Minion (26 page)

Carlos could not move as he watched Nuit break sections of the spinal column off and toss them to the headmen who were now panting as they grabbed the dripping bones. Nuit glared at the big cat again as she tried to approach the fresh kill, and the panther backed away with a sullen growl. The henchmen were sucking the bones, licking between their fingers. They now gathered around the body, knelt at the open gully in it, and lowered their heads. Only slurping sounds could be heard. Carlos turned away, and dry heaved.

Listening to it without seeing it was worse. “What the fuck was that shit?! Oh, goddamned . . .” Carlos's voice failed him as he turned around again, unable to keep his eyes from watching the grisly sight. Transfixed, all he could do was hold his gun. No, fuck it. This was too ill. He was out. Panic claimed him. He'd never seen no bullshit like this in his fucking life!

“Calm yourself,” Nuit crooned in a reassuring voice. His eyes were steady as they held Carlos, his voice alluring.

For a moment, Carlos couldn't move. To get out of there,
he'd have to mow down the big cat, then what? These motherfuckers might eat him!

“No one will lay a finger on you, my friend, I assure you,” Nuit murmured, his eyes closing to half slits. “We have much bigger plans for you than that. Plans that involve an increase in territory, much more money than you could ever spend in one lifetime.” Nuit chuckled. His voice now held a seductive resonance, like the way a man might speak to a difficult woman to talk her drawers off. “Think of the money that is out here in the woods. These men might have a perversion, but they are filthy rich and very protected . . . not even the feds can touch them. You want that, and you know it . . . to travel the world with a seal of protection . . . to operate with impunity, laughing at the authorities.” Nuit stepped closer to him and leaned his head back with an expression of ecstasy. “Tell me you don't want that,” he whispered. “Tell me . . . from way down in your soul.”

Perspiration soaked Carlos's nylon jacket and made it stick to his skin. Beads of sweat on his brow became a quick trickle down the sides of his face. His hand trembled from gripping his gun so tightly and his fingers twitched as they remained glued to the trigger.

Nuit lifted his head, opened his eyes, and allowed his gaze to rove over Carlos, sending a ripple of carnal pleasure through him. “You can't even find the words to tell me . . . because it's not in you. You want what I've described, and you covet what I have,
n'est pas?
”

“But, goddamned . . .” Carlos's sentence derailed as the words lodged in his throat.

“It is damned, and it is power.” Nuit inhaled deeply.

As each of the bosses stood and wiped their mouths, Carlos stared at Nuit, paralyzed by the grotesque, transfixed by the seductive,
while this madman licked blood from his own hand, and sighed.

“You ripped a man's back out . . . then—”

“Martial arts.” Nuit smiled. “Did you know that many old cultures ate of the remains of their enemies after a battle? To the victor go the spoils. It is an old custom, designed to give you the power that the other side once had over you. Just a small ritual—you don't have to participate, unless you are so moved. We accept diversity, as you can see.” Nuit chuckled. “And, we can teach you how to protect yourself from a gun, or anything else more dangerous . . . if you want to go to the next level—and if you want to really get to the bottom . . . or should I say, the top of who did your family.”

Skeptical, Carlos didn't move, but also didn't nod. “I'm not doing the blood shit.”

“But you are intrigued? Take your time. Think about it. We have all night.”

He didn't answer Nuit. Two men that had done his family had indeed died horrible deaths. All these years he had been protected by these men and given safe passage. He had a million dollars sitting beside him, plus his own hundred Gs still intact. They were going to show him how to expand, gain more power, and be untouchable by the law. He'd never have to watch people close to him die at the hands of violence. He'd never have to worry about having children—his would be safe from what he and his brother and sister endured. He could protect
his people
and all that he'd built for them to enjoy. For the first time in his life, the madness would end and he'd be in a safe camp—a squad with unlimited power.

Nuit studied him with a sly smile. Carlos mulled over the options. He had everything to gain and nothing to lose.
Hmmm . . . Freaky rituals of revenge notwithstanding, there was some merit to the consideration.

“If I say yes, that I'll go after the rest of them—what else do you want from me? I want it all laid out, no after-the-fact negotiations.”

“A true businessman,” Nuit murmured, his voice cool as he continued licking the last of the blood from his hand. “I respect that.” Nuit cast his gaze in the direction of the panther. “She's an excellent way to ensure that our way of life is preserved. She sends a powerful message to those that get in our way . . . tends to
turn
them to see things from our perspective.” Nuit chuckled low and sinister. “So effective.”

“You want me to keep
that
in my house?” Carlos laughed nervously and shook his head no.

Nuit chuckled from a place deep within his chest. “No. She's a lot to handle and hates the sun. We'll house her. I just want you to train her and control her.”

“I don't know jack about training a beast like that.” Again Carlos shook his head, and he laughed.

“We'll teach you how—just look how easily she came to me.”

“So, when I do a hit, I'm supposed to make that thing—”

“Details, details,” Nuit sighed, putting up his hand. “The creature is yours, but I'll keep her for now. In fact,” he said smoothly, “I'll trade my pussy for the one you have under your control.” He smiled. “Deal?”

Carlos shook his head and picked up the leather briefcase and stashed it under his arm, gripping the handle of his silver case along with it, while still holding his gun in his other hand. He'd heard about men like this—so rich that they'd lost their fucking minds and had gone freaky. “Name any woman of mine you want, and I'm sure she'll have no problem coming to you.
Money, power, draws women like flies. I'll send her to you,” he called over his shoulder as he began to walk away.

“Wait!” Nuit said. “Say that again.”

Carlos let his breath out hard, turned around, and watched as Nuit closed his eyes and seemed to inhale his exhale from across the clearing.

