Blood Leverage (Bloodstone Chronicles Book 1) (33 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

T
HE odor emanating from the toilet was
even less pleasant from my new position of being draped half over it. Blinking as the fumes stung my eyes, I heaved my upper body away from the porcelain throne and sat back against the tub. My left temple wasn’t feeling its best, but when I pulled my hand back at least there was no blood.

There was however, a very large pair of boots blocking the bathroom door. As my vision cleared, I managed to lift my aching head enough to identify the individual wearing them. An individual holding my mother’s largest carving knife.

“Robert? Why are you here? What did you do to my head?”

Rolling his eyes as I tried to focus mine, Robert snorted out a laugh. “Bitch, if I’d hit you in the head, you wouldn’t have woken up. All I did was shove you forward. You hit your
own
head against the wall and then landed on the john.”

“How clumsy of me,” I muttered, even as my head cleared enough to realize the danger I was in. I was alone with Robert and trapped in my bathroom, and the presence of the knife indicated a more sinister intention than wanting to take a leak.

Strangely, this prospect didn’t seem as frightening as it once would have. Robert might have been a bully, but unlike the other bullies I’d faced this summer, he was still human. That said, a carving knife could kill as quickly as fangs.

I just needed to catch my breath and make a plan. So naturally, my mouth blurted out the least helpful response possible. “You could’ve at least flushed before shoving me into the toilet.”

Robert’s smug expression flickered to one of confusion. “Flushed? The toilet? Just how hard did you hit your fucking head?”

Though
I
certainly hadn’t left the toilet seat up, it didn’t seem worth arguing the point. While keeping him talking seemed like a good idea, provoking an argument didn’t. And I might as well start with the obvious.

“So, are you going to tell me why you broke in?”

Sneering, Robert pointed a meaty finger at the dining table. “Didn’t need to break in, did I? Stupid blonde bitch had a key—left the door wide open and ran upstairs. I hid behind the bathroom door until she left.”

My head had largely cleared at this point, but I made a show of rubbing it as I put things together. Amy had come over to drop off my dress and hadn’t bothered to lock the door behind her while she picked out my shoes—not that I could blame her, I never locked the door if I was just running inside to grab something.

Wincing theatrically as I probed at my scalp, I continued, “That tells me
how
you got in, but you still haven’t said why.”

Robert shrugged. “Isn’t it obvious?”

I considered it and shook my head, feigning discomfort as my head moved. “Um, no? Not really.”

“I originally came in here to find that letter about Sara. I was going to destroy it and then make my accusations against you, so you’d be forced to leave.”

My blank stare wasn’t faked. “Robert, that letter isn’t here. Besides, even if you’d found it and shamed me into leaving, the ultimate proof is Sara herself. My mom and Luigi will be home soon. Within twenty-four hours of my mom’s return, she could have Sara brought here by helicopter. Everyone would see for themselves how she chose to enter vampire servitude rather than continue living with you.”

As Robert smiled, I realized I hadn’t helped my cause and a chill ran through my body. “You really did hit your head hard, didn’t you? I said that my
original
plan was to find the letter, but as I already realized, the letter’s not here. However, I’ve decided that getting rid of the letter just isn’t enough for me. I want you and your mother gone. The two of you are like poison to this place. Only I wasn’t really sure how to accomplish that until I found this.”

Pointing the knife at a towel wrapped bundle on the edge of the sink, he tugged at the edges with his free hand to reveal Nicky’s blood-letting kit.

Far more nervous about the knife than the medical kit, I forced myself to respond. “What about it?”

“Well, it’s the proof I need, now isn’t it? I’ve known about you and the Carriero boy for months now. You two should really be more careful about what you discuss in the tunnels, you know. Part of my job is to keep the stairs swept clean, and you wouldn’t believe how far sound can carry down there.”

