Lover Avenged

THIRTY

John told Qhuinn and Blay he was just going to crash in his room for the night, and when he was sure they’d bought the lie, he slipped out through the staff quarters of the house and went directly to ZeroSum.

He had to work fast, because sure as shit one of the two of them would check in on him and then form a damn search party.

Bypassing the front entrance of the club, he went around to the alley where he’d once seen Xhex crack the head of an asshole with a big mouth and a fistful of coke. Finding the security camera above the side exit, John tilted up his head and stared into the lens.

When the door opened, he didn’t have to look over to know it was her.

“You want to come in,” she said.

He shook his head, for once not bothered by the communication barrier. Shit, he didn’t know what to say to her. Didn’t know why he was here. He just had to come.

Xhex stepped out of the club and put her back against the door, crossing one steel-toed boot over the other. “You tell anyone?”

He met her eyes steadily and shook his head.

“You going to?”

He shook his head.

In a soft tone, one he’d never heard from her or expected to, she whispered, “Why?”

He just shrugged. Frankly, he was surprised she hadn’t tried to take his memories from him. Neater. Cleaner-

“I should have taken your memories,” she said, making him wonder if she was reading his mind. “I was just fucked in the head last night, and you left fast and I didn’t do it. Of course, now they’re long-term, so…”

This was why he came, he realized. He wanted to reassure her that he was going to keep quiet.

Tohr’s departure had cemented the decision. When John had gone to talk with the Brother and found the guy had disappeared again, and without word again, something had shifted in him, like a boulder being rolled from one side of his yard to another, a permanent change in the landscape.

John was alone. And therefore his decisions were his own. He respected Wrath and the Brotherhood, but he wasn’t a Brother and might well never be one. Sure, he was a vampire, but he’d spent most of his life outside of the race, so the symphath revulsion was something he’d never fully understood. Sociopaths? Hell, that shit started at home, as far as he was concerned, with the way Zsadist and V had acted before they’d mated.

John was not turning Xhex in to the king so she could get deported to that colony. No way.

Now her voice became hard. “So what do you want.”

Given the kind of bottom-feeding, opportunistic, desperate people she had to deal with night in and night out, he was not at all surprised by the demand.

Holding her stare, he shook his head and made a cutting motion over his throat. Nothing, he mouthed.

Xhex looked at him with cold gray eyes, and he felt her get into his head, sensing the push against his thoughts. He let her probe to see where he was at, because that more than any words he might have spoken would be what reassured her most.

“You’re one in a million, John Matthew,” she said quietly. “Most people would leverage the shit out of this. Especially given the kind of vices I can get serviced here at the club.”

He shrugged.

“So where you headed tonight? And where are your boys?”

He shook his head.

“You want to talk about Tohr?” As his eyes shot to hers, she said, “Sorry, but he’s on your mind.”

As John shook his head again, something touched his cheek and he looked up. Snow was starting to come down, little, tiny flakes swirling in the wind.

“First snowfall of the year,” Xhex said, standing up away from the door. “And you without a coat.”

He glanced down and realized all he had on was jeans and a Nerdz T-shirt. At least he’d remembered to put shoes on.

Xhex put her hand in her pocket and held something out to him. A key. A small brass key.

“I know you don’t want to go home, and I have a place not far from here. It’s secure and underground. Go there if you want, stay however long you need to. Get the privacy you’re looking for until your shit’s together.”

He was about to shake his head no when she said in the Old Language, “Let me do right by you in this way.”

He took the key without brushing her hand and mouthed, Thank you.

After she gave him the address, he left her in that alley with the snow drifting down from the night sky. As he got to Trade, he looked over his shoulder. She was still by the side door, watching him with arms crossed and boots planted solidly on the ground.

The delicate flakes landing in her short dark hair and on her bare, hard shoulders didn’t soften her a bit. She was no angel doing a kindness to him for simple reasons. She was dark and dangerous and unpredictable.

And he loved her.

John lifted his hand in a wave and turned the corner, joining a parade of huddled humans who were walking quickly from bar to bar.

Xhex stayed where she was even as John’s big body disappeared out of sight.

One in a million, she thought once again. That kid was one in a million.

As she went back in the club, she knew it was only a matter of time before his two buddies, or maybe members of the Brotherhood, showed up to try to find him. Her response was going to be that she hadn’t seen him and didn’t have a clue where he was.

Period.

He protected her; she protected him.

End of.

She was heading out of the VIP section when her earpiece went off. After her bouncer stopped talking she cursed and lifted up her watch to speak into the transistor. “Take him to my office.”

After she was sure the floor was clear of the working girls, she entered the general-population part of the club and watched as Detective de la Cruz was led through the throng of clubbers.

“Yes, Qhuinn?” she said without turning around.

