Page 61 of Vampire so Virtuous (Boston Vampires #1)

Cally couldn’t move.

The seatbelt release jammed, blood rushing to her head.

Outside, SUV doors swung open, boots hitting the asphalt.

She yanked at her belt, pulling uselessly at the chest strap. It wouldn’t budge.

“Zoey!”

No response. Blood matted Zoey’s hair, smeared across her cheek. Her right forearm was mangled, a jagged bone pressing up into her jacket sleeve.

“Noah!”

Still limp, pinned by the airbag, his face smashed against it. Could he even breathe?

Cally fumbled with the belt release again, but it held fast. She shifted, trying to ease the tension, but hanging upside down made it nearly impossible. Her fingers ached from the strain.

Crunching glass. Boots closing in.

A magazine slammed into a weapon. Chik-chak. The metallic sound echoed in the quiet.

Zoey’s knife.

It had been loose. Could be anywhere. She twisted, scanning the overturned cabin, her head pounding. Glass. Debris. There . Wedged under Zoey’s leg, the handle barely visible against the crushed roof—now the floor.

Cally stretched, fingertips scrabbling at Zoey’s trouser leg. She brushed the handle. Another inch— got it . She flicked out the blade.

Forcing it under the belt was awkward; the strap was tight. Sawing was worse, her grip clumsy. But the blade was sharp, and the fabric frayed. The point of the knife bit into her hip, but she ignored the sting, working it frantically back and forth.

The belt gave way.

She dropped hard, crashing onto her shoulder and neck, a cry escaping as the blade sliced into her thigh. Her body crumpled sideways, legs collapsing onto Zoey’s unconscious form as her shoulder flared with sharp pain.

“What the hell is—”

A pair of boots turned toward the shout, grinding glass into the asphalt. The shout cut off.

“Not my business, man,” the same voice, quieter.

She could picture the raised hands, the good Samaritan backing off at the sight of weapons.

Shots rang out—small firearms, numerous guns. Not from the men nearby.

“Shit!”

The shout came from beside the car, followed a second later by the roar of automatic weapons as the gray SUV men fired at the new intrusion.

It had to be their backup— finally .

Cally yanked the door handle. It wouldn’t give. She spun onto her back, adrenaline battling the pain in her shoulder, grimacing as she kicked with both feet. The door flew open.

“Noah! Wake up!”

She levered her legs out and grabbed Zoey by the shoulders, dragging her across the crumpled roof, stars swimming in her vision as her shoulder screamed in protest.

“Noah!”

He was on the same side as their attackers, pinned by the airbag. But she had the knife.

She dropped Zoey, scrambling over her to lean between the seats. She punched the blade into the airbag. Noah slumped forward as it burst, arms falling limp.

“Wake up!” she screamed into his ear. He jolted.

Thank God. He wasn’t dead.

Cally clambered back over Zoey, who was in worse shape. If an accidental knee to her face hadn’t roused her, yelling wouldn’t help.

Outside, the gunfire had lessened, though sporadic shots still cracked. She had no idea what was happening.

“Clear!” came the cry, echoing from all sides. Two more shots rang out, followed by another, “Clear.”

A pair of hands grabbed her waist, pulling her out of the car.

She lashed out, kicking against the bodywork, using the car as leverage to shove her attacker back.

“Easy, Hellcat. We’re on your side.” The man was large, wearing a protective vest over a fitted black long-sleeved shirt, his hair buzzed short. A half-dozen men stood nearby, while others swarmed the gray SUVs. “We’re Gabe’s men. Are you Cally, or is she?” He nodded toward Zoey’s limp form.

“I am.”

He looked past her. “Get her out of here.”

Two pairs of hands grabbed Cally, lifting her up.

“Put me down, goddammit!”

They didn’t listen, carrying her to a black SUV.

“Get your hands off me! I’m not going anywhere without Zoey and Noah.”

“We have our orders, Miss, and you’re the priority.” They shoved her into the back of the car, forcing her head down. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ll get your friends too.”

She glared at him but stopped fighting. “You better.”

The man grinned, slammed her door shut, and hit the roof twice. The car jerked forward, speeding down the interstate.

“We have her.” A man in the passenger seat spoke into a phone. He and the driver were both dressed the same, like protective vests and black shirts were a uniform. He twisted around to look at her, phone still pressed to his ear. “Any injuries?”

“I’m fine.”

He gestured to her shoulder. “You get shot?”

“I said I’m fine.” The wound still ached like hell, but it had half-healed. Had Zoey gotten both bullets out? So much had happened so fast that it was a struggle to remember.

