Primal Kill (The Order of Vampires #5)

Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

“ C an I get you another beer?”

Dane stared at the cute bartender, debating if he should find a place to crash or just keep drinking. Pushing his empty bottle forward, he motioned for a refill.

He hadn’t slept, had barely stopped running, his mind was going a mile a minute, and he was no closer to forming a plan. What the hell was he going to do? He had no place to go, no family, no home, a dog tied out front, and a meager amount of money in his pocket for food.

The television on the other end of the bar replayed a clip of politicians rambling about the upcoming election. It had been so long since he thought of this world or those who governed it, he didn’t recognize any of the names or faces on the screen.

His life had narrowed to the scope of a primitive peephole where secrets were protected by laws, and faith was a pillar of judgment. Now, that life was gone.

“Here you go.” The petite brunette bartender slid another beer forward.

This was his first time drinking in such an establishment. Aware of every cotton T-shirt, hoody, and the fact that he was the only man not wearing jeans, he aimed to stay as unnoticed as possible, observing the others and mimicking their behavior to blend in.

He should consider getting some new clothes, but his money would be better spent on shelter and food. Honestly, he shouldn’t even be drinking this piss when he had other needs to meet, but the beer was keeping him from completely losing his mind.

Trying to welcome the old, familiar sight of ordinary people, he waited for a sense of belonging to return. It didn’t.

He’d grown up in the modern world, but it no longer felt right. Everything was loud and chaotic, very different from his life on an Amish farm over the past several years. Despite being a refuge of sorts, he’d accepted that strange place as his home. The homesickness he currently suffered could only be the result of some twisted mind-fuck refugees knew. That, or Stockholm Syndrome survivors.

They were not like him. These people were not like him. He was completely and utterly on his own. Figuring out where to go next wasn’t a simple thing .

Having immortal bloodlines came with some perks, but nothing that would help him survive. Unlike the full-bred immortals on the farm, he couldn’t compel others, and he could only read the thoughts of children or adults who thought in the purest form. A lot of good that would do him.

He wasn’t Dane the teenager anymore. Nor was he Amish or like the immortals who lived on the farm.

Aside from the erotic jolt of energy blood-drinking brought, he saw no gains to his half-bred existence. He might be part-blood-sucker, but that part of him only added to his lonesome status as the outcast.

He had no clue who he was supposed to be anymore.

After learning his parents weren’t even his real parents, he lost any pre-determined factors about his genetics. His biological father was a psychotic immortal, and a deranged vampire murdered his adoptive mother. Not something he could easily share in a grief circle or with his old friends.

Since learning immortals existed, he saw unthinkable things. Death, resurrection, insanity, violence, abductions, blood lust, and more. But worst of all, he saw the limitless power of a cult that flourished under centuries of indoctrination. The sheltered existence of The Order was perhaps the scariest truth of all.

Immortals were hiding in plain sight, but their blanketed crimes hid beneath the laws of their faith. To think religion could hold more power than instinct.

Such illusions of peaceful domestication didn’t fool him. They were still dangerous when it served them. They merely had to pretty up their actions by proclaiming their behavior was sanctioned by God. Such ideology had been ingrained in them since birth, propagated by older generations, and anyone who questioned their Amish ways or opposed The Council was shunned, like him.

Dane peeled back the damp label of his beer. His thoughts once again returned to Grace. She could have come with him. He would have asked her if he thought she might say yes, but she’d made it clear she would not abandon her faith.

Amish life was all Gracie had ever known. She feared the outside world, but he could have protected her and helped her acclimate. If she had just trusted him, they could have lived a normal life together. He could have shown her that the modern world she feared was not as scary as it seemed, but her innocence left her imagination limited. And it was such innocence that made him fall in love with her.

Gracie loved him, too. Or so he thought.

It no longer mattered. She would never be his. She would never set aside her beliefs and choose him over the so-called destiny her faith promised.

Grace …

Even now, his heart called to her despite the endless ache. Would that ache ever go away?

He turned his beer, wondering how he would go on, never knowing how her day was or if she was safe and happy. How would he make it more than a few hours without thinking of an excuse to see her?

He should have said goodbye. But then it would have been impossible to leave, and he simply couldn’t stay, not when the bishop himself had exiled him for breaking their laws.

Dane’s jaw locked, his hand balling into a fist tight enough to make his knuckles pop. Fuck the bishop and fuck The Order.

None of this would have happened if they would have killed Isaiah. The monster not only murdered his mother, the fucker now had his sister, Cybil.

Yet he was the one sent away.

That was what Gracie chose over him—an order that refused to see justice and masked atrocities by labeling them ordained acts of God.

