The Chaos Order (Fanghunters Book Three) (7 page)

Vincent stared back at him with squinted eyes. “Roulette? And you perceive
moi
as crazy?” He chuckled. “Young man, I have a better saying when it comes to gambling: ‘the house always wins’. Everything is controlled. Controlled by a higher power, a greater force. And only
it
will decide when your luck runs out. And that’ll be the moment your role on this stage is fulfilled.”

Dom let out a hot huff. “Whatever, Vincent. I think it’s best if we just end this conversation. We’ve got Rufus nearly dead. Trixie’s immobilized.”

“But still alive,” Vincent asserted. “We’re still alive and kicking. We may be down, but we’re not beaten. Eddie, what is the prognosis?”

“The docs say there’s a good chance he may make it,” Eddie told him.

“He
will
make it,” Vincent stated.

Dom sighed. “Let’s hope so. He’s still got moves he needs to teach me.”

“And teach you he will!” Vincent said with an air of finality. He then mellowed. “All right, boys, I think it’s best if we all go back home and get some well-earned rest. We need it.”

T
he drive home was wet and slow.

The rain didn’t want to stop. Dom noticed the beginnings of floods on some roadsides. If the rain continued long enough, Chicago would probably end up in lockdown. The driving made him tired; he hadn’t slept since before the I-Sore raid. He felt his eyelids getting heavy on more than one occasion. Seeing Eddie in his rear-view snoozing in the back seat didn’t help. Vincent advised him to stop off for coffee. Dom told him he’d be okay. They eventually got back, and Dom staggered up the path to the mansion, his bed calling.

“You two go and get some sleep,” Vincent said once they got inside. “I’ll take care of security here.”

“Yeah. My body needs to shut off for a while,” Dom said.

“I’ll bet it does. It’s been an emotional twenty-four hours for a multitude of reasons. Go on, go and lie down, let things settle a bit.”

Dom agreed. Then something popped in his mind. “Hey, you think Blacklake will come for their choppers?”

A wry smile spread over Vincent’s face. “They’re
my
choppers now. A kind donation from Blacklake. I’m sure they’ll come in useful.”

“Yeah. Good night, Vincent. Or... good
day
?”

“Yes, it is still day despite the shocking weather.”

“Night, Vincent,” Eddie said.

Dom gave Vincent a tired wave before he staggered up the steps toward his bedroom, Eddie following suit. Dom made it to his room, and Eddie went on ahead toward his.

“Sweet dreams,” Edie said as he went by.

“Yeah, you too, buddy,” Dom replied. He watched Eddie turn the corner; Trixie’s room was that way too. A small smile spread across his face. “Thanks for saving us, Trix,” he said in a soft voice. If it hadn’t been for her, Dom would’ve been toast, on more than one occasion.

He entered his room and threw the door shut behind him. He immediately flopped down on his bed and hugged it. It felt glorious, like embracing a lover for the first time in weeks. The comfort of his bed juxtaposed the uncertainty of the last day. It was like night and day. And it made the sensation of finally being somewhere safe and serene all the more comforting. A contented smile flittered across his face as he closed his eyes; in moments, he was asleep.

CHAPTER SEVEN

T
he drive from the border up to the outskirts of Chicago was long but untroubled. The
gringos
were collapsing; they were fat, lazy. Their sense of security growing weaker while their waistlines expanded. Getting over the border was as simple as crossing the road. A hard stare and a quick bite of the Border Patrol Supervisor’s neck and he was letting them through no problem.

Ramon grinned to himself. This would be easy; the
gringos
were there for the taking. They were exposed, now all the Chaos Order had to do was conquer what was rightfully theirs. Then from there? Spread the chaos worldwide.

He glanced over at his lieutenant, Ángel; he was driving the truck, nodding his head to the gangsta rap bursting out of the stereo speakers. Another loyal soldier in the war. Ramon had already feasted on his blood multiple times. And he was already addicted. The intense pleasure of blood drinking was better than any human sensation. The way it tasted was like agave syrup, the way it slipped over the tongue, triggering off senses that were impossible to experience in the human form. It was the biggest high; better than any meth, any tequila, any woman. Better than murder. The act itself a power surge; taking something so precious from a creature beneath him in the food chain made him feel important, special. Powerful. No human would ever know that feeling of being among the chosen.

His eyes fixed on Ángel’s tattooed neck, the ink helping to conceal all the bite marks. He licked his lips. He knew eventually Ángel would turn and become his son. Then Ramon would have a choice: make Ángel the new boss of Los Niños or kill him. It was the rules of the Inner Circle. Only the chosen could remain vampire within the Order. Anyone else turning had to be destroyed. It helped to keep the Inner Circle tight, helped to keep their truth in the darkness.

As the Don of El Salvador, Ramon had power over who could turn and remain alive. He was restricted to one vampire boss of each El Salvadoran cartel he oversaw. That way, he could hide further in the shadows, while relying on his lieutenants to keep order within each cartel. But, Los Niños was the only recognized cartel in El Salvador. And Ramon was still the boss, and there was only room for one vamp in every cartel
.
Ramon wasn’t ready to give any power over to anyone. So, when it happened, Ramon would have no choice but to throw Ángel out in the midday sun, or push an iron rod through his heart. It made no difference either way.

