Page 87 of Fated In Blood

“And you think you’re going to accomplish that by fucking her?” Something bigger—a chair, maybe—hit the floor.

“You fucked her first.” All the calm had drained from Riordan’s voice, replaced by vibrating rage. “You were the one who brought her back here, panting after her like she was your whole fucking world, so don’t you dare talk to me about?—”

“Before Iknew who she was,” Blake roared. “You don’t have that excuse.” Pottery and glass crashed, wood splintered, then fists hit flesh with that dull, meaty sound.

I pushed to my feet, steadying myself on the wall behind me as the sounds of brutal fighting echoed from the kitchen. Not the restrained, methodic sparring from yesterday, but something vicious and unhinged. Filled with fury and hate and rage.

Then I ran. Faster than I’d ever run. I burst through the front doors and flew across the lawn, between the gates and down the gravel road toward town.

This changed nothing.Nothing.

I was used to operating alone, making my own decisions, fighting my own battles. This would be no different.

Except now I was stronger. Faster.

The stakes were higher than they’d ever been. My sister’s life hung in the balance.

The Harpe Dagger killed everything it touched. That blade sucked souls from flesh, and there was no need for beheading or burning, because the knife delivered true death to a vampire, no matter their age or rank or heritage.

I headed straight to Valentine’s, a brand-new plan taking shape, one that didn’t involve two lying, egomaniacal vampires.

But did include one lying, backstabbing, hairy ex-boss.

36

EVANGELINE

Halfway to Valentine’s I decided to try dematerializing again, just for shits and giggles, but mostly because I was getting a blister on my left heel.

These boots were definitelynotmade for walking.

I overshot my target and ended up on the opposite side of town, which didn’t save me any time, but did prove that I could move the same way Riordan and Blake did. I just needed more practice.

I strode down Main Street with my head bowed, hands jammed into my pockets, because it was Sunday morning and joggers usually didn’t wear leather jackets and boots, and the sun was wreaking havoc on my exposed skin.

Valentine’s would be closed to the public, but the delivery doors out back were always propped open—yet another bribe for the fire marshal—so I diverted down the side street and quietly slipped inside.

I was racing against the clock.

Five minutes, maybe, since I’d left Crimson House, and I had no doubt Riordan could track me wherever I went, so long as I stayed within ten miles of Thorndale. But outside of that range,even with the blood bond, he would have a difficult time finding me.

And the further I went, the harder he’d have to look for his precious “weapon.”

“Holy fuck…” was all Vincent managed to get out when I kicked down his office door, as he pushed the girl straddling his lap off onto the floor, leaving his glistening cock—as hairy as the rest of him and a sight I’d never scrub from my poor brain—to wither and fall over limp as I wrapped my hand around his throat and squeezed.

“Car keys.” His eyes swiveled over to the desk, and I scooped up a fancy black leather fob with my other hand. The girl hurriedly gathered up her clothes and scrambled out of the room without a backward glance.

“Not even a thank you. I guess you’re a bad lay, Vincent. What a surprise.” His desk was a pigsty of crumpled papers, unpaid invoices, and piles of betting slips, but my eyes were on the high-end, sleek metal box with the fingerprint screen on the front.

“Money. Now.” He fumbled and gasped for breath while I squeezed tighter, tempted to just snap his neck and do the world a favor. Fucking finally, he dragged the heavy metal box toward him across the debris field, shaking fingers clawing at the blank screen until finally, his index finger made contact with the right spot.

The top opened with a faint, pneumatic hiss, revealing thousands of dollars rolled into tidy little green barrels, lined up like good little soldiers, ready to be put to use.

I scooped up as many as I could stuff into my jean pockets, and when I was done, pulled Vincent closer, trying not to taste his onion-saturated breath. “Since I have no doubt you’ll run to Tyrell the second you can speak, you’ll be spending the rest of the afternoon on ice, so to speak.”

“Please…Evie…I’ll…”

“Shut up, you piece of shit. If I wasn’t worried about leaving a trail of bodies behind, I’d snap you in half and leave you here for Blake and Riordan to scrape off the floor. I doubt they’d have the same reservations about killing you after you sold them out to Tyrell.”

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