Twilight Hunter eu-1 Page 10

  Damon bucked in a fruitless attempt to throw Jace off. His blood pooled on the floor, filling in the cracks between the boards. The more Damon fought, the more blood gushed from his stab wound and Jace could feel him weakening with each hit.

  Damon was the best fighter in his division, or so he’d thought. Jace never unleashed his full strength in front of the other hunters for fear of revealing his identity, his unfair advantage—until now. Now he wasn’t holding back. The combination of his bloodline, natural strength and the serum all the members of the E.U. received made him a force to be reckoned with.

  The bastard squirmed beneath Jace’s grip until he’d positioned himself just right, then brought his knee up hard in a low blow to the crotch, a move Damon would never normally make, a sign of how close he knew he was to passing out. Jace groaned but kept on pounding Damon’s face. Black and purple bruises were already forming across the hunter’s cheeks and around one eye.

  “That was a cheap shot, you fucking cocksucker.” Jace slammed his knuckles into Damon’s jaw and felt the crack of bone beneath his hand. He grabbed Damon by the front of his shirt to hold him down. “You hit like a bitch,” he growled.

  “Like your bitch?” Damon said through a mouthful of blood.

  In one quick twist, Jace snatched his blade from the floor and held the sharp metal against the skin of Damon’s throat, then leaned into his face, each word sending his warm breath over his enemy’s skin. “If you ever call her a bitch again, your smile will run from ear to ear.” He lifted the blade and traced it across Damon’s mouth up to his cheekbone.

  Damon didn’t even flinch. Instead, he spat a glob of bloody spit into Jace’s face. Jace threw down a punch at Damon’s temple so hard he swore he felt the bone soften beneath the hit. He delivered the final blow, knocking the asshole out cold. But that wasn’t enough. He wanted to kill the bastard. God, how he wanted to end this.

  His fist collided with the mauled flesh of Damon’s face again, and he couldn’t stop swinging.

  A large hand clutched hold of Jace’s arm and wrenched him back. “Jace, man. Stop! We’ve gotta get out of here.”

  Jace’s arm kept swinging with the force of a pendulum. But David hooked him under the arms and hauled him off Damon’s limp body.

  “Get a grip and let’s go. If I’m going to be a fugitive because of you, I’m at least gonna be smart about it.” He shoved Jace between the shoulder blades. “Move it. We’re wasting time.”

  Hands shaking from the adrenaline rush, Jace placed one foot in front of the other. He stepped past Ash, who lay like a dead man—though on closer inspection he was still breathing—on the floor, presumably courtesy of David.

  A high-pitched and angry scream echoed from the hallway, and Jace snapped to attention. Francesca. He bolted into the hall. Trent was standing at the edge of the stairs with five bloody claw marks slashed clear across his face as he blocked Francesca’s access to the only exit.

  She must have shifted, because she was stark naked, her hair in total disarray. Blood trickled from her collarbone, where her skin was raw. Trent had used silver on her. Jace snarled.

  Francesca growled, an animal sound from her human throat. “Move out of my way, asshole.”

  Throwing herself against Trent, she knocked him down. Despite how small she was in comparison to him, she held his throat between her thighs and beat his face with her fists. He gasped for air as she cut off his breathing. She snarled and drew her hand back. The air bent and quivered with energy as her hand shifted into a wolf’s paw while all the rest of her remained human.

  At the sight of her claws, Trent managed to throw her off. She flew back into the wall. Her head hit the plaster with a loud thump, and Jace shot forward, but David beat him to the punch with those long-ass legs of his.

  David pulled his .40 from his jacket and aimed it straight for Trent’s head. “Get out of here.”

  Trent didn’t move. He stared David directly in the eye.

  “I said, get the fuck out.” David fired a shot right past Trent’s ear. Trent stumbled to his feet and down the stairs as he clutched at the side of his head to cover his throbbing eardrum. David gave a satisfied smile and slipped his gun back inside his jacket.

