Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 116618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
I am not the man I thought I was.
The world is not what I believed it to be.
I am a predator walking among prey, a creature of night and blood and hunger.
A vampire.
18
CALLAHAN
We find ourselves at a payphone in Mar Vista, having walked an untold number of blocks. Lena calls a number and we spend the next thirty minutes loitering around in the shadows, shrinking back further every time a car with sirens comes screaming down the street.
I killed those men in self-defense. That much I know is true. But right now, the last thing I need is for the police to be looking at me. If they look at me any harder than tonight, they’ll find a lot more than they’ve bargained for.
They’ll find a monster.
“There might still be witnesses,” I say to Lena. She’s standing beside me, her face completely clear. No sign of the acid that was thrown on her face. I keep wanting to reach out and take her hand but something stops me. It’s not what she is. It’s what I am.
There’s so much I don’t know.
A nightmare I can’t seem to wake from.
She doesn’t say anything. I press on. “Maybe I won’t be identified. But you will be. Lena Reid has a memorable face. They’ll remember you were there, that you had acid thrown on you. What happens when you go to sing at The Emerald Room and your face is as unblemished as ever?”
Her eyes slide to mine, her gaze tired. “There is no more singing at the Emerald Room, Callahan. Not for me. Cohen sent those goons to send a message and that message was that my career is done.”
“You can always explain it away,” I tell her, my heart breaking at the thought of her losing her dreams over this. Over me. “You can say it didn’t get you or you got some miracle cream. No one saw you heal, Lena, no one who is still alive.” At least, I don’t think.
“Maybe,” she says with a sigh. “Hard to find a club that Cohen doesn’t have his fingers in.”
“Then we take care of Cohen.”
Her look is razor-sharp. “No one takes care of Mickey Cohen. You know this.”
She’s right. The man has more lives than a cat and nothing yet has put him away permanently. Helps that most of this whole town is in his pocket. Nothing sticks with him.
“Maybe humans can’t…” I begin. “But vampires?”
Her mouth sets into a hard line and she shakes her head. “This is not how you ease into it, Callahan.”
I shrug. “Seems about right with me. Out of the fire, into the pan.”
But however glib I sound, it disappears when a black Super Deluxe convertible pulls in front of us, the top up. The engine remains running, but no one gets out.
“Come on, that’s our ride,” Lena says, looking back and forth down the street before she opens the back door. She shuffles inside and slides along and I follow, making sure that we’re not being watched.
I close the door, the smell of sage filling my nose. A pair of golden eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror. The man is as tall as a tree, with a mop of slightly curly black hair.
“Adonis, this Victor Callahan,” Lena says.
Adonis gives me a curt nod and then his eyes widen when he looks at Lena. “What happened to you?”
She frowns then looks down at her dress, the top part of it in tatters where the acid had burned away the fabric. “It’s a long story.”
“We have a long drive,” he says as he pulls away from the curve.
“Just make sure we’re not being followed,” she tells him.
“And if we are followed?” I ask her. “A high-speed chase will only draw more attention to ourselves.”
“Relax,” Adonis says, his expression serious though his eyes dance in the mirror. “There will be none of that.”
“He can compel people,” Lena says, leaning in. “More than most vampires can.”
“Compel? Like hypnotize?”
She nods. “Something like that. But more powerful. More…” she searches for the right word, “absolute.”
I try to wrap my head around this, another power I apparently possess but don’t understand. “And that works on anyone?”
“Most humans,” Adonis says, his accent a curious blend of Mediterranean influences. “Though some are naturally resistant. You were, I’m told.”
I glance at Lena, who avoids my eyes. She’d been trying to influence me from the beginning, I realize. At Musso & Franks. In her dressing room. Keeping me from asking too many questions.
“Didn’t work very well,” I mutter.
“No,” she admits quietly, giving me a wan smile. “You weren’t easy to control.”
“Is that why you were interested in me? Because I resisted? You like it when men play hard to get?”
Her head snaps toward me, eyes flashing with genuine hurt. “You think that’s why I—”
“We have company,” Adonis interrupts, his gaze fixed on the rearview mirror.