I cringed at our carelessness, delighting Robert, who stroked the blood-letting kit in a near caress. “I’ve seen some of those old movies. No matter how well you clean this stuff, it always leaves traces of blood behind, right? When this kit is found, along with a note confessing your illegal activities, your mommy will get her vamp friends to test it somewhere. After your blood is identified, Eleanor will think you left to be a blood whore, just like Sara. Then she’ll spend the rest of her life searching for you, and I’ll finally be rid of both of you.”

Oh. Shit. Double shit. Struggling to remain calm, I said, “You really think you can get away with this?”

Robert’s smile widened. “Oh, I’m feeling optimistic. This last minute party is like a gift. All I have to do is keep you here until everyone is in the courtyard, kill you, and then get you back to my place. I can wrap your body and leave it in the tunnels for tonight while I clean up here. Tomorrow, I can get rid of you during the daytime when most of the tunnel gatekeepers are out and about. I was thinking about the 5582 square. They have that nice, swampy marsh. Between the warmth and the water, you should decompose quick enough.”

Fighting to swallow against my dry mouth, I shook my head. “And you really think no one will notice you strolling through the 5582 courtyard with my corpse in a bag?”

His expression turned bland and he tapped a finger against his lips. “Well now, that’s an excellent point, so thanks for that. Still, there’s really no reason to keep you in one piece after you’re dead, now is there? Besides, the tunnel to 1823—that one where they had the little cave-in, remember? It was abandoned and never finished. It shouldn’t be a problem to keep you there for a day or two until I can dispose of all of you.”

I fought to keep my voice steady as my insides liquefied. “No one will believe I ran away. I won’t write a fake confession note.”

Robert shrugged. “I think you will. After all, when you don’t show up tonight, we both know who the first person to come looking for you will be. If you cooperate, I’ll spare your ditzy little blonde friend. And if you don’t, well, I’ll just wait here for her, and everyone will believe the two of you ran away together.”

My heart all but stopped at the thought. I couldn’t let him hurt Amy.

Then an idea began to form, though I’d have to get out of the bathroom for it to work. Holding one hand up in surrender, I braced myself against the toilet seat and pushed myself upright. Though the wobble in my legs was genuine, I let myself sway from side to side as though dizzy. 

I added an extra quaver to my voice. “You can’t hurt Amy. Just promise you won’t hurt Amy and I’ll write whatever you say. My pens and paper are on the dining table in the living room.”

Robert nodded, tapping the flat of the knife blade against his hand. “If you cooperate, there’s no reason for anyone else to be hurt. Aside from being your friend, I’ve nothing against the little blonde girl. She knits a nice sweater and takes care of her crazy mom. Seems to know her place. You just stay there and I’ll bring you your paper and pens.”

Uh-oh. That wouldn’t do at all. I kept my voice weak, throwing in just enough sarcasm to be convincing. “Where am I supposed set the paper, on the toilet? I need a steady surface to write on. I can barely focus.”

Robert eyed me up and down, eventually concluding that I posed little threat in my current state.

As he stepped away from the bathroom doorway, I considered making a run for it, but decided against it. Robert had longer legs than I, and I’d locked the door behind Skip and his friends. Any advantage of surprise I might gain would be negated by the knife and by the time I’d need to open the door. No, best to stick to the plan.

Stumbling toward the table, I took in everything at a glance and realized that Amy’s dress had landed quite conveniently. The poufy layers of skirt hid all but the top lip of the candlestick, which was easily within reach of my right hand.

Shoving the dress out the way and bunching it further against the candlestick, I sat and reached for my writing supplies. “Okay. What do you want me to write?”

As Robert began to wax poetic about my sins and I fought to keep pace with my pen, my ‘confession’ was almost melodramatic enough to have me rolling my eyes. Almost, but not quite. After all, I’d only have one chance and I had to make it count. A crystal candlestick and a carving knife were hardly even odds.

When he finally finished dictating a confession worthy of a Shakespearean villain, I carefully lingered over the last words and shoved the paper to my left, praying Robert would want to check it. “This okay?”

