Page 17

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

HARLEN

T he coppery scent of blood hit me like a physical punch to the gut. I pushed the door open wider. My fangs instinctively descended from my gums. It was a Pavlovian response I hated but couldn’t always control. I forced my fangs back with effort. The matchbox room was dark except for the glow of a small pink desk lamp. Before tonight, the room was a girly safe space for a college student. Now it was just another crime scene.

I took a step inside, careful not to touch anything. Lifting my foot, I kicked the door, listening as it clicked shut behind me. I was alone with death. A place I hadn’t seen in a long time.

Across her bed, a young Black girl lay sprawled out with one arm dangling over the edge. Her fingers were still curled around her cell phone. She was possibly trying to dial 911. The student’s neck was torn open. There were no neat punctures of a controlled feeding, but the savage ripping of flesh from someone who wanted her to suffer. Her wide, glassy eyes remained fixed on the ceiling, capturing an eternal moment of terror.

Blood soaked into the floral bedspread beneath her, darkening the cheerful pattern to something obscene. The crimson syrup dripped onto the floor, pooling on textbooks scattered there. Amongst the blood, I could read the book covers: psychology, sociology, mathematics.

The room itself told the story of a life interrupted. Posters of musicians covered one wall. Family photos lined a small bookshelf with the victim, smiling with what must be her parents, a graduation photo, a younger sibling. A desk held a laptop, and a coffee mug printed with “Black Girl Magic” that held pens, highlighters, and plastic utensils.

I didn’t touch the body, but I leaned closer, examining the wild wounds. Teresa wasn’t feeding for sustenance. The typical vampire bite was precise—two puncture marks, minimal tearing, designed to heal quickly and leave the victim confused but alive. This was different. This was rage. Or something else.

The girl couldn’t be more than twenty. Her braids fanned out on the blood-soaked pillow. A silver necklace with a small cross gleamed at her throat.

Why her? Why here? Chicago had no shortage of easier targets. There were the homeless people and drunk partygoers. There was anyone Teresa could feed on without drawing attention, the police or the local news.

I scanned the room for anything that might explain Teresa’s dangerous choice. A corkboard next to a dry erase board above the desk held more photos and what looked like concert tickets.

Nothing about this young girl immediately jumped out as a connection to Teresa or vampire business. There was no indication this girl was involved in our world at all. She appeared to be just a student, bright and ambitious, with her life violently cut short.

I backed away from the bed, wiping my palms on my jeans, though I hadn’t touched anything in the room. The scent of fresh blood was making my head swim. The tangy aroma brought my hunger to the surface. I swallowed hard, forcing it down. Not here. Not from her. Only the lowest of the vampire species would drink from the dead.

Teresa’s motivation for this careless crime didn’t make sense. This murder would draw the attention of the campus police and probably CPD detectives. The crime was messy and risky for all vampires in the city. We worked hard to keep our kind under the radar of human notice. Teresa knew that. So why would she break the rules so flagrantly?

Maybe that was exactly her intention. Maybe she wanted to create chaos and to challenge my brother’s authority. I had to face the possibility she wanted to send Zand a message. Or perhaps the message wasn’t for Zand at all.

I checked the room once more for anything I might have missed. No sign of a struggle beyond the immediate area of the bed. The girl was likely asleep when Teresa entered. There was no indication of theft. Just a brutal feeding that crossed the line into a vicious murder.

I had to report this to Natasha, but not yet. I traced Teresa’s movements tonight and believed she might return to Club Bailar Caliente. I needed more intel before I contacted Natasha. I needed to see what Teresa was up to and who she was acquainted with. This random killing felt like a part of something larger. I needed to understand the complete picture before bringing my findings to Zand and Natasha.

I needed to be inside of Club Bailar Caliente. But I also needed to blend in at a Mexican club. I only knew of one person who can blend in at any function. Morgan. With me, she wouldn’t be in danger. She was what humans called multi-racial or racially ambiguous. Morgan’s striking good looks would help me blend in. With her, we were just another couple out for a night on the town. With her, I wouldn’t appear suspicious.

I slipped out of the dorm room, using my sleeve to close the door behind me. There was no need for some student to walk down the hall and glance inside at the gruesome scene. The hallway remained empty at this late hour. It was eerily quiet compared to the horror that had taken place just a few feet away. I moved quickly toward the stairwell. I wanted to avoid the elevator. Inside the metal box, I would be trapped in close quarters with the residents.

