Thomas's Choice
Page 11
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At the second monosyllabic answer, Thomas ground his teeth and had to relax his jaw so he wouldn’t sound hostile. “When then?”
“Won’t be back.”
“Why?”
“Sold the place.”
The news surprised him. Al had never mentioned that he had any intention of selling the shop. Selling meant changing, and there wasn’t anything Al hated more than change, except for a stake in the heart or the rising sun on his heels.
Thomas perused the other vampire more closely now. There was nothing extraordinary about him. He neither looked very powerful, nor very bright. In fact, his speech pattern and posture made him look rather like a slow-witted cousin from the backwoods. Vampire trash if anybody asked him. The kind of man who’d never amount to anything.
“Sold when?”
He shrugged. “Last week.”
“To whom?”
The vampire puffed his chest out. “To me.”
Thomas kept his tongue in check so the next words didn’t spill over his lips. There was no way in hell Al had sold out to the guy behind the counter. Something was fishy. But he was smart enough to know that any further questioning would only increase the guy’s hostility.
Maybe once he’d done some business with him, he could find out more.
“Well, in that case, I’d better deal with you.” He pulled a piece of paper from his leather jacket and unfolded it, spreading the photocopy of an old magazine he’d found in front of the man. He pointed his finger at a spot on the drawing. “I need this part here for the front master cylinder. It’s a 1956 model. Manufactured in Germany.”
The vampire only glanced at the piece of paper then motioned to the aisles. “If we have it, it’s on one of the shelves. Your guess is as good as mine.” His bored look said it all.
Thomas shook his head. “It won’t be on the shelves. It’s a 1956 model. Nobody stocks those.”
“Well, then we don’t have it.”
Thomas let out an annoyed huff. “I figured that much. What I’m asking is for you to find me one.”
“How you want me to do that? Suck it out of my fingernails?”
“It’s called special order. You must have contacts to some suppliers who do special requests.”
The new owner of Al’s Motorcycle Parts crossed his arms over his chest. “We don’t do special orders. You can’t find it here, go someplace else.”
Thomas narrowed his eyes and leaned over the counter. “It’s your fucking job!”
The other vampire moved closer. “I say what my job is. And it’s not fetching shit for guys like you. I’m nobody’s errant boy. You get that?” He flashed his fangs.
Clenching his teeth, Thomas took his piece of paper and folded it slowly and deliberately, keeping a lid on his anger. It would be so easy to simply crush the guy with one blast of mind control, so simple, yet so satisfying. Inside him, his two sides warred with each other, each fighting for supremacy, both sides almost equally strong. His chest heaved from the effort it cost him to reveal nothing of his internal struggle to the outside. He couldn’t give himself away.
“My apologies,” he pressed out instead. “I guess I’ll have to take my business elsewhere.”
Then he turned on his heels, hightailing it out of the shop as fast as if a horde of bigots were chasing him with stakes in their fists. He swung himself onto his motorcycle and engaged the engine. When it howled, he shot into the road and thundered down the one-way-street like a speeding bullet.
He had to get away from the temptation to teach the guy a lesson in manners—as well as in business. It happened more and more lately: the smallest things set him off and made the dark power surge within him, eager to break to the surface. Ever since he’d killed Kasper, his maker—or Keegan, as he’d called himself later—he’d started feeling the thirst for power well up more often. And every time, the struggle to suppress the evil became more violent.
5
The V-lounge at Scanguards’ headquarters was buzzing with activity when Thomas arrived.
Everybody was getting ready to welcome Haven, Yvette’s mate, into Scanguards. After several months of sorting things out with his old life as a vampire hunter, he’d finally come to a decision and accepted the position Samson had offered him. Tonight would be his official first day, and the guys had decided to throw him a little party at the lounge.
Thomas glanced around. The large room looked like the lounge of a five-diamond hotel, complete with comfortable seating arrangements, a fireplace, and a bar and bartender. Only, no bottles lined the back wall of the bar, and no mirror decorated it. The drinks served from the stainless steel taps weren’t alcoholic; the barrels underneath contained various types of blood that the sexy female bartender was serving in crystal glasses.
