Chapter 4
The following night Urvashi, Aaron, and Michelle piled into a taxi to go for a ride. Michelle patted Aaron’s leg with a knowing smile when Urvashi directed the taxi driver back to Soho. Aaron recalled Michelle’s little tutorial the first time they hit that neighborhood. “This is the cesspit of London. Strip clubs, prostitution, black market deals. It will be fun.” She had grinned in anticipation.
Aaron thought it would be interesting at the very least. “Sounds like my kinda place.”
Now, Urvashi was taking them back to the cesspit, to her friends.
Staring out the taxi window, he took it all in as they passed through Chinatown and into Soho. He couldn’t really tell the difference from one to another, it all looked much the same. The sign high up on a wall said ‘Brewer Street.’
He wriggled, trying to get comfortable with a katana sheath digging into his back. Fucking swords. How crazy is that? Urvashi had trained him with a katana for several weeks in Paris, but since coming to London to hunt Jamison, they’d had no practice time.
“Who are these people?”
Urvashi ignored him.
“Vash, who are we meeting?”
“As you said, ‘Friends in low places,’ mercenaries.”
“Oh, I bet the swords will really impress them.”
“Perhaps.”
Michelle stayed silent, wrapped around his arm. He’d been pressuring her hard to maintain congeniality with Urvashi. She kept her eyes fixed on the passing scene outside.
The taxi stopped at a boarded up storefront with apartments above. The seemingly abandoned building was sandwiched between a Thai massage parlor and a sex shop showcasing brilliant red BDSM latex and all kinds of interesting accessories. The place caught his eye immediately.
He tapped at the glass, pointing at the sex shop, and teased, “Are those nipple clamps? That’s just what you need, Michelle, a crotchless latex bodysuit, and electrified nipple clamps.”
She grinned, no objections. He knew she’d buy it if he asked her to. As of late, Michelle seemed to have lost the ability to say no to him. She’d wear it too. Oh so tempting.
“Whoever said the English are conservative must have missed Brewer Street.”
Icy fingers of wind howled and scraped across Aaron’s exposed face and ears as he stepped out into the sidewalk, the ladies right behind him. Burrowing into the high collar of his pea coat to ward off the wind-chill, he thought they should be in Miami, on the beach, feeding on drunken tourists. England was a cold bitch in December.
Urvashi tried the door and found it unlocked. “Come, they are waiting for us.”
The wind followed them in and whisked the dust off the floors of the mostly vacant room. To one side hung a heavy boxing bag and a faded target board mounted on the wall. Two knives stood out from the center of the bullseye.
Maybe the swords were a good idea.
A large grey-blond man sauntered in and stared at them with a steely gaze. “Well, what do we have here? A couple of leeches? Americans suck. But American vampires ...”
“Definitely leeches.” A dark-haired woman with pale skin and a similar grey-blue gaze stepped out from behind the man to glare at the trio. “Smells like walking death.”