I stepped outside and the night air felt clean compared to the blood-scented room. I gulped the air in, trying to clear my head as I pulled out the burner phone Natasha gave me. I should call her first, report what I’ve found. But she’ll order me back, pull me off the surveillance. And something tells me I needed to stay on Teresa’s trail, especially now.

When I was free of the dorm, I walked to the curb and took one last glance back at the dormitory. The building looked peaceful. Its inhabitants were unaware of the predator who walked their halls tonight. Unaware of the death in room 317. Tomorrow, there will be screams. Police. Questions. But tonight, the girl died alone, her blood cooling on sheets that once held only her personal dreams.

I took a leisure trek back to my parked car. I sat in the driver’s seat and shoved the burner phone into my jacket pocket. I leaned over into the passenger seat and reached into the glove compartment for my personal cell phone. I dialed Morgan’s number from memory. She answered on the third ring.

“Where are you?” There was no greeting. Just a question laced with a possible accusation.

“Morgan, it’s Harlen.”

“I know that.” I could almost see her eye roll through the phone. “Where are you?” She barked. I liked this possessive, bossy version of her. This was the woman that knew I was a vampire but didn’t care. We had a brief conversation about my affliction and that was that. I like her too much to keep it from her. Plus, I had a feeling she already knew. She didn’t ask to see my fangs. There was no mention of holy water, garlic, or crucifixes.

“I’m out on a job for Natasha.”

“When are you coming back?” Did she mean back to the loft or to the apartments? “I need a favor.”

“A favor?” There was a pause, presumably as she checked the time. “At midnight?”

“I didn’t know it was that late.” I did.

“What’s the favor?”

“Natasha wants me to check out this nightclub.”

“Okay and?—”

“I was thinking you could come here and be with me.”

“To the club?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.” My word choice made me wince. The student’s lifeless eyes flashed in my recent memory. “I want to see you. I need you to meet me somewhere. It’s important.”

“Important like you’re-in-trouble important, or important like you’re-bored-and-want-company important? Because if it’s the second one, I’m hanging up.”

I could picture her sprawled out on my bed in those black silk pajamas she loved. “I’m not in trouble. I just want you to come and be with me. I need you.”

That gets her attention. “You need me?”

“Yes. I want to go inside this club, and I don’t want to go in alone. I need backup, and you’re the only one I can ask.” This wasn’t entirely true. I could ask Donté.

“Where?”

“A nightclub called Bailar Caliente on the West Side. Wear something sexy. Something...” I search for the right word. “You can dance in.”

Morgan chuckled. “Sexy? Dance? Harlen, can you dance?”

“I can do a lot of things.” I teased.

“You know what I mean. Dress like you’re there to dance, have fun, and make out with your boyfriend.”

“My boyfriend?”

I was just now realizing we hadn’t put a label on our relationship. After I was turned, things like that seemed so trivial. “Yeah, your boyfriend.”

“Fine. But you’re buying me a lot of drinks, and you’re going to tell me exactly what this is about when I get there.”

I hesitated. I couldn’t tell her everything about Teresa. Not yet. I could never tell her about the dead student. “I’ll explain everything I can. Just trust me, okay?”

There was a pause, long enough that I wondered if she’d hung up on me. Then: “Wait. This club isn’t some sort of vampire den or something?”

“No, that would be The Castle.” I joked.

“Funny.”

“Morgan. It wouldn’t matter. I would never let anything happen to you. You know that, right?”

“I know. I need thirty minutes to shower and dress. And this better not be some bullshit, Harlen.”

“It’s not. I’m sitting outside the club, and I can’t leave this location. I need to send a driver for you.”

“A driver?”

“No, not a car service. Someone on Zand’s security staff.”

“A vampire?” I heard her sigh.

“Do you prefer a human?”

“I guess it doesn’t matter. There are vampires everywhere.”

“Where are you? Where should I send the car? Text me when you’re close.” I ended the call before she could ask more questions.

My mind raced while I sat in the sedan. I should call Natasha and tell her about the body. But there’s a larger game at play here, and I needed to understand the pieces before I made a move. Why was Teresa at a Mexican club? Why did Teresa kill a college student? None of it made sense.

As I gripped the steering wheel, I checked the time. Nearly 12:25 PM. The club would be open for at least another two hours. Enough time to go in and see if Teresa the ripper was inside. I hoped to get another glimpse of her.

A few minutes later, Morgan arrived at the club entrance in a dress that made me forget, for half a second, why we’re here. The crimson fabric cling to her curves like it was painted on. The color was vivid against her olive skin.

