With his shoulder on the mend, his carnal needs momentarily sated, and Alexis’s blood recharging him as only a good meal can, Ronan geared up. He still had a lot of aggression to work out, and while sex had taken the edge off, it wasn’t what he needed to finish the job.
Which meant he was heading to the South Side.
And what better place to work out what ailed him than Chicago’s South Side? Haven of drug lords, turf wars, and enough gang violence to make a vigilante thief like him cop one hell of an adrenaline rush. If you wanted to hurt someone, the South Side was the place to do it without worrying about the local authorities. Hell, the CPD would probably thank him if they knew he was responsible for taking down some of Chicago’s worst habitual offenders, even if all his kills were destined for the cold case files.
AKM, on the other hand, wouldn’t be as eager to write him a happy little thank-you card. The pansy-assed enforcement agency Micah worked for had to follow certain rules. Rules that bound their hands, preventing them from taking down law-defiling humans, or from shutting down a dreck’s cobalt-dealing enterprise permanently . . . due to the untimely death of the its blue-blooded proprietor, for example. As a free agent vigilante, Ronan could issue such life-ending cease and desist notices.
For every vampire who got hooked on the blue shit, the vampire race became that much easier to defeat. If nothing was done, it was only a matter of time before the power balance shifted and drecks claimed the upper hand.
And if that happened, God help the human race.
Not all drecks were bad, but the leadership was, and the dreck race would do what the leader wanted. And if Premier Royce wanted to exterminate humans or turn them into slaves, the rest of his race would have no choice but to comply.
That’s where Ronan’s special, self-appointed vigilante status came in. Micah had to follow protocol, Ronan didn’t. He was Robin Hood. Green Arrow. Batman and Robin. He put on his mask, hit the streets, and took out the trash. If said trash ended up dead along the way, so much the better. He was making the world a better place, not playing footsies with political correctness.
Ronan exited the closet, cinching a leather belt around his waist. He was dressed all in black and had one of his skull masks tucked under his good arm. He kept a few changes of clothes at Alexis’s place. Like everything else about them, it was just simpler that way, especially when they worked—and played—together as often as they did.
Alexis sat in the center of the bed, the sheet draped over her lap, her breasts shamelessly exposed. “You coming back here when you’re done?”
“I can if you want me to?” He wouldn’t mind spending the day with her. Nobody knew about their relationship, not even his father, so he didn’t have to worry about anyone tracking him down here. He could hide out at her place for a day or two and have a little fun, all while ensuring his loathsome family left him alone.
Alexis looked him up and down then shrugged one shoulder. “Sure, why not? It’s been a while since you tied me up.” Her mouth curled into a sexy smirk.
He grinned. “Then I’ll be back before dawn.” He took his mask out from under his arm. “Hey, do you have any more of that tincture? The one that hides my scent?”
She sighed, her eyes rolling as her head tilted to one side. “Are you out again?”
“Not yet, but I’m getting low.”
Making a tsking noise, she threw back the sheet, exposing her gloriously naked body as she swung her legs around and got to her feet. He stared at her slight but supple curves then followed her as she passed him and strolled back to her first aid kit, where she fished through the contents on the bottom.
Turning, she held out a small vial. “This is my last bottle until I can make more, so try to make it last.”
He plucked the tiny bottle from her hand and stashed it in his pocket. “Yes, Mom.”
“Ugh, I am not your mom.”
Cozying up to her, he set his mask on the table and slid his hand over her hip and around to her bare ass, where he gave her cheek a squeeze. “And thank God for that.” He pulled her hips forward as he pinched her nipple with his free hand, relishing the way it made her gasp sharply, and then released her. “Can I take your bike?” She had a kick-ass Kawasaki built for speed and agility. It would be a lot better for hunting targets than his Jeep.
With a lick of her lips and flushed cheeks—because, yeah, nipple play really did work that fast at turning her on—she took a step back and chucked her chin to where her spare keys hung on a rack on the wall. “Just don’t wreck it.”
He retrieved his mask, snatched the keys from the hook, and twirled the ring around his index finger, catching the keys with a jingle of metal on metal in his palm. “Where I’m going, I’d be more worried about it getting stolen.”
“Ro . . .”
He cradled her cheek in his palm, tucking his fingers into her hair. “I’m only kidding.” He pecked her on the lips. “I’ll keep it safe.”
“You’d better.”
Seconds later, he was out the garage door and slinging his leg over the saddle of one of the finest pieces of machinery he’d ever ridden as the bay door slowly crawled upward.
A turn of the key, the hungry whine of the engine . . .
Let the hunt begin.