Page 74 of Redeemed
“We put out a call.” Sheena’s already got her phone in her hand. “Everyone we can think of who might help. We meet as soon as the sun sets tonight, and we come up with a plan.”
“Yeah.” I turn the engine on. “That’s smart. We’ll get David tonight.”
I hope.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
David
BEING NAKED DOESN’T bother me. I mean, I’d rather be dressed to impress in a sick pair of painted-on jeans, but that’s not how the night is going.
If I had to prioritize, I’d take food over clothing. Back-to-back shifting has sapped me, but this is no time to get the fades. Abby’s got a tight grip on one hand and Cliffe has the other, and so help me I need them both to stay upright. Three carrion-scented zombies keep us moving, their shoving hands slimy and cold.
The house reminds me of Jacques’ place in Beverly Hills where we’d camped for a few months: oversized, polished, and soulless. With Percy-the-priss leading the way, we come through the main entrance and into a grand room. The western wall is glass, with a panoramic view of the mountains tumbling down to the ocean. There’s no hint of sunrise, which is too bad, because Jacques Betancourt sits opposite us, in the kind of gold throne Trump would envy.
“Mr. Collins, I welcome you and your compatriots.”
The three of us stop when P-t-p hisses. “I apologize, Jacques. He refused to leave the women.”
A swarm of supernaturals have staked out territory along the perimeter of the room. The place stinks of shifter, with bear and wolf dominating, but there are others. I don’t have time to tease out more than a handful, what with the master vampire and his scion dominating my view.
“That’s fine, Domingo. I’m sure we’ll make use of them.”
Jacques’ smile makes it plain thatmaking use of themcould involve throwing Abby and Cliffe to the wolves—literally. Percy’s real name is apparently Domingo. Huh. File that bit of info for later, so I can tell Trajan about him.
When I see Trajan again.
Which’ll be after the three of us get out of this little clusterfuck.
“Ahem.” Jacques draws my wayward attention. “Would you care to explain why you were on that particular beach on this particular night?”
“It’s a public beach. Maybe you could tell us why we shouldn’t have been there.”
He waves away my attitude, his wasted hand as bony and grey as a death claw. “I have a permit.”
I can’t help laughing. “You want me to believe that you, master vampire, took the time to go to the city website and fill in an application?”
The dead guy behind me smacks my head hard enough to make my ears ring, but Jacques’ expression doesn’t change.
“Domingo did it for me,” he says, his words cut off by a wracking cough.
“Apologies, then. We should have left when Domingo”—I lay on another helping of sarcasm—“showed us the permit. Oh wait.”
Abby’s grip is tightening, cutting off the circulation to my fingers. I’ll have to explain my strategy of antagonism later.
“We couldn’t leave when we saw the permit, because Percy’s friends got all up in our stuff.”
“So it’s our fault.” Jacques’ tone is dry.
Percy starts spouting some manner of self-defense, all but stamping his wittle foot. I keep my gaze on Jacques, who really does look like an animated skeleton. His grey silk suit might have come from Armani, but it hangs on him like a shroud.
“Look, Mr. Betancourt.Sir.” I must overshoot the snark because Cliffe tries to turn a laugh into a cough. “Since everything is all nice and legal, we should probably just head out and let you enjoy your”—I glance around the room—“party.”
Orgy is more like it. Orgy of supernatural losers. There are even a couple of elves lounging glamour-free near the window, which makes me wonder how much loyalty the Princess really has.
I shift my weight like I’m going to pivot but slimy dead hands grab me. Abby gasps, which is the only warning I have before someone clocks me from behind. I hit my knees, trying not to puke. Abby growls, and I’m vaguely aware of a scuffle around me. Mostly I’m occupied with the throb of pain that comes with each heartbeat.
What’d they hit me with? A baseball bat?
