Page 23 of Heathens

Dom turns to me with a smile.

“It’s a shame we have to cut this short.”

“Yeah, I’m real broken up about it,” I mumble, watching security head into the feeding rooms.

Fuck.

Dom smirks and drains his drink, slamming the glass down on the counter. His eyes meet mine a final time, and he holds my gaze as long as he can as he slides a business card across the counter.

“See you tomorrow night. We’ll get that drink.”

With that, he slides off the bar stool and disappears, swallowed up by the crowd.

“Sofie,” a voice growls. It’s Ares, one of our security guards. “You’ve gotta get back there. It’s bad.”

“Dead?”

“No, but he got her close. Seemed to be on purpose, too.”

I shove the card into my apron and sprint to the back, Ares at my heels.

“Who was it?” I ask over my shoulder.

“Deschamps.”

It’s my lucky fucking night, one of the biggest egos in Santa Cruz inmygoddamn bar.

“Jesus, when did he get here?!”

“When you and Ruby were on your run,” Ares replies, ushering me inside. “He promised to be on his best behavior. I should have shot the fucker at the front door.”

“Sure, if you were in the market to buy matching tombstones for all of us. Look, just make sure the door stays open in case the shit hits the fan.”

I’m not trapping myself in a room with a vamp like Rene Deschamps.

Ruby’s standing at the end of the hall, her gun already pointed at Rene. He’s grinning ear-to-ear, his hands lazily stretched in the air. There’s no fear in his eyes. He’s clearly only in this position because he wants to be.

Ares takes Ruby’s place as I pull her aside, eyeing Rene up and down as the vampire tilts his head quizzically. I rest my hands on her shoulders, forcing her to look directly at me. She’s pale, blinking rapidly as her chin trembles.

“Talk to me, babe,” I whisper.

“He drained Kirby,” she stammers. “She’s stable, I think. Bobby took her into another room. He’s got a shock blanket, and he’s giving her fluids.”

Dread makes its home in the pit of my stomach, adrenaline preparing me for the worst. She might be alive now, but that could change.

I steal a quick glance at Rene and find him looking straight back at me, a wall of muscle in a dark red suit. His ashy blond hair is slicked back, almost plastered to his head. He reminds me of one of those old gangsters from the ’40s, or at least the movies, with deep scars on his cheeks and a sunken face. His nose is slightly crooked from far too many breaks, likely before he was turned. His brow has a permanent crease in it, making him look serious even when he’s grinning like a fucking clown.

My fingers wrap around the gun at my side and I draw it instantly, aiming it at Rene’s head as I storm toward him. He chuckles, staring at me like I’m some kind of pathetic animal.

“Watch where you’re pointing that thing, little girl.”

The glib comment only fuels my rage. I could just pull this fucking thing and end this right now.

“You knew the rules when you entered the feeding room, correct? I’m here to run a bar, not a goddamn mortuary, Deschamps.”

He shrugs his shoulders, as remorseful as a child who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“I’msosorry miss, guess I just got a little overzealous. But is it really my fault? You know, your establishment doesn’t offer much in those drinks you serve. You should reconsider your business model, turn a much bigger profit with only a couple changes. I could help–”

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