B.A. Tortuga Long Black Cadillac (Torquere)

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know. Stop. Stop that shit right now!"
"Jesus Christ, Rem!" He rolled, his arm sweeping across
Remy's midsection to push the kid away. He was a Hell of a
lot gentler than Remy was.
A fucking shoe.
"None of that shit! Eating each other and groaning with the
sun coming up and shit!" Remy looked a little like a crazed
gnome, jumping up and down and hollering, fingers making
the thick dark hair stick up all over.
Clay glanced at Vance. "I think he's broken."
"Hey, man. He's your lackey. I come lackeyless. Lackey
free? Whatever." Vance looked amused as fuck.
"Asshole." His hands landed on Remy's hips, and Clay
pulled the kid in, wrapping an arm around Remy's waist.
"Breathe, babe."
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"It just went on and on ... I thought. I just. No one could
live through that..." Remy pushed close, hands mapping him,
reaching to pull Vance closer.
"Hey, man. I'm not dead. Not even close." Vance
smoothed down Remy's hair a little.
"See? He's in one piece, even. Unless you whacked
something off with the shoe." Look at that Remy. He'd taken
to Vance right off. And Vance liked the kid, too. But man,
they needed to get Remy his own room once they got the
Colonel taken care of.
"Yeah. Yeah. I know. I just." Remy shrugged. "Y'all are
gettin' weird, Cheri."
"We been weird from the get go, babe." He smiled, trying
for reassuring, then gave Remy a kiss and a pat on the ass.
"We need to fix up the windows."
"Yeah. Yeah, I got it." Remy looked at Vance, eyebrow
arching. "C'mon you. Help me fix it up for the boss man."
"Don't get too close to the windows." He gave Vance a
look, just making sure the man understood. The more they
shared blood...
"Yeah, yeah, yeah..." Vance stopped all of the sudden,
growling low, eyes fucking glowing. "Remy. Take Clay into the
bathroom and lock the doors. There's a way into the
crawlspace in the linen cabinet." Vance slid out of the bed,
snarling and keeping low as he headed for the door. "Do it,
Cajun. Now."
Remy grabbed his hand. "C'mon. C'mon, Boss. Hurry.
Hurry."
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Oh, Hell no. "Go, Rem. I'm not letting him do this alone.
No way." He could feel the sun, trying to find its way in. And
he could hear ... something. Something Vance knew, but he
didn't.
"No. No, Boss. He's got a chance still, with the sun. You
ain't. Come on. Come on, now."
Vance turned toward him, muddy eyes blazing. "They'll kill
him, Clay. Make him scream first. I've got a chance. Go."
Vance pulled out a pair of pistols, scarred skin straining over
the tense muscles. "Now, man. It's time to be the good guy,
huh?"
His gut churned, but goddamn, Vance was right. Remy
didn't stand a chance. He was only fucking human. Vance
could stay alive until Clay could get back to him. He hoped.
He gave one short nod and whirled away, hauling Remy under
his arm like a football.
Goddamned asshole had better stay alive.
Clay had plans for him.
Remy got the doors locked and he climbed up, pushing up
at the little door to the crawl space. He pulled himself up and
reached for Remy when the whole place shuddered, the
sounds of bullets making his ears ring.
He wanted to move, wanted to go back down there and
make the bastards pay. But he couldn't. The sun would be
pouring in the door, and he had to protect Remy. Had to.
"He's strong, Boss. He is. You don' worry. He'll be down
there screaming for me to get the car, you watch and see."
Not looking at Remy, because he didn't want the kid to see
his glowing eyes and bared teeth, Clay nodded. Then he
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pulled that warm little body into the cradle of his, hiding
Remy from any danger. "We'll get him back, babe. We will.
Now we just have to stay still and quiet. All right?"
"Like little mice."
"Yeah. Mice in the attic." All he could do was close his ears
and try not to think about what Vance might be going
through.
