The Victorious Redemption Complete Series Boxed Set, page 17
They passed Harvey’s, parking around the corner. Jasmine went to undo her seat belt and realized she hadn’t buckled herself in. “Did you see anyone out front?” She asked.
Qadir shook his head. “I’m going to ask one more time because I know I’ll beat myself up if I don’t. Didn’t I take enough beatings today? Can we please think about this, perhaps go home and sit on this idea for a couple of hours? You’re not in the right state of mind.”
“Oh, I’m in the right state of mind,” Jasmine shot back before opening the door and stepping out onto the street. She leaned back into the SUV. “Now, either you’re with me, or you’re with me, so get out of the fucking car. I need you.”
They approached the edge of a building with a good view of the garage. Jasmine looked for any sign of activity and found one lone man sitting at a window in a guard’s uniform. She spotted the CCTV cameras and took Eddy’s word that they were likely unwatched. This was confirmed by the guard turning his attention to a second TV, which Jasmine realized was displaying a rerun episode of Friends.
“Come on.” Jasmine jogged across the road. Qadir cautiously followed. She reached the window with the guard and knocked on the glass. The man turned and jumped when he saw her.
“We’re closed,” he announced, waving dismissively once he had collected himself.
Jasmine shook her head, holding steady. Qadir was out of sight beside her. “I need to speak to the manager.”
The man raised an eyebrow and put down a half-eaten bowl of ice cream. “I said we’re closed.” He came closer to the window, waving that same dismissive hand.
Jasmine punched the glass. The window shattered, glass raining down around them.
The guard looked at her in surprise but only managed to see her fist coming closer to his nose. She smashed it into his face, and his nostrils burst with blood.
Jasmine grabbed the guard by the collar before he could fall back. She brought him closer, then bashed her head into his. He grunted, eyes rolling back as she threw him back into the office.
“I said I want to see the manager,” she muttered with a smile.
She wiped away the jagged glass at the end of the windowsill, then levered herself inside. She looked for Qadir, then commanded him to follow.
“Still think this is a good idea?” he weakly asked as Jasmine examined the room. She studied the dashboard of monitors on the table. “Absolutely.”
One of the screens showed footage from a camera labeled “Basement.” In the room, a meeting was taking place. The thugs inside easily fit the description of those she was looking for.
“Good job, Eddy,” she muttered.
Now the question is, how do we get down there?
On the wall was a series of hooks with keys. She scanned the list of labels and found that the space where the basement key should have been was empty.
“I thought there might have been a spare,” she explained to Qadir, then opened the door and entered the inner showroom.
They stalked through the dark, the place alarmingly quiet. It seemed as good a place as any for criminals to meet, a soundproof room beneath the city where they could air their dirty laundry.
“It seems strange that he’d have a camera operating down in that room,” Qadir offered.
Jasmine considered this. “I suppose management wants to make sure that if anyone spills blood, they can at least keep on top of holding those accountable. Cleaning that place must be a bitch.”
She found a room at the back of the showroom with a silver plaque on the door stating “Staff only.”
“Seems as good a place as any.” Jasmine tried the handle. Unsurprisingly, it was locked.
“Okay, time to experiment.” She gripped the door handle, then yanked it hard. The material around the lock splintered, swinging open on the jamb. A man was sitting on a barstool on the other side, scrolling through his phone. He looked up at Jasmine and Qadir in surprise.
“Morning,” Jasmine announced. “This is a wake-up call for Mr. Evanson.”
Before the man could reply, she kicked him in the side. He toppled down the stairs, and his head hit the floor at the bottom, knocking him unconscious.
Shouts erupted downstairs, rallying cries.
First, one man appeared at the bottom of the stairs, then another. Their eyes widened as they called back to their comrades to announce Jasmine’s arrival. Jasmine ran down the stairs, her focus set on the first thug. She used the rail for balance, her strides growing more confident but still not fully under her control. She was fast and reached him before the rest of the group could gather. With a swing, she punched him square in the jaw, sending his head spinning.