Ramon stared at his lieutenant with a harsh mix of hate and the diseased remnants of love that still lingered from the old life. Ángel was his
hombre
, his brother, they’d been through it all together from kids. Saved each other’s asses, risen through the ranks of Los Niños alongside one another, spilled blood for the cause. He didn’t want to kill him, but his loyalty was now to a higher power. Anything below him wasn’t important.

He looked away, out to the wet and rainy road; it wasn’t time to think of the future. He needed to get his mind on the job; his mission. The latest news was that the Dragons had set up a perimeter around the Chicago Loop to fight off any Chaos agents. He was told the Loop was the city center, the corporate district. The Inner Circle wanted to get in there and take the Blood’s tower because that’s where their powerbase was. If they could get control of it, then they’d have their hands on everything they needed. But, first, they had to create chaos in the whole city to make it past the Dragon guard line and into the Loop. And that was Ramon and Los Niños’ mission: create chaos, then get in that tower.

As they approached the outskirts of Chicago on Interstate 55, the rain was coming down like a waterfall; Ramon stared at it out of the windshield in wonder.

“Ever seen rain like this?” he asked Ángel
.

Ángel shook his head. “No way, man,” he replied. “This shit is
gringo
weather.”

“
Gringos
are fish? Or are they frogs?”

“Sharks,
papa
. They’re sharks. And weather like this is just right for sharks to swim.”

Ramon watched the hypnotic arc of the windshield wipers as they pushed away the water. Beyond, the road was covered in a thin layer of water, not enough to impede them, but it soon would be.

“You know what else this weather is good for?” Ramon asked.

“What’s that?”

“Snakes.”

Ángel laughed. “That’s right.”

Ángel pulled off the empty highway and headed deeper into Chicago. Ramon was told there was a river running from the outskirts of Chicago right into the Loop, and that they could use it to their advantage. They made their way down to an abandoned industrial estate on the edge of the river. Ramon looked out of his window. The river ebbed and flowed with a strong current as it absorbed more and more of the rain. It splashed up onto the embankment where they were parked. Soon it would flood, then the streets would have to be closed off.

“Wait here,” Ramon ordered before he stepped out of the truck, slamming the door shut behind him. He checked both directions; there wasn’t a soul in sight. He stepped along the side of the truck, the rain drenching him; a sensation he seldom experienced, but one he found strangely comforting, as soothing as being in shadow. He ran a hand along the side of the truck as he made his way to the back doors. On making it here, he had another look around; nothing. The rain pummeled the river beside him, the water crashing and flowing like an avalanche. The sound was a constant swoosh in his ears.

Ramon reached out, grabbed the door handles, and threw them open. Sitting inside were his crew members, awaiting instruction. Ramon ushered them his way; they came out single file, weapons in hand. They were ready for war, ready to conquer. Ramon stood head bowed as they marched past him and lined the rainswept embankment. His eyes then fell on the huge wooden crate they’d transported with them. Their box of tricks. Its contents had been gathered and sent by private jet to northern Mexico where Ramon and Ángel picked it up.

Ramon called a few guys over and jumped up into the truck. On three, they dragged the crate across the truck floor with a struggle. Eventually, they managed to heave it down the temporary ramp where it fell to the waterlogged embankment with a small splash. The wood was immediately soaked through, but that didn’t matter. Not now.

For their safety, Ramon ordered his men back into the truck. The doors were thrown closed and Ramon stood alone in the rain. He took a moment to stare up at the black skies; the darkness was peaceful, reassuring. He ran his hand along the crate until he reached the latch at the front. Without hesitation, he flipped the latch open. He paused for a second, then in one swift movement, he swiped the front of the crate away, allowing the contents to spill out onto the surrounding area. In an instant an agitated mass of snakes poured out of the open crate like intestines falling out of a cavity wound. They quickly untangled and slithered in quick S-shape slaloms across the embankment, diving with enthusiasm into the river. Hundreds, thousands of them all scrambling over one another, competing for space, longing for food. Harsh hissing obliterated the ongoing noise of the pouring rain, bringing with it a foreboding that the citizens of Chicago were totally unprepared for.

A sick grin spread across Ramon’s face as he watched the snakes slip into the Chicago River and streamline along it, some deciding to stick to the road, others vanishing into the grass and bushes. They fought amongst one another for space, their jaws snapping, their massive, unnatural fangs glinting in the rain. In just a few seconds, thousands upon thousands of snakes were gone into the night, all heading to the source of food they could smell with their forked tongues as they whipped repeatedly on the air. Toward the huge built up area in the near distance, thriving with warm blood for them to suckle on.

Ramon looked up from the slithering ground to the line of skyscrapers in the distance, the sprawling suburban area surrounding it like the white of an egg. He saw lights flashing, an unsuspecting hive of victims, a city that would soon be on fire. Hands on hips, he glared at Chicago and imagined it ablaze; he watched the flames rising from the tops of the buildings, all hell breaking loose.

He glanced down at the last of the snakes to catch a glimpse of them slip into the river, the current pushing them upstream faster. His grin grew more broad; then he began to chuckle. As he stood in the rain, his arms held high in the night sky, he was soon laughing uncontrollably.

PART TWO

CHAPTER EIGHT

G
eneral Nixon’s eyelids fluttered open. Confusion dropped in his groggy mind like a bomb.

Where the hell am I?