Fallen Angel of Mine (23 page)

"All my numbers are programmed into my
cell phone. I don't remember. Why do you want a phone
number?"

He scowled and stomped on the rest of
the food, splattering it on the floor. "You better remember or no
ransom. No ransom, you stay here or maybe we just kill
you."

A bell dinged in my head as I realized
what sort of situation I was in. I'd read about it on the news,
though I mainly heard about stuff like this happening in Mexico.
"Are you with a drug cartel?" I mimicked sniffing cocaine off my
wrist like I'd seen in the movies.

He jumped up and down on the food then
kicked the tray down the hallway, scattering beans and rice
everywhere. "Give me number!"

I managed a laugh at his ridiculous
antics. "Man, you're right out of a nineteen-eighties action
movie."

That comment apparently escaped his
brilliant intellect. He stormed away and back through the steel
door. Amusement and no small amount of fear at this new conundrum
perked my brain from its sluggishness. I took advantage of this
newfound clarity, sitting cross-legged on the floor and closing my
eyes in concentration. When I reopened them, I let my gaze drop out
of focus until I could see the tendril of my parasitic essence
drifting in the air. I sent it down the hall, sensing everything
along the path and searching for a female or the magnetic draw of
hot emotion.

Walls and doors were no obstacle,
though my sensitivity dropped like a rock when I overextended. Dad
hadn't really taught me about feeding like this, but then again, he
probably hadn't expected me to be kidnapped for ransom in a
third-world country either. My sense twitched like a wolf's nose.
Women were nearby. Unlike men, I could latch onto women in just
about any state, or so had been my experience.

But as I strained for that hot,
pulsating femininity, I reached the end of my tether and the
essence hovered just out of reach, tantalizing, teasing me. I
pushed harder and harder. The heat just barely tickled the tip. My
tendril snapped back into me like a rubber band. The shock hit like
a physical blow and laid me flat on my back, head pounding in
agony. Darkness crowded the edges of my vision, threatening to cast
me into unconsciousness.

I had only one choice left, terrible as
it was, if I were going to escape. I let the agony build into
frustration. I pushed that frustration into anger, thinking about
the man as he stomped my food. Elyssa was in danger. These people
had kidnapped me. They thought they had some weak nom in custody.
I'd teach them their mistake. I would make them pay. I pounded the
walls with my fists, pulling myself hand-over-hand up the white-hot
chain of rage until I hit pure fury. My headache grew in magnitude
like metal shards drilling into my skull.

I was going to manifest into my demon
form and show these assholes just what hell on Earth felt like.
Boney spikes poked from the skin on my brow. Blue flames danced in
and out of my vision. My head exploded in a final burst of agony as
muscles strained against suddenly tight clothes.

Sometime later, I pushed myself off the
filthy concrete floor. Miniature supernovas of blinding torment
pulsed in my head. I looked around, confused. The shackle still
held my foot. The cell around me remained undamaged. I found two
tiny horn nubs on the floor next to me and let out a string of
curse words I'd been saving for a rainy day. Either I hadn't had
enough juice to manifest, or I just wasn't doing it right. Either
way, I felt even weaker than before and my body trembled with
hunger.

I imagined how pale my eyes must look
by now. How the gaunt lines of my cheeks and jaw probably appeared
as they edged toward an almost inhuman mask I'd once seen on Dad's
face when he was starving. If only I could reach those women,
somehow.

"Is anyone else in here?" I called out.
No response came. Either they ransomed people fast, or the pickings
were slim in this neck of the woods.

Sometime later, the short-tempered
food-stomper man returned, but this time without any food. I
noticed the rice and beans he'd kicked all over the place were
gone. I wondered if they'd made him clean it. I wished I'd been
awake to make fun of him while he did.

The door at the end of the hall slammed
open again and a tall thin man wearing a black suit and dark shades
strode through while one of his cronies held open the door. A
ponytail barely held back a thick mane of coarse hair. His skin,
though olive-toned, looked pasty.

