamps. Vampires would prefer the dark.

He turned left. Hurrying though the shadows, he prayed he’d made the right choice. His hunch paid off four alleys beyond the van where three officers stood over a felled male.

Julian growled.

The male looked up with panic-stricken eyes.

One of the officers followed the male’s gaze and froze. He clawed at his pocket, presumably for another dart.

Julian charged with every bit of strength and speed he possessed. He leapt into the air as the officer shoved the dart into the gun and brought the weapon into firing position.

Julian landed on him, taking both of them to the cobblestones. Seizing the man’s head in his hands, Julian wrenched hard. The bone snapped with a loud crack.

He launched off the corpse and grabbed for the closest man who was pawing under his jacket. He caught the man’s arm and twisted. The officer screamed and swung his other arm in a wild loop.

Without mercy, Julian broke the man’s neck.

The third officer gave up any ideas he had about being a team player and ran.

Julian went after him, the predator in him taking complete control. He raced over the cobblestones. His hand snaked out and locked onto the back of the man’s jacket.

He yanked the officer around and roared into the terror stricken face. Feral with rage, Julian attacked, locking the officer to him and sinking his fangs deep into the man’s throat.

He’d given Saranna a lot of blood, and he would have to be at his full potential to free her.

He drank, replenishing himself.

When the officer no longer moved, Julian dropped him.

He searched the body for weapons and took a pistol and extra magazines off him. He stripped the other two men of their guns and spare ammunition. He had no use for the dart guns and stun devices.

He shucked off the backpack and stuffed the weapons inside. Better to be prepared to walk into a firestorm at the Security Center. He had no doubt he would have to shoot his way out.

He made quick work of hiding the bodies in a waste container and stashing the drugged male in a recessed doorway where he could recover.

Then he headed back for the van at a jog. He neared his target and slowed to a walk, easing up alongside the vehicle. Crouching low, he reached the door and yanked it open.

“What the—" The officer didn’t get to finish.

Julian dove, knocking him across the front of the van, and landing on top of him. The man screamed as his back slammed onto the armrest of the passenger seat and Julian’s weight came down on him.

Julian grabbed the driver’s head and twisted. Bone snapped and the driver when limp. He manhandled the officer into the back, out of sight.

The van reeked of fear, rage, and blood. The combination worked on him like an adrenalin rush.

He started the motor and tore away from the curb, leaving long trails of rubber burned into the pavement in his wake.

STILL SICK from the tranqs, Christopher pushed himself up against the bars. He didn’t have time to wait for the drugs to wear off and his movements were slow and sluggish.

He could barely see, but it didn’t matter. He lifted his hands feeling the weight of the chain. He was pretty sure he couldn’t break the links so there was no point in wasting time and effort there. The locking mechanism was unfamiliar and he didn’t think he would be able to pick it open. He wasn’t wasting time trying either. He didn’t have time to spare on a screw-up.

He took a deep breath. Relaxation was key. Ironically, the drugs in his system made it easier. And luck had been with him; the idiots hadn’t used shackles with spikes. If they had, he would have been fucked.

When he settled and calmed, he went to work on the cuffs, turning one wrist and rotating it back. He had to get his hand through the shackle. For that he needed sweat for lubrication and to collapse his hand as much as possible.

He worked without tiring, turning his wrists back and forth until they were raw and sweat burned in the abrasions, but he didn’t stop. Stopping meant death and Christopher wasn’t ready to die.

When his arms were sweat-coated, he folded one hand in on itself, grabbed the cuff with this other hand, and pulled. His hand slipped into the cuff … and stuck. The pressure squeezed his hand painfully. He jerked hard, not caring if he broke bones. They would mend. His hand slipped a bit further and baring his teeth against the pain, he yanked with everything he had. The cuff tore off and he bit back a roar of triumph.

He didn’t waste time trying to remove the other cuff. Instead, he took a small tool from his wallet and attacked the lock on the cage. It wasn’t a real pick, but it would work. He’d used it before to break into a woman’s apartment.