“Christ, you must have eyes in the back of your skull.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “And you should keep that in mind.”

John’s ahstrux nohstrum was the kind of male most females wanted to fuck. And a lot of the guys, too. He had the black-on-black thing rocking, between his Affliction shirt and his biker jacket, but his style was all over the place. Grommet belt and the roll on the cuffs of his beat-to-shit jeans spanked of The Cure. The spiked black hair and the piercing of his lip and the seven black studs working their way up his left ear were emo. Four-inch-soled New Rocks were Goth. Tats on the neck were Hart amp; Huntington-ish.

As for the concealed weapons she knew damn well were packed under his arms? They were straight-up Rambo, and those fists hanging at his sides were all about the MMA.

The whole package, regardless of the derivation of the components, was sex, and from what she’d seen at the club, up until recently he’d capitalized on the appeal. To the point where those private bathrooms in the back had been like his home office.

After getting promoted to John’s personal guard, though, he’d slowed his roll. “What’s doing,” she said.

“John been in here?”

“No.”

Qhuinn’s mismatched eyes narrowed. “You haven’t seen him at all.”

“No.”

As the guy stared at her, she knew he was picking up nothing. Lying was second to murder on her skill-set list.

“Goddamn it,” he muttered, glancing around the club.

“If I see him, I’ll tell him you’re looking for him.”

“Thanks.” He refocused on her. “Listen, I don’t know what the fuck happened between you two, and it’s none of my biz-”

Xhex rolled her eyes. “Which clearly explains why you’re bringing it up now.”

“He’s a good guy. Just keep that in mind, all right?” Qhuinn’s blue and green stare was full of the kind of clarity only a really hard life gave a male. “Lot of people wouldn’t be cool with him getting planted on his ass. Especially me.”

In the silence that followed, she had to give Qhuinn credit: Most folks didn’t have the balls to stand up to her, and the threat behind the level words was obvious.

“You’re okay, Qhuinn, you know that. You’re tight.”

She clapped him on the shoulder, then headed for her office thinking the king had been smart in the choice of ahstrux nohstrum for John. Qhuinn was a perverted fucker, but he was a straight-up killer, and she was glad he was the one watching her boy.

Watching John Matthew, she meant.

Because he wasn’t her boy. In the slightest.

When Xhex got to her door, she swung it open without hesitation. “Good evening, Detective.”

José de la Cruz was sporting another downmarket two-piece, and he and his suit and the coat that was over it all looked equally tired.

“Evening,” he said.

“What can I do for you?” She sat down behind the desk and motioned for him to take the chair he’d used last time.

He did not avail himself. “Would you be able to tell me where you were late last night?”

Not completely, she thought. Because at one point she’d been killing a vampire, and that was none of his bizniz.

“I was here at the club. Why?”

“Do you have some employees who could verify that?”

“Yup. You can talk to iAm or any of my staff. Provided you tell me what the hell is doing.”

“Last night we found an article of clothing belonging to Grady at a murder scene.”

Oh, man, if someone else had popped that motherfucker, she was going to be pissed. “But not his body?”

“No. It was a coat with an eagle on the back, something he was known to wear. His signature, as it were.”

“Interesting. So why are you asking me where I was?”

“The jacket had blood splatterings on it. We’re not sure whether it’s his or not, but we’ll find out tomorrow.”

“And again, why do you want to know where I was.”

De la Cruz planted his palms on her desk and leaned in, his chocolate brown eyes dead fucking serious. “Because I have a hunch you’d like to see him dead.”

“I’m not into abusive men, true. But all you have is his jacket, no body, and more to the point, I was here last night. So if someone offed him, it wasn’t me.”

He straightened. “Are you giving Chrissy a funeral?”

“Yup, tomorrow. The notice went in the paper today. She might not have had a lot of relatives, but she was well liked on Trade Street. We’re just one big, happy family here.” Xhex smiled a little. “You going to wear a black armband for her, Detective?”

“Am I invited?”

“Free country. And you’d come anyway, wouldn’t you.”

De la Cruz smiled genuinely, his eyes losing most of their aggression. “Yeah, I would. You mind if I talk to your alibis? Get statements?”

“Not at all. I’ll call them in right now.”

As Xhex spoke into her watch, the detective looked around the office, and when she dropped her arm, he said, “You’re not much for decorations.”

“I like things stripped down to what I need and nothing more.”

“Huh. My wife’s into the decorating. She’s got a knack for making places homey. It’s nice.”

“Sounds like a good woman.”

“Oh, she is. Plus she makes the best queso I’ve ever had.” He glanced over. “You know, I hear a lot about this club.”

“Do you.”

“Yup. Particularly from Vice.”

“Ah.”

“And I’ve done my homework on Grady. He was arrested over the summer on felony drug possession. Case is still pending.”

