Bled Dry, page 21
part #3 of Vegas Vampires Series
His head was pounding. He just couldn’t let that research fall into the wrong hands. Chechikov had played him for a fool. He intended to take the research, take the office of the presidency, and clone vampires. So he would have total control. Corbin was not about to let that happen, nor was he going to let any harm befall Brittany or his child.
“I need to go find Brittany. Can someone go to my lab in my apartment and start destroying my files? I cannot let Chechikov or Donatelli find my research.”
“I don’t have the technical skills for that,” Ethan said. “But I’ll go with you to find Brittany.”
“I can destroy files,” Seamus offered, stepping forward. “Just tell me what you want saved.”
“Put everything on a ThumbDrive. There is one sitting on the desk. Then destroy everything on all three computers. Obliterate it. So no one can retrieve anything. Put all the paper files through the shredder.” It was painful to say that, but he knew it was necessary. He had created the means to do the very opposite of what he had intended. It was his responsibility to destroy it.
He wanted the ThumbDrive, though. The files would give him the ability to re-create his vaccine. Giving up that choice he had created, the chance to be mortal again, wasn’t an option he was comfortable with. Not yet, not when he knew he had the cure. And he might need the genetic database with regard to their child.
“Just give me your apartment keys and I’m on the way,” Seamus said, hand held out. “Kelsey, I’ll drop you off at your place in case Ringo comes home.”
Corbin gave him the keys. “Merci. Now I am going to get the mother of my child and I will kill anyone who has harmed her. Does anyone have a sword I can borrow?”
“I do,” Alexis said.
Why didn’t that surprise him?
“Oh, Christ,” Ethan replied. “You had to ask her that?”
“I’ll take it.” Corbin was skilled with a sword thanks to boarding school. He would relish sticking someone today, given his current mood.
Brittany had been in the chair for twelve hours. She knew because there was a platinum clock on the wall opposite her that showed how excruciatingly long she had been held captive. It had been an hour since she had woken up from Donatelli’s little mind sleep, and while they had let her use the bathroom, Gregor had also smacked her twice, shaken her, and, most recently, bitten her wrist and snacked on her blood.
He was trying to terrify her and it was working. She was pee-her-pants afraid, though at least her bladder was empty. Calling for help in her head didn’t seem to be effective, because no one was answering, and given that a guard had actually stood in the doorway of the bathroom while she had used it, she didn’t see how she could possibly escape. At this point, she figured Gregor could rape her, maim her, whatever, and she would live. But she was scared that somehow in his psycho mind games he was going to inadvertently hurt the baby. She could tolerate anything done to her, but she was going to go ballistic if anything happened to her child.
It was past 8 p.m., so she suspected that while she had been in a forced slumber, the vampires had been daysleeping as well. Now they were up for the night and she very possibly had hours before Corbin realized she wasn’t going to show up at her sister’s. God only knew what Gregor might decide to do to her in the interim. He was definitely enjoying her discomfort.
Sasha at least had disappeared. Ringo had stepped out for a cigarette. And Donatelli looked distinctly unhappy.
He shifted in his seat, tugging at his suit jacket. “Enough of that, Chechikov. Leave her be.”
But the Russian only laughed, wiping her blood off his lips and licking his fingers one by one. “I am just playing with her.”
The two men stared at each other, and after a minute, Brittany realized they were speaking to each other in their heads. She moved her thighs restlessly, making the leather on the chair squeak. She was thirsty, hungry, and getting a cramp in her leg. The baby was fluttering around in her belly in what felt like frantic somersaults, scaring her more than she already was, which she wouldn’t have thought possible.
There was no obvious escape from the situation, yet she knew without a shadow of a doubt that Donatelli was the more rational of the two, the one who might be sympathetic, or at the least, unwilling to risk destroying his future prize. He wanted her child, and he wanted to keep her alive, which was different from his psycho pal. It had occurred to her that Gregor didn’t need or want her alive. He wanted her baby and he had no interest in waiting for her to give birth. It wasn’t a live child he wanted—it was her child’s DNA. The genetic sequence, nothing more. He would treat her baby like a blood sample. Extract, use, discard.
That would have to be over her dead body. And while she was just a free-spirited suburban dentist who happened to get knocked up by a controversial vampire research scientist, she had no intention of bursting into tears and giving up. Something had happened to her since that day in her doctor’s office, since her OB had said she was pregnant. She had morphed from happy-go-lucky to warrior woman. She’d protect her child with every last breath in her.
What she needed to do was play it smart. If Donatelli was feeling uncomfortable with Gregor’s cruel behavior, she figured he would be downright furious if he knew the truth about her genetics.
And as luck would have it, Gregor and Donatelli appeared to be arguing. Gregor threw his hand up and gave a loud “Bah!”
