He was their boss, and they knew that if he didn’t like what they told him, they would have to deal with Bishop. And no one wanted to deal with Bishop.
“What else is happening? How’s business?” Apostle polished off the ravioli and pushed the plate aside.
Chez and Jarek were his central regional dealers in Chicago. Product didn’t touch the streets here without running through their distribution facility first.
“Product is moving well, and sales have increased despite—or maybe because of—some recent high profile activity.”
“What do you mean?”
Chez chuckled and leaned closer. “Rumor is that King Bain’s daughter is a junkie and that she overdosed a couple of weeks ago. And being that all her previous dealers’ calls come to us now, we can confirm that, yes, she uses.”
Apostle’s eyebrows shot up. He could use this to his advantage, and Bishop would probably shit himself with delight to know that he had
His Royal Highness’s
daughter as a customer. “The king’s daughter, huh? I bet that’s gone over well with the king.”
“I’m sure,” Jarek said, then added, “Photos of her have been circulating on the Internet.”
This just got better and better. King Bain had taken tremendous pains to keep his family, and especially his daughter, out of the public eye. No one was allowed to take pictures of anyone in the royal family. Looked like things were getting interesting in Chicago.
“How did those get out?” Apostle sat back as his plates were cleared.
Jarek waved his hand dismissively and sat back. “They were taken at some party. Went viral in both the vampire and dreck communities in less than twenty-four hours before the king’s techies and legal eagles could take them down. Now they just keep popping up everywhere.”
“Sloppy.” Apostle rested his arm on the table, picked up his wine glass, and swirled the red liquid around and around.
One of Apostle’s assignments upon returning to Chicago was to find strong vampires for more experiments. Who could be a better candidate than a member of the king’s family, whose bloodlines were pure back to the beginning of the race?
Bishop had brought him up to speed on some of what he was working on in his laboratory, and one experiment in its final stage involved combining vampire genes with dreck genes to create their own form of mongrel: a new species, if you will. One who was strong enough to rid the world of vampires forever so the drecks could take over and control the human race. Bishop already had a prototype, or so he claimed. If he could get his hands on the king’s daughter, and swipe some of her blood, those pure genes could be quite useful to Bishop as he started production.
However, taking a member of the royal family was dangerous. If the king found out who took her and why, it would mean all-out war. But if he could find a way to make it look like an isolated incident, he might be able to pull it off. All they needed was her blood, which he could obtain easily enough without carting her back to Bishop’s lab.
“Who’s her dealer?” Apostle said, glancing at Chez.
“Her last two dealers got busted. We had their phone calls transferred to my mobile, so she’s been talking to me. And because she’s…well…
who
she is, Jarek and I were thinking about dealing directly with her rather than finding her a new dealer.”
“Don’t.” Apostle didn’t want to lose his regional managers, and with the way the plan was forming in his mind, whoever her next dealer ended up being would probably take a heavy fall.
Chez and Jarek exchanged glances then looked at him with curiosity. “We could have Grotek and Chane handle her,” Jarek said.
“Are they disposable?” Apostle set his wine glass down and leaned on his elbows, interlacing his fingers and pressing them thoughtfully to his mouth as he looked between Chez and Jarek.
The message he was implying came across loud and clear, and realization dawned on their faces. Chez took a deep breath and shifted uncomfortably. Jarek cleared his throat and looked over his shoulder as if wanting to make sure no one was around to overhear their discussion.
The restaurant was alive and loud, and Apostle had chosen this table because no one was seated near it. Their conversation was secure.
Jarek’s eyes narrowed as he turned back. “Sure, they’re disposable. What’s on your mind?”
It was time for Apostle to let them know about Bishop’s plan. “One of the things Bishop wanted me to do while I was here was find him strong subjects for his experiments. Either actual subjects or blood samples. I don’t think we can get away with kidnapping the king’s daughter, but we can sure get some of her blood.”
“Whoa.” Chez sat back, letting the single syllable stretch with a healthy dose of shock.