The thug closest to him kneed her side and followed with a meaty hook to Jasmine’s face. She spat at the wall, her tightened jaw offering some defense against the blow. She cocked her head back, eyes flashing as she grinned. Her fangs began to grow.
“Really?” she replied. “You’re not going to allow a little woman into your sausage fest?” She turned her attention to the rest of the group, who were heading toward her. Behind her, she was aware of Qadir on the stairs, cautiously staggering after her. As she hooked another thug with a fist, Qadir joined the fray. She was surprised by this. His blows were weak, but his spirit was strong.
She took down two, then three, entering a room with several chairs set up. Moments ago, they had all been sitting, deep in their discussion. Now, they surrounded her.
At the far side of the room, a divider sectioned off an area that Jasmine couldn’t see. A smell hung in the air that was both sour and made acid rise to the back of Jasmine’s throat.
What the hell? She slammed her fist into the stomach of one of her attackers.
“Get her!” the next entrant cried. She spun and recognized the weak little Pee Pants she’d allowed to sprint off earlier that evening. Hey, maybe my luck’s finally shining through.
The idea was short-lived when she heard the jangle of metal. She spun and found three of her attackers holding shackles with thick metal coils. She didn’t have to touch them to know what type of metal it was.
“Easy now, guys.” She flexed her fingers, and her bone claws popped out. “Maybe we can talk about this.”
They leered in response, sensing her hesitation.
One of the men swung the end of his shackle and tossed it toward her like a cowboy with a lasso.
Jasmine sidestepped, coming at the one closest to her, attempting to rip out his throat and diminish their numbers. She only needed one of them alive to get the information she sought. That was the endgame here. The rest of them didn’t matter.
As she reared up to attack, a deep burning sensation cut across her back. She spun, throwing her elbow behind her, and caught the man in the jaw. Before she could recover, the other three were on her. Her wrists flared with an intense burn. Hot pokers seared her bones and flesh. The smell of sizzling meat filled the air.
Jasmine howled in pain as she fell to her knees. Her attackers used the opportunity to grab a second handcuff to secure her other hand. She crawled forward, grabbing the divider in the room to pull herself away from them, but all she succeeded in doing was sending the partition crashing on its side.
Qadir cried out behind her, and Jasmine knew without looking that he had already been taken captive. Her focus wasn’t on him. All she could do was stare in disbelief at the metallic, surgical table hidden behind the divider. A man lay on its surface, appearing to be fast asleep. His skin was pale, and tubes protruded from across his naked flesh, their contents thick with crimson as it siphoned from his veins and dripped into the surrounding containers.
Jasmine cried out in pain as metal touched her other hand.
A deep booming voice shouted, “No! Not the silver. Find another way to restrain her. We need this bitch alive.”
Jasmine gave them a good fight, but with too many hands working her body and steel ties binding her wrists, it was pointless. They dragged her to a nearby chair and secured her in place.
The red mist that had descended over Jasmine and her iron will to succeed began to cool. She drew a few deep breaths, taking stock of her situation. Guilt and shame washed over her as she struggled against her bonds.
Qadir was beside her. He didn’t have to look at Jasmine to see her shame.
“I told you this was a bad idea,” he muttered.
“It’s only a bad idea when our hearts stop beating and we give up hope,” Jasmine softly retorted.
“All right for you to say,” Qadir returned.
Metal dragged on concrete. A beefy man approached with a machete, its blade dragging along the floor.
“Okay, maybe this is a bad idea,” Jasmine muttered.
A man with a gleaming, bald head and a short white beard pulled one of the turned-over chairs toward Jasmine. It scraped across the floor. He straddled it as the large man with the machete stood beside him.
“We’ve heard a lot about you.” He smirked. “Didn’t believe it at first, the things our comrade told us. Impressive, to say the least. Never thought you’d be stupid enough to walk straight into our lair.”
