Page 83 of Map of Pain
Shaw wasn’t attacking. Why wasn’t Shaw attacking a vampire?
“I can get my children in place all over the region,”the man continued.“They’re good kids, mind you. Them neutral hunters take in everyone, pervert the natural order of things. They can play nice and get close and help you get rid of the competition. All I ask is that you leave one of us beasties alone, because I got a score to settle.”
Shaw and the stranger shook hands like old friends making a business deal.
The man turned his attention to Nick then, and his smile widened to show fangs.“Pretty thing you got there. From Nicoletti? Squishy mind on that old one. Mind if I have some time with him? Or is he private collection only?”
Shaw laughed—actually laughed.“He’s the best fighter we have, a fucking weapon. But yeah, have all the time you want. Just make sure to tell him he’s a good boy.”
Shaw left the room, and the stranger approached with that terrible smile.
“Nice to meet you, properly,”he said, fangs gleaming.“I’m Richard. I hear you know how to be a good boy...”
“No,”the voice in Nick’s head said.“Too far. Come back. Focus.”
Nick fell down a well of blackness, consciousness fracturing into pieces. Somewhere in the dark, he heard the hunter, soft, uncertain, ashamed:I did what it took to survive. I don’t know if itwasworth it. I just wanted to survive.
Gianmarco never wore a belt. Not once. You remember his tailor—everything bespoke, perfectly fitted. He didn’t need a belt.
Society issue. Always need a belt to be prepared. Tactical. Smart. Strong. Good.
The jingling. The metal sound thathauntedhis dreams, that pulled him into remembering the worst things.
It wasn’t Gianmarco’s belt buckle at all.
It was Shaw’s. Owen’s. Henderson’s.
Society issue.
“Focus,”the voice in his head said again, more urgently now.“Almost there. Focus.”
And then, cutting through the darkness like a silver thread, he heard something else. Music. A melody he recognized, beautiful and familiar and safe.
Jupiter. Luka’s Jupiter.
But the whistlingwasbroken, interrupted by sounds that might have been sobbing.
The music pulled him up through layers of memory and pain and conditioning, pulled him back toward consciousness, toward the surface, toward—
Light. Real light. The harsh fluorescents of Club Euphoria, not the warm lamps of Gianmarco’s penthouse or the sterile brightness of Society safe houses.
Nick’s eyes snapped open, and he was filled with rage.
Pure, clean, righteous rage that burned away the last of the confusion and the conditioning and the liesthey’dall told him.
The Societyworkedwith vampires andmadedeals with the very monsters they claimed to hunt. Theyusedhim, broken him, shaped him into a weapon while telling him itwasfor the greater good.
Nick sat up slowly, his body aching, his throat raw, and looked around at the concerned faces surrounding him. Matoskah, thepale vampire with white braids Nick only vaguely remembered from weeks ago, held eye contact with him for a moment before swaying, his cheeks wet and red with tears. The Asian nurse from the hospital caught Matoskah as he collapsed with gloved hands. They both looked exhausted.
But Nick wasn’t exhausted. Nick was furious.
And for the first time in years, his anger felt clean.
Chapter thirty-two
You. Important to me...
Luka
