Skin Trade(175)

I licked suddenly dry lips and did the only thing I could think of: stepped back, gave myself room, for all the good it was going to do me.

“Why take the club? Why give the police time to trap your vampires?” I asked, voice still calm. Point for me.

“It was bait, for you, Anita.”

“Gee, and most men just send flowers,” I said.

He looked at me with solid brown eyes. I couldn’t read his expression completely, but I think my reaction wasn’t what he expected, or maybe not what he wanted. “If you call for help in any way, I will have the vampires that I control start killing the harlots.”

“They’re dancers, not prostitutes,” I said, “but I get it, you’re master enough to contact your people mind to mind,” I said.

He nodded. “As are you,” he said.

I took a deep breath and fought to get some control over my pulse and heart rate. I didn’t know what to say to that, so I let it go. I rarely got in trouble keeping my mouth shut.

He was staring me up and down, not the way a man will a woman, but like he was looking over a car he planned to buy. It was definitely more purchase than date, that look.

I tried to get him talking, “Fine, you want to talk to me, let’s talk.”

“Come with me, now.” He actually held one large, long-fingered hand out to me. It was a big hand, bigger than I liked, but graceful, like his voice.

“No,” I said.

“I will have them kill the whores we have taken unless you come with me.”

I shook my head. “You’ll probably kill them anyway.”

“If I give my word?”

“I know you mean that, but you’re also a serial killer and a sexual sadist; sorry, but that makes me not trust you.” I shrugged and started thinking furiously in Edward’s direction, not magic, just that wish in my head that he would look this way, come this way, notice. But I was too short and the crowd blocked the view. I realized that the vampire in front of me was blocking the view even more. I doubted it was an accident.

“I see your point,” he said. He moved the hood more from his right side. “Take a good look, Anita. See what the humans have done to me.”

I tried not to look, because I wasn’t sure if it was a distraction technique, but some things are hard to look away from. Asher’s facial scars were just on the side of one cheek, trailing down to the chin. The entire right cheek of Vittorio’s face, from where the hood hit it to the edge of his mouth and the tip of his chin, was all hardened scar tissue.

He let the hood drop back to hide his face, and I realized he had his left hand held out to his side, for all the world as if he expected someone to come take his hand. A young girl reached for him. I thought for a moment she was another vampire, but one look into those wide, gray eyes and I knew better. She was dressed in tramp chic, skirt too short, midriff showing, small breasts as mounded as she could get them. Before it became the style I’d have said hooker, but so many of the teenage girls were wearing this kind of shit, it made me wonder what the real hookers were wearing.

He smoothed her straight brown hair back from her face. She smiled dreamily up at him.

“Leave her alone,” I said.

He caressed her cheek, and she cuddled into it like a kitten. He turned her face to me, so I could see how young the face under the makeup was: fourteen, maybe fifteen, no more. It was hard to tell in that much makeup and the clothes. It tended to make you add years that the girls hadn’t earned.

“I said, leave her alone.” My voice wasn’t shaky anymore; it held the first edge of anger. I embraced that, fed the anger with sweet thoughts of vengeance and what I’d do to him when I had the chance.

“If your beast rises, I will tear her throat out.” He drew her in against his body as he said it.

I had to master my anger then, swallow it down, because he was right; I couldn’t guarantee with this much stress that anger wouldn’t tip me into some kind of lycanthrope problem. If I could have shifted for real, it would have given me weapons, but it wasn’t a weapon for me, it was just one more problem.

He reached his other hand out, and a man came to it. He was tall, taller than the vampire. His gray eyes were almost a match for the girl’s; even his short hair was the same shade of brown. He gazed forward, seeing nothing.

Vittorio began to unzip his sweatshirt, exposing his chest. I knew what it would look like, because that was the worst of Asher’s scars. But again, it was worse. The holy water hadn’t just scarred the skin, it had eaten into the deeper tissue, exposing ligaments and the bones of his ribs. It looked like his body had tried to regrow some tissue over it, but the right side of his chest and stomach looked like a skeleton with a hard covering of scars. His stomach was a little concave, where there’d been no bone to support the healing.