[Anita Blake 17] - Skin Trade (72 page)

I stared down at Max. He was mostly bald, and round of face, but his biceps were huge, his shoulders deeply muscled. He'd begun life as an enforcer, and he'd stayed in shape for it. I could see his strength, but he just didn't do it for me. I liked my men pretty and a little refined. Max was like a bully—big, scary, and nothing delicate about him—but I bent over him one more time. I touched his face, closed my eyes, and kissed him. Delicate, at first, then with more pressure, letting my arms slide over the hard, muscled bareness of him, and putting some body English into it. Max was absolutely still against me. Bibiana was making a high-pitched sound through the tape.

I turned to Vittorio.

“Very well, one dancer, but I want the next effort to be better, or the deal is off. Ava will choose who goes free, and Sergeant—Rocco, is it?—will watch from the door that the dancer gets away.”

Ava went out, Rocco watched from the door, and apparently they let a dancer go because Rocco came back nodding yes.

“I'll give you a two-for-one deal,” Vittorio said. “Let the little dancer over there give you a lap dance; if it's good, I'll free her and another dancer.”

I walked over to Brianna without hesitation, but once I got there, I asked him, “What do you want to learn from making me do this?”

“Maybe I'm just like all men and have my little lesbian fantasies.”

“I don't know what to say to that.”

“Sit in the chair by Ava.”

I sat in the chair; it didn't hurt me, and I didn't want to give them another excuse to hurt anyone. “Untie the girl.”

Ava did what she was told. Brianna took her own tape off her mouth, then looked at me. Her makeup had run down her face like black tears. She rubbed at her wrists and took a shaking step toward me in her spike-heeled sandals.

“I'm offering you the best tip you will ever get, Brianna. Give the marshal a lap dance, and if it's good enough, I'll set you and another of your friends free.”

Brianna took another staggering step toward me. I thought,
She's not going to be able to do it, she's too afraid.
He must have thought so, too, because he said, “If you refuse, or don't do a good job of it, I will use the torch on that soft, pink, perfect skin.” He almost sounded bored.

Brianna dropped her robe to the ground and was in front of me. “Wait,” Vittorio said. We both looked at him. “Sergeant, take Anita's place; let her dance for you.”

Rocco just started walking toward us. I got up, he sat down, and Brianna started to dance. She had no music, but whatever was playing in her head was something with a beat. She started a little jerky, but then closed her eyes and found her rhythm. It was a nice rhythm. She moved her body in waves up and down Rocco—who had a death grip on the chair he was sitting in, because the rules are the dancers can touch you, but you can't touch the dancers.

Brianna ended up in his lap, straddling him, grinding her most intimate parts over the front of his pants. His face looked grim, and I was betting he was trying to think of baseball, taxes, dead kittens, anything but what the woman in his lap was doing.

I felt both sorry for him and happy it wasn't me.

With a last writhe, she bowed herself backward, completely, her legs wrapped around Rocco and the chair itself. She bent back in a graceful arch, her high, tight breasts spilling backward, proving yet again that they were real.

Vittorio actually clapped. “Very good, and the sergeant has held his composure admirably. Flee, little dancer. Anita, watch her go to safety; I don't think our dear sergeant can walk just yet.”

Brianna picked up her robe and went for the door as fast as her high heels could take her. “Pick another dancer to go out with you, Brianna.” She picked up the pace. I kept the door open and watched her go to the nearest dancer, grab her by the hand, and run out the door with her.

I did a quick head count. We had six dancers left. Six, and then we could get rid of the jinn and try to kill Vittorio. Just six more.

“I make the dancers entertain me before I kill them, Anita. I don't usually let them go, though.”

“So this is part of your . . . usual.” I stopped there because any word I could come up with sounded too much like an insult.

“Yes.” He got up and walked to Rick. “I could control him, but only in part. I can't control him or Victor completely as I can the others. They are too dominant, too much tiger. I could make either of them my servant through marks, but I cannot own them as I own the ones in the corner.” He moved so fast, it was barely visible.

Rocco said, “He mind-fucked me.”