  Francesca groaned, and Jace turned to see her getting to her feet. “Thanks for coming to my rescue, guys. My head? Oh, it’s fine. No concussion at all.” She stared at the floor and rubbed her palm across her forehead.

  Jace scowled. “You didn’t give me time to ask.”

  “If I had, would you?”

  Jace stayed silent.

  “Well, if he isn’t going to ask, then I will. Are you all right?” David placed a hand on her shoulder.

  She shied away from his touch. “Yeah, I’m fine. Who the hell are you?”

  “I’m David.”

  She nodded. “Francesca.”

  David stuck out his hand. “Nice to mee—”

  “Look,” Jace interrupted, “usually I’m all for warm and fuzzy introductions, but can we please get the hell out of here before those two assholes wake up, or Trent decides to be a hero and comes waltzing back in here?”

  David zipped up his leather motorcycle jacket, no doubt preparing to hop on his Harley Superglide. “We can’t go back to my place, so I’m going to split. I can’t take the chance of hanging around you, J. I’ve gotta save my own ass and I’ve already screwed myself over by fighting on your side. If you need anything, call.” He clapped Jace on the back before he jogged down the stairs.

  Jace and Francesca stood alone in the silent hall. He cleared his throat and padded back toward his apartment. “I need more weapons.”

  The door stood open and would clearly never close again, and the crooked six had toppled to the floor in the midst of the chaos. He kicked the rusted numeral across the hardwood and stepped over his fellow hunters. He thought about giving Damon another good blow to the face with the heel of his boot, but he could save that revenge for another time.

  He pulled out the chain around his neck and chose the key to his weapons closet. The latch clicked when he turned the handle, and the door swung open. He unloaded the rest of his artillery—every standard handheld on the market, short of an Uzi. He’d had one on order, but the delivery had fallen through at the last minute.

  Francesca walked into the bedroom behind him, already wearing a set of clothes from the backpack she’d brought. She leaned up against the wall and sighed. “What now?”

  He packed the rest of the weapons into a large black duffel bag and locked up the closet. “If there’s been a double killing, I need to check this out.” He thought of the face of the man in the photo—Alejandro or whatever the hell his name was. “You can do what you want. I won’t keep you any longer. I’ve got bigger prey to kill.” He tried to tell himself that if anything happened to her he wouldn’t give a shit, but his gut said otherwise. Damn it, she wasn’t his responsibility.

  She shook her head. “If you’re going to try and kick me out at this point, you’re nuts. How can I go to my pack knowing what I do now and tell them I haven’t done anything about it?”

  “Why take it on by yourself? Leave the work to someone else.”

  She placed her hands on her hips. “It’s my responsibility, and I’m going with you. Besides, you need backup.”

  He didn’t need backup and he’d never had any before, but he wasn’t going to even bother pointing that out. He walked out of the bedroom, and she followed behind him.

  “Where are we going?” She stepped over Damon’s bloody body as if he were a nasty stain on the carpet.

  Jace waited until they were out of the apartment and on the stairs. The last thing he needed was for a seemingly unconscious Damon or Ash to hear where they were going. “We’ll have to get a motel room. Somewhere they wouldn’t expect me to go.”

  “That sounds like the worst pickup line ever.”

  He smirked. “If I wanted to pick you up, I wouldn’t even have to use a line.”

  �
��Are you calling me easy?” She titled her head to the side in annoyance.

  “Most women I sleep with are easy. But you, no.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “I wouldn’t blame you if you thought that. I did sleep with you the first night I met you. And as much as I’d like to use it as one, being in the midst of my mating cycle isn’t an excuse.”

  “Do you need an excuse to justify what we did? We’re consenting adults, so why not have a little fun?” He glanced over his shoulder and saw the caramel skin of her cheeks flush.

  * * *

  FRANKIE TRIED TO concentrate on anything other than the throbbing feeling in the back of her skull as they climbed into Jace’s H3 in silence. Pain throbbed throughout her body. She needed to shift. Her human wounds would heal faster if she were in wolf form.