“Damn, John, you’ve got balls,” Jarek leaned back and chuckled respectfully. “Barely back from the dead and already planning a heist of suicidal proportions.”
“What? You don’t think it can work?”
Apostle’s tortellini arrived and they stopped talking until the server left the table.
“Oh, I think it can work, but it’s damn risky,” Chez said. “But if the king finds out, you’re dead.”
“That’s what Grotek and Chane are for. Insurance.” Apostle speared two pieces of tortellini with his fork and shoved them in his mouth.
“Yeah, I kinda figured that.” Chez snagged a slice of complimentary bread and tore it in half.
The plan was good, at least at this point. There was still a lot to work out, though. Perhaps he should call Bishop and let him know what was going on here. After what he had just suffered for the past two months, he didn’t dare piss Bishop off.
Apostle set his fork down and dabbed his cloth napkin to the corner of his mouth before pushing back from the table.
“Excuse me a minute. I’m going to call Bishop and let him know what’s up.”
Leaving Jarek and Chez behind, he stepped outside, took out his mobile, and dialed his brother.
“Yes?” Bishop’s voice sounded distracted, as if he was admiring his scorpions or leaning back in his chair smoking one of those God-awful cigarettes of his.
“I just heard something I think might interest you,” Apostle said.
“Oh? What?”
“King Bain’s daughter uses.”
There was a long pause, and Apostle imagined a slow smile spreading over Bishop’s face.
“Yes, I can see how that would interest me,” Bishop said, the humor evident in his voice. “Very good, Apostle. Very good. I assume you’re thinking I would like her blood, yes?”
“That’s my thought. You said you wanted strong samples, and very few vampires are as pure as King Bain and his children.” Apostle turned away from a cold wind that whipped between the buildings, nearly knocking him over.
“What do you propose, Apostle? How do we get her blood without igniting a war and showing our hand?”
“We simply have to wait for her to make contact for her next buy. For now, she contacts Chez when she’s out of product. Next time she calls, I’m going to have them send a couple of fall guys to the meet in case things go south. My thought is that we knock her out, take her blood, and make it look like an isolated case of a drug deal gone bad. Since she’s going viral and has now become a celebrity in both the vampire community and ours, it won’t be too hard to sell the notion that a couple of enterprising drug dealers thought to ransom her or some shit, as long as we make it look like a random incident.” If even a clue got out that this was part of a bigger venture, doing anything to the princess could nullify the truce between their races.
“Good.” Bishop sounded like he was pacing. “That could work, Apostle, but I don’t want there to be any chance of her seeing your face. I don’t want her to be able to identify you afterward. I’ll send a courier to your hotel to assist and bring back the sample. And don’t kill him when he arrives. He’s a vampire.”
The line went dead, and Apostle frowned as he held his phone in front of him and stared at it like it was the one who had hung up on him.
“Yeah, okay. Bye. And you’re welcome, asshole.” Apostle scowled and tucked his phone back in his pocket and headed inside.
“What’d he say?” Chez asked.
Apostle sat back down and picked up his fork. “We’re on.” He took a bite of tortellini then pointed his fork back and forth between them. “When will you see her again?”
“Who? Miriam?” Jarek said.
“Yes. When does she normally make her buys?”
Jarek placed his hands on the table and brushed them over the surface of the tablecloth. “We’ve only been selling to her for a couple of weeks. Just since her last dealers got busted. She burns through product pretty fast, though, so I expect to hear from her soon.”
“Then we need to work this out ASAP. You two meet me back at my hotel later so we can build a plan.”
“Sure. If you’ll buy us dinner to go.” Chez grinned at him.
“Fuck you. Buy your own goddamn food.” Apostle shoveled in more tortellini just to prove a point.
Chez and Jarek both chuckled at him as Chez waved to get the waiter’s attention and motioned for menus.
“Damn good to have you back, John,” Jarek said.
Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Apostle waved them off, ready to finish his meal and get to the hotel. His skin itched and he just wanted to get back to his room and shift into his dreck form, which helped ease the discomfort. But at least things were beginning to look up in other areas. And once he had Princess Miriam’s blood, shit would get even better.
