He grabbed the bottle of tequila and took a sip, sliding back on his bed and contemplating the ceiling.
Atl Iztac. If it weren’t for her he’d be enjoying himself back home, no need to open blood packs and feed from them like a ninny. When he got his hands on her … well. He was looking forward to a bit of torture. If they hacked and sliced her, then she’d heal, and they could hack and slice again. It might even be fun to turn her into one of his whores. Well, that was probably not the right word. Atl was a category above the stupid bar girls he picked up. Concubine? Was that the right word for this? He’d have to ask Rodrigo. On second thought, he didn’t want to ask the old man a single thing.
Concubine, then. Whatever. The word didn’t matter. What mattered was that Atl was just like Rodrigo: thinking herself so high, so above them. The Tlahuelpocmimi went on and on about their ancient heritage, their noble lineage, their days of pyramids and empires, without bothering to realize that it was in the past and they, we, are now in the same damn business. This was a new empire. And it belonged to Nick and his brothers.
He’d met Atl one time before this whole mess began, back when the situation between their clans was cold but not icy. He’d been at Hive, a neutral-zone joint, which meant you couldn’t bite the humans or spray bullets at other vampires. Nice place, good booze, safe and cozy, run by a Nachzehrer who had a love for the ’70s so the décor was vintage disco.
He’d been in a booth with Justiniano, a couple of his cousins, and assorted hangers-on when in walked a group of girls who seemed to attract a great deal of attention from the people around him, eliciting whispers. He asked Justiniano what the fuss was about and he said they were youngsters from the Iztac clan, which normally didn’t hang out around Hive, preferring other kinds of clubs.
“And who’s that one?” he’d asked, pointing at one girl who distinguished herself from her friends by her outfit and attitude, dressed in white, arms crossed as she stood by the bar surveying the scene.
“Atl Iztac, she’s Centehua’s youngest daughter,” Justiniano said.
It was that part of the night when Nick picked up a chick. He liked them blond and big-breasted, but this lithe brunette had an utterly delicious mouth. He thought he’d spice it up.
“Fuck me,” Nick said. “All right, let’s say hi to her.”
Justiniano had whispered that wasn’t a good idea but Nick shushed him. He traced a direct line to the girl and took off his sunglasses when he got to her, flashing her his trademark smile.
“Hey there, princess,” he said. “How are you doing? I’m Nick.”
She turned her head and stared at him, her lips pursed together. “Let me guess,” she said. “Necros, aren’t you?”
“Got me there, princess.”
“It wasn’t difficult.”
The bartender dropped a shot next to her and she picked it up with one gloved hand but did not drink it, pressing it against the hollow of her throat instead as she looked away. What a neck, eh? And the breasts might be small but he could tell they’d be worth it. She’d be worth it.
“I have a private booth here, you know. We could go sit down.”
“I don’t think I’m going to stay long enough to sit down,” she said.
“Music is not to your taste?”
“The clientele,” she said. She drank the shot and slammed the empty glass on the bar.
All right, he liked a tad of attitude, but not that much of it. He’d tried to be nice and she was not reciprocating, and that pissed him off. Girls didn’t dare pull that bitchy act with him, he was Nick Godoy. “Hey, darling, you’ve got a case of lousy manners,” he told her, clutching her arm.
She leaned forward with the grace of an uncoiling snake.
“Fuck off, townie,” she said, shoving him away and motioning to her friends.
Justiniano hurried to his side.
“That whore,” Nick said, emitting half a laugh. “Did you see that? Who does she think she is?”
“Forget about it,” Justiniano told him.
Only he hadn’t forgotten about it. No, no, no. And when his dad had told him Atl Iztac was on the run Nick had been delighted and eager to assist with her capture. Payback was a bitch.
He tossed the tequila away, fed up with it, and opened the vodka instead.
After gulping nearly half that bottle he remembered that they were under instructions from his father to kill the girl. He frowned. That wouldn’t do. He’d taken a real liking to this idea of keeping her for a while. Nick set aside the vodka, sat up, and looked around the bed, pulling the dirty sheets and the pillows. An empty soda can rolled onto the floor. He found the phone.
It only rang once before his father answered.
“Yes?”
“Father, it’s me.”
“What is it?” The voice was flat, stony.
“Nothing much. Rodrigo is being an idiot and we lost Justiniano,” Nick said, grabbing the soda can and spinning it in his hands. He lay back on the bed.
“Where are you?”
“Mexico City.”
His father’s voice was the same, a neutral tone, though Nick could feel the tension beneath it, the suppressed anger.