Awakened (26 page)

“Oh. Then may I—” She rested her hands on her bared thighs, playing along, loathing him. If she didn’t escape, she would find a way to kill Vladimir Ouspensky.

He smiled benevolently. “Very good. I see that you comprehend the fact that you must ask permission for everything. Your modesty only makes you more desirable, you know. You may close your legs and fasten your dress.”

Jane looked down so he wouldn’t see the burning hatred in her eyes, tugging at the hem of the short dress as she brought her knees together, buttoning herself up but awkwardly.

“Keep in mind, Jane, that you will be required to expose yourself completely upon the auction block.”

No dress. No nothing. She could survive that. She knew how to retreat inside her mind and stay there.

“Can you imagine it?” he asked in a silky voice. “You cannot hide. Every man present will see you naked. Some will request additional views and poses, of course. Our female attendants will help you display yourself. But no one will be permitted to touch you intimately. Only to look as often and as closely as they wish until the bidding begins. Your air of innocence ought to fetch a high price.”

Jane fought to subdue the fury that seethed inside her. If she tried to physically fight with him or anyone else, she would be damaged goods. And God only knew what would happen to her then.

She had to stay calm. To do that she would have to accept that she was fucking terrified. The shell around her soul was cracking into a thousand places.

“You don’t have to sit there,” he said after a while. “Feel free to walk around.”

Jane waited for a few seconds. Something in her screamed at her not to jump up to do his bidding. And she suspected that he liked a bit of fight in his victims.

But if she got up, she could look around and see more. She rose slowly. Her gaze strayed to the panels on the walls, drawn inexorably to the frozen girls.

Vladimir smiled. “Get a closer look, Jane. The detail is remarkable.”

He took a step to her and reached out a hand. Jane pretended not to see it. Vladimir shrugged, moving her toward the panels by the simple expedient of coming even closer. She had to go toward them to avoid his touching her.

She stared at them.

Each face was different. Most had closed eyes. Two had met their death with their eyes wide open. What had they seen at that moment? The man beside her? Other men? How had they died? They seemed unharmed.

He was right about the detail. The tender curve of their cheeks, the soft lips—everything about them conveyed their vulnerability. Down to the delicate eyelashes, the girls looked almost alive. Now that Jane was this close, she realized that at least two had been younger than she was.

All were barefoot. One wore an ankle bracelet, the tiny links of the chain barely visible.

Their short dresses were unbuttoned, as hers had just been, the light material perfectly captured by the moldmaking process, the folds pulled halfway up over their thighs.

Vladimir was right behind her again. His arm reached past her, touching the flowing hair of the youngest girl. It was then that Jane noticed another similarity.

Their heads were at different angles but all were tipped slightly back, revealing their necks.

Vladimir’s hand traced downward—and stopped at two small indentations in the hard plastic skin, riveting Jane’s gaze on them. Scars? Wounds? Some of her friends were into cutting. She’d threatened to do it once, just to see Malcolm’s reaction. But it wasn’t her thing.

She looked at the other molds more closely. They were puncture wounds. Deep ones, that didn’t look self-inflicted. Aligned with a barely perceptible vein.

Jane shrank back … and stumbled.

Vladimir caught her, his embrace without warmth. “Now do you understand?” he murmured.

He turned her around.

She looked up as he stretched his mouth open in a ghastly imitation of a smile. Revealing fangs as polished and white as the walls of her transport call. As white as the faces of the girls he had probably murdered one by one.

His hand rose to her neck, nearly encircling it with his exceptionally long fingers.

“I am a vampire, Jane. And I have a taste for virgin blood. The flavor is exquisite.”

Jane managed to draw breath despite the tightening grasp of his hand. He was stroking her hair with the other.

“If only I could turn you without dying,” he murmured. “Then you could taste it yourself someday and experience its intoxicating effects. We could even share a girl to drink from.”

Some self-preserving instinct made her return the caress in an attempt to distract him. She ran her fingertips lightly over the masculine hand that could very well choke her.

Vladimir relaxed his hold fractionally. “What are you doing?”

“Let me go. I bruise easily.”

