Getting a brand new car without having to pay was definitely a big reason Arthur was considering leaving his day job. At first, Arthur thought it was just one of the Soldado’s coming to pick him up that night. But instead, Saint was standing outside his door dangling the keys in front of him like a carrot in front of a donkey. But Arthur didn’t think about that. All he thought about was that he deserved this. It sat out in front of the apartment with the rest of the lot. For this price range, all the other cars at this particular apartment were cheap, old, rusty, unwashed. Just like Arthur’s car. His old car. The new one sat in the middle of the detritus, standing out with it’s sleek, black exterior. It was like a shadow on wheels. A shiny one.

  It was a BMW M4. Glossy black, with black metal rims and dark tinted windows. It was the same as many of the other cars the Soldado’s used, except this one was a two door instead of a four door. For personal use, not business. It looked stealthy, mean, and fast. Arthur’s knowledge of cars mostly came from having to pull other people over, so he had a good gist for the makes and models. Though he didn’t know much about the actual specs, speeds, or packages that really made a car what it was. But even he could tell this was a fine piece of machinery. As he rounded the car, impressed, and excited, Saint proved that he fortunately did know a lot about machinery. He was going over all the specs from top to bottom. Rear wheel drive, competition package with six cylinders at three litres. Zero to sixty in about three and a half seconds. State of the art driver assistance system and navigational system. Most of what Saint was explaining as he circled around the car went in one of Arthur’s ears and out the other. All he could think about was a sort of child like, adrenaline based desire to get in it and see how fast it could go. He was about to unlock the car to do that, then he stopped.

  “What about the tint?” Arthur asked.

  Saint stopped. “What about them?”

  “Aren’t they illegal? I’d get pulled over.”

  Saint shrugged, “You’re right. But you tell me how difficult it is to notice tint at night. Though, guess you might be out and about during the day. Didn’t really think about that. Ah who gives a shit, you’re a cop.”

  “That doesn’t make me immune,” Arthur protested.

  Saint snorted. “Sure it don’t. You think it’s a bigger risk being an off duty cop, or being a brown guy with an accent and tons of tattoos? Look, you want the car or not man?”

  Arthur did. He did really, really want the car. It was so…cool. He could probably afford something like this on his own now, to be fair. Albeit with a big down payment and lots of months of small payments that would constantly be nagging at his bank account. But this came without any of those things.

  “Are the plates legal?”

  Saint rolled his eyes, “Jesus Arthur you’re paranoid as fuck, I ever tell you that? Yes, it’s all on the up in up. It’s already in your name too, so if you say no and make me have to go change that that’ll be a pain in my ass.”

  Arthur grinned, but something in the back of his mind was telling him the next question needed to be asked. “Why exactly are you giving this to me?”

  “Well, I, and many others think you’ve been doing a great job so far. This is a sort of thank you. It’s also a way for you to get around faster and disappear faster if you have to. Mainly we just don’t want you riding around in that other piece of junk. You know, we want you to look professional and all.”

  “So, what does that mean? I’m part of the crew now? I’m a made man? I’m ‘in’?”

  “I guess. It doesn’t all gotta be complications, you know. Strings and smoke and shit. It’s just a gift, bro.”

  Saint made an impatient gesture for Arthur to unlock the car. Arthur looked at the key. It was a sleek, black, electronic fob with a couple of buttons. Arthur held it next to the door handle on the drivers side and there was a click on the interior, automatically unlocking for its new owner. Arthur grinned. The inside was just as impressive as the outside. It felt like he was getting into a fighter plane, with the amount of displays and buttons inside. The only obvious downside was it was all crammed together and tight, without a whole lot of comfort room. More room for speed, he guessed.

  Saint got in the passengers seat as Arthur played around with the buttons a bit, trying to get a feeling for the car. He had driven fast cars before. But this thing didn’t seem like it could go fast, it felt like it wanted him to go fast.

  “So,” Saint asked, “Ready to test this thing out or what?”

  “Wait, what about my old car?”

  Saint just grinned, leaning over and pressing the small circular start button near the wheel. The engine roared to life causing the entire car to rumble. “Who gives a shit?”

