Samantha Moon: First Eight Novels, Plus One Novella (69 page)

The bartender lingered briefly, certain that something strange had gone on, but then moved further down the bar to take an order, glancing at me a final time.

Way to stay inconspicuous, Sam. Easy, girl.

With the excitement over and alone once again, I closed my eyes and went through the previous steps and cast my thoughts outward.

And they continued outward until they reached the far end of the casino. I went through a double door and into an exclusive poker room. And sitting near the poker table was a dead ringer for public enemy #1, Mr. Carl Luck.

Whose luck might have just run out.

Hey, I had to say it.

As an experiment, I cast my thoughts even further out, up through the hotel, floor after floor, but there seemed to be a limit to this. The further I got, the more scattered my thoughts were.

I retracted them, this time not so violently, and opened my eyes. When I had steadied myself, I plunked down a $10 bill, got up, and headed for the far side of the casino.

To the poker room.

Chapter Fifty-two

Feeling as if I had done this before, I wove my way past roulette tables and blackjack tables, and past tables of made-up games I had never heard before. Games like Flash Poker and Three-Card Texas Slam.

Okay, now they’re just making stuff up.

As I walked, I was aware that a lot of flesh was showing and a part of me didn’t entirely mind. A steady diet of blood, staying out of the sun, and my own nighttime jogs had done wonders for my body. The ultimate Atkins Diet. I was still naturally curvy, but a petite curvy. Petite and now roped with muscle.

Some men looked. Some women did, too. I wasn’t the sexiest or prettiest woman here, not by a long shot, but I suspected I projected a certain presence. What that presence was, I didn’t know. Confidence? Blood lust?

Soon, I reached the far corner of the casino, where I wasn’t too surprised to see the same double doors there. There were two guys—both Native American—standing just outside the open doors, and I suspected they would have stopped most people. But I put on my best “don’t fuck with me” look and they simply blinked and smiled and let me through.

And as I swept through, I wondered: Had they let me in because of my “don’t fuck with me look” or something else?

What that something was, I didn’t know. But the words “mind control” came to mind.

Too weird.

I surveyed the room. Definitely high rollers. Seven men were seated around the table, no women. Two of the men were wearing Arab
keffiyehs
. Another was wearing a white cowboy hat, and the remaining four were a mix of ethnicities. All were dressed immaculately. None noticed me. All were intent on the dealer who was currently shuffling. A few more security types stood around the room, all of them Native American. The casino’s own security, no doubt. There were a handful of plush chairs surrounding the main poker table, and these were filled with babes. Various hookers, no doubt. And at a private bar on the far side of the room sat Carl Luck, wearing shades and drinking a draft beer. He was watching the game intently.

My heart slammed against a rib or two. My first instinct was to fly across the room and slam his face into the bar, and keep slamming it until he told me where Maddie was.

Calm down. Deep breaths.

Instead, I crossed the big room as calmly as I could and found a stool next to Carl Luck.

* * *

He was a big man. Not as big as some of the other men in my life, but he was certainly up there. Other than glancing at me from over his shades, Carl did little to acknowledge me. The thick black man smelled of nice cologne. His shiny, mottled boots were ostrich skin. His maroon leather jacket fit him perfectly. If I had to guess, I would say Carl Luck had recently come into a lot of money. The man in the picture at McDonald’s had been nowhere near as slick.

“Who’s winning?” I asked innocently.

Carl slowly turned his shiny head. Nothing else moved. He was leaning one elbow on the counter. His elbow looked exceptionally sharp. His eyes were hidden behind the cool shades.

“Captain Jack’s up,” he said. His deep-throated voice was as smooth as smooth gets. He sounded like a radio talk show host. The kind women swoon for.

“
Always better to be up than down, I say.” Except I didn’t know what the hell I was talking about.

Carl looked at me but said nothing, although I could hear his nasally breathing from here. One of his nostrils was backed up.

Gee, I wonder why.

“
Who’s Captain Jack?” I asked.

“
Cowboy hat.”

“
Of course. Should have figured that one out.”

Carl turned back to the game. Once again, only his head moved. Nothing else. Correction. His jaw tightened a little. I was making him nervous.

He’s wondering who the hell I am.

Good question. This was an exclusive, high-stakes room that I really had no business being in—and no real reason for being here.

Other than to find Maddie.

Someone from the table whooped loudly. Captain Jack. He yanked off his hat and waved it like a cowboy riding a bucking bronco. A whole mass of chips just got pushed his way. He whooped again.

Next to me, Carl grinned slightly.

He’s with Captain Jack, I thought.

One white and one black,
said little Maddie.

“
Do you play?” I asked.

“
Hell no.”

“
Why not?”

“
It’s a two hundred and fifty thou buy-in.”

“
More than my house.”

“
More than most houses.”

“
I bet they fly these guys in,” I said. “I heard some hotels do that.”

“
Shit. They roll out the red carpet for these brothers. Fly them in, bring them women, and anything else they want.”

“
What else could they want?”

“
Anything.”

I nodded. Carl was tense. Very tense. The cords along his neck were throbbing. His hands opened and closed. Waves of apprehension emanated from him.

I said, “Free hotel room. Free everything, I bet.”

“
Yeah, something like that,” he said. He turned his back to me.