“No, he didn't,” I said, “he's just that fast.”

Vittorio was standing back where he started, by the time the blood started trickling down Rick's stomach.

“You didn't ask us to do anything,” I said.

“So I didn't. Ava, let another whore go.”

Ava just went to the door, and I watched as she tapped another woman. The woman ran out the door in a flashing square of sunlight. Five left.

“Anita, drink blood from the wound I just made on the weretiger.”

I didn't like this one, but I went to Rick and knelt in front of him. The cut was just above the pants line, so I could reach. I was betting the placement hadn't been accidental.

I put my hands on his belt to steady myself, then leaned up and licked the wound. It was blood, hot, salty, metallic. I put my mouth against the wound and sucked. It was sweet copper pennies on my tongue. But it was more than that, it was belly meat, soft, above the muscles, and that feeling that just underneath were soft, tender things. My hands locked around the back of his body, and I fought to only suck the wound, not bite down, not take more flesh. I drew back from the wound with a shaky breath. I felt dizzy, disoriented. I realized for the first time that though I'd fed on all the men this morning, Vittorio had taken all the energy of it. Beyond that, he'd taken more of my energy, so I was actually behind the curve. Fuck.

I got to my feet, having to steady myself against Rick's body as I stood. I wiped my mouth with my hand, and knew I needed a rag or something to get the blood.

“Most people would have hesitated before drinking a lycanthrope's blood,” Vittorio said.

“If we hesitate, you hurt them.”

“Ava, another dancer.” This time Rocco watched the hostage leave. Only four now.

He paced in a circle, tapping the blade against his leg. “I must come up with things that displease you, or I will run out of hostages before I get to hurt anyone again.” He turned to me with a huge smile. It tugged at the burned side of his face, so that the smile didn't quite work. “Suck on something else; you can pick any of the men, just bring them. To give you more incentive, I'll use the holy water on your fair friend again if you refuse.”

I looked from Rick to Requiem. “May I ask a question?”

“You may.”

“Has Requiem fed?”

“No.”

“Then you know he can't go orally or any other way until he's taken blood.”

“Then you are left with only two choices unless you wish to include the sergeant.”

I fought not to look as uncomfortable as that extra suggestion made me. “Max hasn't fed this morning either, so it has to be Rick. You're only pretending to give me choices.”

“Then do him.” He was standing by Requiem now, and I realized that there was a line of holy water vials on the table above his head.

I went to Rick and started undoing his belt. Rick made a small protesting noise. I took a breath in, and blew it out. I whispered, “It's not a fate worse than death, Rick.”

He went still in his chains and watched me undo his pants. I wasn't sure if the patient watching was less uncomfortable to me, or the struggles and noises. I got his pants unzipped and worked his pants down over his ass; I wanted the zipper out of the way both for his safety and mine. I'd kept his underwear in place, and only moved it out of the way once I was kneeling in front of him. He was as lovely below the waist as above, and there were no cuts here yet; I was hoping to keep it that way.

I looked up the line of his body and found him watching me. His blue eyes were angry, yes, but there was something else in them now, too. Apparently, he'd taken my
not a fate worse than death
to heart, because there was that darkness in his eyes that every man gets at about this time. I took him in my hands and lowered him to my mouth. He was already erect enough that I had to bring him down to me, because he was pressed against the front of his own body. He slipped inside my mouth, as full and smooth and good as any. I liked giving oral sex. I liked the feel of it in my mouth, and the look on a man's face while you did it. I liked the sounds they made, and the way their bodies reacted. I gave myself completely to the man in front of me, and the sensation of my mouth going over and around him. I kissed and sucked and licked, using my hand on him to guide and caress and squeeze. I let myself spill into the sex, and there was nothing else. I glanced up and found his eyes wide. His breathing quickened. He was so hard now, except for the soft smoothness of the tip of him. His body spasmed in the chains, and it wasn't pain this time. He closed his eyes, head flung back, and I worked him in and out of my mouth quicker, in and out, in and out, as fast as I could. I tasted the first hint that he was close; the texture changed, ever so slightly, like a preview of what was to come.