The short man's face went deathly pale
and his eyes dropped to the floor. He spoke a sentence in tremulous
Spanish and pointed at me a couple of times. I reached with my
senses toward this new guy—obviously a head honcho—and felt only a
whisper of cold aura. I must have sprained my brain earlier because
it took all I had. But what I felt was enough. My stomach roiled
and an arctic chill shivered all the way from the peach fuzz on the
bottom of my butt cheeks to my scalp.

This guy was a vampire. No question
about it.

He regarded the short man with a
cruelly amused expression, and in a rich Spanish accent rivaling
Antonio Banderas said, "Diego, get out of here."

Diego burst out of there with speed
almost supernatural for a human, leaving me alone with El
Mysterioso Strangero. I'd figured out by adding an 'o' to the end
of most of my words, it was practically like speaking
Spanish.

"Greetings, Justin Slade," the man said
with the hint of a cunning smile. "Maximus sends his
regards."

Anger burned through the frost of fear.
I gripped the bars. "Who are you?"

He leaned against the cinder block wall
and regarded me as a cat might look upon a trapped mouse. "I am
Marcel, right hand of the man who runs this compound."

"Maximus runs this place?" Good lord,
this wasn't the ordinary ransom by a drug cartel like I'd
thought.

He threw back his head and laughed.
Light glistened off his fangs. "Maximus, in charge here?" His
laughter cut off suddenly and cruel cunning once again filled his
eyes. "I can assure you, such is not the case."

"But it's a vampire
compound?"

"Such questions are beyond your
concern, my friend," he answered coolly.

"How the hell does Maximus know where I
am? Is he here? Did he send that guy after me?"

Marcel chuckled softly, clearly
enjoying my confusion. "So many questions, friend. All you need
worry about, however, is keeping me and Franco full of sweet spawn
blood."

I shuddered and backed away, my mind
groping for some way out. "Maximus might not appreciate you keeping
me."

He removed his sunglasses and tucked
them into a pocket, revealing the red irises, a dead giveaway to
his supernatural affiliation. "Maximus does not need to
know."

"Obviously, he somehow knew I was down
here and asked you guys to kidnap me." I raised an eyebrow. "He's
not stupid. How long do you think it'll be before he comes to
collect?"

"You seem to know Maximus very well,
friend. But he is a young vampire and poses no threat to
us."

"Not even with his army of vampires?" I
was grasping at straws here, but I remembered the compound full of
vamps Maximus had recruited, not to mention Underborn's dire
warnings the rogue vampire had extended his tendrils into schools
all over the nation and had his sights set on other countries as
well.

Marcel's eyes flickered uncertainly for
the first time, though his fanged grin never faltered. "We provide
him with certain services. If he wishes those services to continue,
then keeping you will pose no problem."

"You know, if I were any other spawn, I
might say you're right. But Maxi-poo and I go back a long way.
You're going to have a fight on your hands." Part of my brain
raised a metaphorical eyebrow and gave me a crazy look, probably
wondering why in the world I was so eager to make this guy hand me
over to Maximus. Or maybe I was just desperate to keep his nasty,
diseased fangs out of my skin. I couldn't repress a shudder at the
thought.

"How
did
Maximus know I was down here?" I
asked again, voice hoarse and trembling.

"You placed a call to your father's
phone and left a rather detailed message. Maximus forwarded it to
us and requested we bring you in."

My stomach suddenly weighed a ton. Did
Maximus have my father's phone, or had he somehow tapped it? Had
something horrible happened back in the States while I'd been stuck
down here? I had to keep these guys from feeding off me. I
remembered how weak my father had been during his incarceration by
Maximus. If they got me in that state, I'd be useless. Oh, who was
I kidding? I was already beyond useless in my current condition. I
had to play Maximus against them. Give myself time and a chance to
recover.

