Author's Preface
As the later afternoon set in—the traffic in town grew thicker, the hustle and bustle louder, and the sidewalks fuller as Zariah drove down the main road.
They didn’t go straight to the club; Zariah decided to park behind the electronics store and take Michael inside to shop for a phone. The two of them spent a long time window-shopping through the smartphones on display—after Michael finally relented and gave up on trying to talk her out of buying one for him—and near sunset, Zariah decided on a Samsung Galaxy for him. She spent a bit more time adding him to her own phone plan before they left, and she would set the phone’s apps up for him sometime later.
By the time they were driving to the club, sunset was fading into twilight, and the east side of town seemed packed; traffic was bumper to bumper until they escaped the main road and turned left, the shoreline to their right and the neighborhood bordering the nightclub on the other side.
Between the trees, alleyways, and dumpsters—one single building stood out among the rest, a short wide building with no more than two stories, a filled parking lot wrapped around it, overfull with cars and groups of people, neon lights posted atop the dark violet roof of the place, which read in mismatched purple and blue letters; ROCK ROLLERS.
Zariah parked on the grass near the front of the parking lot, as far from the other vehicles as possible. When they stepped out of the car, a variety of scents suddenly became noticeable, cigarette and marijuana smoke thick on the twilight air. Music echoed from a distance, muffled by the walls of the club, and a group of twenty-somethings strolled past them, talking and laughing loudly as they headed over to the glass double-doors.
“Ugh,” Zariah groaned. “ Hate this place…”
Michael stood beside her, sliding his hands into his pockets and saying nothing. He wasn’t sure why she hated the place, but he admittedly didn’t feel quite comfortable here, not the way he had at her house or at the restaurant. Something about this place and the people nearby them now set him a little more on edge, for some reason.
“Oh… crap… it’s Friday,” Zariah sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Son of a bitch, I didn’t realize it was Friday…”
Michael glanced at her. “What’s wrong with Friday…?”
“It… just… ugh… doesn’t matter,” Zariah griped, shaking her head once and breaking into a brisk stride toward the front doors, waving for him to follow. “C’mon, let’s just hurry up and get this over with…”
Michael gave her an odd little squint from behind before marching after her. She seemed to be in a worse mood all of a sudden, but he wasn’t sure why.
Zariah grasped the handles of the doors, then paused and faced him. “It’s gonna be loud—and it might get a lot more obnoxious if we don’t get out of here before the house band starts playing. Friday is their night to play.”
“O… kay,” Michael mumbled.
Zariah hesitated, then let go of the handles and turned to him fully. “Before we go in, let me just tell you… there’re strippers in the regular club area, there are private rooms for them in the basement, and there are expensive-ass hotel suites on the second floor. Between all three of those places… where do you think your brother would most likely be?”
Michael gaped at her, making a loose shrug and shaking his head once. “I… I don’t really know. He likes music, but… he also likes the idea of… um… well, he always wanted to…”
“Stripper rooms,” Zariah understood, nodding and pulling the doors open. “Gotcha.”
“No—hold on, wait,” Michael said, grasping her arm and pulling her back, the doors swinging shut again. “You—you mentioned drug dealers being here, right?”
Zariah turned back to him and nodded.
“Okay, well… the policeman I met today said that my brother was dealing with criminals, and you thought those people were probably the drug dealers hanging around here, right?” Michael explained. “So… shouldn’t we look for where they would be? Where do the dealers hang out in this place?”
Zariah made a slow nod, glancing down and biting her lip for a second. Then, she nodded again and waved a finger at him.
“That… is actually a really good point,” she agreed. “Good thinking. You’re totally right. Good job.”
Michael flashed a brief smile, feeling a touch of pride at hearing this.
Zariah stared down at the concrete, grimacing heavily now, a dark expression overtaking her.