He chuckled. “Thank you for the reminder. We do want you in prime condition for the auction. And—getting back to your question—I don’t think it would be a good idea to keep you. For one thing, I doubt that you are strong enough to be turned, no matter who does the honors.”

“What does that mean, anyway?”

“Humans can be turned into vampires. Sometimes the process is forced.” He smiled without letting go. “Some call it vein rape. I would never do such a thing.”

As if he could be trusted. Jane was afraid all over again.

And even more determined to survive. She had to. And if she could, she would avenge those girls who’d entered this nightmare and never left it.

They’d had names and someone knew who they were. Their families had never found out whether they were dead or alive, or who was responsible. Back at home, Ginny Prescott had to be waiting to find out what had happened to her. For very different reasons, so was Malcolm.

Jane vowed not to go down without a fight.

“You can fight all you want, girl. It won’t do you any good.”

Jane jerked, finally understanding how powerful her captor was.

He smiled. “I suppose I should not toy with you,” Vladimir sighed. “I haven’t held an auction since I started building Club Red and I do need the money. Cash flow is a constant problem.”

His hand dropped but he stayed where he was, looming over her.

“Virgins are my business. The supply is relatively limited, at least in this country, and there is plenty of demand.”

“Oh.”

“Especially for you, I should think.” His gaze held an unhealthy glitter as he surveyed her from top to toe. “There is something different about you, Jane, though I cannot define it precisely. But I suspect you would be interesting in bed.”

Suddenly her fear was gone. Or at least she was willing to talk past it. He could read her mind anyway, so why even bother to control her mouth. “Try me.” Just don’t leave anything sharp where I can get it, Jane thought. Knowing who he was and what he’d done—she’d cut his throat before she’d cut herself. But would that be enough to kill a vampire?

He studied her for a long moment, his assessing gaze moving over her face. “No.”

With a deft move, he pulled her right arm behind her back hard enough to hurt. If she fought back, she was likely to dislocate it. He marched her to the door, opening it. The guard stationed there hadn’t moved a muscle.

“Take her back to room 5 until we have a cell ready for her,” Vladimir commanded him. “And make sure that she is watched at all times. Be very careful. This one thinks for herself. Always a dangerous quality in a female.”

“Yes, sir.” The guard restrained her and took her away as Vladimir watched in silence.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE

“Guess who I saw at Club Red?” Barrett said into her cell
phone. She’d just pulled into an empty slot at the condo.

“Just tell me.” Nick’s voice sounded distracted and distant.

“Gil Mansfield.”

There was a momentary pause. “What did he look like and what was he doing?”

“He looked like his mug shot. Maybe a little sleazier. He was wowing the girls at the audition for dancers. I think he may be the second in command.”

“Good work for your first day.”

“I didn’t find him. He just appeared on stage, like I said.”

“I’m giving you full credit, Barrett. But I gotta get inside and do my own recon. First, however, can I come over? I need to know what else you saw inside Club Red.”

She got out of the car and slammed the door. “At the condo. And yes. But I warn you, I look really different.”

“Why?”

“You’ll see.”

“Interesting. I think I like it.” Nick studied her hair, walking around Barrett as if she were suddenly untouchable.

“It was Vlad’s idea. He had the club’s hairdresser do it right then and there.”

“Worth it if he wants you as the hostess. But what did you have to do to convince him to hire you?”

“Nothing, smartass. According to Justine, I was a shoo-in for the job. Meaning tall and classy and not into chewing gum.”

Nick grinned, his hands on his jeans-clad hips. “Yeah. My kind of woman.”

“Oh shut up.” Barrett ran her fingers through her newly white locks, purposely messing up the severe geometry of the cut. “Yikes. I just can’t get used to this. At least I can dye it back to my natural color when this is over.”

“Whatever you want.” He reached for the laptop he’d brought with him and propped it up on his knees when he sank down into the couch. “So break it down for me. What does the place look like from the inside?”

“Chaotic. It’s overwhelming. I barely know where to start. It’s totally fabulous and really trashy at the same time.”