He worked with care. They were still in the city because the van drove slowly and kept stopping for traffic lights. But they had to be getting close to hitting the highway. Then his chances of escaping unharmed dropped drastically.

There would be a couple of traffic lights before they reached the Security Center, but, if they didn’t hit any red lights, things would be a lot more difficult. If he had to fling himself from the van at traffic speed on the highway, he would do it, though he ran the probability of being run over by other vehicles. He would be badly hurt, but, unless he bled out, it wouldn’t kill him.

His fingers, slick with sweat, slipped on the tool and he almost dropped it. “Fuck!”

He needed to work faster, but that would make him clumsy when he needed finesse. Gritting his teeth, he tried again. The lock was stubborn, maddeningly so.

Long minutes ticked by before the sweet click of success. He yanked the lock off and ripped the door open. Home free. A solid steel wall separated the men from the back of the van. Had it not been there, he would have killed them and drank them dry.

The van’s rear door didn’t have an inside latch. Didn’t matter. Age had its privileges. He was strong enough to rip through the van if necessary, but he didn’t think he would have to go that far to get free.

He eased down on his ass and waited for the van to hit another red light. Timing was everything now.

The van picked up speed. Alarm shot through him. He’d miscalculated. They were getting on the highway. Cursing, he lifted both feet and aiming for the latch, kicked with everything he had. The door flew open. The van was now cruising at about fifty miles an hour.

A car followed close. Christopher leapt to the side. He caught a glimpse of the driver’s horrified expression as she jerked the steering wheel and lost control of the car. He sailed for brief seconds before the fishtailing sedan struck him. The blow sent him flying again. He crash-landed in the weeds at the side of the ramp.

For long seconds, he lay without moving. Judging by the pain, he was pretty sure he had several broken ribs. His left arm was broken, maybe in more than one place. His left shoulder ached. Both knees were torn open. His hands were scraped raw. And a long, deep gash ran down his right leg and bled profusely.

In more pain than he’d ever known, he tried to get up. And fell back with a groan. Did he have internal injuries, too? Probably. Didn’t matter. All that mattered was getting away.

The van screeched to a stop a little further down the ramp.

He forced himself onto his injured knees, hissing at the pain. His stomach churned, but he ignored it.

Behind him, the van doors slammed. The officers were coming after him.

He lurched onto his feet. His body a mass of agony, he struggled over the guardrail and nearly plummeted down the embankment. Fighting to stay upright, he made it to the bottom.

Ignoring his body’s efforts to make him stop, he ran back toward the city, each jarring step impacting his injuries. He didn’t care. He was home free. He would be laid up a long while, but it was better than dying. He’d come close to losing his life.

Maybe it was time to go underground for a while.

Chapter Fifty-one

SURROUNDED BY confined males, Saranna huddled in the corner of a too-small cage. She focused on the others in an effort to keep herself from thinking of her own fate.

One male clawed, and even bit at the bars holding him in. Blood ran from his mouth as he attacked the unyielding metal. He’d been there long enough that the drugs had worn off and his eyes were glazed with fear. She estimated him at about sixteen years old.

An occasional scream by a vampire being processed punctuated her terror, and she huddled tighter, arms over her stomach. The minutes crawled by.

A dozen males, including the youngster were taken out one by one. Of the dozen, half were eventually returned. What had become of the others? None of the young ones had been brought back.

Chills prickled her skin.
Oh, dear Lord
. Were they killing the juveniles? Her heart squeezed. Sure they were. They’d done it before. They were culling young males. Had to be. They’d killed the little male who’d tried to chew his way out.

Her eyes burned and her vision doubled.

Two men came into the room and this time, they headed for her. Her insides twisted into painful knots.

The technician unlocked the cage and opened the door. “We can do this the hard way or the easy way. It’s up to you, honey.”

Heart in her throat, she said, “Don’t call me honey.”

