Blood Games

“I’m going to send the van,” he said. “We’ll stay a couple of blocks away, but I want to be nearby if anything goes wrong.”



Relief surged through me. I didn’t want my grandfather in the middle of this war, but I was glad to know he’d be close. “Thanks, Grandpa. We’ll keep you posted.”



“Do, Merit. And good luck to you.”



* * *



I messaged Jonah about our plan, and advised the group about our backup Ombuddies. Half an hour later, Victor’s team stood in our foyer: three muscled men in black thermal shirts and fatigue pants.



One stood in front of the others, his skin deeply tanned, his shoulders broad, his waist narrow. His nose was a hawkish wedge above a dark, full beard. Two other men stood beside him with nearly the same coloring. I’d have guessed they were brothers, and considering their physiques, they certainly had the look of special forces soldiers.



“Ethan Sullivan,” he said, moving forward with an outstretched hand.



“Ryan,” said the man in front. He gestured toward his team. “Cord, Max. Victor indicated you’d spoken.” Ryan’s voice carried a faint accent that I would have pegged as Texan.



Ethan nodded, then gestured to us. “Malik, Second. Lindsey, guard, and Merit, Sentinel. Our captain, Luc, is pulling plans for the hotel.”



“Excellent,” Ryan said. “And it’s nice to meet you. Is there a place we can talk?”



“My office,” Ethan said, and led us back there. A tray of bottled water and blood had been brought in and now sat in the middle of the conference table.



“Help yourselves,” Ethan said, pointing to it, “if you need to refresh.”



Luc walked in with paper in hand. Recognizing that the team had been assembled, he closed the door behind him, spread the paper on the table.



Ryan extended a hand and introduced himself and his team.



Luc responded in kind, then looked at Ethan. “Darius is in the Burnham suite on the twenty-seventh floor. It’s the penthouse.”



“How’d you confirm that?” Ethan asked.



“The elevator Darius used—it’s private, only goes to one floor.”



“Private elevator,” Ryan said, looking over the plans. “Tricky to only have one exit, but handy in reducing collateral civilian damage.”



“Yes, and my thoughts exactly. Civilian damage is not an option.” Luc flipped around the paper and pointed to a layout of the hotel’s first floor. “Private elevator’s the first in the bank of elevators.” He pointed to the back of the hotel, where a loading dock and staff entrances were situated. “There’s a route from the back entrance—a staff hallway—that opens onto the main floor just behind the private elevator.”



“Could be a guard on the elevator,” Ryan said.



Luc nodded. “Wasn’t one earlier tonight, but that doesn’t mean the muscle hasn’t wised up.” He pointed at the vendor entrance. “We’ll want bodies here to secure the exit, someone to handle the man on the elevator and guard it until we come down, and a team to go upstairs.”



“And when we get there?” Ethan asked, moving around to stand behind Luc and get a better look at the floor plan.



“The suite has five rooms—living room with a kitchen area, two bedrooms, two bathrooms. We can divide up, check the rooms.”



“In addition to securing Darius,” Ethan said, “we’ll want to look for the papers that might have been in that portfolio. We’ll assume it was related to the monetary transfers, but let’s be certain if we can.”



Ryan nodded. “We make this as quick as possible, with minimal collateral damage. We find him, evaluate him, and get him out. Violence only if necessary. Darius West is still our king.”



“Understood,” Ethan said. “But you’ll have heard from Victor, and we verified today that he’s under the influence of someone, or something. He may not act like your king tonight, but your enemy.”



“Yeah,” Ryan said. “And that’s really pissing me off.” He looked at each of us. “I understand you’ve got politics to consider. I propose we go in first, your team behind. My man will take out the guard on the elevator; you assign people to secure the escape route.”



Ethan looked to Luc, who nodded. “Lindsey and I will take the exit, keep it secure. You and Merit take the penthouse; you know Darius better.”



“Max, you’ll have the elevator,” Ryan said. “Cord and I will go up with Merit and Ethan. We’ve got weapons, if you’d like to use them.”



