Read an Excerpt
“I need your help.”
Dakota Carrington glanced up from wiping the bar off with a wet rag. He placed his hands on the counter in front of him, making his biceps bulge out against the tight cotton of his shirt. His sparkling blue eyes pierced Brock in place. “You know the price.”
Brock stared at his long time acquaintance for what felt like an hour before he finally ended up on a barstool requesting whatever was on tap. “We’ve known each other for what, two years now? Can’t I get a freebie every once and a while?”
Dakota poured the beer and slid it down the bar. “Where would be my fun in that?”
Brock stopped the glass before it passed him and circled the base with his hands. “It’s personal this time.”
Brock didn’t know what he wanted from Dakota. He might not even be able to help Brock in the end, but after hearing the news of his mother, Dakota was the first person Brock thought of, and he found himself in front of him asking for help. Brock lifted the glass mug to his lips and drank a large portion of the contents.
“I get off around ten. Meet me at my place then and we’ll talk.” Dakota picked up Brock’s beer and wiped the ring of moisture beneath it. “This is hardly the place for conversation.”
Brock nodded. Dakota went about his business taking care of the other customers, leaving Brock alone to finish his drink. It’d been two years since their first romantic encounter, and every time their eyes met, Brock still felt the punch of lust straight to his gut. He drank his beer and studied the crowd. For a vampire slayer, a vampire bar was the perfect place to pick up on gossip.
The Death Bill this time had his mother’s name on it. Victoria Harte’s name was scrolled in fancy script on the blood-ridden paper, and it was his duty to carry through with the order. Brock finished his beer and ordered another one. He wasn’t ready to leave just yet. He knew problems were never solved by drowning his sorrows, but in all the years he’d hunted the bloodsuckers of the universe, he’d never been so torn over a Death Bill.
Dakota eyed him strangely as he delivered the second mug and wiped the bar down again, stalling. “Is it that bad?”
Brock said nothing and tipped the glass to his lips. Of all his contacts over the years, Dakota was the only one he trusted fully. Granted, they had their disputes and made their own terms. They also had their own items of blackmail against each other, but they never faltered on loyalty. If they promised the other they’d do something, they did. There was never any doubt.
Brock pulled out his wallet and threw a twenty on the bar. “Ten?”
Dakota nodded and grabbed the money with one hand and the empty glass with the other. It didn’t matter what he asked Brock to pay for his help this time. He’d pay triple if it meant his mother got to live. The scary part of it, though, was the uncertainty of whether or not Dakota would help.