“Fine. Bitch. You like that better? Now, get your ass out of the cage.”

She shrank back until she pressed against the rear bars. He grabbed her wrist. She yanked away.

“Listen, you can come out of there on your own or we’ll hit you with the electric and knock you out.”

Fearing an electric jolt would hurt her baby, she had no choice. But making herself move took every bit of courage she had. Shaking, she crawled from the cage.

“Move it.” The man pointed to the door.

With silent tears trickling down her cheeks, she walked in front of him. He shepherded her into a hallway with doors lining both sides.

“Don’t worry. We don’t brand females. Only males are violent enough to warrant it.”

In his own way, Saranna surmised, he was trying to be kind.

He opened a door to a small room, much like a doctor’s examination room, and ushered her inside. “Strip down.” He ordered.

“Wha… what?”

“Your clothes. Take them off.”

“Please, no.” She backed away from him.

“Listen, I’m trying to make this as easy as possible. The officers who brought you in said they were almost positive you’re pregnant. If so, that’s going to be bad enough.”

He closed the door behind them. “I’m not going to hurt you and I’ve seen at least a thousand naked females. Now strip and be done with it.”

Tears leaked from her eyes. “Please, mister.”

“Take them off.” His voice had gone cold.

Shaking, she turned her back and removed her clothes. When she stood nude, she looked at the floor, wanting to disappear. If he wanted to rape her, no one would stop him. A boulder of fear lodged in her stomach.

“Stand against the wall.”

He photographed her, front and back, and took her fingerprints.

“Get on the scales.”

She stepped on the scales and allowed him to measure her. Trembling, she crossed her arms over her breasts and lifted one leg enough to try to hide her pubic area.

He opened the door. “Harvey,” he called, “I need an assist with a blood draw.”

Another man came in. “Sit your pretty little ass down.” He pointed to the chair.

She backed away, shaking her head in refusal.

The men rushed her, grabbed her arms, and dragged her toward the chair. She squealed in panic and wrenched free. The one who’d come to help pulled a control device from his pocket and advanced on her.

She was afraid to let them take her tell-tale blood, but she was even more afraid of the device. “Don’t, I’ll sit.”

She sat and crossed her legs, trying to keep herself covered. The man placed a piece of tubing around her arm and yanked it painfully tight.

Without cleaning the site, he jabbed a needle into her vein and drew blood into a vial. She bit her lip at his rough treatment and just wanted it to be over.

He looked at her jewelry, the only thing she wore. “Those stones real?”

“No,” she whispered the lie. The green jasper had turned blood-red which made the diamonds look pink.

“From your boyfriend?”

“My mother gave them to me.”

The man pulled the tube loose, finished the collection, and withdrew the needle from her vein. He handed her a wad of gauze to press over the bleeding stick mark. “Get dressed.”

Both men watched while, face flaming, she pulled her clothes on.

“You got a male?” The second man asked. “You’re a pretty little thing. Yeah, I’m guessing you have a mate.”

“Answer the question.” The first man prodded.

“I have a mate.”

“He’s probably shitting himself right about now,” the second man said.

THE DRIVE took too long, but once the center was in sight, Julian wasn’t sure how to proceed. He slowed to a crawl and drove to the back of the building.

A ramp curved down to the basement, ending at a large metal garage door. A sign read
Sound Horn For Entrance
. He turned into the drive and hit the horn. The garage door rattled upward and his gut clenched. Point of no return. He drove forward.

The interior was a large, open space where vans pulled in for unloading. He remembered it from his own terrifying trip through the wretched place.

Men walked around, some with clipboards, and a few who appeared to be doing nothing beyond loitering.

He slid the van into a spot near a service elevator where a sign read
No Cargo
. He shut the motor off.

No one paid any attention to him.

He sat behind the wheel and checked his gun. Taking a deep breath, he hid the Beretta under his jacket.

He stepped out of the van and grabbed the backpack. Waiting for a flurry of action to break loose, he shoved the door shut.