  They continued driving even once they’d passed the majority of the cheap motels he’d said they would be looking for and reached the nicer part of the city. Frankie leaned back against the headrest, and her eyes flickered closed. A large hand gripped her shoulder and squeezed hard enough to jerk her awake.

  “Don’t you dare fall asleep! You hit your head. I don’t want you going into a damn coma.”

  Frankie focused past the blur of exhaustion. She had to try several times to make sure what she was seeing was real. Jace had pulled the car into the parking lot of the Imperial Hotel. The brightness of the lights beamed down on her, and she drank in the opulence like a ravenous animal. Beds. This place would have soft, warm beds.

  Jace stopped the car and stepped out. She hopped out, too, and took her backpack off the floorboard. With this much beauty surrounding her, she looked like a peasant in her scruffy clothes, not to mention her wounds and bruises. Jace opened the hatch and grabbed his duffel before he threw his keys to a nearby valet.

  He pointed two fingers from his eyes to the young employee. “I don’t care if the back window is already cracked—scratch this baby and you’re dead.”

  The valet nodded, as if he often received death threats from random guests. Maybe there were a lot of uptight car owners in this part of the city.

  “Don’t worry, sir. I’ll take good care of it,” the valet said.

  Jace gave the guy a pointed look, but he must have been satisfied, since he turned and walked toward the entrance. She hurried after him.

  With the marble flooring and the crisp clean atmosphere, the hotel was absolutely stunning. Jace strode right up to the front desk clerk and dropped his duffel bag on the ground, then pulled a thick wad of bills from inside his coat pocket. Frankie choked back a laugh at the contrast between his rough and tough appearance and the postmodern décor. The clerk’s eyes widened as she eyed Jace up and down. Her attention jumped between Jace and the bills, then she took more time with his face and his clothes. Frankie wasn’t sure whether the visual examination was prompted by Jace’s rugged appearance or his divinely handsome face.

  He slapped the wad of bills on the countertop. “We need a room. Give me the nicest one you’ve got.”

  The clerk blinked several times, interrupted in her examination of Jace. “Excuse me?”

  He sighed, then leaned forward on the counter and overly articulated each word. “Give me the best room you have.”

  The woman just stood there.

  Frankie stepped up to the counter and nudged him aside. “I think what he’s trying to say is, could you please tell us the best room you have available at this time?” She flashed the girl a sweet smile, careful not to show off her sharp, protruding canines.

  The clerk shook her head a little to wake herself up before she turned to her computer. The click of her fingernails against the keyboard combated the canned piano music playing in the background.

  Finally the woman cleared her throat. “Besides the penthouse, the top room we have available is the Town—”

  “We’ll take it.”

  “All right, the Townsend suite—”

  “No, the penthouse.”

  The clerk’s mouth fell open just a little, and Frankie whirled around. “What?”

  Jace ignored her and shoved the money across the counter. “You heard me. The penthouse. I want the key in less than two minutes.” He glanced up at the clock. “Starting...now.”

  The woman grabbed the phone and punched in a string of numbers while mumbling under her breath. Jace flung an ID over the counter—probably a fake one—and continued his countdown.

  Frankie’s jaw dropped. “What the hell was that all about?”

  “If you act like you’re important, they’ll treat you like you’re important.” He gave her a pointed look.

  Shock flew through her, and she battled her jaw to keep it from dropping. “That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m referring to the fact that you just booked the penthouse at the Imperial. I mean...Jace, for lack of a better term, you live in a crash pad of an apartment.”

  “And?”

  “And how are you going to afford this?”

  He picked up his duffel bag from the floor and tapped the bills on the counter. “You think I stole this, don’t you?” he asked, too soft for the clerk to hear.

  She lost the battle with her jaw and gaped at him. “What? I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t need to say it. But for your information, my employer pays all their employees, all around the globe, very well. I don’t want for anything. How do you think I bought the H3?” His eyes narrowed as he waited for a response.