Still gripping the knife in his right hand, Robert leaned over my shoulder to view my work, and I spontaneously added an extra step to my plan. Smashing his wrist into the table with every bit of strength in my left hand, I used my other hand to stab my pen into his wrist. The resulting bellow of rage shouldn’t have surprised me, but I still froze up for a moment and stared as Robert yanked his bleeding arm away, the knife falling from his grip and skittering beneath the table.

As he staggered back, I seized the candlestick and swung, clipping him in the side of his head with its heavy base. The awkward angle and my lingering dizziness kept me from striking a clean blow, but my aim was true enough to snap the base of the candlestick off, leaving me holding the remains of a jagged-edged crystal seahorse as Robert crashed to the floor.

Flinching at the noise, I waited for a moment, certain someone must have heard. However, when a minute had passed without anyone pounding on the door, I concluded that most people were already outside. Nudging Robert with my still intact seahorse head, I realized he was out cold. And I began to laugh.

For the first time, Keanu’s explanation of bloodlust made a little bit of sense to me. Not that I would have volunteered to repeat the incident, but now that it was over, I felt a sense of pure, radiant pride. Poking Robert again, I leaned over him. “So you’ll see how long I’ll last without my mom covering my ass, huh?”

After all the years of Robert’s threats and innuendos, he’d finally snapped and I’d knocked him flat. And I’d done it without any help from my rich mother or my godlike vampire friends, but with only myself and my wits—and several thousand credits worth of Waterford crystal, I thought with a twinge of guilt. Still, there was no doubt that my seahorse friend had gone out in a blaze of glory.  

But what the hell did I do now? Despite my feelings toward Robert, I had no desire to embrace his tunnel-and-dismemberment plan. And I especially had no desire to deal with the aftermath of killing him. I didn’t want Robert’s death on my conscience. For that matter, I didn’t particularly want to endure a trial for attempted murder. What I really wanted was just for Robert to be gone. Gone from my house, gone from my life, gone from this square. Still, if this summer
had taught me anything, it was that we don’t always get what we want.

The thought of a murder hearing made me queasy, but it wasn’t like I had many options. But there might just be one…

Smiling as my endgame took shape, I decided to secure Robert in case he woke up. I didn’t have much in the way of rope, but the roll of rubber tourniquet material from my blood drawing kit bound his wrists nicely. I also knotted his bootlaces together and grabbed an inexpensive pottery jug from the kitchen—much more easily replaced than the second seahorse candlestick, but every bit as heavy—just in case.

Robert still hadn’t moved by the time I’d finished, but I hadn’t managed to hit him
that
hard. I needed to move fast. Still, I didn’t feel quite confident enough to leave him, so I dragged the living room sofa over and set it on top of his legs. He’d be able to shove it off or wriggle out from beneath it, but it would slow him down and I wouldn’t be gone long.

Then I locked the door behind me and ran like hell to the Mayor’s apartment, hoping against hope that she hadn’t yet left for the party. Fortunately, I caught her just as she was leaving, taking her by surprise.

“Rory? What are you doing here? Is
that
what you’re wearing to the party?”

Choosing to ignore her tone of disbelief, I went straight to the point. “I need you to come back to my place with me. Robert tried to kill me, and now he’s tied up under my sofa.” As explanations went, it wasn’t my best.

“Rory, are you feeling okay?” Not even trying to hide her concern, she reached out to check my forehead for fever and I winced as she grazed my bruised temple.

“Hey, careful there. My head had an unplanned date with my bathroom wall.”

Her expression changed to one of comic disbelief. “Holy shit, you’re serious about Robert? Well, alright then.” She turned and locked the door behind her, dropping her keys into an embroidered bag I recognized as Ms. B’s work. “Lead the way.”

Though I’d worried that Robert might somehow have escaped while I was gone, he was right where I’d left him. In fact, his unconsciousness seemed to have morphed into naptime—complete with snoring. Carefully closing the door behind us, I gestured to my uninvited guest so that the mayor could take it all in.