“Fuck,” she hissed. “Well… unfortunately… that means we’re gonna have to talk to someone that I really don’t wanna talk to. Uuugh…”
Zariah then stepped away from the glass double-doors, pulling out her phone and making an apprehensive face as she opened her text messages, clicking on the name Adrian. When the messages opened up, she saw a wall of texts from random times all throughout the day, messages that she’d been ignoring until now, and she sighed grimly before reluctantly finally typing a response to him.
Halfway through typing, her thumbs seemed to freeze, and she glared down at the phone with chagrin, wanting more than anything not to send him a message.
Michael stepped to her side, examining her intently. “What’s the matter…?”
Zariah glimpsed at him and sighed again. “Well, my… my ex-boyfriend is the lead singer of the house band here, and he’s also… kind of a… hardcore drug addict.”
Michael’s brows raised, staring at her in surprise. “Oh…”
“Yeah… that… that’s a long story,” Zariah mumbled grimly down at her phone. “And it definitely didn’t end well. But… if we’re looking for the people slinging malus here… then he’s the one who’s gonna know who to look for and where to go. Hell… if your brother’s selling malus here, then Adrian probably knows him personally.”
The two of them stood by the corner of the building in silence for a moment, Zariah merely staring into her phone’s bright screen with a conflicted look strewn across her face.
“He’s really… obsessive,” she mumbled. “I really… really don’t wanna message him. He’s in borderline stalker territory, and I really don’t wanna open this door again.”
Michael stared at her with troubled perturbation.
“Maybe don’t message him, then,” he suggested. “Maybe just call him and ask him what we need to ask… and then just… hang up on him, I guess.”
Zariah let out another stressful breath, eyes still glued to the phone screen.
Then, slowly, hesitantly, and dreadfully, she raised her thumb over the CALL icon in the corner, pressing it and starting the phone call. She made another face as she held her phone to her ear, waiting patiently for him to answer.
“Hello?” Adrian’s familiar, grating voice echoed into her ear.
Zariah opened her mouth to respond, but suddenly found herself unable to, everything inside her pleading with her to simply hang up.
But, she glanced over at Michael, and she sighed, feeling torn.
“Hellooo?” Adrian said again, this time louder. “I can hear you breathing, Zee. Say something.”
Zariah tried to speak again, but to no avail. She then turned to Michael, as if looking to him for help, and she held her phone to her chest, leaning closer and murmuring to him.
“I don’t think I can talk to him,” Zariah said softly.
Michael stared, then nodded and slipped the phone from her hand. “That’s okay, I’ll do it for you.”
“Wait, don’t …!” Zariah whisper-yelled, but it was too late.
“Hello?” Michael said politely, holding the phone to his ear and turning away.
The man on the other end of the call fell dead silent for a long, tense moment.
“Who’s this?” Adrian barked seconds later.
“I’m a friend of Zariah’s,” Michael replied nonchalantly, smiling and speaking as if he was simply regarding an old acquaintance. “Sorry to bother you, but we just had something to ask you real quick. Do you know anyone named Zander?”
The call was quiet for another few seconds.
“Okay—first of all, who the fuck actually are you?” Adrian snapped at him. “And second of all—why the fuck do you wanna know?”
Michael frowned, making an odd face. “Well… that’s not very nice. It was just a question.”
“Who—the fuck—actually— are you? ” Adrian asked again in a hard, clear voice.
“Michael,” Michael replied casually. “And I’m just trying to find my brother.”
“I don’t give a mother fuck —you got a lot of goddamn nerve talking to me on my fiancé’s phone , motherfucker,” Adrian snarled furiously. “What the fuck are you—her boy toy?”
Michael paused, making another perplexed expression and mouthing boy toy? to himself in confusion.
“Oooh… now it all makes sense,” Adrian ranted. “She’s too good for me now ‘cuz she decided to go run off with her little side piece. Well… guess what, motherfucker. I was just about to head upstairs to see Zander… but you know what I’m gonna do instead? Me and my boys are just gonna fucking kill you both. How ‘bout that?!”