  “But...”

  He sighed. “I live in a shit-hole apartment because I choose to. I’d rather deal with shitty and realistic than fancy and fake anyday.”

  The clerk cleared her throat to get their attention and held out the key.

  Jace took it and looked at the clock. “You were nearly late. Don’t let it happen again.”

  He turned on his heel, shot Frankie a grin and strolled toward the elevator. She hurried after him. Catching the closing elevator doors, he held them until she joined him inside. She hated elevators. The air closed around her and slowed her breathing just the slightest bit.

  “If you don’t like fancy, then why are we here?” She closed her eyes and leaned onto the inside railing. The elevator hummed as it shot up to the top floor.

  Jace reached inside his coat and pulled out a flask. He unscrewed the cap and chugged a swig. “If you’d put a bounty on my head or were looking to kill me, would you start here?”

  Frankie thought of the other hunters searching every slummy motel in Rochester for a sign of him. “Point taken.”

  When the elevator finally reached the penthouse level, the bell dinged as the doors opened into a small lobby. The floor was covered with fluffy white carpet, and she had a feeling that lying on it would be as comfortable as lying in her four-poster bed. A white double door faced the elevator, only the slight tan of the lobby walls adding any color.

  Jace walked to the door, his dirt-covered boots leaving dark footprints all over the white carpet. She cringed at the sight. After unlocking the door, he stepped inside as if he’d been there a hundred times.

  She followed him, and her breath caught at the sight of the penthouse. “This is absolutely gorgeous.”

  He dropped his bag of weapons on the floor of the master bedroom. “It’s a little too gorgeous to be comfortable, in my opinion. Though I guess if you like gaudy, it’s all right.”

  “Why does anything nice make you so uncomfortable?”

  “What do you mean?”

  She grinned, ready to throw his words back verbatim. “You said you’d ‘rather deal with shitty and realistic than fancy and fake anyday.’ I want to know why.”

  Jace raised a single eyebrow.

  She put her hands up. “Your words, not mine. I’m just trying to understand them.”

  He unzipped the duffel and slipped one of his many handhelds underneath the pillows. “Shitty and realistic is what I’m used to, and I’m comfortable with that.”

  “You’re a creature of habi
t.”

  “No, I just don’t like change.” He tucked another handheld in the nightstand drawer.

  “Change can be good.” She looked at him.

  “Change can screw you six ways ’til Sunday.”

  She dropped the subject and walked over to the bed. Sitting on the edge, she felt like she was invading someone else’s room, someone else’s space. She peeled her tennis shoes off her feet and wiggled her toes, then arched her spine. Her neck and back could really use a good straightening.

  Jace strolled into the master bathroom and flicked on the light. He shrugged out of his coat and laid it across the counter, then leveled his face inches away from the mirror. He examined his eye, running his fingers over the bruises, which had already begun to heal. She watched as he stood up straight again and pulled his shirt over his head, then threw it on top of the coat.

  Thick muscles defined his torso, and his back flexed every time he moved. Her stomach filled with evil, torturous butterflies. Every part of her body that he’d touched burned. A trail of heat washed through her, and she forced herself to look away.

  She stared at the fluffy white carpet. A low grunt came from the bathroom, and she couldn’t help but look up again. Jace was attempting to pour whiskey down his back and over the scratches lining his shoulder blades from his fight with Damon, Mr. Ice-Blue Eyes.

  She walked slowly into the bathroom. As soon as Jace saw her reflection in the mirror, he stopped making a mess with the whiskey

  “Here.” She took the flask from his hand. “Let me help.”

  “I can do it,” he said, though he dropped his hands to his sides and didn’t reach for the flask again.

  “No, you can’t. You’re getting it all over the tile.” She unfolded one of the bathroom towels and stepped closer to him. “Can you kneel? I’m not tall enough.” Even though she was tall for a woman, standing next to him, she realized she barely reached his shoulders.

  He got down on his knees, and she bunched the towel in her hand.