King Bain sat in the limousine with his daughter. She had looked shocked when he joined her.
“You never go out in public,”
she had said.
“Today is an exception.”
He wouldn’t see Miriam for at least three weeks, based on what Gregos had told him about her treatment, and while he and Miriam didn’t get along the way they used to, she was his daughter. The thought of not seeing her for so long hurt his heart. He wasn’t accustomed to feeling this way.
“You are okay with this arrangement?” he said, keeping his gaze straight ahead. Showing tenderness and emotion was a sign of weakness, and he knew if he looked at his daughter right now, his eyes would tear. He was already fighting the lump in his throat.
“Yes.” Her voice was cold, as it always was with him now. She kept her face turned away from him, her gaze on the passing scenery.
He didn’t know how to reach his daughter, anymore. She was still so young, but yet…not. He could remember like it was yesterday how she used to sit on his lap while he conducted business. Her soft hair would fall over his arms as she watched him draw up decrees, and he would bounce her on his knee while dictating orders to his liaisons. After everyone had left, she would turn on his lap and hug him with her tiny arms and pat her small hands on his face.
“Let’s play Barbie,”
she would say in her high-pitched little girl voice.
“No, Daddy has work to do, Miri. Another time.”
But
another time
had never come, and after a while, Miriam had stopped asking him to play, and then she had stopped joining him while he worked, and then they had stopped talking to each other altogether. Now they only argued and traded glares. He wasn’t sure if the silence had been better.
His little girl was lost to him. He had lost her a long time ago and had missed her entire life.
The rest of the drive to AKM was silent. Neither spoke, and the atmosphere in the car felt about as warm and inviting as an oil spill. He just didn’t know what to say to her. What could he say that wouldn’t spark a retaliatory retort or a bite of sarcasm? Or worse?
Miriam was just so damned rebellious now. Obstinate to a fault. When had she become so angry and disobedient? Bain remembered when Miriam had trailed after him, all smiles and giggles, full of admiration and always so eager to please him. Now she was anything but.
When they pulled into the back lot of the AKM building, he cleared his throat. “Well, take care of yourself. And behave.”
She glanced over her shoulder, already pushing the door open as if she couldn’t get away from him fast enough. “Whatever,” she said, practically leaping from the car.
One-word sentences were about all he got from her these days, unless she was arguing with him.
She slammed the door, and suddenly he was alone, the air clearing of the tension and unspoken words. Even so, Bain felt worse. Miriam possessed such a strong vitality that even though she hadn’t said more than a word the entire trip over, she had filled the closed-in space with life. Now the car just felt dead. Without Miriam, his life was meaningless and empty. Bain lowered his gaze as his face dropped. His long, black hair hid his features.
And that was a good thing, because for the first time since he could remember, the mighty king cried.
* * *
Miriam was one step closer to seeing Io. One step closer to being back in his arms.
She was ushered immediately into a Suburban while her luggage was pulled from the trunk of the limousine.
“You ready?” Micah said from behind the wheel.
She smiled. Despite his bad habit of stripping her thoughts, she liked Micah. “Yes. Have you talked to him? How is he?”
Trace and Severin walked out the back door of AKM and approached the SUV.
“He’s dying to see you. I know that much,” Micah said. His gaze swept toward the limousine. He frowned as if he’d heard an unusual noise and was trying to figure out what it was.
“What?” She followed his gaze.
“Oh, nothing.” He looked back at her with a tight smile.
“Hey, ladies,” Trace said as he pulled himself into the seat behind Micah’s. His deep voice was luscious. Miriam imagined he had plenty of lady friends who simply wanted him to talk to them.
Micah chuckled and she shot him a warning glance, knowing he had just seen what she was thinking. He held up his hands innocently and looked out the window, making it clear he had no intention of revealing her thoughts to the others.
Severin settled in behind her. “Hi, Miriam,” he said.
“Hey, guys.” Miriam smiled at Trace and Sev before facing forward again. She was fidgety. Was she slipping into withdrawal or just anxious about getting back to Io?