Blood Vice (Book 4): Blood Dolls by Angela Roquet

Author:Angela Roquet [Roquet, Angela]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Tags: Urban Fantasy | Vampires
Published: 2018-01-02T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Roman gripped the steering wheel with both hands and hardly let off the gas as he turned onto the ramp to get back on I-55. Then he stomped on the accelerator again. The SUV roared, and the tires squealed as we merged into traffic.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he finally asked, eyes zeroing in on some distant point ahead of us as if he were afraid to look at me.

“You warned him that I hadn’t fed.” I glanced out my window and rubbed a finger over my bottom lip where Arnie’s blood was drying into a tacky film. My reflection cracked a smug grin.

“That’s not how Blood Vice operates, Jenna.” Roman changed lanes and cut around a line of cars as if worried someone might be following us. “Stooping to their level will only turn this into a supernatural gang war. That’s why we stick to the book and make them play by our rules—”

“Our rules suck.” I glared at him. “That asshole raped and turned who knows how many girls, and you think as long as he jumps when you say ‘when,’ that his crimes should be forgiven?” My chest heaved. I couldn’t tell what I wanted to do more, scream or cry.

“It’s not a perfect system.” His tone softened with regret. “But it’s the best one we have right now.”

“I’m not sorry I bit him.” I lifted my chin, unwavering in my self-righteousness. “He deserved it.”

Roman sighed. “He deserves a lot more than that. I suppose we all do.”

My cell phone vibrated in my pocket, bringing our tense exchange to a close. I was surprised to find Collins’ number on the screen. I accepted the call and pressed the button for the speaker.

“You’ve got us both. Did you find her?”

“Maybe,” Collins said. The click of a keyboard sounded in the background. “This person arrived on a motorcycle anyway.”

“Vintage Indian?” Roman asked.

“How’d you guess?”

“Never mind that,” I said. “Did you get a look at her plate?”

“Yup. Running it now.” Collins cleared his throat. “Heather Anne Miller—wait, this can’t be right.”

“What?” I pressed, unable to suffer through even the briefest silence.

“DMV records say Miller was born in sixty-nine, but this girl on the tape barely looks drinking age.”

“Plastic surgery?” I suggested.

“No surgeon is that good.” Collins harrumphed. “My guess? Either the bike is borrowed or stolen, or—”

“She’s more than just a donor,” Roman finished with a frown. “She’s half-sired.”

“Is her address in the city?” I asked Collins.

“Jennings.” The keyboard rattled in the background again. “It’s an apartment. I’ll text you the address.”

“Thanks. We’ll head that way.” I hung up and glanced at Roman. He had an uncomfortable air about him. “Talk to me.”

He was quiet for a minute longer. Then he took a deep breath, and his shoulders squared. “We’re not just questioning this one. We have to bring her in.”

“For breaking a few fingers?” I snorted. “You mean you’re not willing to let her tattle her way out of hot water like you did Arnie?”

“Ursula doesn’t have House Lilith’s blessing to anoint another potential scion.

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