Maybe she deserved them.

He gripped the bottle, chugging down the beer as he breathed through his bottomless rage. He wanted to break something. He wanted to watch that sadistic fucker bleed out until its eyes glazed and the life left its lungs once and for all. How could he have let that fucking beast get away with his sister?

His mind shied away from assumptions and images of what Isaiah might do to Cybil. He had no idea where she was or how to save her. It was over. He needed to let her go and accept that he’d lost—both his sister and Grace.

He’d lost everything.

“Hey buddy, you think you can move down a seat so I can sit next to my girl?”

Dane’s head shot up, his thoughts scattering as he moved his beer and napkin aside, giving the man to his left plenty of room.

“Sure.”

He’d lost track of time since sitting down. With no natural light shining into the pub, it was hard to determine if it was evening, but by the flood of new patrons coming in, he assumed it was after five.

The television set changed channels, and a game came on. He blinked at the bright, flat screen, his eyes no longer accustomed to watching such things. How long had it been since he enjoyed a show, a movie, or even played a video game? Those foreign concepts now felt like an utter waste of time.

An advertisement replaced the game as another cycle of commercials started. The actors moved about a fake set of a home as if detergent was enough to brighten their day. Had commercials always looked this artificial?

Frowning at the screen, he struggled to grasp the staged humor. Perhaps he was just too tired, or was he that out of touch?

The next three commercials were for medication. He’d forgotten how delicate regular people were. As a half-breed, he’d always healed quickly, but living on a farm full of immortals who never got sick really made one forget the tiresome necessity of maintaining good health.

Thoughts of disease brought about sad memories of his grandmother. Unlike Cybil, she could have been saved. She’d been one of the chosen ones. But she chose to die anyway. Perhaps that was the wisest choice.

The pub's noise and lights grated on him, so he returned his focus to his beer. The patrons were either talking or lost in their phones. Were people always this addicted to screens? It now looked utterly strange to him, like everyone was brainwashed and hypnotized.

Hairstyles had also changed. His once trendy style had grown out over the years, and he wore it neatly tied back, as was the fashion on the farm, but no one here had such a cut.

A few people stared at him, much like he stared at them. His face heated as he dropped his gaze to the counter. No one else was wearing suspenders. He definitely needed to get some jeans and regular clothes.

Straightening his spine, he tucked a long strand of hair behind his ear and swallowed, looking back at the TV so as not to stare at others. The technology simply couldn’t hold his attention.

The bartender, a short woman with brown wavy hair, hustled to fill everyone’s orders. She was pretty, taller than Gracie. Her eyes were brown rather than the stunning silver-blue he was used to.

Realizing he was measuring her against Gracie, he quickly cut off his thoughts. Could he think of nothing else?

A man at the other end of the bar pounded on the side of a machine.

“Hey! Don’t hit the machine,” the bartender snapped, returning to the taps to fill a beer order.

The pounding stopped, but Dane sensed the man’s frustration. As terrifying as immortals could be, he learned to live comfortably in their presence. Now, mortals made him uneasy. He’d been away from ordinary society for so long that regular people now seemed unpredictable and volatile.

“This damn thing owes me a token.” The man whacked the side of the machine again.

The woman behind the bar shoved a tray of glasses onto the counter and marched over to the disgruntled customer. She only stood up to his shoulder, but her glare stopped him in his tracks.

“Hit my machine again, and you’re going to wind up with a repair bill.” She rotated the device so the game screen faced her and pressed some buttons on the glass. A small receipt spit out and she tore it off, handing it to the man. “There. Now you can collect your three dollars.” As she returned to her drink orders, she muttered under her breath, “Idiot.”

When the man left and the after-work crowd got settled, things slowed down. The little bartender was constantly moving, but the rush wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle. She worked her way around the crowd and eventually replaced Dane’s beer with another.

He awkwardly smiled. “It’s pretty busy here, huh?”

“Yup.” She always seemed to be doing three things at once between pouring drinks, ringing up customers, and rushing into the back to throw together food orders.

As a steaming tray of mozzarella sticks went by, Dane’s stomach growled. He needed to watch his spending, but he also needed to eat. He wondered how much an order of fries would cost. Surely, he could afford some fries.

He was about to ask for a menu but the bartender rushed off, disappearing through a discreet door he hadn’t seen her use before. When she returned a moment later, she was lugging a large tank for the taps.

He sprung off his stool and lifted it from her. “Let me give you a hand with that.”

Startled by his offer, she hesitated and then agreed. “Uh, okay. It goes back there.”