Turning around, he slapped her again without warning, causing her to bite her tongue. Brittany winced, blinking hard against the pain, biting her lip to prevent a cry from slipping out. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. But Gregor didn’t stick around to watch her suffer. He went out the door, slamming it behind him, making the walls shake precariously.
Donatelli shook his head in disgust before giving her a shrug. “Listen to me. Accept the money, Brittany. It is really your only choice. The money or death. Either way he’ll have what he wants.”
She ignored that. “Did you live in Las Vegas twenty-seven years ago?” she asked, swallowing hard, her mouth dry except for the blood from where her teeth had lacerated her tongue.
“What? I don’t remember. I might have. I spent a few years in the seventies and eighties here. Why? Didn’t you hear what I just said?” He frowned at her, hands on the knees of his black pants.
She didn’t see herself in his features at all, except arguably her dark hair. It was odd to gaze into his face and try to find her own, but she saw nothing that proclaimed he was her father. Yet he was. “My mother knew you. She was a dancer at the Kareless Kitten Klub.”
Donatelli smiled. “The Kitten? No kidding. I actually remember that club rather fondly. I spent many a night there.”
“My mother’s name was Gina Shoemaker. But chances are she went by Gina Baldizzi, which was her maiden name. She was very tall, with long legs, and jet-black hair.” Brittany glanced toward the door, wanting to make sure Gregor wasn’t returning.
Donatelli looked annoyed. “So?”
“So you slept with her.”
His eyebrow went up. “Did I? And she shared this with you? That’s a curious mother-daughter conversation.”
“Oh, she didn’t tell me. Corbin did.”
“What the hell does Atelier know about it?”
Brittany leaned closer, straining her hands in the painful rope ties. She whispered, terrified someone would hear her. “You know that I’m an Impure, don’t you? That’s what makes my baby so special to all of you.”
Donatelli stared hard at her. “So you know what we want.”
“Yes, I do. But before you let Gregor take what he wants, let me tell you that this child, this three-quarter vampire, is your grandchild. You had sex with my mother, Gina Baldizzi, and you are the reason I have vampire blood. You’re my father.”
He sat up straight, his head shaking. “What? You are lying to me. That is... ”
“Impossible? Why? How many vampires were hanging around the Kitten in the same time period?” And how many clubs could have been named something as ridiculous as the Kitten?
“My mother may have been a good-time girl, but I don’t think she was doing half the Vampire Nation. You were probably the only vampire she ever slept with.” Keeping her voice steady, she drove her point home. “Besides, Corbin ran a DNA test on me, and you, Roberto Donatelli, were the match. You are my father.”
Her heart was pounding viciously as she waited for his reaction. He looked appropriately stunned and suspicious, but she could also see that he was considering believing her.
“Perhaps I remember your mother. Perhaps we had sex once or twice or twelve times. Perhaps I am your father. Why are you telling me?”
“Don’t play stupid with me. I’m telling you now because I’m tied to a chair and I know that your Russian friend wouldn’t hesitate to kill me or my baby. So I’m telling you if he does that, he will be killing your daughter. Your grandchild. Your future.”
He studied her, for so long that she started to lose hope. It was a risk, telling him the truth, but it was her only opportunity for escape unless Corbin or Ethan came for her. But finally he nodded. “You could be my daughter. You are smart enough. And I would be a fool to risk anything happening to you, at least until I can verify the DNA myself.”
Wow, that was heartwarming. But no more than she had expected, and she was pleased he could see the logic in protecting her.
“And I do remember your mother, actually, because I wasn’t normally fond of brunettes. But her legs were amazing and she was willing to try anything... a wonderful combination of attributes.” He stood up and moved toward her. “Though I imagine you’d rather not hear about that.”
“I could do without it, thanks.” But in a weird way, she was grateful he remembered her, that she wasn’t just a nameless number in a long string of women he had seduced.
Donatelli leaned over, stared at her face, searching. “You do look like her. Yet you seem stronger, more stable.” He started to untie her hand bonds. “How is your mother these days?”
“She died fifteen years ago. A drug overdose.” Brittany tried not to recoil as his chest brushed near her face, the rustle of his suit and crisp dress shirt ringing in her ears. He smelled like a deep rich cologne and her stomach turned again. He didn’t seem the least bit put out or distressed that he had a daughter he’d known nothing about.
“I am sorry to hear that. Who raised you then?” he asked, tone mildly curious, conversational.
“My sister, Alexis.”
“Ah, yes.” He got one hand free, and lightly massaged her wrist where the rope had burned her flesh. “Carrick’s wife. No wonder she is such a fierce defender. Forced into adulthood too soon. It is a shame your mother never mentioned you to me.”
Somehow Brittany couldn’t bring herself to regret that.
“I could have provided for you in some fashion or another. As far as I am aware, you are my only child. I find the concept fascinating. I would have liked a hand in influencing your upbringing.”
She just bet he would have. Boarding school for political power mongers’ offspring maybe. She could have chummed around with daughters of dictators.