“Upstairs,” Michael mumbled, turning back to the building and gazing up at the second floor. “Oh… is that where he is? Okay. Awesome. Thank you.”
He lowered the phone and handed it back to Zariah, Adrian’s angry voice still echoing out of it with various curses and slurs. Zariah slowly took the phone and ended the call, but her eyes remained fixed onto Michael, staring at him with a look of mortified horror painted across her face.
Michael read her expression, then frowned and gave her a questioning look. “What…?”
Zariah remained silent for a moment, still staring, and she choked out a faint little noise, shaking her head and stuffing her phone into her jean pocket.
“I wish you didn’t fucking do that,” she grumbled.
Michael narrowed his eyes at her in bewilderment. “What… talk to him?”
“ Yes ,” Zariah griped. “Why did you do that?!”
“Because… you didn’t wanna talk to him yourself,” Michael said honestly. “So… I just figured I’d do it for you.”
“Michael—he thinks you’re my new boyfriend now,” Zariah stated plainly. “And now he’s gonna throw a fucking fit.”
Michael paused, glancing down and rethinking all the angry things that the stranger on the phone had just said.
“Oh,” he breathed. “Oooh… yeah… I guess it would seem like that to him, wouldn’t it? I didn’t really think of that.”
“Yeah—no shit,” Zariah growled.
There was another pause, her fuming at him in silence, and Michael simply sighing and frowning.
“Sorry,” he said.
Zariah huffed, blowing a strand of hair from her eyes and turning away. She buried her face in her palms, and she let out a long, shaky breath, trying to force herself calm.
Michael studied her, his brow hardening, examining her closely and only just beginning to understand how distraught she actually was now.
“What’s wrong?” he asked her. “I mean, I know what’s wrong, but… why are you so… worried about it?”
Zariah slowly slid her hands down from her face, looking away and grimacing with angry despair.
Michael read her more intently, watching her avoid his eyes, scratch her cheek, and anxiously readjust her bangs.
“Are you scared of him?” he guessed.
Zariah shot him a searing look with watering eyes, then let out another trembling breath and covered her face again, shaking her head at the ground.
“You’re not gonna understand,” she moaned, dropping her hands by her sides and gazing into him with dismay. “I just really don’t wanna have to fight with him again. I don’t like having to use a taser on somebody I cared about. I don’t like having to call the cops on him—and I don’t like him fucking stalking me because he can’t accept the fact that we’re over. I had to watch that prick kill himself with drugs and then blow up on me if I ever said anything about it—and now he’s gonna ruin everything all over again, because he always does—”
“Zariah—he can’t ,” Michael told her, grasping her by the arms and meeting her eyes. “Calm down. Listen. Whatever happened between you and him before can’t happen now.”
Zariah choked out a dry, caustic scoff, giving him an incredulous sort of look.
“What the hell makes you think that…?!” she cried.
Michael stared into her, flashing a smirk and giving her a gentle little shake.
“Because I’m here,” he said definitely.
Then—he let go of her and walked past her, strolling toward the glass double-doors.
Zariah turned and stared after him, her heart skipping, feeling a jolt of anxiety shoot up and down her—and she quickly broke into a sprint to follow him.
In the largest suite of the Rock Rollers, with music playing, the main lights dark, and strobe lights flashing amidst the neon—Zander Voltaire was at the far end of this gigantic room that contained a jukebox, a bar, a stripper’s pole, and many liquors, leaned back on a massive bed with velvet red comforters. He was prepared for a personal party that was set to begin when a few friends arrived—but one of them already had, a woman named Crystal, who was lying beside him, coiling her arms around him and giving him a long, hungry kiss, her hands exploring his body, as his did hers.
Zander’s hair was short and longer in the middle, combed neatly over and quickly growing messy as Crystal mounted him and ran her fingers through his hair, flipping open his black suit jacket and peeling it from his body.