He dragged it behind the counter to where she pointed. Dane watched as she rigged the valves, disconnecting them from the old tank and reconnecting the tubes to the new one.

“Can I take that one away for you?”

“That’s okay. They’re light when they’re empty. ”

“Hey, Gabby, when can I expect that drink order?” a patron shouted.

“Relax, Steve.” She irritably flung a strand of hair away from her face. “I’m working on it.”

Dane lifted the empty tank. “Where’s it go?”

She sighed as more patrons formed a line at the bar. “Through the door and down the steps. Thanks.”

He took the empty tank to a cellar where several other bottles and cans filled the industrial shelves. The thought of possibly stealing some food crossed his mind, but he resisted the temptation. Instead, he carried a large sack of potatoes upstairs for her.

He’d overheard her telling a customer the kitchen was running low on fries, so he figured this would help her out.

“Did you want these in the kitchen?”

She frowned at the sight of the large sack on his shoulder. “Oh… um…sure. Thanks.”

He’d watched Grace fry potatoes a hundred times, so he had an idea of how it was done. Sometimes, he helped her dig up the potatoes in the garden. Her fair skin always glistened in the sunlight and he loved the way she smelled of sunshine and earth by the end of each day.

A familiar, sharp ache of longing drilled through him. He glanced at the exit, fighting the urge to return to the farm, back to her.

Every part of him wanted to return to Grace and demand she admit her feelings. But she never would. Nor could he go back now that the bishop, himself, had exiled him.

It wasn’t Eleazar’s fault. As the bishop, he needed to uphold the laws of The Order and answer to the other elders on The Council. Dane had violated their laws and that meant he was no longer welcome there.

The bishop could have acted harsher. He could have had him punished or worse. But he only wished Dane well. Then he stuffed his pockets full of cash and sent him on his way. It wasn’t much, but it was more than anyone else had offered, so Dane couldn’t resent the guy.

“Hey, what the hell are you doing back here?”

He stared stupidly at the bartender. What was her name? Gabby?

He glanced down at his hands where he held a potato under the rushing water of the faucet. “I, uh, figured you’d want these washed so you could use them.”

Her scowl deepened. “What’s your deal?”

He shrugged. “I wanted fries, and you said you were almost out.”

“Do you usually just help yourself to other people’s kitchens?”

He glanced around the small, industrial setup. Very different from any other kitchen he’d ever been in. “No.”

“Gabby, can I get a refill?” a customer called, and she huffed, clearly overwhelmed by the crowd .

Taking pity on her, he said, “I can give you a hand.”

She hesitated until another customer called her name. Then she pointed to the wall behind a metal counter. “The peeler’s there. Once they’re peeled and cleaned, drop them into that water cooler to soak.”

The corner of Dane’s mouth kicked up. “You got it.”

When she returned to the bar, he filled a bowl with water and snuck out the back door. Colby sprung to his feet when he saw him, his orange tail wagging happily.

“Hey, boy. Got you some water.” He’d see about saving some burger scraps too if any dishes came through the kitchen.

He nuzzled Colby one last time then left him to drink the water. When he returned inside, he sat on a flipped bucket, peeling and dropping potatoes into a cooler until the sack was empty and every spud was clean. He appreciated busy work, as it kept his mind off other things.

“So, what’s your story?” Gabby asked, leaning in the kitchen doorway once the bar crowd dissipated. “Are you Amish?”

“I… I guess you could say I have Amish family.”

“You guess?”

He shut the cooler lid. “My real family’s gone. I was living on an Amish farm for a while.”

“Guess that’s why you only look partially Amish. ”

“Partially?”

She tapped her chin. “No beard.”

No one in The Order had facial hair. Once immortals reached their prime, their bodies sort of regulated that stuff. Dane didn’t want to stick out, so he made a habit of shaving.

“I’m guessing you’re looking for money.”

Her directness caught him off guard. “I…You just looked busy, so I figured I’d help.”

“Well, I am busy. My chef quit without notice, and my waitress has a sick kid at home, so it’s been a little crazy trying to keep up with everything.”

His brow creased. “You own the bar?”

“My dad does, but he can’t run it anymore. Dementia.”

“I’m sorry.”

She pointed to another cooler. “The potatoes in that one have been soaking, so they’re ready to cut. We only slice a few at a time, or they get mushy and brown. They’re pretty much made to order.”

He looked at the other cooler. “Did you want me to slice them?”

“You’ve been sitting out there all day. You’re hungry, right?”

He nodded.

“Then help yourself. The press is there. Drop them in the basket, and try not to burn your hands. Four minutes for regular. Six minutes for crispy.” She looked back at the bar and cursed as more patrons arrived. “There’s warm cheese in that pump.”

