Blood Debt (The Blood Sisters Book 2) (4 page)

T
hose
bitches would pay. Amanda, Jessica, the seer—the angel trophy he’d kept around
for, what was it, eight decades now? They’d pay with their blood.

Vaughn
didn’t lose, but here he was. On the run, searching for a home. He wasn’t used to
scurrying along like a bug. With his fortress gone he had no choice but to
relocate. A smaller warehouse, one designed for emergencies, that, let’s face
it, he never expected to need. There wasn’t a bar or even a catwalk for his
lady friends. No, instead it was a barren space with a dirt floor.

He needed
to make some adjustments. Make sure it was safe and make it fun.

Stationed
in a shipping yard, the area smelled of salt water. A misty breeze blew off the
harbor and Vaughn kept his face set as he sauntered passed those that worked at
the harbor. His warehouse was adjacent to a fishing company.

He needed
to make sure they didn’t disturb him.

Heading
up the stairs, Vaughn grabbed the shirt of one of his minions. “Ward the
entrance. Make sure those men don’t disturb me.”

“Yes,
Master!”

Vaughn
threw the door open, stepping inside, he sniffed. Shades drawn,
the space
was dark. Non-descript, except for
the empty cages lining the rear wall. Demons stood at each corner awaiting his
orders. “I’ll need a bed. And get the girls in here!”

His teeth
bared as he screamed. The demons charged for the door, anxious to be the first
one out of the warehouse. His wrath knew no bounds.

Look at
what he was reduced to. Starting over? His drug trade had been the finest in
the country, the finest, and those Blood girls had managed to take it from him.
All of it. He shouldn’t have
underestimated
Amanda. Should’ve seen her as something other than a toy. That mistake wouldn’t
be one Vaughn would make again.

Grunting,
he picked up the only folding chair in the room and flung it hard as he could,
but it didn’t make him feel any better. Neither did the laughter he heard from
the corner of the room.

 
Scowling, Vaughn turned and saw a shadow
creeping from the darkness. Vain—or whatever her real name was, nursed a glass
of whiskey as she approached. Her mocha colored skin
contrasted
with her tight silver leather cat-suit.

Nonchalant,
she handed him the whiskey.

“You
really need to be more in control. We’ll get your precious cargo back.” She
peered up at him, her lips plump and silver, begging to be kissed.

Vaughn
picked up the shot of whiskey and slammed it back. That rush of heat wasn’t
enough to
soothe
him, but it was a start.
“You haven’t been able to get your hands on it yet.
 
What makes you so sure?”

With a
roll of her eyes, Vain tossed her long
dreds
off her shoulders. Her nipped hourglass waist accentuated her wide hips. On her
belt
were
a gun, a dagger, and a rope. As
far as assassins went, Vain was best of the best. A human that had turned her
back on humanity a long time ago, for nothing more than cold hard cash. Vaughn
could respect that.

“The
angel protecting them is gone now. She has a lot to answer for. Heaven won’t
let her interfere again, until they make a ruling.”

Vaughn’s
eyes narrowed. “You know this how?”

Vain
shrugged. “Demons talk. They fear the angels and with one gone, chatter is
picking up.
For now,
she’s away from the
battlefield and that means now is the time to strike.”

Now was
the time to set a trap for the angel. She’d return, Vaughn was sure of it. When
she did, Vaughn needed to be ready. He wouldn’t be taken out by his own
greatest slave.

“I’ll get
you what you want. The Bloods. And carve my name in their flesh.”

Vaughn
sneered. “This wouldn’t have anything to do
with
Jasper, would it?”

Vain’s
eyes narrowed and her lips puckered. Did that mean she still felt something for
the demon hunter? “Revenge will be mine. If he runs with the Bloods, he puts
himself in the line of fire. I’ll hunt him. I’ll find him.”

Vaughn stepped
up closer. “Then you bring him to me. He’s going to pay for what he did to my
drug supply. For freeing Amanda, and letting our angel loose on the world,
he’ll suffer.”

“Not
before I put my hands on him.” Vain’s fingernails were painted white. She scrunched
her hand into a fist. “His lies, his betrayals, he hasn’t known real pain.”

“Then
stop talking. And start hunting.” It was after all, why Vaughn paid her. Behind
them,
the door opened and a troop of
demons marched his sex slaves inside.

