To Have: Vampire Assassin League #19

To Have

by Jackie Ivie

A Vampire Assassin League Novella

“We Kill for Profit”

1
9
th in series

Copyright 2014, Jackie Ivie

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portion thereof, in any form. This book may not be resold or uploaded for distribution to others.

This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Katie won again. Isn’t it exciting?

Oh boy! Wow! It is way more than exciting! I can’t tell you how thrilled I am for her! Tell her for me! Whoopee!!!

Evie had it all typed out before pressing the delete button. It didn’t help. Nothing much did.
Oh. Wait.
There was still satisfaction to be had from pressing the power button with fervor. Maybe her grandmother was right after all. Maybe the new generation would never know the satisfaction of slamming a telephone receiver down. Evie shoved the little smart-ass-phone into her beaded evening bag, before snapping the clasp shut. There was just enough room for it next to her ID, and only because she had a prepaid credit card, a twenty-dollar bill, and a condom pack secured in the pouch that she’d tucked into the back of her panties.

A girl couldn’t be too careful.

And she
was
going to The Rocking Horse.

It was all so stupid. She didn’t want to be in competition with her sister. It made her jealous. She almost disliked Katie, and that wasn’t fair. Evie loved her little sister. She did. She’d loved her ever since she was born, and especially when she got old enough to attend tea parties. There were only two of them in the family, after all. And they might be three years apart, but they were almost identical. Their father always made a point of showing their pictures to just about everyone, saying he couldn’t ask for two more beautiful girls. But it wasn’t a surprise. Their mother had been a runner-up for Miss New Jersey. And she never forgot it.

Or let anyone else forget it, either.

Both of her daughters favored her. Same long, dark-blond hair. Same greenish-blue eyes. Same willowy figure. Katie had gained an inch and a half in height on Evie back in early adolescence, but that was no reason she was so successful where her sister failed.

Evie forced herself to look out the window again. They were almost there. She had an appointment with destiny tonight. She couldn’t afford to be envious, or off her game, or anything other than gracious, and charming, and stunning. That’s why she’d worked out at the gym for weeks now, lived on rabbit food, paid for a spray tan, bought heels that cost a month’s rent, charged a designer mini that exceeded even that, wore hair extensions along with half a can of insta-freeze hairspray, had top-of-the-line false eyelashes glued to her eyelids...good night. The list of purchases for this one night was almost endless.

And why?

Because now, for the first time, she knew she could win.

Despite Mom and Dad.

The parental units had decided to put all their eggs in one basket with Katie. They’d written off Evie’s chances of winning the Miss New Jersey crown back when she turned twenty-one, like she was over the hill or something.

She was being ungenerous, and she knew it.

Her parents had their reasons. The pageant circuit was expensive, mind-consuming, and a drain of time and energy. The only pay-off was a title. Evie had been entered in the same pageants, but where she’d taken fourth in Miss Morristown, third in Miss Casino Days, and was runner up twice in Miss Raritan Canal Days, Kate had won them. Why...Katie had even been runner-up in the Miss Teen New Jersey contest.

And then, Evie had to factor in the press her sister had recently received from Paris. That was absolute overkill. Katie had gone to study at the Louvre with a class of fellow art students, they’d taken a tour into the Catacombs of Paris, and they’d gotten lost. One girl was still missing. Some news outlets reported that she might never be found. Katie hadn’t been rescued for two days. Mom and Dad had both flown there, and the entire reunion had been filmed and then it had gone viral. Katie had come out looking scared, and young, and miraculously radiant.

No wonder she’d just won Miss Jersey Shore.

Evie’s shoulders dropped slightly. Nothing on the dress moved an inch. That’s because it was taped into place. Couldn’t show this much cleavage without a wardrobe malfunction, otherwise. She shouldn’t let it bother her that Katie had just won another title. She shouldn’t listen to the little seed of self-doubt that kept trying to germinate and grow. So, her little sister was now Miss Jersey Shore.
So what?
Make that another whoopee, and add a candle on top.

Having a little sister that won every contest she entered was the epitome of how to feel inadequate. But not this time. Evie hadn’t told anybody her plans. All she’d needed was a sponsor. And tonight was the night to get one. She’d planned everything down to the last detail. She couldn’t afford to blow this. She had to be confident. Outgoing. Self-assured. Perfect. It hadn’t been easy to find a sponsor through the internet. But she’d done it. She was meeting Jared Goldstein. President and CEO of some company. Mega millionaire with bucks to burn, and maybe he wanted a beauty queen on his portfolio. Or on his arm.

Evie straightened her shoulders, turned her head, and checked her image in the mirror that ran full-length along the roof, slanted so she could see the action on this leather couch. Or lack of action. She smirked. Her reflection gave the same expression. She’d never looked better. She was ready. She’d spent hours in the bathroom this evening to achieve this look. It was almost show time. And she looked incredible.

Look out destiny. Here I come
.

They must be expecting a big act, or something. The Rocking Horse was known for showcasing talent, both established, and new. The limo slid through the clogged street with ease. That’s what came of having Mister Goldstein orchestrating everything. Cameras were going off as the driver opened her door. Evie concentrated on sliding elegantly from the seat to perch on her five-and-a-half inch platform heels, before turning to smile for the paparazzo. That was stupid. The blizzard of flashbulbs made it impossible to see clearly. She blinked a few times, turned toward the club, sucked in her belly, put her shoulders straight, and focused on the back of some guy’s head until her eyes cleared.