Undoing the other bond, he pulled back, and Brittany stared up at him. “I don’t care about the past. All I care about is the future of my child.” She didn’t want to beg, so she locked her chin up, narrowed her eyes. “Protect me and your grandchild.”
“Oh, I will.” His voice was still casual, unconcerned, but she heard the determination in his voice, saw the conviction in his dark black eyes. “I have no intention of letting Gregor harm you.”
Relief made her sag her shoulders a little, suck in a deep breath.
“Now stand up. I’m going to get you out of the building before the lunatic gets back.”
Brittany stood, her knees and hips groaning with stiffness. Donatelli startled her by quickly retying her wrists in front of her. “In case we happen upon our friend.” He stripped off his jacket and draped it over her bonded hands. “And in case we happen upon any mortals.”
The fabric felt warm on her skin, and she realized she was cold, and exhausted. She wanted to do what she had always done, shrug her shoulders and assume everything would be alright, that Alexis or someone else would take care of it for her. But for the first time in her life, she realized that, ultimately, she was the one who had to take care of herself, and that for her child, she was the “it” person. The one who had to fix everything. She couldn’t trust Donatelli. He was a means to an end, nothing more.
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere safe.”
“I want you to promise me you’ll tell Corbin where I am.”
He sighed. “Fine. Now do you want to stay here or not?”
“No.” She followed him out the door. The danger ahead seemed much less threatening than staying and hanging with the slap-happy Russian.
Fifteen
“He’s moving her,” Gwenna said suddenly from the backseat of the car. “He’s debating where to take her.”
Corbin was already regretting that he had decided to drive. The traffic was typical for Vegas at night. He was crawling at about twenty miles an hour and he had only a miserable two miles to travel.
“I’m getting out,” he said. He could have been there already if he’d run. Throwing the car into park, he started to open his door.
“I’m coming with you,” Carrick said. “But you should leave the sword. Just take a knife instead.” He flashed Corbin a wicked-looking hunting knife with a jagged blade.
“You carry the knife. I will take the sword. Nothing wrong with extra protection.” Besides, it was December and he had thrown on a winter coat. There was no difficulty in concealing the sword. And he preferred its steel smoothness, its light, skillful drama. It was a classic weapon, whereas that knife was brutal, rough, inelegant.
“How about no one takes any weapons?” Gwenna asked as she jumped out of the backseat right after Alexis did. “Can’t we just discuss this rationally with Roberto? Let me talk to him.”
“No! You’re not to say one word to him,” Ethan said, pointing his finger at her.
Corbin did not have time to argue with either of them. He abandoned his car, earning lots of honks and finger gestures from other drivers, and took off running down the Strip, dodging groups of giggling women in their twenties, drunken couples leaning on each other and exchanging sloppy kisses, and men attempting to hand him flyers to bawdy shows.
He had done everything wrong. Everything. He had kept himself too isolated, he had forgotten to pay attention to the movements of those in power, had allowed himself to be self-absorbed and ignorant of the climate of the Nation. Now it was Brittany who was paying for his distraction. Brittany and his child.
Brittany? he called, feeling a sense of desperation. The Bellagio was a massive building with thousands of rooms and he had no idea how to find her.
There was no response, but suddenly Ethan was running alongside him. “I can hear her, Atelier. She sounds scared, but calm, and she answered me. He’s taking her onto the roof.”
“Why is she answering you but not me?” Corbin was stupidly devastated. It was an emotion totally inappropriate for the situation, and while he was grateful they knew where Brittany was headed, he wanted to be the one she called for, needed. Not her brother-in-law.
They jogged past the Bellagio’s fountain, going off in its elaborate water display to the strains of Sinatra. “I don’t know. Who cares?”
He shouldn’t care, but he did. “You are right. That is good. We can find her easily on the roof.”
Glancing behind him, he saw Alexis was right behind them, not even breaking a sweat, but Gwenna was nowhere to be found. “Where is your sister?”
Ethan swore. “Christ, I don’t know. Let’s hope she just couldn’t keep up.”
They were on the elevator in five minutes.
“Get off on the floor beneath the penthouse suites,” Ethan told him. “We’ll walk up the stairs from there.”
When they reached the last turn of stairs before the rooftop, an EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY sign glaring at them, Corbin sensed vampire, knew Brittany and Donatelli had to be right ahead of him. Cautiously, he cracked the door open and saw Brittany with her hands tied in front of her, shorter hair sticking straight out in the wind, her stretchy top clinging to her swollen belly.
Closing his eyes for two seconds, he fought the fury, the guilt, the agony of wanting this to end positively. Then he shoved open the door and said coldly, “Move away from my woman, Donatelli.”
Brittany turned and her face reflected relief. “Corbin.”
Donatelli showed no surprise, his stance leisurely, unconcerned. “For once we are on the same side, Atelier. But there is no time to discuss this. We need to get her out of here.”
