Retribution Read Online Free PDF Page A

hangout for as long as anyone can remember.
    The first time I came here I was tracking down the vamp who turned me. I was hunting him because I thought he had kidnapped my partner, David, and burned down my house. Turns out, I was wrong. Avery had done those things. Just as he had laid the false trail that led me to Beso de la Muerte in the first place.
    The one good thing that came from the whole debacle was meeting Culebra. I need human blood to survive. Culebra offers humans with an inclination for adventure the opportunity to make money as well as experience the best sex imaginable while providing that blood. He protects both vampires and their human hosts. Keeps vampires off the street and off the radar of those who would hunt us. No bodies left suspiciously drained of blood to attract unwanted attention.
    The system works.
    More important, Culebra became my friend.
    At least, I thought he had become a friend.
    I push the biting sting of his parting remarks from my head. Along with the guilt that I’m doing exactly what he asked me not to. A whiny little voice justifies it. Don’t I have as much right to be in Beso de la Muerte as Sandra?
    It’s not yet eleven o’clock in the morning. Not surprisingly, there are only two cars parked in front of Culebra’s bar when I pull up. Most of the action takes place after dark. The cars are a big Cadillac SUV and a silver Porsche Boxster. I park behind the Cadillac and send out a mental probe.
    I detect three vampires and one human.
    The human must be Sandra. She’s a werewolf, but werewolves in human form do not give off a supernatural psychic signature. Two of the vampires are bemoaning the fact that they came all the way from L.A. and are starving and there’s no one here to eat. The third vampire is emitting no telepathic signal at all.
    I push through the double swinging doors.
    The two vamps griping about the lack of service are sitting at a table in the middle of the room. They each have a beer in front of them. They are young, dressed in open-neck polos and jeans. Both are male, both have carefully coiffed hair and both have an L.A. chic look about them. Probably belong to the Boxster. They look up expectantly when I walk in, then wilt in disappointment when they realize I will not be on the menu.
    Newly made, I’d guess, judging from the clumsy way they try to shield their thoughts from me.
    The third vampire is at the bar. His back is to me but I sense his reaction when he recognizes me. Because he does recognize me. Immediately. His back becomes rigid. His thoughts draw in on themselves like a noose tightening around a neck.
    He doesn’t turn around.
    Williams.
    For an instant, I’m tempted to turn around and get the hell out of here. He’s the last person I want to see.
    Sandra, however, is a different story. She’s the reason I’m here. If I can ignore Williams’ phone calls, I can ignore him in person, too.
    Sandra is arranging glasses against the back of the bar. When she hears the door, she turns and without looking up, says, “Take any table—”
    She raises her eyes and the words die in her throat. She still has a glass in her hand. It remains suspended in air for the second it takes her to replace a look of irritation with one of resignation. She sighs and places the glass on the bar. While the words she speaks are, “Hello, Anna,” her attitude says, “Fuck.”
    She looks good. She’s tall and slim and has eyes that aren’t quite green and aren’t quite blue, but flash of both. Her dark hair has grown since I last saw her, it skims her shoulders. Her skin is sun-kissed and glowing. She looks healthy. She looks alive.
    What she doesn’t look is happy to see me.
    “Hello, Sandra.”
    I step up to the bar and place both my hands flat on its surface. I know why she’s reacting the way she is. Culebra made that clear. It’s the reason I came.
    For the moment, though, the more urgent problem is the vamp to my left. His negativity flares,