“That’s what you call this?” Jasmine asked. “A rental basement below a car dealer is hardly the lair of master villains, is it?”
“We’re the villains?” he asked innocently, turning to his comrades. Those who Jasmine had knocked unconscious were beginning to stir. Their hands moved to their wounds as they sat up and shook their dizzy heads.
“I would have thought the villains were the ones in here with death on their minds, breaking in and attacking a group of innocent bystanders gathered in a circle discussing plans of operation.”
“New Operation?” Jasmine asked. “After all, that’s what your goons keep saying. The ones you keep sending over to the Nest.”
The man chuckled and dug his hands into his pockets. Jasmine tested her bonds but found that even with her enhanced strength, they held her firmly in place.
“We’re only interested in growing our operation,” he replied, again with that same butter-wouldn’t-melt-on-your-tongue tone. “We’re offering something new to the city, a form of protection, a way to enhance those who require enhancement. No misdeeds are going on here. It’s for the greater good.”
Jasmine laughed and rolled her eyes. “I guess that’s what they said when they first introduced crack, heroin, and cocaine into the system. If you guys are so innocent, what’s your friend doing over there bleeding out on the table?”
The bald man didn’t bother to look toward the surgical table. “You’ve noticed our friend?”
“Hard to miss him.” Jasmine gritted her teeth.
“We like to call him the source. Or at least, one of the sources,” the man crooned. There was a general chuckle from the goons behind him. “It’s hardly our fault he has something we want and that many in the city will pay a pretty price for.” He turned his gaze toward Qadir.
Qadir flinched, then looked down at his knees.
The man’s voice dropped in volume, almost a whisper. “Only, when we started, we had no idea that we’d also find ourselves in the presence of someone we’ve been searching for.” That same grin appeared on his face, predatory and shark-like. “What’s your name, friend? Looks like you’ve stumbled into a nest of people who could benefit from your particular services.”
Qadir shuffled uneasily. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, I think you do,” the man pressed. “See, we’ve been on the lookout for a person who matches your description, point for point. The thin face, the gentle tan to your skin, the dark crop of hair, often walking around in a trench coat, seen in the middle of the night standing outside the Nest. You’re one of them, aren’t you?”
Qadir kept his mouth shut but held the man’s gaze.
The man sat back, his hands behind his head as he stretched. Then he brought them down and clapped. “Oh, how wonderful. Two birds, one stone. The very bitch who has created headaches, and the one man who can give us exactly what we’re after.”
Jasmine struggled against her bonds, not bothering to hide her efforts as she shuffled in the chair.
“I’d recommend staying still if I were you.” The man’s eyes narrowed. “It’s the only way we can guarantee that your heart will remain beating when this night is over.”
If only you knew. Jasmine eyed the larger man’s machete cautiously. “Alive? That’s why your big gorilla friend here is dragging around a four-foot machete? To help us survive the night? It doesn’t quite add up for me.”
A thinner goon with a rat-like face and a hairy mole on the side of his cheek laughed. “Killing’s not really in our business, love. At least, not without a good price tag.”
A ripple of laughs passed through the group.
Rat Man looked at the others, drinking in their approval.
Jasmine frowned.
“So, what’ll it be, friend?” the bald man asked Qadir. “Are you on our side or are we gonna have to do some convincing?”
Qadir sat up straight. Jasmine could see that he was struggling to remain conscious. It had been a long night. Qadir had taken a hell of a beating. He had also partaken in Eddy’s antics with his screwdrivers. His eyelids flickered, seeming heavy to hold up. His bruises gleamed in the limited light.
“Suppose I am who you think I am,” he replied softly. “I can hardly tell you what I will or won’t do if you’re not going to tell me exactly what you need.”
The bald man studied him, then rose to his feet. “You have a point there, my friend.” He spread his arms wide, then walked over to the surgical table. He placed a hand on the pale man’s chest, whose eyes suddenly snapped open.