Just then—they heard a knock at the suite’s double doors.
They both paused, staring at each other and sighing. Crystal then stepped off the bed, swiping her pink-died hairs away from her eyes as she watched Zander stand upright, sliding back into his suit jacket and jabbing his finger at the doors across the room.
Suddenly—the lock on the doors turned on its own.
Then, someone pushed them open, and three men walked inside, all of them looking disgruntled. The two on the left and right were larger guys in biker jackets, both of them holding a bat and a tire iron, and the man in the middle was more slender, having short sandy hairs and sporting a black leather jacket, wearing a particularly nasty expression.
This man—Adrian—homed in on Zander and stormed directly toward him.
Zander looked unfazed, merely adjusting the cuffs of his jacket, his eyes flickering between the two larger men on either side of Adrian, both of them propping their bat and their tire iron on their shoulders as they strode forward.
Adrian fumed at Zander for a moment, his hands balled into fists by his sides. Then, he glanced briefly over at Crystal, and he seemed to take slightly back, looking confused.
“What the fuck , Zander,” Adrian breathed, swatting over at her. “Are you screwin’ around with Don’s girl now?”
Zander poked out his mouth a bit, looking down and shrugging while he pocketed his hands.
“Mmm… Don, Don, Don… who the hell is Don again?” he asked, giving Adrian a questioning squint.
Adrian then shot him a double-take. “Uh, Donato? The head fucking honcho? The guy who gives you everything you fucking sell?!”
“Ohhh, that guy,” Zander nodded, tapping along his neck. “Seth Gecko. I gotcha.”
Adrian ogled him in bewilderment. “How the fuck do you not know this shit by now?!”
“Look… I gotta be honest with you, bud,” Zander said with a chuckle. “I genuinely don’t care about any of these people. It’s easier to remember them by movie names… and Don looks like fucking Seth Gecko. C’mon… criminal attitude, black hair, dead black eyes, and all that fucking ink on the side his neck? Dude is straight out of From Dusk ‘Till Dawn.”
“You don’t take anything fucking seriously!” Adrian exclaimed, shoving him back. “You’re just as retarded as your fucking brother! ”
Zander barely staggered, looking down for a second, then raising his head and perching his brow at him.
“I don’t recall… mentioning my family… to any of you,” he muttered with serpentine rasp.
Then at once—his hand shot out and clasped viselike around Adrian’s throat—choking him and slowly lifting him off of the floor, almost effortlessly.
“And if I learn,” Zander snarled, glaring up at him and just flashing one sharp canine. “That you, or Don Seth Gecko, or any of his Mafioso fuckboys… are fucking screwing with me , with all the demon voodoo fuck shit…?”
He reeled back—and he launched Adrian across the room—his body smashing into the far wall before hitting the floor.
“Then you are all done,” Zander promised, his dark eyes seeming to shine with a faint crimson gleam.
Adrian staggered to his feet, catching his breath and clutching his throat. He shot a wild glare across the room at Zander.
“Done… you stupid shit… done …?” Adrian croaked.
“Oh yeah.” Zander took a side step forward, flashed a smirk, and made a click of the tongue, revealing his fangs in full. “Done like fucking dinner .”
“You can’t make him done , you dumb fuck,” Adrian coughed. “You can’t take out… an entire… fucking outfit…”
Zander let out a snide little laugh, sauntering calmly toward him, the two meaty bodyguards rearing back with apprehension, neither of them eager to intervene.
“I guarantee you,” the vampire glowered. “I am a lot stronger than they are.”
“Well… I can guarantee you ,” Adrian wheezed, leering hatefully at him. “You don’t know what they are.”
“Bitch—did you not just hear me say demon voodoo? ” Zander laughed mockingly. “Damn—and I bet you haven’t even noticed my teeth yet. Catch the fuck up!”
He snapped his fingers in front of Adrian’s face.