“We have an arsenal,” Luc said, “but we’re katana people. Especially in a public place where bullets won’t be friendly—katanas are our comfort zone.”



Ryan nodded. “We prefer handguns, but we’re cognizant of the risks. We’ll be careful around your humans.”



The deal was sealed, earpieces were passed out, and nerves began to build.



* * *



Cord, Ryan, and Max were clearly men with experience, savvy, technical know-how.



They were also men who’d driven to Cadogan House in a white panel van with MINELLI’S CATERING stenciled along the side.



Luc looked at it, hands on his hips. “Minelli’s Catering?”



Cord pulled open the side door, rolled it back so we could get in. “People are less suspicious—they poke around a lot less—when we’ve got vinyl on the van.”



“Good plan,” Luc said. “I guess food comforts people.”



Lindsey slid me a sideways glance.



“No snark on an op,” I reminded with a pointed finger, and climbed inside.



* * *



The ride was quiet, intense. Nervous magic filled the small space, as our seven-person team prepared to liberate a Master vampire—the master of them all—from his magical captivity in the penthouse of a Chicago hotel.



What could go wrong there? For starters, we could be injured or killed, we could hurt civilians, we could piss off the GP even further.



I glanced at Ethan. One arm was crossed over his chest; the other rubbed the bridge of his nose as he stared out the front window. What did he think about at times like this? Darius? His challenge? The House and its vampires? All of those things, probably, tempered by the secret he was holding and the adrenaline that was probably beginning to flow as the operation drew nearer.



I tucked my arm through his, leaned my head against his shoulder. We weren’t yet balanced, but for now, we’d be unconditional allies.



* * *



Thirty minutes later, we pulled into the service area behind the Portman Grand. It was late—too late for parties—and not early enough for the next day’s food deliveries. Another bit of luck for us.



The Cabot team, Luc, and Lindsey climbed out of the van.



“A minute,” I said, putting a hand on Ethan’s arm, keeping him inside until the vehicle was empty.



“Is there anything else I need to know before we go in there?”



Ethan’s eyes flattened. “About?”



“That note.”



This time, his eyes flashed. “No.”



I watched him for a moment, gauged his honesty. That he wouldn’t offer more—explain more—knifed at my gut, but I believed that it wasn’t relevant to today.



“Okay,” I said. “Be careful out there. Don’t play the hero.”



A corner of his mouth lifted just slightly. “Don’t I usually give you that speech?”



“You do. But this is my turn.” I put my hands on his face. We’d hardly talked today, hadn’t had time or, considering our current issues, the inclination. But I wanted—needed—a moment to look at him, to see his face.



“You’re mine as much as you are the House’s. Whatever stands between us right now, I prefer you in one piece.”



His eyes softened, and he leaned forward, pressed his lips to mine, offered a slow and lingering kiss. “Let’s both be careful. And let’s both get out of this car, because people are beginning to stare.”



I looked up, found Luc peering, narrow eyed, into the tinted windows. He tapped on the glass. “Let’s go, Romeo and Juliet.”



“Let’s get out before he starts quoting Die Hard again,” Ethan said.



A solid choice.



I stepped outside into the cool air, belted on my katana, adjusted my ponytail. The Cabot House guys inserted daggers into their boots and pulled on shoulder harnesses for handguns. When everyone was outfitted and weaponized, we circled together.



“We go in,” Ryan said, “and we look like we belong.”



“Cover?” Cord asked.



Luc smiled. “I’ve got this one. He’s in the penthouse suite, so the staff know who he is. They’ll have been briefed.” He gestured at his clothes. “We’re vampires, with swords. We’re part of his security detail. Anyone questions you—question them back.”



“Nice,” Ryan said, and he and Luc exchanged manly nods of approval, already the best of friends.



“And now that we’ve honored the bromance,” Cord said with a wide grin, “let’s get this under way.”