The pale man wriggled and fought beneath his touch, but there were restraints around his head, arms, and feet, and the most he could do was buck his hips.
The bald man stared down dispassionately. “You see, we’ve got friends in very high places who produce some premium quality Crim. Great stuff. Stuff that, while it enhances, also doesn’t quite have the edge of the raw deal. You know what I mean? The comedown, the hangover, all the effects that once the raw Crim drains out of the system, leave the user begging for more, weakened, and reliant on the damn stuff.”
He looked at Qadir as if waiting for a response. When nothing came, he continued. “The most we can do here is drain the fuck out of our little vampire friend.
“I mean, after all, this is the raw stuff. Straight from the tap. Real good shit when it gets into your veins. Only, it leaves the user somewhat desperate for more after the enhancing effects have worn off. Hooked. Dependent. We don’t want that.”
He stalked closer to Qadir. The vampire weakly snapped his teeth as he tried to wrestle from his restraints. More dark blood trickled through the tubes, dripping into the collection buckets.
“Unfortunately, this is the best we can do.” The bald man looked at Qadir earnestly as though he had a heart. “A good associate of ours hooked us up with connections in the supernatural community, and we managed to snag ourselves this weedy excuse for a vamp. The only problem is, for the quantities we require, he won’t last long. We’re also very aware that people of your…how do I say this?...persuasion, can play with the source to reduce the negative effects. Make the solutions last longer. Add a tasty little spin to make our clients more hooked to our product.”
Then Jasmine noticed how twitchy the rest of the group was. One man stood toward the back in the shadows, scratching his arm, eyes wide as he looked at Qadir as if he was their only hope.
Another two couldn’t stand still, switching their weight from heel to toe.
Jasmine shook her head. “If you want to make good money on your product, I suggest not hooking your thugs onto the same stuff you’re trying to sell. It lowers the value and doesn’t help when trying to create a somewhat fearsome organization.” She turned to Qadir. “I don’t know if you can help these guys, but for what it’s worth, I’d tell them to fuck off.”
The bald man’s eyes flashed. He rushed over to Jasmine, and his fist connected with her cheek.
She grunted as her head whipped to the side. When she straightened, he punched again with the other fist. Her head rocked back. Fireworks blossomed before she recovered. She flexed her tightening jaw.
“Cute one, lover boy. Is that the best you can do?” She smiled. Something behind the bald man caught her eye. A high visibility yellow jacket sat over the back of a chair at the far side of the room. Thick black letters spread across the back and read, “Garvund Properties.”
Her chest tightened.
“I don’t know who the hell you think you are,” the bald thug spat at Jasmine, “but maybe we’ll repeal our offer and become the villain you think we are. It would be great to have you on our side, but ultimately all we need is your blood-wizard friend here.” He glared at Qadir. “That’s what you are, right? A necromancer?”
Jasmine read the truth on Qadir’s face. If she ever played against him in a game of poker, she would hose him for all he was worth. He could barely hold back the truth and the emotion dripping off his expression.
The bald thug read this and smiled wider than previously. “You are who we think you are, aren’t you?” The thug shook his head in disbelief. “Oh, the possibilities…”
Jasmine piped up, trying to deflect the hungry look in the bald man’s eyes. “You know, for a bunch of wannabe thugs, you do a terrible job of hiding your true natures. Your true identities.”
A look of alarm crossed a few of the thugs’ faces.
Jasmine nodded at the jacket. “Garvund Properties? You might moonlight as shit-munchers, trying to sell drugs to the streets, but by daylight, you’re with Garvund Properties.”
She chuckled. “All I have to do is look you up in the directory, and I’ll find every one of you motherfuckers so I can exact my revenge the minute I get out of here. I think you’ll want to kill me. None of this is going to end well for you.”
The bald man composed himself, hiding the swift flash of fear in his eyes. “Not as smart as you think you are bitch. We’re nothing to do with Garvund Properties. You can look there, but you won’t find us.”