“Well, I know he’ll be brought to justice.”

“He was fired from this club shortly before that arrest, wasn’t he.”

“For skimming cash from the bar.”

“And yet you didn’t charge him?”

“If I called the police every time one of my employees lifted some green, I’d have you guys on speed dial.”

“But I heard that wasn’t the only reason he was booted.”

“Did you.”

“Trade Street, as you said, is its own family-but that doesn’t mean there isn’t talk. And people are telling me that he was fired because he was dealing here at the club.”

“Well, that follows, doesn’t it. We’d never allow anyone to deal on our property.”

“Because this is your boss’s territory and he doesn’t appreciate the competition.”

She smiled. “There is no competition here, Detective.”

And that was the truth. Rehvenge was top dog. Period. Any two-bit ass-wipe trying to pass small loads off under the club’s roof got cracked. Hard.

“To be honest, I’m not sure how you’ve done it,” de la Cruz murmured. “There’s been speculation about this place for years, and yet no one’s been able to get probable cause for a search warrant.”

And that was because human minds, even those plugged into the shoulders of cops, were easily manipulated. Whatever was seen or talked about could be erased in the blink of an eye.

“Nothing shady happens here,” she said. “That’s how we do it.”

“Your boss around?”

“No, he’s out tonight.”

“So he trusts you to run his business while he’s gone.”

“Like me, he’s never gone for long.”

De la Cruz nodded. “Good policy. On that note, I don’t know if you heard, but there seems to be a turf war going on.”

“Turf war? I thought the two halves of Caldwell were at peace with each other. The river isn’t a divide anymore.”

“Drug turf war.”

“I wouldn’t know about those.”

“That’s my other case right now. We found two dealers dead by the river.”

Xhex frowned, thinking she was surprised she hadn’t heard about that already. “Well, drugs are a rough business.”

“They were both shot in the head.”

“That’ll do it.”

“Ricky Martinez and Isaac Rush. You know them?”

“Heard of them, but then both have been in the papers.” She put her hand on the copy of the CCJ that was neatly stacked on her desk. “And I’m a big reader.”

“So you must have seen the article on them today.”

“Not yet, but I was just about to take a break. Gotta have my Dilbert fix.”

“Is that the one about the office? I was a Calvin and Hobbes fan for years. Hated to see that stop and haven’t really gotten into any of the new ones. Guess I’m behind the times.”

“You like what you like. Nothing wrong with that.”

“That’s what my wife says.” De la Cruz ’s eyes drifted around again. “So, a couple people said both of them came into this club last night.”

“Calvin and Hobbes? One was a kid and the other a tiger. Neither would have gotten past my bouncers.”

De la Cruz grinned briefly. “No, Martinez and Rush.”

“Ah, well, you walked through this club. We have a huge number of folks in here every night.”

“True enough. This is one of the most successful clubs in town.” De la Cruz put his hands in his hip pockets, his coat falling back, his suit jacket pouching out around his chest. “One of the junkies who lives under the bridge saw an oldish Ford along with a black Mercedes and a chromed-out Lexus leaving the area a little after those two got popped.”

“Drug dealers can afford nice cars. Not sure what to make of the Ford.”

“What does your boss drive? A Bentley, isn’t it? Or did he get a new ride.”

“No, he’s still got the B.”

“Expensive car.”

“Very.”

“You know anyone with a black Mercedes? ’Cuz witnesses also saw one hanging around the apartment Grady’s eagle jacket was found in.”

“Can’t say as I know any Merc owners.”

There was a knock on the door, and Trez and iAm came in, the two Moors making the detective look like a Honda parked between a pair of Hummers.

“Well, I’ll leave you all to talk,” Xhex said with absolute faith in Rehv’s besties. “See you at the funeral, Detective.”

“If not before then. Hey, you ever think of getting a plant for in here? Could make a difference.”

“No, I’m too good at killing things.” She smiled tightly. “You know where to find me. Later.”

As she shut the door behind her, she stopped fronting and frowned. Turf wars were not good for business, and if Martinez and Rush got done, it was a sure sign that in spite of the December weather, Caldwell’s underbelly was developing another heat rash.

Shit, that was the last thing they needed.

Vibrations coming from her pocket told her someone was reaching out to touch her, and she answered the call the instant she saw who it was.

“You find Grady yet,” she asked softly.

Big Rob’s deep voice was full of frustration. “Fucker must be in hiding. Silent Tom and me, we been to all the clubs. Been to his place and also a couple of his buddies’.”

“Keep looking, but be careful. His jacket was just found at another murder scene. The cops are on him hard.”

“We aren’t giving up till we have a bead on him for you.”

“Good man. Now get off this phone and get back on the trail.”

“No problem, boss.”