Kicking It(69)

The light dimmed as she stepped in front of it and tossed a glass of booze in my face. Gin, I thought, smelling it as it dripped into my eyes and cuts I hadn’t yet seen, sending a new surge of pain through already stressed nerves.

“Alcohol,” she said. “For remembering. The devil’s drink, which you enjoyed time and time again. And now you’ll be punished for it.”

She disappeared again, and my heart began to race. If she meant to replay that night, had she gotten a gun? Did she plan to shoot me here and now, like an animal?

Adrenaline swamping me, I shifted back and forth against the manacles at my feet and the ties that bound my hands. But neither budged.

I’m officially in a tight spot, I thought, wishing I’d gotten more of Luc’s lecture on evasive maneuvers before this particular crisis had begun.

“You were oblivious,” she said, stepping in front of me again, this time holding a feathered hair clip in her hand. She moved forward and pushed it into my hair, scraping my scalp in the process.

“I bet you didn’t even know that I loved Violet.”

I worked to concentrate against the pain. “Violet? You two . . . ?

“Were in love,” she said. “Not that you’d notice, busy as you were flirting and whoring with every man you could find. Another reason why you have this coming.”

I guess Iris hadn’t thought much of my life choices.

“I’m sorry she died, Iris. But I didn’t know she was alive. I didn’t know anyone else was alive. I thought everyone was dead. We were best friends. Do you really think I wouldn’t have come back for you if I’d known? That I wouldn’t have helped you out of there?”

She looked momentarily confused, and I thought I was getting through to her. But the haze of trauma and madness settled upon her eyes again.

She leaned forward. “You. Are. Lying. Everything that happened to me is your fault. It has to be.”

And there it was. She wanted someone to blame, even if there wasn’t cause for it. Even if she could understand what had actually occurred.

She’d gotten me here, and there was no doubt she intended to end the story tonight. But I needed time. Time to come up with a plan, and time to get free.

“You paid Danny?” I asked, trying to keep her busy while I struggled against the binding on my wrists. I could feel the plastic slicing into my skin, but pain was irrelevant. Survival was the only thing that mattered.

“Danny O’Hare’s a right son of a bitch,” she said, spitting onto the floor beside me. “He doesn’t much care what happened in the bar that night—the past is past to him—but he’s always willing to take a coin. So he found me a man, and that man did a deed. It took every last penny I’d scrimped and saved to make him take on the task, powerful as you are now. But it was worth it, wasn’t it? Because here you are.”

She moved closer, and I saw the glint of steel in her hand. A handgun, 9mm. I had little doubt she would empty it into my body, and that would probably be only the beginning of her plans for me.

Unfortunately, vampire strength notwithstanding, my restraints weren’t budging.

I’d been a vampire a long time, and I’d faced death before. I hadn’t often regretted much. But now, this time, I regretted. I’m sorry, Luc, I silently thought, sending the words across miles, as if he could hear me. I’m sorry I pushed you away. I love you. I love you more than anything.

The tears began to fall in earnest, but I wasn’t a coward. I looked up at Iris, met her gaze head-on.

Her hand shook, and she pointed the gun at me. “And now we’ll be even,” she said.

Shots rang out like explosions, and I instinctively braced for impact.

But I felt nothing.

Shocked to the core, I looked down. Spots of blood appeared on Iris’s dress, and she fell to her knees, clutching her stomach.

“Lindsey?”

That was Luc’s voice.

Dear God, it was Luc. He was here. He’d come for me.

He appeared behind her, in his uniform of jeans and boots, and when the gun clattered to the floor, he kicked it away and out of her reach.

“Jesus, Linds!” Luc raced to me, cupping my face in his hands and pressing his lips to mine. He pulled a bandanna from his pocket and dabbed at what I assumed was blood on my face. “You like to cut it close.”

At the same time, four men in black suits walked calmly inside. The one in front, who had a long, severe face and was reholstering the gun that had floored Iris, nodded at Luc. They picked her up, more gently than I might have, and began to escort her out of the room.

“Who was that?” I asked, perplexed, as Luc worked the manacles and zip ties.