Oh, that stuff was going to be great to get out of his f**king silk shirts.
He slapped a Band-Aid the size of an index card on the thing and thought that maybe tonight he and his GF would play nice.
He'd tie her up for a change.
It took him no time at all to put on a sweet Zegna suit and head out. As he passed by the master bedroom's door, he paused and made a fist. Banging on the wood loud enough to wake the dead, he smiled.
"Be back soon and I'm bringing chains."
He waited for a response. When there was none, he reached for the knob and put his ear to the door. The sound of her even breathing was soft as a gentle current of air, but it was there. She lived. And she would be alive still when he returned.
With deliberate self-control, he released the knob. If he opened the door, he'd lose another couple of hours and his father was not into waiting.
Down in the kitchen, he took a stab at some eats and came up with nothing. The coffee machine had been timed to start up two hours ago, so a quick lift of the pot showed something close to crankcase oil. And cracking the fridge, he didn't see anything that appealed even though he felt starved.
Lash ended up dematerializing from the kitchen empty-handed and with a bottomless gut. Not a great combo for his mood, but he wasn't going to miss the show--if for no other reason than he wanted to see what had been done to him during his induction.
The farmhouse was out north and east of the brownstone, and the instant he took form on the lawn, he knew his father was inside: An odd shiver in his blood bubbled up every time he was around the Omega, like an echo in an enclosed space... although he wasn't sure whether he was the sound and his father the cave, or if it was the other way around.
The front door was open, and as he mounted the porch steps and went into the shitty little hall, he thought about his induction.
"When you became truly mine."
Lash wheeled around. The Omega was in the living room, his white robes covering his face and hands, his black energy seeping out onto the floor, a dark shadow formed by no illumination.
"Are you excited, my son?"
"Yeah." Lash glanced over his shoulder at the dining room table. The bucket and the knives that had been used on him were right there. Ready and waiting.
The sound of gravel crunching under tires had him turning to the door. "They're here."
"My son, I should like you to bring me more. I find myself hungry for fresh ones."
Lash went to the doorway. "No problem."
In this at least, they were fully aligned. More inductees meant more money, more fighting.
The Omega came up behind Lash and there was a soft brushing movement as a black hand ran down his spine. "You are a good son."
For a split second, Lash's dark heart ached. The phrase was exactly the one the vampire who'd raised him had said from time to time. "Thanks."
Mr. D and the two others got out of the Lexus... and brought the human forward. It hadn't dawned on the little bastard yet that he was a pair of jeans and a T-shirt away from being a sacrificial lamb. But the instant he got a look-see at the Omega, shit was going to become clear as a bell.
Chapter Twelve
As John lay facedown and the footsteps of his enemy got closer, he breathed through his nose and got a sinus-load of fresh dirt. Pulling a possum was not a bright idea generally speaking, but this motherfucker with the epileptic trigger finger didn't fit the profile of someone who was going to be too careful about whether he'd hit his mark or not.
Letting loose the lead in the middle of a public park?
Had the idiot never heard of the Caldwell Police Department? The Caldwell Courier Journal ?
The boots stopped and that sweet, choking smell lessers carried on their skin nearly made him gag. But funny how life and death got the attention of your esophagus.
He felt something blunt push at his left arm, like the slayer was checking with his boot to see if they were in toe tag territory. And then on cue, Qhuinn let out a low, pathetic moan from around the far side of the shed.
Like his liver was leaking into his colon.
The boots moved down John's body as the bastard wandered forward to investigate and John cracked an eye. The slayer was pulling a Hollywood, his gun held straight out in a double-palm grip, the muzzle swinging from side to side with more affect than effect. Still, though he looked all Crockettand-Tubbs ridiculous with that theatrical bust-a-move, bullets were bullets and it would take only a quick shift in direction and John was at point-blank range.
Good thing he didn't give a shit. As the f**ker wedding- marched it toward Qhuinn's moans, an image of Xhex's face sprang John up off the ground in a single lithe move. He landed on top of the lesser's thick back, latching on with his free arm and both of his legs as he put his gun to that pale temple.
The slayer froze for a split second, and John whistled between his teeth, the signal for Qhuinn and Blay to come up from behind.
"Time to drop the gun, ass**le," Qhuinn said as he reappeared. Then, without giving the bastard time to comply, he reached out, locked his hands on the slayer's forearm, and made like he was snapping a stick.
The crack of bones was louder than John's whistle had been and the result was a limp wrist and a Glock no longer under the enemy's control.
As the lesser bucked in pain, sirens from far off sounded out... and closed in.
John dragged the bastard back to the double doors of the shed, and after Blay opened the way in, he pulled his prey out of sight.
With overexaggerated words, he mouthed to Qhuinn, Go get your Hummer.
"If those cops are coming for us, we've got to blow."
Not leaving. Get the Hummer.
Qhuinn took out his keys and tossed them to Blay. "You go. And lock us in, feel me?"
Blay didn't waste a second, backing out and closing the door. There was the subtle sound of metal clinking as he reset the chain and then a click as that Master Lock was popped into place.
The lesser was starting to struggle with greater strength, but this was not a bad thing--consciousness was what they were going for.
John flipped the f**ker onto his stomach and pulled back on that neck until the thing's spine pretzeled.
Qhuinn knew exactly what to do. Kneeling down, he put his face right into the slayer's. "We know you hold a female prisoner. Where is she?"
As the sirens intensified, the slayer managed only a series of grunts, so John relented a little and allowed some air down in those lungs.
Qhuinn drew back his palm and slapped the lesser. "I asked you a question, bitch. Where is she?"
John eased up a little further, but not so much as to offer an escape route. With the added leeway, the lesser shuddered in fear, proving that whereas the motherfucker had been all business with his showy shooting, here during crunch time, he was nothing but a young punk in over his head.
Qhuinn's second slap was harder. "Answer me."
"No... prisoner."
As Qhuinn threw back his arm again, the slayer recoiled--yup, although the f**kers were dead, their pain receptors worked just fine. "Female abductee held by your Fore-lesser. Where is she?"
John reached forward and gave his gun to Qhuinn and then, with his now-free hand, he went to the small of his back and withdrew his hunting knife. It went without saying that he was the only one who was going to do any real damage and he brought the blade around and put it right up to the lesser's eyes. Wild bucking ensued, but the struggle was quickly contained, John's huge body blanketing what was under him.
"You're going to want to talk," Qhuinn said dryly. "Trust me on this."
"I don't know no female." The words were nothing but a hiss, that wind-pipe constricted by John's forearm.
John gave a jerk backward and the slayer yelled, "I don't!"
Sirens were screaming now, and out in the parking lot there were multiple tire squeals.
Time to tread carefully. The lesser had already demonstrated a total disregard for the single rule in the war, so whereas with any other slayer you could be sure of silence, that was a not-so-much with Mr. Click-click Bang- bang.
John met Qhuinn's mismatched stare, but the guy was already on it. Reaching over to a pile of oily rags, Qhuinn snagged one and stuffed it into the lesser's mouth. Then it was freeze-frame time.
From outside, the voices of the cops were muffled: "Cover me."
"Roger that."
As John put away his knife so he could hold on with both hands, there was lots of foot shuffling, most of which was off in the distance. But would no doubt come near eventually.