They wore
leashes around their necks and were scantily clad in silver bikinis. Those
lucid enough to know
fear
cried, but most
were so drug
stricken
, they crawled into
their cages with no resistance.

The girls
were about the only thing that could warm Vaughn’s heart. He went over to one
of the cages to inspect one of the newer girls. Blond hair in braids, she was
young, with freckles speckled across her cheeks. Her shoulders rocked back and
forth in wailing sobs. She might be his new favorite.

Vaughn
was looking forward to breaking her in.

“When you
find him,” the corner of Vaughn’s lips turned up with
vengeance
, “let’s send him a gift. Which one do you think will be
best?”

Vain
’s stance widened and she put her hands upon her hips.
“He’s always had a thing for redheads, have any?”

“Soon.”
Vaughn’s voice simmered with a vortex of anger.

S
un was set and the stench from the Black
Scorpion’s bar hit them from a mile up the road. The place was as Amanda
remembered, small and box-shaped, but big in character.
 
Police tape flapped in the breeze around the
door and Amanda’s mind swam with smells; blood and metal.

Sounds—screams
and shrieks and fear. So much fear it boiled off the top and spilled down the
sides.

She
opened her car door before Duncan came to a complete stop, allowing her bare
toes to sink into the small pebbles that littered the driveway. Wasn’t
comfortable, but something about it grounded her.

Amanda
saw images from inside the basement. A circle of salt surrounding her Aunt
Gwen, who was sitting in a chair. With her short red hair tied back in a yellow
bandana, she was the aunt Amanda remembered, but the evil cackle wasn’t.

Her eyes
were dim, containing someone else’s soul.

Then
came, the screams, the calling. The running.

Someone
else had stepped through the bar. Even though Amanda didn’t see her face, she
recognized the black boots and the leather jacket she wore. Jessica. Her poor
sister. Amanda had to help her. Just had to. Amanda couldn’t stand the
withering of Jessica’s soul for long.

“She was
here,” Amanda said to both Duncan and Mike, who flanked her on either
side,
like she needed a chaperone. Amanda
wanted to read the room fast, before the ill feeling leaching her stomach grew
to the point where she couldn’t.

Duncan’s
face fell. He didn’t want to see inside the bar; Amanda felt that come off him
in waves, and Mike? He was as
stone-faced
as ever. His heart, maybe even more so.

Tall and
strong, Amanda made her way to the front door. She tore the yellow police tape
down and placed her hand on the small sign that hung on the front. Police Crime
Scene—Do not Enter.

Bloods
respected the law, maybe they didn’t
always obey, but Amanda respected it. Still, she pushed the door open and
stepped inside. The hinges creaked and the dark bar came into focus. Tables
were still pushed over, chairs were on their sides and all around them, little
police tags with numbers for evidence.

Amanda’s
arms splayed at her side and her skin vibrated with the evil that had happened
here. Like a harp that strums its song, it traveled down her limbs only to go
back up. The flood of emotion was at the gate and it was about to cast a tidal
wave right over her body, but she needed to feel. Needed to see.

“Head
downstairs if you will, Mike.” Amanda was barely able to get the words out
before fear shrieked in her left ear. “See if you can get a sense
of
where Aunt Gwen went after she was set
free.”

Confusion.
Puzzlement,
but Mike didn’t put his
feelings into thoughts. He simply just left, did his task.

That was
a good boy. What Amanda had to do was raw, personal, and though she was
thankful to Mike, she didn’t know him. The only person she wanted there was
Duncan.

Amanda
turned her head as a wailing cry echoed through the room. It spiraled like a tornado
towards the bar. The sound of glasses breaking tempered Amanda’s movements.
Glancing down, she saw what was left of a beer bottle, its amber shards shining
in the muted darkness. She lifted up her dress and stepped over it.

“You
sure you’re strong enough for this?” Duncan’s voice softened, but his heart was
filled with anxiety. Fear. Better than the anger he was filled with earlier.
Her actions at the café were questionable, Duncan was right about that, but
Amanda couldn’t stop who she was. Healers healed, she couldn’t just ignore that
kind of pain.

