The Blood Order (Fanghunters Book Two) (29 page)

M
iranda grabbed both arms of a merc; Dom took his legs. "Ready?" Miranda asked.

Dom nodded.

"Lift!"

They both strained; the thug came a few inches off the ground. They began taking pigeon steps toward the open van, grunting and panting. Dom felt like some kind of serial killer lugging bodies around his den to be dealt with,
Texas Chainsaw Massacre
style. The thought made him nauseous.

"How long do they stay out for?" Miranda asked between pants.

Dom shook his head. "Dunno."

"So what do we do when they wake up?"

On cue, the thug's eyes began to flutter open. Miranda's eyes widened in response. The thug then zoned in on them. "Hey!" he shouted, his head rolling.

Dom dropped his legs; they hit the ground with a thud. He then grabbed his dart gun from his belt in a nonchalant fashion, aimed at the thug's chest
,
and fired. The thug gasped, then dropped back into unconsciousness. "That's what you do," Dom said and handed Miranda his dart gun. "Take it."

Miranda reached out and took it. "Thanks," she said before stuffing it into her own trouser belt. They grabbed the thug up once more and lugged him to the van. On reaching it, they dropped him on the tail lift. While Dom dusted off his hands, Miranda pushed down the 'lift' button. The tail lift began to rise, taking the merc with it. Once level with the van floor, Dom got in and dragged him to the back.

"Well, that's one," Miranda declared as Dom returned. Miranda then looked back at the bodies sprawled all over the patio. "Just another dozen to go..." she said with a sigh.

T
hey finally dragged the last of the unconscious mercs from the van to the large shipping container ready and waiting for them at the dock. They threw him in with the rest of his friends they'd already dumped inside. "Thank God that's the last one," Dom stated, wiping his brow. "I don't think my arms could take any more."

"You're not the only one," Miranda said as she swung the container door closed; it slammed shut with an unceremonious clang. She locked it up and gave it a pat on the side. She then turned and waved her arms up at her guy at the controls of the shipping yard's crane. Crane Guy gave them both a thumb in return before getting the machine in motion.

"Clear the way, Dominic," Miranda said, ushering him over to the side.

The giant magnet lowered and attached itself to the top of the container before pulling it into the air.

"Can they breathe in there?" Dom asked Miranda as they both watched the crane hoist the container up and slowly swing it over toward the carrier waiting in the dock.

"Don't sweat it. That particular case is fitted with all the necessary air filtration pipes."

Crane Guy carefully placed the container down onto the carrier within a forest of similar containers; it blended in like a pine needle on the forest floor.

"Where are these all going anyway?" Dom asked.

Miranda shrugged. "France, I think."

Dom waved them off. "Bon voyage, assholes," he said before giving Crane Guy a thumb up.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

V
incent's eyes snapped open. For a brief moment, he had no idea where he was. His neck ached from the uncomfortable position he found himself in. He winced, the strong urge to rub his neck overpowering. When he tried, he found that he couldn't move his arms, he remembered where he was. His chest collapsed in disappointment.

"Rise and shine, Slayer," came a voice from the gloom. Leviah was back in his recliner, sipping on a glass of blood.

Vincent groaned in displeasure. During his brief bout of sleep, he'd seen Trixie and Dom in his dreams. They were in danger. Now, he realized that was the situation in the real world. His heart ached.

"Let me go, Leviah," he said in a cracked voice. "I don't know where your relic is. Please let me and Trixie go."

"She is dead, Slayer," Leviah responded in an emotionless voice. "I have confirmation."

Vincent's head dropped. His heart sunk into his stomach.

"It is of no matter," Leviah said with a flip of his hand. "She was never your daughter, we both know that. Just another poor lost soul you've dragged to her doom."

Vincent eyed the wooden floor. He knew he shouldn't take Leviah's word as gospel, but something deep down told him he was actually telling the truth.

His very bones ached with the pain of loss. "I loved her," was all he could say.

"Yes, yes, Slayer. Like you loved all the rest."

Vincent remained silent. Whether true or not, he knew he couldn't give Leviah what he wanted. Never, no matter how much he might hurt, no matter how much Leviah may torture him, he had to deny, had to hold out for as long as possible.

"Are you going to tell me where it is, Slayer?" Leviah asked. "Or do you want your pain increased to unimaginable levels?"

"Do your worst, Leviah. It still won't be anything near the hurt I've suffered." He searched the wooden floor with sullen, drowsy eyes. "You may as well destroy me," he said in a depressed voice. "I have no knowledge of this relic you seek and I have nothing left to give to this world. So, just put me out of my misery."

Leviah stared at his nails as he contemplated. "
Hmm.
Interesting proposition." He then faced Vincent and shook his head. "No. I think I'll sit and bask in your suffering for just a while longer, at least until I've finished this bottle." He picked it up by its neck and waved it on the air with a grin.

Vincent stared at the air ahead of him, a deep depression overwhelming him. His muscles had knotted from the discomfort of the hard chair he was tied to. His limbs ached, as did his heart and head. There was nothing, nothing left. Trixie was the last. He didn't even care about the relic any longer. Maybe Leviah was right; the human species didn't deserve salvation. Maybe it would be best for this beast and his siblings to ally with their grotesque father once more and destroy the planet and all life upon it. After all, they'd just be killing themselves at the same time. Then, there'd be nothing left and everything could start again. Maybe that
was
the plan. Maybe these creatures were just part of the cycle, they are the cleansing phase the earth and life had to go through every now and then to keep things running smooth. Maybe he was just interfering in Nature.