“Minor injuries,” the man said into his phone, turning back around. He listened again. “No, she’s doing fine. More pissed than anything.”

“You tell whoever’s on that goddamn phone that if Zoey and Noah aren’t cared for, there’ll be hell to pay.” She reached up to her shoulder, probing gently. Damn it, there was still a bullet in there. She could feel it shifting, aching.

“You catch that boss?” The man listened, then chuckled. “Yeah, real hellcat. See you in fifteen.”

Cally glared at the back of his head, then twisted around to look out the rear window. They’d already driven too far to see clearly, but there were no cars following them. The interstate was effectively shut down by the crash—and the gun battle.

Traffic on the other side had queued up as people stopped to rubberneck. Their car was the only one moving.

She turned back and fastened her seatbelt, clicking it into place. “Why are there no cops?”

“Six minutes is the best Air Wing response time.”

“Counting from when?” she asked scathingly. “Your late-ass arrival, or from when we were first attacked?”

The man in the passenger seat grinned at the driver but said nothing.

Within two minutes, they’d caught the back end of the traffic flow, and the driver slowed, coasting into central Boston.

*

They took her to an underground parking garage beneath a skyscraper and hustled her into a private elevator. Only then did they relax, and one of them punched the button for the thirty-eighth—and top—floor.

“Where are we going?”

“This is Gabe’s place,” the man with the phone replied.

“And who is Gabe?”

They shared a look. “If you don’t know, Miss, best we let him tell you himself.”

She glowered at them. “Where’s Antoine?”

A small shrug was the only answer she got.

The elevator dinged happily and slid open to reveal an expansive entrance hall—marble floor, gilded mirrors, a mahogany dresser.

One of them pushed open a door, showing her into a contemporary living room.

Floor-to-ceiling windows would’ve offered a dramatic view over Boston, but sturdy metal blinds covered them completely, blocking out all light.

Instead, dim corner lamps cast a subdued glow over the room.

The floor here was hardwood in a herringbone pattern, with thick rugs adding warmth. Three large cream leather sofas surrounded an elegant glass coffee table, and in the corner sat a weight bench with a neatly stacked rack of dumbbells. There were no paintings, no framed pictures.

Cally knew a bachelor pad when she saw one.

A man stood with his back to them, phone in hand, the screen casting a pale glow over his fingers. He turned as the door opened, offering an easy smile.

He looked about thirty, with short dark hair and sharp, handsome features.

It was obvious he owned the weight set. He wore a midnight-blue silk dressing gown that shimmered subtly under the light, the loose fabric pulling taut over broad shoulders and defined biceps.

Where the robe overlapped, it revealed the top of his bare chest. Leather slippers covered his feet.

Vampire .

Who else would own a thirty-million-dollar condo, walk around half-dressed in the middle of the day with the blinds drawn, and have an army of armed thralls in SUVs at the ready?

The man strode toward her with the effortless grace of someone entirely in control. His green eyes gleamed, and his skin wasn’t pale—hiding his vampiric nature, like Antoine always did.

“She’s just arrived. I’ll hand you over.” He extended the phone with a wink.

She wasn’t in the mood for his casual charm, but if this was the mysterious Gabe, he wasn’t at all what she’d expected.

She took the phone. “Hello?”

“Are you hurt, ma chérie ?”

“Where the hell were you twenty-six years ago, Antoine?”

A long silence met this question. Across the room, Gabe wandered to a bookcase packed with vinyl albums, flicking through them absently. If it was meant to offer her an illusion of privacy, it was a nice gesture—but with his vampiric hearing, it likely made no difference.

“Is this another Baltimore question?” Antoine replied carefully.

“Closer to home,” Cally ground out.

“I have been in Boston for a century, ma chérie. What is it that I have done now?”

“You ever been to Milton?”

“No, that has never been my territory,” he replied, relief clear in his voice. “Is that why you left?”

A weight lifted from her chest. If it had been him… she couldn’t have borne it. As it stood, she wasn’t sure how much she could say with Gabe listening. “I went to follow up on something from our… meeting last night. I’ll tell you later.”

“Noah’s suggesting you owe me a new Lamborghini, ma chérie. ” Antoine’s tone was deliberately lighter.

“Is he okay? And Zoey? Is she all right?”

“They are both fine. They’re being picked up as we speak.”

“Good. I only borrowed your Lamborghini, and most of it’s still where I left it. The people who blew it up owe you a new one.”

“On that point, please let me know in advance when you next plan to trespass in another vampire’s territory. For now, it would be better if you stayed where you are. You are safe there.”

Safe? “You’re not coming?”