“I said, pick any one of them you want,” Carlos restated impatiently. “Name her, and I'll bring her to you. The deal is a million for the men who did our people, and a woman—I get to own a panther, but you get to house and feed it. And I get crazy protection, with no bullshit attached. Period.”

Nuit's eyes narrowed to slits, and he wrapped his arms around himself and trembled, breathing hard. “Come here. Seal this pact. Then you can go.”

He knew the custom—seal it with a handshake or a don level embrace.

“Fuck you. Lock the panther up first, man.”

Nuit smiled. “Yes, she is daunting, even for her master at times. But she is so good—even in bed.”

“I don't need to know all that,” Carlos muttered as a disgusted shiver ran up his spine. “Just lock the monster up, and then we can shake on it.” Carlos set down both briefcases, but kept his automatic. These guys were whack.

He only stepped forward when the panther jumped back in the limo, and one of the guards locked it in the vehicle.

Carlos watched the men as they continued to lick the blood off their hands. Then they wiped them with dark silk handkerchiefs, then cleaned their mouths. The thought of shaking on the deal with them was abhorrent, but he had a cool hundred thou at his left side, and a million on his right.

Unconcerned that Carlos was still heavily armed, the Italian
stepped forward first, but grabbed Carlos's face as he offered him his left fist to pound, pulling him forward in a powerful embrace, and landing a kiss on each cheek before releasing him. Carlos wiped his nose with the back of his hand—the stench of blood, sulfur, and death filled his nostrils.

“Grazie,”
the older man murmured, his eyes cold and his smile even more threatening.

By instinct, Carlos allowed himself to be subjected to each of them, as they grabbed his face, kissed both cheeks, and released him. However, their strength was the most perplexing aspect of it all. Each of these men, who were substantially older than him, had handled him like he was a baby—and he was a man in top form!

When Nuit stepped to him, he braced himself. The top man could deliver the kiss of death, or the kiss of passage. It was all in how one was released from the embrace.

Cold hands went to Carlos's face, almost stroking it with a chill. The black eyes that met his were so intense that he could not turn away. A strange current ran through him. He could almost hear his own blood rushing through his veins. His heartbeat became erratic; he could hear the sound of its thud in his ears.

“You are going to know a pleasure so profound, a power so vast that it will make your dick hard,” Nuit whispered.

 

 

 

 

 

F
ALLON
N
UIT
's icy palm cradled Carlos's cheek with a lover's touch. Yet his grip on Carlos was an iron hold. Immediately Carlos tried to pull away, but was held firm as Nuit's face neared his. The sexual connection, the sensuality that ran through Nuit's fingers and onto Carlos's skin fucked with everything he believed in. The combination of surrender in the wake of such power also made him high, dazed for a second, and drained any desire to struggle out of Nuit's grasp.

Then Carlos saw it in slow motion—paralyzed with horror. Massive eyeteeth replaced the ones that had gleamed in the darkness, a black tongue licked a trail of slime at his neck. His gun unloaded, firing rounds against the earth. His neck was forced to bend and expose itself, pushed by a cheek that felt like it was packed with steel. His voice was muffled by blood in his throat from Nuit's hold, then impact.

Searing pain made his whole body convulse and twitch, he heard his collarbone snap and felt flesh tear away from the bite. Something was siphoning him, pulling at the open wound. He couldn't breathe. Heaven help him! He was dying in a man's arms.

His grandmother's face flashed in his mind, he saw his mother
weeping as she held the phone. Their prayers connected with the one his mind was screaming now, Por Dios,
not like this!

Carlos immediately dropped and saw a distorted face hovering above him, retching and spitting out blood. He tried to right himself, tried to stand. Where was his gun? He'd pulled the magnum from his waist, but his body went limp. Then he was moving fast, careening through blackness as though he were a car without windows. Putrid air whizzed by him, making him feel weightless, traveling faster and faster. The wind tore through his hair, terrible images blurred. In the distance he heard a howl, joined by more howls and screeches that made him try to cover his ears—but he was moving too fast, centrifugal force made anything but hurling forward impossible. A pinpoint of white light was in the distance, and he fought against the force that bound him and desperately reached for it. The light moved away from him. He was dying. Damali's words flashed in his mind.
God in Heaven, forgive me,
his mind screamed.

Suddenly, all motion stopped and he came to a halt with a thud that sent shards of pain through every cell in his body. His eyes were shut tight, and he could hear voices around him. Angry voices. Hisses, growls, an argument. Something in his pants pocket was burning his leg—Juan's cross. Blind, he groped for the cross and took it out of his pocket. He gripped it and then screamed. It scorched his fingers, his palm, branded it, and he threw it. Carlos slowly opened his eyes.

“Sacrilege!” Nuit yelled, his voice cutting through the night air. He walked in a circle, spitting and hissing and holding his abdomen. “He died with a prayer in his heart! The blood is tainted!
This one was previously marked to be a tracker guardian.
This one had a slayer's prayers, and the prayers of the elderly over him! Even the slayer's team once prayed over this bastard. Why was I not informed?! I thought he was marked as one of ours!”

The others now bore fangs, their faces like demons. Weak, Carlos pushed himself up to a sitting position, and then he scrabbled with the earth to get enough of a hold to finally stand. The rows of vehicles vanished with a wave of Nuit's hand. All but his black Lexus were gone.

“Save your thought projection energy,” Nuit ordered the men around him. Then he studied Carlos. “Mine is a master's bite. You shouldn't have immediately turned, yet you've healed,” he said, circling Carlos. “Something is very wrong in the supernatural order.” Concern flickered in the red glow of Nuit's eyes.