“There’s
not much choice, you know. What the police are saying…”

“That Ron
did this?” Duncan snorted. “Never, he never—they were his brothers just as they
were mine, so whatever monster did this…”

Amanda
had her suspicions, but her heart was guarded. The last thing she wanted to see
here was Jessica’s face. Like a child afraid to sleep in the dark, that’s how
Amanda felt. That pain and panic bundled up all together in her stomach, but
she approached the bar stool anyway and saw it was spotted with blood.

Still
wet, in a splatter it fell from the countertop to the bar, dripping like an
open faucet. So much blood, so much pain, there was no doubt what happened here
was demonic.

Amanda’s
hand floated above the bar stool. Her fingers quivered as her hand came down
and touched the blood. Needed to feel, just as she needed not to. Amanda could
never resist feeling, being one with that kind of pain. But this, she wasn’t
prepared for the onslaught.

Her mind
raced through time and space, now it was as if she were someone else. The pain
came at her in a loop, a dagger plunged into her stomach. Then her back. Amanda
cried out as the dagger was removed, but it wasn’t. It was just a memory, a
feeling for those that died here. Still, she cradled her stomach with her free
hand, while her other cemented her further into the barstool.

The
memory kept coming even as waves of pain hit her abdomen, and then her head.
The surges were so strong, Amanda tottered on her feet. Duncan took her waist,
holding her up, and his worry—his concern—echoed through the fog of pain, but
just barely.

“I’m all
right.” Amanda said the words, but in her vision, she didn’t move her lips. Ron
did, even though he was unconscious, slumped over onto that barstool.

They were
flung back onto the ground together, Amanda and Ron intertwined. She could feel
the hard floor as her head cracked into it and feel the knife placed into his
hand. Even though Ron had been unconscious, Amanda saw the real killer’s face.
How her red curls were plastered to her wet, crying face.

Jessica.

So much
despair. She was desperate to stop. Be stopped. And she said something, a
whisper? What had Jessica told Ron?

Amanda
cried out, feeling Jessica’s spirit taking a mighty beating. It might have been
Amanda’s scream, but it was Jessica’s pain. Her sorrow, her horror, at what she
was being made to do. Jessica couldn’t stop it. Somehow Amanda had to find a
way to stop it for her.

Arms
shaking, Amanda began to slump. If not for Duncan’s strong arms catching her,
Amanda sure as hell would’ve passed out on the ground. Her head rolled to the
side as Duncan dragged her away. Her fingers no longer touching the blood, the
world flashed in hues of orange and blue as the present rushed to collide with
her.

Amanda
gasped, eyes open, she saw Duncan’s concerned face peering down
at
her. “You know how to scare a guy; you know
that? That scream…”

“It was
Jessica’s.” Amanda grabbed the back of a chair to pull herself up, testing her
wobbling legs. For now, everything wobbled like jelly, but she had to push on.
“It was the scream she had inside, from watching everything Lourdes forced her
to do.”

Duncan’s
eyes crinkled in a scowl. “You’re not saying…”

“Ron
isn’t the guilty party here,” Amanda felt how defensive Duncan was already.
Even if she couldn’t feel it, she saw him straighten up and shift from one foot
to the other. “You know the hold Lourdes has over her. It isn’t her fault, but
these people are dead. For whatever reason, she gave the knife to Ron despite
his innocence.”

Quiet
fell over them and Amanda welcomed the brief distraction. She felt the rising
need to vomit in her throat. She didn’t know if it was the
emotion
or the drugs, but her limbs shook and
even her soul felt a gentle quiver.

Regret
tumbled from Duncan. So much regret, that it nearly bowled Amanda right over.
His eyes turned to the floor and Amanda felt the desperate need to bolster him
up. Prove that they could somehow make this all right.

“Jessica
said something to Ron. I don’t know what, I couldn’t make it out. We need to
get in to see him.”

“We won’t
get to him at this hour: it’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”

That was
okay with Amanda. Her stomach felt sick, that slick feeling she got from eating
too much cake. The room began to spin and Amanda struggled into the chair. “I
just need to sit…for a moment.”

Moaning
, Amanda closed her eyes and rubbed her
temples. Duncan was at her feet, kneeling in front. “We’re going to get you
through this, Mandy, whatever it is you’re going through. I’ll see you through
to the other side.”

