Rachel Caine - Chicks Kick Butt

“We’re not friends,” I told him darkly. I’d just seen Cheung toss back another shot. He’d lost his suit coat and loosened his tie, but other than that, he looked exactly the same as when I’d come in. The damn vampire wasn’t even sweating.

“Don’t talk,” Ray said, putting a glass in my hand. “Drink.”

I wasn’t aware that I’d been talking. That probably wasn’t a good sign. But at least I was still sitting straight. Cheung had started to list a little.

“That’s you,” Ray said, hauling me upright and handing me another glass.

“Hey!” I protested. “He has to drink first.”

“He just did.”

“I didn’t see.”

“It’s difficult to see anything when one’s eyes are crossed,” Cheung said. And then he giggled.

I know I wasn’t imagining it, because his vamps’ heads all swiveled in his direction, expressions of incredulity on their faces. Scarface scowled at them and they quickly looked away. But a few were coughing and one had to abruptly leave the room.

I downed another shot and grinned at Cheung. “I c’n do this all night,” I told him. “And you’re already drunk.”

Cheung gave me a superior look and tried to pick up his glass. He missed.

“He may be drunk,” Scarface said, “but you’re about to fall on your ass. And as soon as you do, that son of a bitch is ours.” He scowled at Ray, as if his boss’s loss of dignity were all his fault. Ray must have interpreted it that way, too, because he quickly sloshed some more liquid into the glasses.

“I am not even close to being on my ass,” I said, offended. “And Ray’s gonna be fine.”

“That’s right,” Ray said staunchly.

Fifteen minutes later, I’d decided Ray really was toast.

“It’s okay,” he said, massaging my shoulders. “You’re doing great. Just really, really good.”

“How many more bottles are there?” I asked blearily. The way I felt, we must have gone through most of the case.

“Nine.”

“Nine?” I did a little mental arithmetic, which was way harder than it should have been. “We’ve only been through three ?”

“Three and a half,” he said, and refilled my glass.

“That wasn’t so bad,” I decided after downing the shot. Maybe I was getting my rhythm.

“Because you threw it over your shoulder,” Scarface told me, looking smug.

“Did not.” I looked behind me, only to see an outraged vamp with fey wine dripping down his face. “Oops.”

“It was for luck,” Ray said defensively, wrapping both my hands around a glass. “Drink!”

I drank.

An indeterminate time later—my eyes couldn’t seem to focus on my watch anymore—someone slapped me across the face. “Big, bad dhampir, remember?” Ray said, his face looming large in front of mine. It appeared agitated.

“Big, bad dhampir wan’ go sleep.”

“They’re laughing at you,” he said, grabbing my chin and turning my head toward Cheung’s men. “Look at them. They’re laughing!”

It took me a moment to focus, but when I did, they didn’t look like they were laughing. Mostly, they looked bored and a little nervous. Apparently, the novelty of seeing the boss shit-faced had worn off, and a few of the smarter ones had started to wonder just how much they were going to pay for having witnessed this.

One look at Cheung, and I didn’t think they needed to worry.

His tie was gone, his shirt was open halfway down his chest, his bangs had all flopped into his eyes, and while he might not have been sweating, he was looking pretty damn green. I wasn’t sure how much he’d remember tomorrow, which was just as well, since he also appeared to have developed a fascination with Scarface’s hair. He kept reaching up to poke at the spikes, and appeared amazed when they weren’t sharp.

“You can take him!” Ray whispered in my ear.

“Damn straight.”

The next thing I remember, Ray was fishing me out from under the table. Or at least he was trying to, but Scarface’s foot was in the way. “On. Her. Ass,” Scarface said proudly.

“She just slipped,” Ray said, sounding frantic. “Anybody could slip. She’s fine!”

“Like hell she’s fine. Look at her!”

“I am,” someone said, from somewhere behind us. “Would you care to explain to me what is wrong with her?”

Scarface slowly straightened, his foot sliding off Ray’s wrist. Ray seized the opportunity to drag me upright. “I love you, man,” I told him blearily, catching one of his hands.

“God. Just. Shut. Up,” he muttered.

The room appeared to be spinning anyway, so I followed it around to where a handsome auburn-haired vamp was standing by the main entrance. He had a sword in either hand and appeared miffed. Louis-Cesare, my brain supplied helpfully, after a minute. I was pleased to see him, although I couldn’t exactly recall why. But I sent him a sloppy smile anyway.

“She has not been injured,” Scarface said, stepping away from the table to give himself room to maneuver. And as soon as he did, his boss slowly slipped off his seat and into a well-dressed lump on the floor.

“On his ass! On his ass!” Ray said, letting go of me to point.

“So is she,” Scarface hissed, as I flopped facefirst onto concrete. “And she was first.”

“Only because you were holding him up! You were cheating!”

“No, this would be cheating,” Scarface said, and smashed a bottle upside Ray’s head.

And then things got a little confusing.

Scarface lunged at Ray, who stumbled back, squeaking. But he tripped over me and slammed into the case of fey wine, crushing it beneath him. Thanks God for large favors, I thought fervently.

And then I remembered why I was happy to see Louis-Cesare.

“Love you!” I yelled encouragingly, which caused him to start suddenly. Then, for some reason, he scowled. And then the sprinkler system got turned on, although that might have been later, because when I looked around, I was by the bar.

Someone was trying to pound the butt of a shotgun through my skull. So I yanked it out of his grasp and brought it down on his kneecaps. He screamed in pain and grabbed for the weapon, we struggled, and it went off, blowing a hole the size of a basketball through the fake wood paneling separating the club from the bar.

We both stared at it for a second before he grabbed for me—at the same time that another vamp brought a club down, trying to crush my hand. I rolled out of the way and he hit his buddy’s instead, with a crunching sound that indicated a broken bone or three. The first vamp screamed again and reflexively kicked out, knocking his buddy back into a nest of bar stools. The stools scattered, the vamp fell backward, and my hand closed on one of my guns.

I didn’t even try to aim, since I was the only one there who could be killed by a stray bullet. I just sprayed them everywhere. I don’t think too many connected, but it distracted my attackers long enough for me to reach the hole in the wall. One of Ray’s boys looked through at me, his bright black eyes wide.

“Scotch?” I asked as a chair was slung across the room at my head. I ducked and the bartender handed me a bottle, just as the chair tosser lunged at me. I broke it over his head, staggering him. “A light?” My lighter was in my jeans, and no way was I coordinated enough to get it out.

I was passed another matchbook embossed with the bar’s logo, and a second later, the vamp went up in flames. He could have stopped, dropped, and rolled them out, but most vamps aren’t that levelheaded about fire. This one proved to be no exception. He panicked and crashed into his buddy, and they fell to the floor, screaming Cantonese invective at each other.

I looked around for the next threat, but all I saw was Louis-Cesare standing over a pile of vamps, none of which appeared to be in proper working order. It would have been cause for celebration, if it hadn’t been for the boots hitting the street outside. Deciding to get out before Cheung’s reinforcements ruined the odds again, I tossed a potion grenade at the front door and jumped out the side.