“Specifics, please. But wait.” He held up a hand. “Before we start, was there any sign of Jane or other girls who didn’t seem to belong there?”

“No.”

She knew that his quick question was anything but casual and that there would be more. Her answers, no matter how trivial, would be fitted into a mental grid to help him plan strategy. For anything that involved kids or innocent victims, he put his whole heart into it. If his mission was to take out a bad guy, there were no emotions involved whatsoever.

Unless, she thought, that so-called “bad” guy happened to be his brother.

He frowned, his expression soberly thoughtful as he looked at her. “Barrett, what is it?”

She jerked. “I’m sorry. I—I lost my train of thought. Where was I?” Barrett asked.

He hesitated before saying, “You were about to describe the interior of Club Red.”

“Right. The main space is big. There’s a runway right down the middle. Lots of seats and little tables. The strippers and dancers are above all that, I guess.”

“They have to be. There’s always some bozo who tries to grab a girl by the ankles,” Nick commented.

“Always? And how do you know that?”

“Believe it or not, I have been to more than one strip club.” He glanced up at her. “Don’t give me that look. I’m a guy. We do a lot of things women don’t like.”

She gave him that look anyway.

“Please continue, Miss Miles.”

Despite the exasperating smirk on his face, she did. “There are wraparound balconies with glass walls for the party people who want to watch from on high.”

“How many?”

“Two. The top one is bigger. It kinda juts out over the bottom one.”

Nick typed. “So when exactly does the club open? I looked online. It still didn’t say. What the hell are they waiting for?”

“Rave reviews. Big buzz.”

“Don’t they need customers first?”

“No. They need bloggers, reporters, scene makers, columnists, and trendsetters. A reliable source—Justine’s pal, if you want to make a note, her name is Moira Finn—says that Vladimir bankrolled a press junket. It’s happening tomorrow.”

“A junket? What is that exactly?”

“They vary. Could be for a movie, a big event, a publicity campaign. Media types ask bullshit questions and get phony answers and try to scoop the competition. Besides the free plane ticket and hotel room, there are the swag bags. At Club Red, there’s also the, uh, entertainment.”

“Who’s doing the entertaining?”

“Could be the strippers. I happened to see them rehearsing when I was wandering around.”

“What exactly did you see?”

“Like I would answer that.”

He shook his head. “I meant when you were wandering around.”

“Oh. Rooms with tacky sex furniture. Locked rooms. Before the rehearsal, I walked around some and went down a long corridor. There was a door at the end of it with a keypad.”

“How close did you get to that?”

“Not very. A guard appeared out of nowhere, asked me what I was looking for.”

“Do you think you could find that door again?”

“Of course.”

Clickety-click. Click click click
. The faint blue glow of the laptop gave his dark eyes an odd, distant look. He sure was focused. Barrett couldn’t remember him getting his head stuck in a laptop to this extent back when they were overseas.

“Hey, almost forgot to ask about your roommate,” he said, still staring into the screen. “Did she get hired? It would be great if there were two of you inside before I get there.”

“The answer is no. Justine’s going to be our outside contact and liaison to Belladonna—but wait a sec. How are you going to get in? I haven’t had a chance to figure that one out.”

Barrett hoped he got her point. Actually, she had two points to make. He needed to work with her. And she didn’t work for him.

“I’m mulling it over.” The keys clicked as Nick kept on. “Getting back to the original topic, a crowd of random people on the loose will drive the security staff crazy and provide cover for us.”

“Or totally get in our way.” He didn’t answer. Her logical comment must not fit in his mental grid.

“Do you happen to know where the media mob is staying?”

“At the same hotel we stayed at. On Vladimir’s dime, most likely.”

He nodded. “I’ll pay my own way.”

“Excuse me?”

He finished taking notes and shut the laptop. “I’m going to the hotel after I pick up some stuff. I’m thinking canvas jacket with big pockets, netbook, black-frame glasses. If I get the same clerk, he won’t remember me.”

Nick had been the one who’d gone up to the front desk. He was just being careful. But she wasn’t so sure that he should infiltrate the media bash. Barrett covered up her uncertainty with a vague reply. “Whatever.”