“You are really fucking stupid,” Zander stated, thrusting a finger at him. “All that malus went and fried your circuits. Yes—I do know what they are—but nobody’s even noticed what I am yet, so I guess I must be the smartest person in town. Or you’re all just dumb as shit—hey, who knows.”
Adrian grimaced at him, cocking his head challengingly. “If you know what they are—then why do you take malus?”
Zander stared, and then, his cocky little smile slowly faded.
Adrian read his expression, then let out a low, raspy laugh, shaking his head pitifully at him. “Oh, you really don’t know how they play their game.”
“Couldn’t care less,” Zander replied proudly. “I only play mine… and I win every time. Now why the fuck did you bust in here with your inbred cousins? Hm? Why’re you picking a fight with your own damn supplier? Don’t you know not to bite the hand that feeds you?”
“Because—you fucking bastard—your brother stole my fiancé!” Adrian yelled angrily.
Zander gave him a long, deadpan stare. “You have no idea how unlikely that is.”
“It’s fucking true! And apparently that stealing other people’s girls shit just runs in your whole damn family!” Adrian hollered, swatting over at Crystal again. “Fuck you both! I will fucking kill you both , you understand me?!”
Zander raised his brows, cracking another smirk and laughing caustically at him.
Adrian nodded at the large men—his cousins—then dove at the vampire with his fist cocked back.
Zander caught Adrian’s hand and stopped the punch with no difficulty—snapping his wrist back and instantly breaking it.
Adrian let out a bellowing, tortured howl—Zander kicking him squarely in the stomach and throwing him into the stripper pole with a loud TING.
“Oh… you wanna gamble with your life today, I see,” Zander cackled, rubbing his hands together and turning around to the others. “Well… set ‘em up and let’s play.”
The man with the tire iron ran at him and swung—
Zander wormed back and avoided the swing with swift agility—then jolted forward and planted a hand into the large man’s stomach—pushing him back and slamming him into the wall so hard, it crackled and partially caved in. The man then crumbled to the ground with the wind knocked out of him.
The other man ran at him from behind and made a mighty swing of the bat—
And Zander whipped around—catching the bat midair with both hands and launching it downward—snapping it cleanly in half atop his knee.
The man’s eyes suddenly widened with horror, and he stumbled back toward the wall.
Zander revealed a wicked smile, his eyes locked onto him with a predatory shine. Just when he moved to step toward him and make the final move—
“ Zander! ”
A booming voice called across the scene—one that halted him mid-step.
Zander sighed and slowly turned his head—spotting Michael in the open doorway of the hotel suite, his older brother giving him a hard, forbidding glare.
Zariah stood beside Michael, staring over at him in surprise, as she hadn’t expected to hear such an impassioned, paternal voice come out of him at all.
Contrary to how Michael had been all day—he now stood higher and straighter, with a graver and sterner expression, and with a look of seriousness in his eyes that he hadn’t harbored since he’d awoken—though now, every bit of his elder sibling personality had suddenly come back to him in full.
“That—is— enough ,” Michael stated in a flat, clear voice, glaring at his brother intensely. “Let’s go. We’re going home.”
Zander hesitated, biting his lip and glancing down at the felled man with the tire iron, then at Adrian hunched on the ground and crying over his broken wrist, then over at Crystal, who simply stood in the corner away from the carnage. When Zander turned to his brother again, he simply laughed and tossed up his hands.
“I kinda have more to do tonight,” he said.
Michael tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Well—look around you. You’ve done enough. Come on.”
Zander glimpsed between the felled men again, then chuckled and slid his hands in his pockets. “Eh. I guess I have for now. Yeah, I can go home for a little bit…”
He marched toward Michael, giving Crystal a wave and a wink as he walked off.
“Catch you later, baby,” he said.
Michael and Zander both walked out of the room together.
Zariah paused, gazing into the hotel suite at Adrian lying curled up on the floor.
She frowned and sighed at him—then broke into a brisk stride down the hall to follow the brothers Voltaire.