Don’t Bite the Messenger

Don’t Bite the Messenger Read Free

Book: Don’t Bite the Messenger Read Free
Author: Regan Summers
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I’m calling in that favor he owes me. The big one.” I wasn’t planning to be around to use it, and I hated to let anything go to waste.
    “Really?” Gene’s tongue wandered out to worry her piercing. I looked away, disturbed by the grateful expression working its way onto her puffy face. “Geez, Pike. That’s…well…thanks. That’s real nice of you.”
    I nodded stiffly. The evening’s joy at my fattening wallet faded. Extracting oneself from a vampire-related gig was a glacially slow process. I liked my job, hitting each night at full speed, but there’s no such thing as an old runner. Statistics kill us. Drunk drivers. Missed turns that send us sideways into concrete bollards or streetlights. Adrenaline-soaked brains a few steps ahead of common sense. Low-level vampire turf wars. Hell, we barely even trusted each other. McHenry was a decent boss, but he was a manager, not a runner. To him, I&O was a way to make money and, after he retired, he’d shuffle it off to someone else, or sell out to one of the international conglomerates. I’d heard they required uniforms, the very idea of which made me shudder. My job, especially this job, couldn’t be everything I had. I needed something else to round out my life.
    I glanced up at the TV, sighing at the sight of adults picketing somewhere flat and sunny. Closed-captioning sputtered out an explanation of a new anti-vampire bill coming up before the legislature somewhere in Middle America. Brilliant move, guys. Prohibiting vampires from owning property or businesses…in a state they’d never set foot in. The sun dominated too many hours of the day for places like Kansas or Texas to interest the undead. If I barely slept, I wouldn’t move somewhere where I’d be locked inside my house for half of any given day either.
    The door at the end of the bar opened, and a pair of tall, bald men entered—imposing inside of leather coats. Long, leather coats like Bronson’s challengers had worn. I turned away and watched them peripherally in the mirror behind the bar. Their faces were serene but their eyes intense as they surveyed the shotgun-style room. Maybe Bronson’s opponent hadn’t taken well to having his attack parried by whatever I’d delivered tonight. Couriers were never in season, but that didn’t mean that we couldn’t be poached. Maybe the loser thought it was a good idea to shoot the messenger.
    “Well, Gene.” I pulled my coat out from under my chair and stuffed it into my bag. I wasn’t about to let myself be the first casualty in a rogue vamp turf war. Bronson would probably resurrect me just to tell me he was disappointed that my death had caused a hiccup in his strategy. “Be seeing you.”
    I rose slowly and didn’t look back as I started for the rear door. I put a little sway into my hips and let my head fall slightly to the side. A regular girl out for a good time and taking a bathroom break. Totally not running for my life.
    The back door opened with a blast of winter air, and I had to work to keep myself from shoving through the gaggle of girls bubbling in. Panic was a hell of a red flag. I stepped to the side to let them pass, providing a nice cover between me and the suckers. I couldn’t feel that cold scratch of vampire energy yet.
    The operative word being yet .
    I tossed a furtive glance over my shoulder. The males walked slowly, their shorn heads panning back and forth like mechanical attachments. Clearly searching. Shit. I turned back, and plowed right into a hard chest wrapped in a soft, brown sweater. The vamps’ attention hit me like a static-electric shot to the back of the neck and I froze, because rule number two is that you never run from predators.
    “I’m so sorry,” I said, flashing a sweet smile at the man I’d run into, hoping he would stay for a couple of minutes, reinforcing my civilian cover. “I’m such a klutz.”
    “Quite all right.” He glanced down as I inched away from his large, warm hand resting

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