He raised his head, the bones in his neck twinging. He winced as he laid eyes on the hubris-filled beast in the recliner, sipping on some poor soul's blood. And as he did, he couldn't help but feel hatred and ire toward him. It was as if it were built into his system to hate these creatures. Even in the depths of despair, his instincts still burned. And maybe that was his role; maybe he was part of Nature. The force that would stop these things. Maybe
he
was the cleanser, and it was down to him to trigger the cycle.

But then he thought of Trixie and Dom again and his heart began to bleed. His head dropped down and he just waited, resigned to his fate. Waited for the moment when the torment would mercifully end.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

T
he Loop was just getting into full partying mode by the time they reached it. The bars were filling, the streets abuzz with revelers. It meant Dom and Trixie could hide in amongst the rabble with ease. They didn't want any Order agents recognizing them and blowing the lid on their fake deaths. They didn't want to hang around longer than they needed; just grab what they were looking for, then scram.

They slunk by a bunch of backstreet bars and nightclubs, the sound of muted music rumbling the sidewalk, neon lights illuminating the paving and bricks in a synthetic glow. Trixie turned back to Dom. "There's a few places he might be," she said, watching the street ahead from behind her shades. "Seedy nightclubs, alleyways,
but
I'm guessing tonight is ladies night." She stopped outside a strip joint with gaudy music and a ton of neon. A raven haired girl in a leather BDSM outfit and black lipstick was stationed outside, attempting to draw people in with offers of free drinks.

Dom looked the place up and down. The name over the doorway read: Whiplash. He cringed. He reached out and grabbed Trixie by the shoulder. "Wait," he said to her. "Vamps going to strip joints?"

"A perverted vamp? You bet your ass. Although technically, Troy isn't a vamp. He's chock full of venom from all the jabbing he's had, yeah, but he's right at the tipping point before you turn, straddling the line between human and vamp. So, he gets the perks of both worlds. He doesn't need to drink blood, but he's got fangs. Go figure. He can't stand sunlight, but he just loves the ladies."

Dom stared at the blue neon lights. "Christ, that's messed up."

"In some respects, they're as bad as us, and we're as bad as them," Trixie stated. "Thing is, in a place like this, you can't tell who's a vamp and who isn't."

"I'll look for the bite marks," Dom quipped. His spine was already tingling hard. The place had vamp activity all right. He shivered.

"Come on," Trixie said to him, grabbing his hand.

Dom glanced down at their hands. "What is this like a date or something?"

"Just shut up and act normal."

"Normal? What's normal about this place?"

"Hi," said the girl in the BDSM outfit as they approached. Dom stared at her pierced face hard, trying to ascertain if she was vamp or not. "Ladies get in free," she informed them.

"That's great, isn't it, honey?" Trixie said to Dom with a grin.

"Huh? Oh yeah, that's just dandy," Dom replied with a forced chuckle.

The girl handed them a flyer. "Show this at the bar for a free drink too."

"I'll do that," Trixie said, taking the flyer.

"Have a nice time," the girl said.

"I'm sure we will," Trixie replied before leading Dom through the entrance.

Once inside, Dom shook his head. "Hey, what if he isn't in here? Are we gonna go to every club in the Loop?"

"Troy is a creature of habit. And a pretty predictable creature at that. I'll guarantee he's here."

"I hope you're right, this place is freaking me out already." Dom stared at the various sculptures and paintings surrounding them. Bodies intertwined in acts of pain, people being whipped, stomped on.
Hey, if they love stuff like this so much how about getting chased by a bunch of mercs? Now
,
they'd totally dig that.

They reached the ticket booth where another goth in black leather took money from Dom but none from Trixie. After that, Dom was frisked by the bouncer with the tats and piercings, while they laid off Trixie.
Christ, she wasn't joking when she said it's ladies night
.
With a rueful grin, Dom walked hand-in-hand with Trixie through a black curtain and into the main club area. They now found themselves on a balcony that led down to what Dom could best describe as a torture chamber. The ambiance was dark, concealing what was going on in all the booths lined up along the walls. The music was a vicious and loud strain of thrash metal; it grated on Dom's ears like razor wire. On the dance floor, bodies were writhing, heads were in necks, the buzz of venom in the air. Beyond that was a stage where various acts of simulated torture and domination were taking place. A gagged chubby guy in a diaper lay on his front while a dominatrix dug her heels into his back. Another gagged guy was bound to a chair, while a slim blonde chick was suspended from the ceiling, receiving light whips from a creep in a leather mask.

Dom shook his head. "Where the hell am I?" he asked in mystified repulsion.

"Chicago," Trixie answered. "Great huh?"

"Frickin' A. Let's hurry up and get out of here."

"Okay okay," Trixie said as she scanned the club from the balcony. Ahead of the stage, a bunch of guys were seated, watching proceedings, their mouths frothing.

Troy was there at the front, waving a wad of money on the air like he was in Vegas.