Page 40 of Thirst
Baker made it all too easy. The man couldn’t hold a steady job to save his life. He was too much of an asshole to work for someone else.
Somewhere in there, Aunt June died of cancer. When the news reached me, I celebrated with a bottle of blood-whiskey and three thralls, my only regret that she didn’t live long enough to see her beautiful house, the one she’d been so proud of, collapse around her husband’s ears.
These days, Baker survived on odd jobs and growing what he could on the half-acre that was all that remained of his farm. On Tuesday nights, he had a few friends over for beer and poker. But other than that he was alone, brooding about what the world, the syndicate, and most of all, me, owed him. In his warped mind, anyway.
But he’d finally crossed the line. Me, I didn’t care about—it was entertainment, watching his feeble attempts at payback. Like a kitten batting at a toy mouse.
But when he’d involved another syndicate? He’d signed his own death warrant.
In the kitchen below, the light went out. A short time later, a lamp came on upstairs and my uncle’s silhouette appeared behind tattered lace curtains.
When I was a kid, Wayne Baker had been like God to me. He who must-be-obeyed, with a powerful build and hard fists. You didn’t question him. You didn’t even breathe wrong in his presence.
Now he seemed to be slowly caving in—hollow-chested, shoulders sloped.
The island bank had moved to repossess his house. Baker had apparently realized by now that I was behind his bad luck. He’d contacted the QCS—using his own phone. He’d used an app with end-to-end encryption, but I was the syndicate’s resident tech guy along with the dhampir Adrian, and together, we’d unlocked the code.
My lips curved.
Time to play, Wayne.
I trotted down the hill to the house.
I didn’t bother with the front door. Instead, I swarmed up the siding to the bedroom. The windows were locked. I punched a hole in the nearest one and shoved my bare fist through the shards to undo the catch.
Baker burst out of the bathroom in boxers and a dirty gray tank, a toothbrush in his hand. His jaw dropped. Then his face reddened.
“You!” he snarled, sending toothpaste flying. “Get the hell out of my house.”
I pushed the window up and swung into his bedroom, feet first. “No.” I straightened to my full height. “I’m not that kind of vampire, Baker. I don’t need an invite to come inside.”
Without taking my gaze from his, I brought my bleeding hand to my mouth and licked the blood. His whole body went motionless, and his eyes jumped from side to side, unable to hold mine.
I sensed fear—and gods, it was sweet. I lapped up his apprehension like I lapped up my blood. Slowly, and with an unholy satisfaction.
Baker swallowed noisily, the toothbrush clenched in one fist.
Oh, yeah. Let him feel that heart-stopping dread, the terror that freezes you in your tracks like a hunted animal. Let him learn that some monsters smile when they come for you.
When my hand was clean, I prowled forward, enjoying how he stiffened. It freaked humans out when they realized I could move without them hearing me.
I stepped into his space, close enough that he had to tilt back his head to look into my face. His jaw hardened.
It was the first time he’d seen me since I was turned. Gods, how it must burn him that I’d grown into someone taller and more powerful than him.
“Go ahead and finish brushing your teeth,” I said.
He didn’t move. His throat bobbed. His gaze dropped to my chin. For the first time he looked a little unsure.
I let my lips curve. “Unless you’re too chickenshit to turn your back on me.”
His grizzled face darkened, a slow, ugly flush. Without a word, he turned, putting the toothbrush in its holder before filling a cup with water. He rinsed his mouth, spat deliberately into the sink, then faced me again.
“We’ll talk downstairs.” He walked forward.
I stayed where I was, forcing him to halt in the bathroom doorway. “See, that’s a problem. You think you’re in charge here.” Ignoring his angry flush, I stepped aside and gestured at the bedroom. “We’ll talk up here.”
His fury spiked. “You’re a screw-up, boy. Always have been, always will be.”
