“Best blow job ever,” I said, searching her face. “I just wished it would’ve lasted longer.” Then I frowned. “I’m hungry for your pussy and those massive tits.”
She shuddered out an exasperated breath as she lifted her chin. “Touch these tits, and I’ll rip off your balls. The healing potion is working but not on my tits. They’re sensitive as fuck, and they will be until the milk dries up.”
I raised my hands. “I need my balls.” Chuckling, I stood then helped her to her feet.
An hour later, I’d taken another shower and was dressed in my black uniform complete with weapons. I’d also packed one duffel bag of clothes and one with extra weapons and ammunition that I had locked up in my bedroom closet.
I grabbed another empty duffel to fill with items from my safe in the pantry before checking the nursery. Scattered about the floor were several piles that included stacks of unopened diapers, car seats, clothes, stuffed animals, bottles, and everything else possible for four newborns.
Layla seemed to be on a mission, but she wasn’t in any of the bedrooms or the bathrooms. Instead, she was sitting on the couch in the family room, flipping through TV channels with a mug in her hand.
It took me a beat to smell the caffeine as I dropped my duffel on the kitchen counter. “Are you the Energizer Bunny?” I grabbed a mug of Joe myself.
“It wasn’t difficult to organize the baby stuff,” she said, flashing her big blues my way. “Nor was throwing on clothes, which by the way, feels amazing even though I can’t fit into my pre-pregnancy clothes yet. But this sundress is perfect for now.”
The simple powder-blue fabric draping down to just below her knee brought out the color of her eyes perfectly.
“You look fabulous.” I took a sip of black coffee and almost choked.
She laughed. “Sorry. I know it’s bitter.”
I dumped the crap in the sink. “That’s not bitter. Did you use the entire bag of coffee beans?”
“I like it strong,” she said. “If we had whiskey or bourbon, I would add a shot to it.”
“That shit will grow hairs on your chest.”
Again, she was laughing, a sound that warmed my heart.
I ducked into the pantry at the far end of the kitchen and moved a package of paper towels to my right on the top shelf. My dad had two safes built into the walls. One was in the master bedroom and the other was the very one I was unlocking. Once the safe was open, I pulled out an envelope of cash I kept for emergencies, three burner phones, and two daggers that I’d forgotten were in the safe.
When I emerged from the pantry, Layla came over and refilled her cup then did a double take. “Is that my dagger? I wondered where it was.” She snatched it from me, lighting up like the Fourth of July.
The dagger looked like it belonged in a museum. The letter A was carved into the black leather handle, but it wasn’t just a plain letter. Two lions made up its sides, and a double-edged blade connected them.
“I kept it in the safe. I have a leg holster for it in my duffel in the bedroom.” No sooner than I had said the last word, I heard my name on TV.
Layla and I turned our attention to the screen.
As I watched a replay of me stopping Carly’s car, the blood in my veins turned to dust. I couldn’t catch a break.
She regarded me with anoh-shitexpression, but in a cool, calm, and collected tone, she said, “At least you look hot, vampire. I always love to see you exercise your elemental powers, and on a dark road, that blue light you whip from your hands is fucking cool.”
I had to laugh. If I didn’t, I would shatter the windows in my apartment. Regardless, if the council members had any inclination to spare me, they wouldn’t anymore. I hoped like hell my old man was either putting his plan into place or convincing the ancient elders to focus their attention on the bigger issue at hand—Intech and the public outcry. My ass behind bars or dead wouldn’t change the public’s perception or satisfy anyone except our enemies. Even at that, Rianne would be quite disappointed she wouldn’t have a chance to best me.
20
LAYLA
Sam and I were in an interrogation room in the command center behind Sawyer’s cubicle, waiting on the techie vampire. He’d gotten tied up with a computer server issue.
As I sat there, I scanned the bare-bones space that contained a table and four chairs and nothing more. This room brought back memories of the day Tripp and Sam had questioned Wyman, the former CIA agent who’d gone by the alias Dowell.
Dowell had hired my sisters and me to capture Sam. But regardless of his name, he’d met my father at the Deer and Elk in Montana. I flipped through the conversation from that day, and something Wyman had mentioned about my dad now made perfect sense.
“Your father didn’t want anyone to know he was working with me. His brothers didn’t believe in keeping vampires alive, and he had to be careful. But he was lured by the money. He thought he could use it to start a better life than hunting vampires. He wanted that for you and your sisters.”
My dad, Wayne Aberdeen, had made a similar deal with Fred Emery—feed Fred living and breathing bloodsuckers in exchange for money. Although the deal with Wyman was for one vampire—Sam Mason. Still, my chest tightened. My dad had died because of my sisters and me. Not directly, of course. But he fought to make a better life for us.