She was expected. Met at the awning she had to duck beneath, and then escorted to a section near the back. Good thing. The Rocking Horse was packed. Loud music sent waves of bass through the crowd from the live band. And Jared Goldstein was a short fellow with a receding hairline, clammy fingers that touched more than once on her elbow, and thick glasses.

She was being ungenerous again. He wasn’t truly short, it’s just she was over six feet in these heels and had a good view of just about everything and everyone. Very few were her height in the entire club. Maybe...a dozen guys, a couple of women, and one really tall person who was probably a drag queen. And he/she had done a fantastic job with their makeup. Evie touched glances with him/her before moving on, scanning the tops of heads, barely listening to what Mister Goldstein said and where he touched.

A flash of something caught her eye. Another one followed it. Evie tipped her chin back surreptitiously to check. There was an impression of blur. Like...something had just been there and was now gone. Weird. She hadn’t been in this club before, but she didn’t remember it being haunted. It must have been a trick of the lighting. And her eyes. And any lingering effect from the flashbulbs.

~ ~ ~

Oh.
Ahura Mazda
. Great god of gods. This couldn’t be happening.

Not here.

Not now!

Daron clung to the wall in a dark corner, just below the ceiling. He hadn’t aimed for this section. He’d been flung there by shock. Amazement. Wonder. Fear. He, who’d spent over two millennia in a deadened state, was actually stuck to a wall, listening to his heart beat in rhythm with the drums in this place. It wasn’t possible. The last thing he’d expected had just happened to him. His mate had walked in.

Just. Like. That.

She still stood there, dressed in less than he wore, giving everyone a very good view of her woman curves, long legs, a perfect bosom. He would never allow a woman in public in such an outfit. Nor would he allow her to be in Jared Goldstein’s company. The man was on the prowl for wife number three and he was touching her skin every so often, in an intimate-looking fashion. Each time it sent blood to Daron’s head and eye sockets with a thud. Everything that was jealous and male and confrontational in him was becoming a problem.

And that was the least of it.

His assignment had just gotten complicated by an exponential degree. It wasn’t the hit that was the problem. That guy was easy. Jared Goldstein was CEO and owner of several payday advance places that appeared to over-charge his customers. He had enemies just about everywhere. And he had a wife. His second. He changed them out when they approached mid-thirties. The current Missus Goldstein actually resembled the goddess standing beside Jared...but she was older. Apparently Jared Goldstein liked them young. And he liked his money. He’d had his current wife sign a prenuptial agreement when they’d wed. It was iron-clad. Unalterable. Only one thing would nullify it: widowhood.

Stupid fellow.

Daron shook his head, trying to clear it. He focused on his mate for the smallest moment. She wasn’t hard to spot. She was his height...maybe even taller. And she was stunning. It was almost as if they’d put a spotlight on her. This must have been foreordained. Why else would he be here? Right now? He’d taken this assignment because he’d been bored. It sounded entertaining. Time-consuming. He liked toying with his victims. Watching them. Following them. He’d had Jared in his sights for over a week now. Shadowing him. Looking for weak spots. The guy had plenty. Jared made enemies. And he had two of the most inept bodyguards Daron had ever seen. He could have ended this assignment and gone home days ago. But he’d stalled. Even tonight, it would have been easy to stick a blade into his side and disappear in this crowd.

But now, just like that, things took a huge turn toward disastrous. Daron moved his attention back to the young, sweaty guy in the buttoned-up trench coat.

Jared Goldstein wasn’t the trouble at the moment.

It was the guy with the bomb.

Daron had noticed him the moment he started muttering. Following Goldstein for days now made Daron’s ears alert and sensitive to the name. The lean, young, overdressed fellow who’d been muttering the name had ducked into a men’s room. He hadn’t seen Daron follow and perch on a john in a stall, watching him in the mirror. Nobody would have. Lack of reflection was a decided plus tonight. The guy had been checking straps and adjusting his coat over a small homemade bomb, and he’d been muttering about Goldstein the entire time.
Ah
. It appeared Daron’s assigned hit was going to be a bit messier than his usual...and a lot more interesting. He had a suicide bomber with Jared Goldstein in his sights. Who was Daron to interfere? Jared might deserve this kind of exit from life.

And then this happened.

Her.

By the grace of the gods, she was gorgeous, too. He darted a glance to where she stood, posed as if on stage...way too close to Goldstein, and directly in the path of the bomber. She looked in his direction right then, and narrowed her eyes slightly, shadowing her cheeks from what looked like amazingly lush lashes. Was it possible? Had she...
felt
him?

His newly awakened heart ticked up a beat, while a tremor ran down his frame. He could feel a tremor? Wonder stained him at the thought. And then the suicide fellow made his move.

“Jared Goldstein! You bastard! Welcome to Hell!”

There was a hiss of sound. A spark. A massive surge of light. And Daron beat the explosion by a hairsbreadth of time. He slammed into his mate, encircling her even as fire surrounded them. It crackled in his ears, sent pain shooting up his back. His jacket was on fire. His shirt. His head-wrap called a
ghotra.
The explosion sent them hurtling through a concrete wall that burst with the bomb’s reverberation. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t think. All he could do was feel...and
damn everything
. He’d forgotten pain felt this bad.

Another moment and they’d reach the ocean. If he made it. His back was becoming a fireball of agony, a thousand times worse than anything he remembered. And then they were there. Daron slammed into the waves. And he took her with him.