An even taller man with cropped black
hair strode inside. Golden gem-encrusted rings occupied every
slender finger. Chains hung from his neck, and diamond studs
twinkled from his ears. A thick black goatee and long sideburns
graced his narrow face. This dude was the king of bling. I wondered
if he had a gold-plated Rolls Royce with hydraulics too.

I took an involuntary step back from
the bars, my leaden legs threatening to give way, and said,
"Franco, I presume."

He crossed his arms and looked me up
and down like a piece of juicy, grade-A beef before turning to
Marcel. "He is the one?" His accent had a well-educated British
quality to it.

Marcel nodded. "Should we move him to
the low cell? We need to keep him away from women."

"Once he's in the low cell, he can have
all the women he needs to stay healthy." Franco motioned me closer.
"Come here, boy. I want to taste the merchandise."

I backed away. "I don't think so,
twinkle toes."

Franco gave Marcel a look and motioned
toward the door with his head.

Marcel produced a radio and barked
something in Spanish. A smug smiled appeared on his face. He was
planning something nasty, I could tell. The steel door creaked a
few minutes later and a hulking muscle-bound dude with enough
testosterone in his swagger to impregnate a woman from thirty yards
out strutted in. Looked me up and down. My legs wobbled but somehow
I kept them from buckling by leaning against the back
wall.

Marcel spoke in rapid-fire
Spanish. He repeated one sentence three times, so even with my
horrible comprehension, I figured out what he was saying.
"
Absolutamente no mujers. No muchachas.
Comprende?"
Absolutely no women.
Understand?

"When I return, I believe you will be
more than happy to let me sample your blood," Franco said with a
cruel smile. "Jose will make you eager to do as we say."

He and Marcel left. Jose pumped a meaty
fist into his palm and smiled. Diego, the short food-stomping man
came in a moment later with a stool. He obviously wanted to watch
Jose pound the snot out of me.

Jackass.

"You must have the tiniest little
pee-pee in the world," I said to Jose, showing him my pinky finger
and wiggling the tip. A hysterical laugh burst from my dry ragged
throat. Apparently, my hunger had deteriorated into dementia. I
also didn't recall drinking anything since my arrival, so my brain
was probably dehydrated and shriveling into a gray prune. My legs
finally gave way. My knees crashed into the concrete, sending a
jolt of pain through my bones.

I was in horrible shape. Overdose of
tranquilizers, no water, no food, no essence to feed on. This was
not going to be pleasant. I groped desperately at Jose's aura, but
his happiness was so sadistic, it repulsed me. I tried to tweak his
mood, but without a female presence, I was fiddling in a lock
without a key.

Jose said something to Diego and they
both laughed. I heard him say something about the no women rule and
they laughed again.

"Do you know what Franco and Marcel
are?" I said.

Diego grinned. "The bosses. They own
you."

My forehead furrowed and worsened my
headache. "What about Maximus?"

"How you know about Maximus? He sells
us guns. He no interested in you."

"What about vampires?"

A puzzled look wrinkled the
little man's face. "You crazy
gringo
." He spoke to Jose and they
guffawed long and loud, Jose bending over and slapping his thigh
with merriment.

Holy crap.
These guys didn't have a clue who or what they
were working for.

The big guy opened the cell and,
gripping me by my shirt, tried to drag me onto my feet. My T-shirt,
a loaner from Alejandro, stretched and tore. I thudded back onto
the concrete like a sack of potatoes. He kicked me in the ribs with
pointy-toed boots. Something cracked. I was going to set a record
for breaking my bones this week.

His kick ripped an incoherent scream of
pain from my throat. I folded into the fetal position, holding my
sides. Jose jerked me to my feet and punched me in the stomach. His
fist finally did what all my earlier dry heaves couldn't. I vomited
a stream of stomach acid all over his face. He yelled what had to
be every Spanish profanity in the book, spitting, sputtering, and
backing away. I slumped against the wall, my entire body feeling
more like jelly than flesh and bone.