“Won’t be back.”
“Why?”
“Sold the place.”
The news surprised him. Al had never mentioned that he had any intention of selling the shop. Selling meant changing, and there wasn’t anything Al hated more than change, except for a stake in the heart or the rising sun on his heels.
Thomas perused the other vampire more closely now. There was nothing extraordinary about him. He neither looked very powerful, nor very bright. In fact, his speech pattern and posture made him look rather like a slow-witted cousin from the backwoods. Vampire trash if anybody asked him. The kind of man who’d never amount to anything.
“Sold when?”
He shrugged. “Last week.”
“To whom?”
The vampire puffed his chest out. “To me.”
Thomas kept his tongue in check so the next words didn’t spill over his lips. There was no way in hell Al had sold out to the guy behind the counter. Something was fishy. But he was smart enough to know that any further questioning would only increase the guy’s hostility.
Maybe once he’d done some business with him, he could find out more.
“Well, in that case, I’d better deal with you.” He pulled a piece of paper from his leather jacket and unfolded it, spreading the photocopy of an old magazine he’d found in front of the man. He pointed his finger at a spot on the drawing. “I need this part here for the front master cylinder. It’s a 1956 model. Manufactured in Germany.”
The vampire only glanced at the piece of paper then motioned to the aisles. “If we have it, it’s on one of the shelves. Your guess is as good as mine.” His bored look said it all.
Thomas shook his head. “It won’t be on the shelves. It’s a 1956 model. Nobody stocks those.”
“Well, then we don’t have it.”
Thomas let out an annoyed huff. “I figured that much. What I’m asking is for you to find me one.”
“How you want me to do that? Suck it out of my fingernails?”
“It’s called special order. You must have contacts to some suppliers who do special requests.”
The new owner of Al’s Motorcycle Parts crossed his arms over his chest. “We don’t do special orders. You can’t find it here, go someplace else.”
Thomas narrowed his eyes and leaned over the counter. “It’s your fucking job!”
The other vampire moved closer. “I say what my job is. And it’s not fetching shit for guys like you. I’m nobody’s errant boy. You get that?” He flashed his fangs.
Clenching his teeth, Thomas took his piece of paper and folded it slowly and deliberately, keeping a lid on his anger. It would be so easy to simply crush the guy with one blast of mind control, so simple, yet so satisfying. Inside him, his two sides warred with each other, each fighting for supremacy, both sides almost equally strong. His chest heaved from the effort it cost him to reveal nothing of his internal struggle to the outside. He couldn’t give himself away.
“My apologies,” he pressed out instead. “I guess I’ll have to take my business elsewhere.”
Then he turned on his heels, hightailing it out of the shop as fast as if a horde of bigots were chasing him with stakes in their fists. He swung himself onto his motorcycle and engaged the engine. When it howled, he shot into the road and thundered down the one-way-street like a speeding bullet.
He had to get away from the temptation to teach the guy a lesson in manners—as well as in business. It happened more and more lately: the smallest things set him off and made the dark power surge within him, eager to break to the surface. Ever since he’d killed Kasper, his maker—or Keegan, as he’d called himself later—he’d started feeling the thirst for power well up more often. And every time, the struggle to suppress the evil became more violent.
5
The V-lounge at Scanguards’ headquarters was buzzing with activity when Thomas arrived.
Everybody was getting ready to welcome Haven, Yvette’s mate, into Scanguards. After several months of sorting things out with his old life as a vampire hunter, he’d finally come to a decision and accepted the position Samson had offered him. Tonight would be his official first day, and the guys had decided to throw him a little party at the lounge.
Thomas glanced around. The large room looked like the lounge of a five-diamond hotel, complete with comfortable seating arrangements, a fireplace, and a bar and bartender. Only, no bottles lined the back wall of the bar, and no mirror decorated it. The drinks served from the stainless steel taps weren’t alcoholic; the barrels underneath contained various types of blood that the sexy female bartender was serving in crystal glasses.