One of Zand’s security men idled at the curb in a black SUV until I reached Morgan. His eyes scanned the street with practiced vigilance before he pulled away. Morgan’s gray eyes flicked over me with amusement. “Okay, boyfriend,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

I offered her my arm, leaning close as if sharing an intimate joke. “Thanks for coming. You look sexy.”

“Sexy for what?” She took my arm. “You still haven’t told me what we’re doing here.”

“Surveillance,” I murmured, guiding her toward the entrance. “I’ll explain inside. Just follow my lead and pretend we’re having the time of our lives.”

She arched an eyebrow. “So, you dragged me out of my pee-jay’s and into this hooker dress for a stakeout?”

“Sort of.” We passed the bouncer who didn’t bother to card us or check for weapons.

“And you couldn’t do this alone?”

“No one knows who you are. But there are people that know me.” I handed the cash over to the cashier, who barely glanced at us before waving us through.

The door opened, and we’re hit with a wall of sound and scent. Reggaeton was pounding through speakers, the percussion so heavy I could feel it in my inner ears. The air was thick with perfume, sweat, spilled tequila, and the undertone of desire. Bodies pressed together on the dance floor, a churning mass of humanity moving to the rhythm.

“So, what are we looking for?” Morgan asked. Her lips weren’t close enough to my ear to be heard over the music.

“Not what. Who?” I guided her deeper into the club, one hand at the small of her back. “I’ll let you know when I see them. For now, let’s get drinks.”

Morgan twisted her lips, but allowed me to lead her to the bar. The bartender, a bald guy, nodded at us.

“Tequila,” Morgan said before I could order for us. “Double. Neat.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Pace yourself. We might be here a while.”

“If I’m spending my night playing spy, I’m not doing it sober.” She accepted the glass when it arrived, downing half in one smooth swallow.

I ordered a whiskey I wouldn’t drink. Alcohol was a show. My kind only needed blood. I scanned the club over the rim of my glass. The club’s lighting was designed for anonymity.

The VIP section occupied the far corner of the room and was elevated slightly above the main floor. That section was designed with plush booths separated by beaded curtains. This place was nothing like The Castle. I could look around and conclude the owner didn’t put much money into this place. My eyes lingered there, searching for Teresa, and for any sign of why she’d been coming here.

Morgan leaned against the bar. “Are you going to tell me what this is all about? Or should I just enjoy the music?”

I set my drink down after pretending to sip from it. “Dance with me.”

“What?”

“I need a better vantage point.” I took her hand, pulling her gently toward the dance floor.

Morgan followed. Her expression was skeptical, but her body was already moving to the beat. We found a spot near the center of the floor where I could turn in any direction. The song was something fast with Spanish lyrics I couldn’t quite catch over the noise of the crowd.

I placed my hands on Morgan’s waist, pulling her close to me. She looped her arms around my neck as our bodies found the rhythm together. We were close enough that any observers would think we’re just another couple, too absorbed in each other to notice anything else. I wanted to be this with her.

“Now will you tell me?” Morgan said against my ear.

“I’m looking for someone. A vampire named Teresa.” I kept my voice low, my lips close to her ear as we moved in tandem. “She’s been coming here, and I need to know why.”

Morgan pulled back slightly. “Teresa? As in Zand’s ex-wife Teresa? The one who is out here threatening my bestie?”

I spun her around, using the movement to scan the room again. “That one. How did you know?”

“Chanel told me.”

“Teresa was here earlier tonight, but she left. I’m hoping she comes back, or that I can figure out why she’s been frequenting this place.”

“And you needed me for this because?—?”

“Because a lone guy lurking in a club looks suspicious and like a creeper. A couple enjoying a night out doesn’t.” I pulled her close again as the song changed. “I don’t think Teresa has ever seen you.”

“What does Teresa look like?”

“She’s platinum blonde and average height and weight.”

“I’ll be on the lookout. She would stand out in this club full of Hispanics.”

I smiled into Morgan’s neck, happy that she was onboard with my plan. I continued the surveillance. My eyes constantly moved over the crowd, the bar, the VIP section. An hour passed with dancing, pretending to drink, and watching. Morgan played along and being around her made me more enamored with her.

We were back on the dance floor when I saw her. Not Teresa. But someone better.

She was sitting at a VIP table in the corner. A beaded curtain partially obscured her. Her dark hair fell on her shoulders. Even from a distance, I could see the harsh angles of her face. She was with two other people, a woman with long brown hair and a burly man whose back was to me.

