The Den of Shadows Quartet - Amelia Atwater-Rhodes [131]
Turquoise shook her head. “Let’s avoid picking random targets until we know what’s up, okay?”
Ravyn shrugged dismissively not agreeing. “Once the job’s done, suppose I can steal her car?” the hunter asked. “Lamborghini Diablo … that thing’s worth three hundred thousand easy, half mil maybe.”
“Could we stick to the problem at hand?” Turquoise interrupted.
Ravyn gave her a look as if Turquoise were mad. “It’s a nice car. Besides, it’d be fun to figure out. I hear they’re almost impossible to steal. I prefer the black, but all things considered —”
“Ravyn.” Turquoise’s patience was at an end.
Ravyn glared back. “You are no fun.”
Turquoise debated strangling her detested partner, but elected to find sheets and make the top bed — Ravyn was still sitting on the bottom one — instead.
Ravyn finally acceded, standing and following Turquoise’s example. The sleepy expression she usually wore was gone. “Let’s see if Jeshickah is really planning to run Jaguar through. If she isn’t … Even unpaid, I wouldn’t mind putting a knife in the creature that runs the slave trade.” For the first time, Ravyn’s voice didn’t sound tailored.
“How’d you end up involved with the trade?”
Ravyn shrugged. “Wrong time, wrong place, wrong life. Stumbled across a vamp with a taste for exotics.” She said the words emotionlessly as if she were quoting.
Exotics. It sounded like a sign that should be in a pet store, advertising parrots or rare snakes. Hearing Ravyn apply it to herself was sickening. Knowing that Ravyn’s burgundy hair and eyes made the description appropriate was worse.
Still, condolences were out of place. There was no friendship between her and Ravyn, and likely never would be. “How’d you get out?”
Ravyn’s smirk returned. “Friends in low places,” she explained crisply. “I made a couple deals with vampires who hated Jared to begin with. They might not have stopped Jared from taking a two-by-four to me, but at least they didn’t stop me from slamming said beam into his skull before I put a knife in him.”
After that, Ravyn lost interest in talking except to ask for the top bed, which Turquoise gave up without much of a fight. She wouldn’t sleep well in either place.
CHAPTER 7
“I CAN’T BELIEVE I… I’m so stupid.” She took another large gulp of milk, trying to stop the tears.
“No you’re not,” her father argued. His face still held a look of dazed shock, as it had ever since the police had woken him in his hotel room nearly eight hours ago. “Listen to me, Cathy.”
She lifted puffy, crying eyes to her father.
“You’re Catherine Miriam Minate,” he said, as if that explained everything. “You’re proud, and you have every right to be. And no one — no one — can take that away from you unless you let them. You’re safe now,” he assured her. “You can’t let this creep have the satisfaction of hurting you. No one can make you a victim but yourself.”
She shook her head, remembering how dumb she had been. A strange city, a strange hotel, a strange guy … why had she trusted him? Even at home, she wouldn’t have let a stranger get so close, no matter how nice or cute he seemed.
Mr. Minate stood and hugged his daughter close. She could feel his fatigue and his fear. He knew the danger was over, but was still near to panic.
Turquoise had forgotten to consider one fact when planning their trip to Midnight: she was claustrophobic. Not terribly; she wouldn’t end up huddled, screaming, in a corner, but she hated to be stuck in one small room.
She alternated between napping and pacing. When she slept, she dreamed, and the dreams were rarely pleasant.
Asleep or awake, vivid memories of Lord Daryl’s manor assaulted her.
There had been four floors to the house. The top level had held the kitchens, laundry rooms, and quarters for Lord Daryl’s numerous common slaves. Turquoise had not been allowed there, but she had explored it once while Lord Daryl had been away. He had beaten her unconscious when he had returned.
The third floor had held mostly bedrooms — hers, Lord Daryl’s, and guest rooms. Lord Daryl’s studio