When she left, he scanned the appliances. This was very different from Gracie’s kitchen or his grandmother’s, but he understood what everything did and could quickly figure out how the fryer worked.

Wedging the pre-soaked potatoes through the press was easy and he liked the sizzle the oil made when he dropped the basket into the deep-fryer. Rolling up his sleeves, he anxiously awaited the timer as the oil bubbled and the scent of food wafted through the air. He was starving and couldn’t remember the last thing he ate.

Too impatient to wait for crispy, he gathered a plastic basket and lined it with paper. He pulled the fries and dumped them onto the platter. Glistening and still sizzling, he popped one into his mouth and cursed as it burned his tongue.

“Don’t!”

Covering his mouth, he spun and found Gabby watching him again.

“They’re too hot. You have to give them a minute.”

The burn in his mouth was already healing, thanks to the blood in his system. But she was right. They were way too hot to eat.

“Here.” She angled a fresh beer toward him, and he gladly took it.

Once he cooled his mouth with a sip, he plucked another fry from the basket and popped it into his mouth. He was ravenous, so he didn’t waste time on things like table manners as he stuffed his face.

Gabby carried a bin of dishes and trash to the counter. “Why did you leave the Amish people?”

He swallowed. “I didn’t have a choice. I broke the rules.”

“What’d you do, use a lightbulb?” She laughed.

“Something like that.” Except it was more along the lines of blowing a six-inch hole through a vampire's chest, but that was a lot to explain so he just kept eating.

“Do you have a place to stay?” She handed him a shaker of salt.

He shook his head and doused the fries in seasoning. “I haven’t figured that out yet.”

“Look, the last thing I need is a stray cat to feed, but you seem pretty honest—I don’t know, maybe it’s the Amish garb, or maybe I’m just exhausted, and it’s making me stupid, but if you’re willing to give me a hand, you can crash here for a few nights. I could use the extra help and pay you minimum wage plus a cut of the tips, which are decent.”

“Really?” He hadn’t expected her to offer him a job, let alone a place to stay.

She glanced at his exposed forearms. “Really. Plus, I hate lugging things up the stairs. You seem…capable.”

He glanced down at the ropes of muscle covering his arms. Years of manual labor with primitive tools did that to a man. He never thought much of it since everyone on the farm was in impeccable health and had prime physiques.

“Thank you. I’m grateful for the offer.”

“Good. You can show your gratitude by filling these orders.” She handed him a slip of paper.

He read over the list. “How do I…?”

“First, you need to cover your hair.” She plucked a hairnet from a box, then snagged a laminated sheet from the door of the steel fridge. “Everything’s written out here. Clean up when you’re done, and don’t get hurt. I gotta get back to the bar.”

As soon as she left, he sifted through the dishes, salvaging any dog-safe scraps for Colby. Once he had a plate made up for him, he ran it outside and then returned to the kitchen.

Over the next few hours, Dane had a crash course in culinary arts with minimal instruction. He couldn’t taste-test the customers’ orders as he went, so he had no clue if he was doing a good job. As long as the meat was fully cooked and no one complained, he supposed he was doing all right.

As the evening went on, he got the hang of the griddle and created a system for prepping things like onions and lettuce. When the orders stopped coming, he gave the kitchen a deep clean.

“Holy crap.”

Holding the mop handle, he looked guiltily at Gabby. “Too much? ”

“Too much? I don’t think this kitchen’s ever been this clean.”

He grinned, relieved. “I wasn’t sure when the grill closed.”

“Ten o’clock.” She glanced at the large clock on the wall. “You’re good. I just cashed out the last customer so I should be locking up as soon as I get things straightened up out there.” She pointed to the far wall where a tall metal rack housed large pots and pans. “There’s a cot in the corner. I’ll see what I can find for blankets after I divvy up the tips.”

“Thank you, Gabby.”

She hesitated as if his gratitude made her nervous. “I’m just going to point out that there are cameras all over the bar.”

He nodded at her warning. “Understood.”

She looked him up and down, sighed, then returned to the front.

He continued mopping the floor. When he finished, he dumped the brown water in the large basin sink. His motions halted as a loud clatter echoed through the bar.

He went to the door, but stilled before opening it. His senses sharpened, and his heart quickened as he registered the sound of Gabby’s racing thoughts.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

“Fill the bag,” a hostile male voice ordered.

Dane darted from the kitchen into the bar, his movements fluid and silent. Gabby stood frozen at the register as a man held a gun in her face. Her gaze shot to Dane.

He shook his head, pressing a finger to his lips and warning her not to look at him.