My body tensed involuntarily, and Morgan noticed immediately.

“What is it?” She asked as her fingers tightened on my shoulder.

“Don’t look.” I murmured, spinning us so that I could keep the table in my peripheral vision. “But that woman in the corner booth sitting in VIP? Dark hair, black dress.”

Morgan silently laughed as if I’ve said something amusing. Her hand slid down to rest on my chest as she casually glanced over.

“Wait. Is that?”

I pulled her closer, lowering my voice further. “Marisol Lopez.”

Morgan stiffened in my arms. “Lonzo’s sister.”

“Yes.” I guided us into a turn that gave me a better angle of the table. “I can’t believe she’s here. Zand’s been looking for her since Lonzo disappeared.”

“Disappeared is a nice way of putting it.” Morgan muttered. “He’s dead. Your brother killed him.”

How the hell did she know that? It was clear we needed to do more talking and less fucking. Maybe not less, but we needed to have conversations with our clothes on.

“Zand killed Lonzo to protect Chanel.” I explained.

Morgan’s expression darkened. I forgot she knew Lonzo and that she’d been friends with Chanel when Lonzo was in the picture. There were so many things going on before I arrived in Chicago.

“Do you know who she’s with?” Morgan asked.

I maneuvered us again, trying to get a glimpse of the man’s face. “The woman I don’t recognize. The man I can’t see clearly.”

“I don’t want her to notice me. I never met her in person, but she probably knows what I look like if she had something to do with Craig’s death.”

Craig, the man before me that Morgan never talked much about. The dead boyfriend.

We danced for several more minutes, slowly working our way across the floor until I have a better angle on Marisol’s table. The man of Mexican descent turned slightly, and I get my first clear look at his profile. I didn’t recognize him. The other woman could be a relative. She resembled the picture of a cousin, but her hair color was different and from this distance, I couldn’t be too sure.

“The lady with Marisol could be a cousin.” I told Morgan. “The guy could be an uncle, or a cousin, maybe someone in the cartel. I’m not sure. I just know her still being in Chicago isn’t good.”

“Marisol is looking for her brother, and she’s never going to find him.”

“If Marisol is here with a cartel member, it can’t be a coincidence. Not when Teresa has been coming to the same club.”

“Do you think they’re working together?” Morgan asked, following my train of thought. “Teresa and Marisol?”

“I think there’s only one reason Marisol Lopez would be here in Chicago.” I held Morgan’s gaze. “She’s looking for Chanel. For revenge. She has to know her brother is dead if she hasn’t heard from him. I have a brother. We can’t go more than a few days without communicating.”

Morgan’s expression hardened. “How the hell did Marisol run into a vampire?”

“Teresa is here to start trouble. Who knows how long she’s been watching Chanel.” I glanced back at the table where Marisol was now leaning forward. She was engaged in an intense conversation with the man.

“This is scaring the shit out of me. I want to leave. We need to tell Zand.”

“Not yet. We need more information.” I held her closer as the song changed again. “If we go to Zand now, he’ll lock Chanel away, maybe move her to a different location. But we won’t know exactly what they’re up to.”

“And you think hanging around this stupid club watching a cartel meeting is going to give us that information?” Morgan’s voice dripped with skepticism. “This is dangerous, Harlen.”

“I’m a vampire and I can take three humans. I need to get closer so I can hear what they’re saying.”

Morgan grabbed my arm, digging her nails in deep. “No. That’s insane. They’ll notice you.”

She was right, of course. These weren’t regular people. These were cautious criminals. Marisol would notice a stranger lingering too close to her private conversation. I needed another approach.

“You need to report this to that scary blonde security lady that works for Zand.”

I nodded reluctantly. “I know. I just want to see if Teresa comes back.”

“Comes back. Was she here earlier?”

“Yes. I need to see if there’s any direct interaction between her and Marisol.”

Morgan moaned. “Fuck that shit. I’m not a vampire. I don’t even have my gun.”

“What gun?” I asked. Did Morgan have a gun?

She ignored my question. “I know Marisol and her people are strapped. Get, me, the fuck, out of here. Now.”

Morgan glared into my eyes, and I instantly knew my time was up. She was right. I didn’t have a plan, and I didn’t want to put her life in danger. My suspicions could be wrong. I hoped this was a weird coincidence that Marisol and her cohorts were at the same club Teresa had frequented. I had something to prove to my brother, but this wasn’t the time and the place to do that.