But the most shocking thing was that part of me actually wanted to take his deal.
Maybe it was selfish of me, since I knew what a monster he was, but part of me still wanted to say yes, just so there would be one fewer underworld boss I had to worry about, just so I wouldn’t have to look over my shoulder and wonder when his men would come after me next. Or, worse, Bria, Roslyn, and everyone else I cared about.
But part of me bristled at his smug tone. I’d never liked bullies, and Benson was trying to strong-arm me into backing down.
And then there was Bria. She would never, ever go for such a deal. The cop in her wouldn’t let her, especially not with her guilt over her informant’s murder still fresh and raw in her mind and heart.
But mostly, though, I thought about Catalina and how she was determined to do the right thing because she felt like she owed it to an old friend, the ghost of the sweet boy she had loved once upon a time.
And I knew what my answer would be, what it should have been all along: no fucking way.
But before I could tell Benson what he could do with his offer, one of the doors at the front of the club banged open, and a man rushed inside. It was the vamp who’d been stationed by the main entrance, the one who’d been keeping such a careful watch out for me.
“Boss!” he called out, hurrying over to the dance floor, his gun in his hand. “Boss! I just found Johnny by the back of the club. He’s dead—” The vamp skidded to a halt at the sight of me sitting with Benson. “She’s—she’s here!”
“Yes, Derrick, she’s here,” Benson said. “And you were supposed to warn me the second you saw her. Not let her kill Johnny and enter the club undetected. I am most disappointed with you.”
His voice was calm, but Derrick swallowed, his face suddenly pale. Benson got to his feet and straightened his glasses. Behind the bar, Roslyn tensed, as if she knew what was coming. So did the third man, who’d been standing behind Benson, but he lifted his gun, clearly ready to shoot anyone who dared to interfere with his boss. Silvio remained as stoic as ever, although a muscle ticked in his jaw and his eyes glittered with some emotion I couldn’t quite identify. It almost seemed as though Silvio were dreading what his boss was about to do next, even though he knew that he couldn’t stop it. I stayed in my seat, but I palmed a knife under the table.
Benson faced Derrick. He smiled again, showing off his fangs.
“Oh, shit,” Derrick whispered.
Apparently, he’d seen the horror show before, and he wanted no part of it. Unlike Troy, he actually tried to get away. Derrick raised his gun and fired off a few shots, even as he started backpedaling. But his aim was lousy, and the bullets zipped up toward the ceiling instead of thunking into Benson’s chest. I doubted they would have made a difference anyway.
Derrick didn’t get three steps before Benson was on him.
One second, the vamp was standing beside the table. The next, he’d leaped halfway across the dance floor, some forty feet, to where his victim was. Drinking blood gave most vamps enhanced strength and speed, but Benson’s long jump was truly spectacular. I wondered if the emotions he’d siphoned off Troy last night gave him even more power than drinking blood did. If so, that made Benson doubly dangerous.
Benson didn’t waste any time trying to soothe Derrick like he had with Troy. Instead, he latched onto Derrick’s arm, dragged the other man up against him, and buried his fangs in his minion’s neck. The poor bastard didn’t even have time to scream.
One, two, three slurps later, Benson let Derrick drop to the dance floor—dead.
I’d seen vamps drink before, and I’d had a particular nasty one take more than a few bites out of me, but Benson’s strike was supremely surgical—quick, brutal, effective.
And surprisingly neat. Somehow he had managed to avoid getting so much as a single drop of blood on his pink shirt and white pants. But his eyes now gleamed an electric blue behind his glasses, as his body absorbed the blood, the life, he’d just taken. I waited, wondering if his body, his muscles, would expand the way they had in the garage last night, but his figure remained lean and gangly. Perhaps that only happened when Benson ripped out someone’s emotions, instead of just his blood.
Benson stepped over Derrick’s body and strolled back to the table. Silvio held out his chair, and the vamp dropped into the seat again. Silvio stepped back, and Benson picked up his Bloody Mary and drained the rest of the drink.
“Refreshing,” he murmured, setting the glass back down on the table.
I wasn’t sure if he was talking about the liquor or the blood. I didn’t really want to know.
Benson plucked the celery stalk out of the glass. The sound of his teeth tearing into the crisp vegetable was even louder than Derrick’s gunshots had been. Benson took two more big bites of the celery before he dropped the leafy remains back into his glass.
Once again, he eyed me intently, that faraway look glazing his face, even as that invisible sandpaper scraped up against my skin. But I ignored the horrid sensation, pushed my anger down, and concentrated on remaining calm.
Benson blinked, his features cleared, and the blue glow in his eyes dimmed, as though he were disappointed by my lack of shock, surprise, and disgust.
“Please think about my terms, Gin. I would hate for your sister to share Derrick’s fate—or, worse, that of her informant.”
Behind the bar, Roslyn let out a strangled gasp. She knew exactly what happened to people who threatened my family. They ended up exactly like Derrick—or worse.
Usually worse.
Still, Roslyn was my family too, and I wasn’t about to risk her safety to try to take out Benson. Not while he was riding high on all the blood he’d ingested. Not when he was purposefully trying to bait me into attacking him. Not when he wanted me to make a move against him, probably so he could use his magic to suck out my emotions and complete his afternoon feast.
If there was one thing I was good at, it was waiting, and there would be plenty of time to kill Beauregard Benson later.
“I don’t speak for my sister,” I said. “Although I can imagine what she would say to your offer. Starts with F, ends with you. You’re a smart guy. I’m sure you can fill in the blanks.”
Benson gave me a thin smile, his teeth rimmed with pink from his drink and Derrick’s blood. “Perhaps you should have a chat with her, then. Consider it a suggestion between colleagues.”
“We are not colleagues,” I snarled.
He waved his hand. “Whatever label you want to put on it, then. Anyway, I’m afraid I must be going. I have another appointment to keep. But do think about what I said, Gin.”
Benson got to his feet and snapped his fingers. Silvio stepped forward and reached into his gray suit jacket. I tensed, but he only produced a business card, which he placed on the table between me and his boss.
“If you need to reach me, Silvio can pass along any message,” Benson said, bowing low to me again. “Good day, Gin. It was such a pleasure to meet you. And let me be the first to say that the legend of the Spider doesn’t disappoint in person.”
With a final, bland, polite nod, Benson strode off the dance floor, stepped over his own man’s dead body, and left Northern Aggression.
Silvio and the third man stopped long enough to grab Derrick’s arms, then dragged his corpse out of the club, following along behind their boss and the death he’d left in his wake.
13
I waited until the front doors banged shut behind Benson and his men before I got to my feet and hurried over to Roslyn, who was still standing behind the Ice bar.