“Let’s go! Open the fucking register!” the man with the gun barked.

Gabby quickly did as she was told, her motions jerky and her breathing unsteady.

“Get that tip jar too.”

Dane crouched so his reflection didn’t show in the mirror behind the bar. The flash of a baseball bat filled his mind as he sensed Gabby’s plan. He wished he had the ability to tell her not to challenge this man, but his telepathy was limited.

Dane had no choice but to move before she did something foolish and got herself shot. Her heart pounded as she reached for the baseball bat hidden under the counter, her mind racing with adrenaline-fueled thoughts.

“Hey—”

Dane sprung, tackling the man into the bar. A shot went off, the ear-splitting blast smashing through the stillness and throwing everything into chaos. Glass shattered, and Gabby screamed.

Dane dragged the man to the ground and banged his hand against the foot rail of the bar until the gun skittered across the floor. Stools fell as punches pounded into Dane’s head. They wrestled and rolled across the tile.

The flash of a blade caught his eye and Gabby shouted, “He has a knife! ”

Instinct took over. With a snap of his jaw, Dane bit into the man’s throat. Panic spiked the blood, adding a sharpness Dane had never tasted, one not easily declined.

The knife clattered to the floor as his body bucked. Something dark and instinctual took hold of him. In that moment, he didn’t care if he bled the man dry.

“Stop! What are you doing? Stop!”

Something solid and heavy cracked into his back, and he collapsed, gasping and choking as the gunman scrambled to his feet, choking and holding his throat.

“Get the fuck out of here!” Gabby screamed, now holding the gun and the bat.

The man bolted out the door.

Dane rolled to his aching back and groaned. The hot taste of adrenaline-spiked blood coated his lips and tongue.

“You get out, too! Now!”

Her horrified expression pinned Dane in place more than the angle of the gun pointed at him. “Gabby, he shot at you.”

“You bit him!”

He covered his mouth, wiping away the evidence. “I was protecting you.”

Her thoughts were jumbled, but he didn’t need to see into her mind to realize she was terrified. “Are you some kind of cannibal?”

“What? No! Gabby, I?—”

“Get out. ”

“But you said?—”

“I don’t care what I said, you sick fuck! Get out of my bar!”

He scrambled off the floor, glancing at the cash that spilled from the tip jar. He would not be paid for his work. Nor would he have a place to stay.

Shit .

Blood darkened his sleeve, and he examined the small tear in the fabric. His skin burned. It looked like a bullet might have grazed him. That was going to cause some problems. “Look, if I could just use the sink to wash up?—”

“Get. The fuck. Out of here.”

He thought of The Order and its laws about exposure. He couldn’t leave her like this. He needed to protect not only himself but the others. If their kind were discovered, they would be hunted. His mind went to Gracie, his heart forever set on protecting her.

But he didn’t possess the ability to alter a person’s memory, so he didn’t have a clue what to do.

The tension in the air crackled, and Gabby screamed, “Get the fuck out of my bar!”

He quickly fabricated a lie. “I didn’t bite him. He punched me in the nose. This…this is my blood. A bullet clipped me?—”

“I know what I saw!”

He shook his head. “It’s just a scratch and nosebleed, Gabby. ”

Her jaw trembled, but she held her stance. “I already hit the alarm. The cops are on their way.”

Fuck. He had no choice but to go. At least she gave him that option. He’d have to come back later tonight to destroy the camera footage.

He held up his hands in a calming gesture. “You’re safe. I’m leaving. I won’t hurt you.”

Once he reached the door, she said, “Don’t ever come back here.”

As soon as his boots hit the pavement, the bolt on the inside of the door locked. Colby, sensing danger, strained against his leash to reach him.

“Hey, boy.” Dane crouched, assuring him that he was okay. Colby sniffed the blood on his face and whimpered. Dane scratched his head and glanced at the plate on the ground. “At least you ate like a king tonight, eh? Alpha of the pack.”

He pressed his head to the dog’s and sighed. Life was pretty sad when the comfort from a pet felt like the only thing keeping him sane. Untying his leash from the pole, he led him toward a nearby park he’d spotted a few blocks away.

“Looks like we’re sleeping under the stars tonight.”

That evening, after returning to the bar and ripping the wires free from the cameras, he realized the days of video-recorded footage were over. Now, digital files went straight to people’s phones, and he wasn’t sure how to stop her from reviewing the footage.

He hated the idea that he might have exposed those he still wanted to protect, but there was nothing he could do about it now. At least the few swallows of blood he’d stolen would help heal his injuries quickly and give him some additional endurance for the days ahead.