Duncan
took her hands and Amanda squeezed them hard, unable to stop herself from
feeling everything he was feeling. Regret, fear, the burden of her and all the
rest? Also something else…second chances? Second chances at what?

Her mind
flashed and Amanda was no longer in the bar.
Instead,
she stood in a dingy old warehouse that stunk of fresh fish.
Saltwater
lingered just on the tip of the
tongue, an essence of coastal living. That place was far from here.

The floor
was slick with moisture and all around the walls exuded the stank of demons.
The lace of drugs wafted through the air like a wisp of smoke. Amanda moved a
plank of wood off to the side, but it wasn’t her hand, it was Duncan’s.

This was
his memory.

Moved the
plank of wood and revealed a dead woman’s body. Dressed like a stripper in a
sparkling black bikini, but with a body covered in bruises and scars, the
woman’s blue eyes were fixed on the ceiling. Rigor had already set in so when
Duncan cradled her in his arms, her cold body moved unnaturally. Amanda sobbed,
her eyes snapping open, but it wasn’t her cry. It was Duncan’s. He had failed
that woman, whoever it was, and Duncan wore it like a scarlet letter. How had
Amanda missed that before?

“Are you
okay?” Duncan whispered and pulled Amanda’s hair from her face. “What’s wrong,
what’s the matter?”

“Who was
she?” Amanda whispered. “Who was the girl?”

Duncan’s
face went pale and his mouth opened to answer when Mike charged up the steps. “
Well,
you were right. Gwen’s gone, but whoever
broke the seal, there’s no trace of them. Whatever—.” Mike broke off and his
face fell. “Amanda?”

Worry.
Concern. Should he call an ambulance?

Amanda
gathered the fabric of her dress up in her hands, begging the vomit in her throat
to just go away. She steadied herself by staring straight ahead; any movement
would send her spiraling. Any sudden jerks and she’d puke right in front of
everyone.

“I’m
okay. I’m…” Amanda gurgled and she covered her mouth, just in case there
were
any accidents.

Duncan
fetched a bowl. “You can’t keep that in. It’ll just make you worse.” He held it
under her chin, but Amanda was so embarrassed. She just closed her eyes.
Wouldn’t look or even think about the vile substance as it tumbled off her
tongue straight into the bowl.

Tasted
awful. Like pea soup on steroids. She hated peas.

“We need
to take her somewhere.” Duncan glanced over his shoulder at Mike. “Somewhere
she can ride the rest of this out.”

Amanda
wanted to tell him she’d be fine, but she didn’t know. She didn’t really know.
She had never felt this bad before. Never before had she been without Jessica,
not since they were kids. “We need…Ron…”

“Tonight
you take care of
yourself,
” Mike said
with a nod. Then he threw his head at the door. “There’s a motel I know.
Discrete as they come, you’ll be safe there for one night.”

“You’re
not coming with us, are you?” Duncan asked.

Mike
shook his head, his lips drawn down in a sourpuss expression. “If there’s a war
with heaven to be waged, I have forces I have to ready. I’m not abandoning your
fight, Jasper. I’m tackling it from another angle.”

Duncan’s
lip twitched. “Do what you have to do.”

He said
it, but he didn’t believe it. Amanda saw the raw anger festering. Didn’t have
to be an empath to notice how his eyes darkened, but Mike wouldn’t go far. He
was in this fight, Amanda felt that. As Duncan’s anger stirred, Amanda saw
Mike’s strength growing like an anchor.

Never
wavering. Always present.

She
opened her mouth to tell Duncan that, but Amanda couldn’t get out the words.
Her hands gripped her chest. Her heart wasn’t beating. It skipped a beat. No,
it skipped two. Three. Amanda’s knees crashed to the floor, tossing a chair to
the side as she hit the concrete floor.

Vision
failing, not going dark, but filling with red. A deep growl welcomed her as
hands grabbed at her, pulling her down to the ground. She heard the calls from
her friends, but the swirl of red had her. Amanda’s mind fell into a darkened
cavern. Into the abyss.

“Mike!”
Duncan’s cries were frantic. His feelings, even more so. He couldn’t lose her,
not yet. They hadn’t even started to fight. So much to make up for, so much to
do.

Scrambling.
Running. Mike searching for something to help. Amanda thought he better hurry,
she was failing. Falling fast.