So Carl and Captain Jack were staying here. And now Carl was shutting down and I didn’t want to push it.

“Well, the nickel slot machines are calling my name,” I said.

But Carl didn’t acknowledge me as I left, although I could feel his eyes on me as I crossed the room and exited through the double doors.

Chapter Fifty-three

I leaned a shoulder against a smooth wall and exhaled a billowing plume of gray smoke. I was standing just inside a narrow hallway that led to the casino’s bathrooms and public phones. From here, I had a good view of the double doors of the exclusive parlor.

I inhaled deeply, filling my lungs to the maximum. Smoking did nothing for me. No smoker’s high. Nothing. No nicotine addiction. Nothing. For me, smoking was a purely voluntary act. It was one of the few things that I could do without a violent reaction. So I did it because I could.

The good thing about casinos is that you can smoke in them. The good thing about being a vampire is that you don’t get lung cancer.

At least, that’s what they tell me. And by
they
, I mean Fang. The man was my sole source for all things vampiric.

I found myself grinning thinking about the Toothless Wonder. Toothless because his canines had been removed. His dogteeth, as they are sometimes called.

His
vampire
teeth.

Interesting thing about that, since my own teeth had never once changed size or shape in the six years since I’d been unwillingly recruited into the creature of the night club. Admittedly, it made sense that longer canine teeth would aid a vampire. Of course, so would a hypodermic needle. Longer teeth aided creatures who hunted with their mouth, those who didn’t have the benefit of hands or weapons. Longer teeth latched onto prey, held it down. Longer teeth aided in tearing into the flesh.

I couldn’t eat flesh. I needed only a steady flow of blood to be sustained. I didn’t need to kill other creatures, either.

A voluntary source would be adequate.

A donor.

These thoughts were new to me. They were revolutionary. They made me look at myself differently.

I didn’t have to kill.

I only had to drink.

Of course, I received my supply of blood from a local butchery, so I didn’t kill. But the blood was also disgusting and mixed with hundreds of other creatures, some of which might very well be diseased or sick.

All mixed in a big bloody soup for yours truly to enjoy night after night.

But it didn’t have to be that way, did it? All I needed was a steady source.

I thought of Fang. I also thought of his request.

Make me a vampire.

I inhaled again, squinting through the smoke even though it didn’t really hurt my eyes. The room beyond the double doors was still quiet. A few people passed in and out, but not Carl Luck or Captain Jack.

Jesus, had Fang proposed to me tonight? I mean, he had taken my hand and said he wanted to be with me for all eternity.

A proposal if I’d ever heard one.

Wow.

I dashed out my cigarette in a glass ash tray around the corner, then went back to my post just inside the hallway. I would think about Fang’s proposal later. At the moment, Fang’s proposal was way down on my list.

High on my list was the grim realization that I was certain—dead certain—that I was going to kill two men tonight.

Thirty minutes later, a group of wealthy men emerged from the parlor room. Only one looked particularly cheerful, a tall man wearing a
keffiyeh
. Captain Jack, who followed behind, looked like he was in a sour mood.

Carl Luck slapped him on his back reassuringly, and the two men headed off toward a bank of elevators.

Vaders.

Chapter Fifty-four

Fifteen minutes later, I took the elevator up to the upper suites.

The luxury suites. The high rollers suites. Suites where the big boys stayed with their big bucks. Suites that were spacious enough that you probably couldn’t hear someone scream. Especially a little girl.

I set my jaw as the elevator doors opened. My purse was still over my shoulder. Cool air met me in the spacious hallway. I could turn right or left. I automatically turned right, feeling my way.

The hallway was lined with polished tables and flowers. I doubted the other floors had polished tables and flowers. The doors here were recessed deep in the walls and inlaid with brass relief designs. The designs were, you guessed it, eagle feathers. The doors, I saw, were also designed for security. Although the reliefs were in brass, the doors themselves were made of steel.

I continued down the hall, guided entirely by my sixth sense. As I made a right turn, a small buzzing began just inside my eardrum. And the further I walked down the hallway, the louder the buzzing became.

I found myself staring at one recessed doorway in particular. It was on my left and it looked like all the others.

Except it didn’t
feel
like all the others. I was drawn to it, and even as I was drawn to it, my innate warning system—the buzzing in my ears—grew louder and louder.

There’s danger here.
             

The gilded door gleamed dully in the muted lights. I was alone in the hallway. I couldn’t hear a sound, and my hearing was damn good.

Still, my head buzzed; my skin prickled.

Behind this door was a terrified little girl—the same little girl who had been calling me these past few days.

The steel door might as well have been a vault door. The hotel gave its exalted guests a lot of security and privacy.

Too much privacy.

The door would have multiple locks, including a deadbolt and no doubt another one elsewhere. Maybe near the floor or ceiling. This wasn’t your standard hotel door. Up here, on this floor, nothing was standard.

Sometimes I wondered how strong I really was. It’s not an easy thing to test, unless you want to draw attention to yourself. A few years back, while out jogging, I paused next to an old Volkswagen Beetle. On a whim, I reached down, felt underneath, and then lifted it three feet off the ground.

A few weeks ago I had punched through a bulletproof prison glass and nearly killed a man.