We formed a line, moved swiftly and silently to the vendor door. Ryan, Max, and Cord, then me and Ethan, Luc and Lindsey.



Adrenaline rushed through me, and fear evaporated. We were here now. There was no turning back, no running scared. Most important, there was no more waiting, only forward progress. It felt glorious to move, to act, to concentrate on the task at hand.



Your vampire is showing, Sentinel, Ethan said, with what I took to be awe in his voice.



Waiting is the hardest part, I responded. I may not be a great fighter, not yet, but I’ll be damned if the op’s not better than the anticipation.



Spoken like a soldier, he said.



After a year of training, I’d better sound like one.



The lock on the vendor door was busted; the door opened easily. Fist raised to keep us still, Ryan eased the door open, looked inside, then motioned us forward.



We slipped into the hallway behind him, left Luc at the exit to guard the van, ensure we had a way to get out if things went bad.



The staff hallway was unburdened by décor or color: drab gray walls, drab gray floor. Easy to clean, but nothing to look at. The hallway branched several times here and there, and I wished I’d brought flags—or bread crumbs—to mark the way.



We followed Ryan in silence, stopping at another raised fist. He pointed toward the door we’d reached, LOBBY stenciled in all caps across the gray steel.



Ryan pointed to Lindsey, then at the ground, signaling her to stay here, to protect this portion of our escape route. She nodded, her expression as steely eyed as that of the man in fatigues who was leading us. Lindsey might have been high maintenance, but she was a soldier to the bone.



I waited until our eyes met, mouthed, “Good luck,” to her.



She winked in response.



Ryan pulled open the door, peered into the lobby, then signaled with his index finger. One guard on the elevator.



He was Max’s responsibility.



As Ryan held the door, Max slipped into the hallway. My heart thudded in my ears, thunderously loud, as we stood in the dim hallway, waited for our sign.



There was a soft thud, a soft shuffle, and Max’s back appeared in the doorway again, pulling the man on the elevator into the hallway. His breathing was heavy but steady, his head rolling on his neck as Max dragged his deadweight into a service area. Ethan helped Max zip-tie his hands and feet, then pull him into a corner near gas and plumbing access pipes. If our luck held, he’d stay there, conked, until we were long gone.



And now that the man was down, it was our turn to act.



Ryan pulled open the door again, mere centimeters this time, watched the lobby as footsteps sounded, passed. And then, as fast as lightning, he signaled, and we moved. Single file, one after another, silently from the hallway door to the bank of elevators. Ryan pulled a black card from his pocket, flashed it over the access panel, and the doors to the private car slid open.



We funneled in behind him, and Max flashed a thumbs-up, watching the doors close just before the elevator whisked us up and away.



Pop music played cheerily in the elevator as the lights above the door flashed the floor numbers.



“So the Cubs,” Ryan said, scratching absently at a spot on his shoulder. “Good team this year, or . . . ?”



Ethan nudged me gently. “Um, yeah, solid,” I said. “We’ve got a pretty deep lineup right now. You a Yankees fan?”



“Go, Yanks,” Ryan said.



“Yanks rule all,” Cord said behind him, with the staccato tone of a military man.



I shook my head. “And just when I was beginning to like you two.”



The floors ticked upward. Twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five . . .



“Ready,” Ryan said, and the elevator dinged, the door sliding open, revealing a spacious foyer with a marble floor and a wall of windows that overlooked the lake.



A man in jeans and a sport coat, another unfamiliar guard, jumped up from a stool beside the elevator, pivoted to face us.



“Hey, Jack, did you remember the drinks? Fucking minibar’s—”



He stopped short, realizing we weren’t the other guards, who’d apparently gone on a food run.



“Shit,” he said, reaching clumsily inside his jacket for a weapon, but Ryan was prepared—and Ryan was faster. He swept the man’s legs, unbalanced him, and snagged him in a chokehold.



He’s really efficient, I silently told Ethan, as he flipped and zip-tied guard number two.



And remarkably quiet, Ethan said. I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment—or a concern.