Page 116 of Double Shot

“Even if she was a vampire, it’s done. Knife in the heart, head removed, and remains burned. The General is dead, the Cartel’s inner circle is dead, we killed all of them.”

“I think it’ll take a while to fully sink in,” she said softly.

“It’s over, Shady,” I said, and kissed her on the forehead. She closed her eyes and sagged against me and I held her close, carefully.

“It’s over,” she echoed softly, voice full of unnamed emotion.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Six months later

Roan…

Flipping the house on Phoenician Boulevard was easily handled, the market was running a bit hot, and we netted a tidy profit even after covering a few unexpected repairs. Repairs at the John Laurens house were done before we made it back from Texas.

The renovations and upgrades, however, took longer.

I had certainly learned lessons from the fall of Bootlegger Head, taking the Final Prophecy Center, twice, and then storming this place once. Walls were reinforced. Roll hardened steel, packed beneath sheetrock, steel bolts anchoring everything together, strong enough to stop everything south of heavy armor-piercing rounds. Even grenades and RPGs should be stopped by that much armor.

The windows were likewise reinforced, more double pained bullet resistant Lexan.

Several rooms didn’t evenhavewindows – what looked like windows were large screen monitors beneath curtains. It gave the illusion of space, in the rooms that were more heavily armored. The original panic room was turned into the new nerve center for our operations. I had a new rig, one that Grant came by and helped with. Nine monitor display, multiple methods to connect to the internet, new security countermeasures, and entirely new hardware to run everything.

That only took a month to get fully operational.

The entire house was tied into it, on its own dedicated system. The lights were adjustable, temperature controlled through a dozen smart systems, everything tied into the same entertainment system.

We organized an entirely new layout for the bedroom situation. There was a master bedroom that was the master of masters. It had an Alaskan King, a massive nine foot by nine-foot behemoth of a bed. Even with three sleepers, there was plenty of room. It was our regular sleeping arrangement these days, with the room large enough for dressers and wardrobes for our clothing and other accessories. The attached master bathroom was likewise enormous, with a huge garden tub, with jets, a waterfall shower with two side showerheads, and while not the most glamorous thing, it had two hideaway toilets.

Almost no amount of closeness between us would eliminate entirely the need for privacy.

To that end, we each maintained what amounted to a personal room. Almost like a college dorm, these rooms were our individual studies, and where we kept our personal affairs, and interests. There would always come a time when a person might need or want to be alone, spend some time following their own interests. Sadie was the most resistant to this, but as much as I wanted to indulge her every whim, we had a responsibility to maintain our own autonomy, our own individuality.

To that, our old version of the time-share came back to the fore. At least once a week, we all had to fuck off on our own, do our own thing, and be comfortable just being with ourselves. For myself, that was generally Sunday, and I would start that off with a mid-morning visit to The Black Watch.

Sadie and Lach came a time or two, but it wasn’t any sort of going home for them. They didn’t see the Union Jack the way I did, andGod Save the Queendidn’t mean that much to them either, any more than I had any particular bursting patriotic adoration for their stars and stripes. I didn’t really keep up with what they did on their days, but that was the point, wasn’t it?

The garage was upgraded, the door was replaced with what amounted to a blast door, along with all of the exterior doors on the house. It would be easier to blow a hole in the wall than take that door out, and either action would take something like a tank or a thermal charge, the sort that cut steel.

We stocked the garage with new cars, but there was a serious problem, space. We all wanted our own specific cars. The deal made was that we each had our own personal pleasure car, and there were three vehicles that were kept for general use, an armored and reinforced sedan and an SUV, for doing work. Currently one was an Audi, and the SUV was a chic Porsche Cayenne Turbo. The last was a regular pickup truck. It had no armor, no reinforcement, no tricks, but it was more for doing work things, moving things around on the property.

The groundskeepers and remodelers were pleased to have access to it.

It was also handy for being a completely non-descript vehicle for cruising into the less than opulent parts of the city or rolling through the country.

I debated, back and forth, on replacing my DB5. Another DB5 would be expensive, and there were problems I had with the car, most of which involved my stiff leg and prosthetic. I splurged and ended up with an Aston Martin One-77 supercar, in a glorious proper British racing green.

Lach wasn’t going to be shown up and picked a gloss black Lamborghini Sian roadster. He was, in his own words, a cunt’s hair away, from getting a Bugatti Chiron, but when he saw how much the service cost; a new set of tires, oil change, and general service could run near a hundred grand, he thought something flashier, but less demanding to own would suffice.

Not to be left sitting on the bench or riding shotgun, Sadie picked for herself a brand new Ferrari 488 Spyder, in Ferrari racing red. The cars were somewhat known, as it wasn’t uncommon for us to take them down the John Laurens Highway and to track days. As much fun as they were to drive fast and wild, running on the actual tracks gave us the option for full power without dealing with regular drivers or police.

Made for fun afternoons.

We added an extension to the nerve center of the manse and made it the arsenal. Our first trophies were already hanging there. Ajahi’s gold knife with its lion tooth inlay was the current centerpiece. I had to have it tested to find out what the inlay in the handle was. Next to it was his gilded Desert Eagle pistol. The replica of Charlemagne’s swordJoyeusehad its own display. The most important part of the sword, to us, was the russet stain of blood in the fuller.

It had taken some effort to keep the blood from being wiped completely from the blade.

It was something that we would never forget either.

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