Night would fall. And then Clay would go on the hunt. He
had every intention of getting Vance back. And of tearing
those men with guns into tiny little pieces.
He did love a good plan.
* * * *
Pain.
Fuck.
Pain.
He growled and snapped at the air, the lights burning the
living fuck out of him. Out. Out. Out.
Out.
Chains rattled above him, his shoulders screaming as he
pulled.
Fuck.
Somewhere above him he heard voices, heard the slow,
heavy drawl he'd heard on a hundred jobs, but he couldn't
really make out the words. A booted foot nudged his legs,
prodding him, poking hard.
He snarled, biting at the air, his blood burning in his veins.
Out. Let me out.
A full on slap rocked his head back. "None of that, boy."
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He focused, blinking at a jowly fat fuck with little eyes and
a mean-assed smile. "Hey. Hey, Boss."
Fuck him raw.
"Seems you forgot who was boss, didn't you, boy? Seems
like you just couldn't get the job done. Not even when I sent
you reinforcements."
"He. He fucking stopped eating, you fuck." Shit, he hurt
and he needed fucking off this wall. "You don't pay me
enough for this shit."
"I'm not paying you for anything anymore. Now, tell me
where the fucker is." Another blow rocked his head back,
slamming it into the wall.
"Go to Hell, man. He's gone." It wasn't true. He could feel
Clay, growling in the base of his neck, rumbling low.
"No, son. He's not gonna give you up. Not even close."
Another slap, this one from one of the Colonel's fucking dogs.
Vance snapped, reaching out to bite, jaws clamping on the
fuckhead's arm. Blood rushed into his mouth and he damned
near screamed with the rush of heat and strength. Shouting,
running feet, exploding pain in his head. He had it all in
seconds, something blunt and heavy smashing into the side
of his face.
He heard the bones cracking, felt shit give way in a rush.
Oh. Man. That. Yeah.
His legs gave way, the chains holding him up.
"I wasted a lot of money on you, son. You were one of my
first boys. My first success."
The words were there, but they didn't make sense.
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A line of fire crackled across his chest, the glint of a knife
right there in front of his eyes. "Where. The fuck. Is he?"
"F ... fuck. Fuck off, you smarmy asshole." He'd been cut
by better.
"Oh, son. You have no idea what I can do to you. None at
all. Not now." Looked like the man was gonna try to show
him, though. Or at least the lackey was. How did a guy get a
lackey, anyway? Why was he the only guy without one?
"B ... b ... bring it on." His eyes rolled like dice, pain just
flooding him. "You best pray you kill my ass before I get
loose, Boss. I ... I'm gonna rip your throat out."
"You'll try, boy." The Colonel hauled back and kicked him
before backing away. "Find out where that damned vamp is.
Kill them both."
"You got a hard on for him, man? You ain't his..." He
coughed, a gout of blood spraying on the Colonel's face and
shirt.
He could barely see that face, turning to stone as the man
looked down at him. "No. But you're mine, Vance. You always
have been. And I'll see you dead. Get my car, James."
Home, James, huh?
Fuck him raw.
* * * *
Clay was about to go crazy.
He itched. He burned. And he would swear he could feel
every bit of torment Vance was going through. It pulled at
him. Urged him to act.
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Once night had fallen, he and Remy had crawled out of
their hidey hole, and he'd had to get Remy water and a
bathroom, as well as some food. Bless his heart, the crazy
little Cajun had held up well.
"We got to find Boo," Remy had said, tugging him out into
the night. And the search was on.
The car had been trashed and the little cabin riddled with
bullet holes, but there hadn't been cop one, so someone paid
well to keep things quiet. It hadn't taken but a minute for
Remy to find the owner's pickup and jerry-rig it to start, both
of them zooming down the highway, running on his instinct
and the few directions they'd pulled from the wrecked Caddy.
Goddamn it, he liked that car.
They spent the morning in a little quiet cheap-assed motel [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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