Bled Dry (Vegas Vampires #3)(47)
Author: Erin McCarthy

“But if you turn yourself in, they’ll be nicer.” She bit her fingernail and paced the floor.

They were staying at the Hilton, where Elvis had slept. It wasn’t glitz, but it was still pretty damn nice as far as he was concerned. Yet not one word of appreciation from her. All she could do was complain—about losing her job, about his dealings with Donatelli, about his chain smoking.

“Ain’t nobody going to be nice to me, babe. Get that through your ditzy head.” He lit another cigarette in defiance, even though there was still a haze lingering in the room from his last four.

The silly bitch yanked the smoke right out of his mouth. He was so shocked he didn’t even try to stop her. But as he watched her grind it out, his temper climbed. “Oh, you’re really pushing it now.”

“Listen to me.” She met his gaze unflinchingly and didn’t quail when he moved toward her. “You’re losing your grip. You need to back up, Ringo, and get control of yourself.”

It was so different from her usual quirky self-love talk, which went in all those circles he could never understand, he hesitated. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean you’re about to crack. You know it. I know it. You need to stop denying it and deal with what happened with Kyle.”

“What do you know about it? You don’t know anything. You know his name, and the rest of it is none of your damn business.” How dare she bring his brother into their shit? This wasn’t about how Kyle had died, this was about her turning into some kind of schoolteacher, lecturing him about right and wrong.

He needed some air. He headed for the door.

She stepped in front of him, spreading her legs apart in her tight jeans, hot pink T-shirt riding up. Nothing tough about her appearance, but her face looked pretty damn determined. “I’m going to ask Mr. Carrick for my job back.”

It was the one thing she could have said that would piss him off even further. “You don’t care how I feel, do you? You don’t give two shits about how it makes me feel to have my wife crawling on hands and knees back to that sanctimonious prick begging for a job. Like he ever kept you around for your secretarial skills. Please. You want your stupid bimbo job back so bad? Fine, I don’t give a shit. Do what you need to do.” He flicked his hair out of his eyes and moved around her. “Blow him for all I care. I’m sure you have before.”

“Ringo.”

“What?” He turned around, hand on the doorknob.

Her hand slammed across his cheek with impressive velocity, and his head snapped back, teeth sinking into his tongue. “What the f**k!” His face stung, eyes filling with water from the impact. For a stick, she packed some force.

“That’s for making me sound like a whore.”

“Whatever.” Blinking hard to clear his vision, he patted his pocket to make sure a good-size wad was there, and walked out the door.

He jumped on the Monorail and twenty minutes later he was knocking on Donatelli’s suite at the Venetian. Bastard was intriguingly predictable. He’d gone right back to his old room.

A bodyguard that Ringo had worked with back in his days on Donatelli’s security force opened the door. Ringo just nodded to him and strolled on past.

Donatelli was watching HGTV. A home makeover show. God, what a weirdo.

“Columbia. Can I help you?” Donatelli turned the volume down two notches and glanced at him impassively, leg crossed over his knee. “I don’t imagine you’re here to return the money you stole from my wallet.”

“How much for a pint?” His hand shook, so he stuck it in his pocket.

The man who had made him a vampire, and turned him into a heroin addict, smiled. “For you? I’ll give it to you for nothing. Consider it a wedding gift from me.”

Ringo should be humiliated by that self-satisfied smirk on the Italian’s face, but he was too thirsty to care. “Thanks.”

Donatelli stood. “Have a seat by the window. It’s a beautiful night.”

Ringo followed, hating himself for doing this, hating Kelsey for driving him to it, hating Donatelli for being so damn accommodating.

Their butts were barely in two chairs facing the skyscape when the bodyguard was there with two large goblets of blood, one clear glass, one an aquamarine color that turned the blood a deep, rich purple color. He was given that one, and Ringo leaned back, closed his eyes, smelled the tangy aroma before tipping the glass, letting it fill his mouth.

It was gone in two swallows. Ringo shuddered as it slid through him, fanning out over his eager, quivering body. He opened his eyes and stared at the Vegas night. All the lights glowed hot and white against the dark of the sky. The colors blended and shifted, fuzzing in and out, and he stared at it, mesmerized. Relaxing.

Everything was going to be okay. He was okay. Licking the rim of the glass, he said, “How about a double?”

“Sure. And then there’s something I’d like to discuss with you. A job.”

“A job?” Ringo blinked, his head feeling heavy. Donatelli must want him to kill someone. He was good at that. Never made a mess.

Kelsey would be mad at him. But he was his own man. He could do whatever he wanted. And at the moment, he’d literally kill for another drink. “I can do a job for you, no problem.”

Donatelli smiled. “Fill Mr. Columbia’s glass up again, Williams.”

Amen to that. Ringo held his goblet up.

Oh, wonderful. Her father was Donatelli, a psychotic political power monger who tortured, pushed drugs, and gave bad speeches. This was just the cherry on the sundae of her day.

“Are you sure?” Duh. Of course he was sure. She was sure, having seen the results on the screen herself. If Donatelli was RD1021, there was a 99.6 percent chance he was her father. Which meant he was. Damn it.

“Yes, I am sure.”

Good thing he wasn’t going to sugarcoat it for her. Brittany’s face felt hot, a coppery taste in her mouth. For a second she thought she was going to faint, but she remained standing, a sudden wet sensation under her nose distracting her as she wiped at it. “I’m bleeding!”

Corbin whipped his head around and jumped out of the chair, actually hitting her leg with it. “What happened?”

“Nothing, I don’t know.” She swiped again, more scarlet blood on her finger. “I have a nosebleed! I’ve never had a nosebleed before.”

He patted his boxer shorts, as if a hanky might appear, then did his vampire speed trick, returning in two seconds with a wet washcloth. “Pinch your nose slightly. It’s just the pregnancy. Increased blood flow. Nosebleeds are common in the second trimester.”