Vittorio's voice. “Two dancers, if you let him go on your breasts.”

I didn't hesitate. I just yanked my shirt over my head and let it fall. I held him in my hand, working him, keeping him close; I didn't want to lose ground. I had to let go to undo my bra and throw it over my shoulder to the floor with the shirt. Then I plunged my mouth back over him, cupping, and playing, and teasing until I felt him tighten in my mouth. I moved off him just in time, stroking him with my hand as he spilled upward, outward, in a thick, warm rain of it. It spattered across my shoulders, my breasts, and I threw my head back, thrust my breasts more forward, and it also kept it out of my eyes.

Rick spasmed above me, rattling the chains, making small noises against the gag.

Vittorio was huddled against the counter; he looked at me, at Rick, at the show of it, with a look of eager horror.

I heard Ava and Rocco go to the door to let more of the hostages go. I started crawling toward the vampire, with my breasts hanging down, and the warm liquid beginning to drip. He pushed himself to his feet and screamed, “Kill them!”

My skin ran with that sibilant magic, and I knew that Rocco had said the words, and the jinn were gone. Ava screamed, and I risked a glance to find that Ava had buried her knife in Rocco's side, but he had her wrist, and I knew what he could do with that seemingly innocent touch.

The glance was a mistake. Vittorio used that blinding speed to be up and at Requiem's side. I couldn't move fast enough, but I had one power that was fast as thought. I opened the
ardeur
and thrust it like a weapon at the vampire. It might not have worked except he'd just had me do one of his fantasies. The idea of me and sex was already firm in his mind. He wanted to look.

I didn't run. I stalked, I writhed, I made everything work, and he couldn't look away. He was still staring at me when I wrapped my hand around his and cupped the vial of holy water, sending it to shatter harmlessly on the floor.

“I will ruin him,” he whispered.

“That's not what you want.”

“I can't have what I want,” he said.

I put his empty hands on my breasts, and held his gaze with mine. His hands started smoothing the liquid across my breasts, as if he didn't realize he was doing it. “Your eyes,” he said, “your eyes are full of fire, like cognac diamonds.”

“Say it,” I whispered.

He leaned his face downward, as I leaned upward. “Say it,” I whispered.

“Release, I want release.”

His mouth met mine, and we kissed. One moment it was gentle, the next he fed at my mouth, so hard his fangs cut my lips and filled our mouths with the sweet taste of blood. Blood made my hungers rise, but it was too late for any of the others; all that was left was the
ardeur
. I had denied it, tried to cage it, control it, but in that moment I understood why kings had offered Belle Morte their crowns, why women had offered everything for one more night with Jean-Claude; I understood what it meant to be Belle Morte's line. The
ardeur
wasn't something I had to feed to stay alive, it was the way I fed. It was my blood.

Vittorio made small eager noises against my mouth, his hands eager on my body. I felt the growing pressure of it build inside him, and I felt the
ardeur
mingle with the power of the beasts, all of it so warm and alive, so not vampire. His breathing quickened, his body tensed, and I drove the
ardeur
and the power of the tigers into him, like a seeking hand, and gave him, for a moment, a taste of it. I gave him the shadow of what he had lost, and his mouth tore away from mine in a scream, as his body spasmed against mine, his hands clutching at me. He collapsed to the floor beside the table, taking me, still in his arms, to the floor with him. He was crying and laughing. “How did you do that?”

“I am Belle Morte's line. I belong to Jean-Claude. We are meant to bring pleasure.”

His hand searched the floor, and I knew what he meant to do before I saw the flash of silver. I rolled away from him, but he came for me, and he was simply too fast.

Then a white blur crashed into his side, and a second joined it. The two weretigers grappled with the vampire, and his speed did no good because they were already touching him. I pushed backward so I could see the bed, and the chains were empty. I didn't know where Max was, but I knew where his wife and Rick were. The other weretigers spilled out of the corner where they'd been frozen. I thought for one awful moment they meant to attack us, but they went for the fight and Vittorio.