  Arthur had to admit that it did feel nice getting rewarded for his work. Not with little bonuses here and there, teases about promotions, and office parties for a job well done. But a brand new car that, according to Saint, cost closer to a hundred than it did to fifty. And it was fast. It took Arthur a few tries to get the feeling of the accelerator down, the car jumping forward at the slightest touch. It was grippy, speedy, and Arthur had seen these being driven by Saint’s crew. During night it was difficult to see them unless they were directly under light. It was strange seeing something so loud and quick also manage to be so silent and stealthy. Unfortunately it was also difficult to see out of the tinted windows at night.

  Still, Saint encouraged Arthur to drive a little more recklessly than he normally did. And Arthur was feeling the thrill of a new toy with a big engine, so he broke more than a few traffic laws as they zipped around town. He barely even care about the fact he was now one of those cops that was completely abusing the law. In the past, he had justified what he had done with Persephone through numerous reasons, regardless of their validity. Now, he barely even though about it. Instead, in his brain was a more primal part that lit up when something interesting was happening. In this case, the interesting thing being putting his and others lives at risk by running lights and going thirty over the speed limit. And that barely felt like it was scratching the surface of what this car could do.

  This reckless abandon felt fresh, new, and exciting. Arthur couldn’t help but laugh as they drove, as Saint blared some sort of heavy Mexican rap over the speakers. It was like for the first time in a long time Arthur was just allowed to enjoy life, and have some fun. He liked that feeling. He really liked it. Fortunately the logical part of his brain reminded him, after being ignored a few times, that this was all fun and good but wrapping himself around a light pole or parking inside of a building wasn’t a good thing. Not from any kind of righteous moral standpoint, telling him to avoid putting others at risk. The moral compass was broken, if not gone altogether. But from a standpoint that he was still a living creature and his brain reminded him he should do his best to kill accidentally kill himself. So, less than ten minutes after tearing around Longley, Arthur slowed the car down at the next light in a busier intersection of town. The BMW rumbled underneath him like a cheetah trying to get moving again as fast as possible. Saint was coming down from a laugh after they had burned through three stop signs in a row way too fast. His laugh was infectious, Arthur feeling a bit giddy from the whole thing.

  It felt good to let loose once in a while. Saint clapped him on the shoulder, “Good shit hermano, good shit!”

  Arthur laughed again. Having fun was great and all, but there was another unusual feeling bubbling inside of Arthur. He felt…welcomed. Somehow, ripping around in a fast car with a man who was not only a supernatural monster, but also his boss, felt real. Felt like he was part of something. He looked at Saint for a moment. In a way, the man was kind of like his friend. Despite what he was, Saint acted more human than half his colleagues. Arthur chuckled again, turning forward, getting ready to press the gas hard before something caught his eye.

  Crossing the intersection in front of them was a beat up little red car with dark tinted windows, a very familiar dent in it’s side, and a license plate Arthur recognized as having inputted in his police computer from the time it was involved in a hit and run. Specifically, when it had hit Arthur’s old car and run from two detectives.

  “Shit,” Arthur said, reaching for the switch to turn his siren on, pawing at an invisible switch, realizing he was no longer in his unmarked car.

  “Wassup?” Saint asked.

  “That car. That fucker totaled me, made me spill all my coffee. And then he ran.”

  Saint followed Arthur’s gaze as the car turned through the intersection. “Shit is right. I recognize that car. Follow him.”

  Arthur didn’t ask. Part of him trusted Saint, part of him just wanted to drive this beast around more. Part of him wanted to punish this guy for doing what he did. He pressed the gas gently, reminding himself he couldn’t just run the guy down. They turned the intersection following the beater. It was putting along at a lazy pace half the street down from them.

  “Who is it?” Arthur asked.

  “That’s a vamp. A dumbass one.”

  “A Feral?”

  “That’s right. Little fucker slipped out of my fingers a while ago. How much you wanna bet he’s involved with all this shit? Bet he knows the guys who attacked the club.”

  That seemed like a big coincidence, but Arthur didn’t care. Right now, his desire to do justice, formally or not, against this guy over rid any kind of logical reasoning. He didn’t consider that maybe he just wanted revenge as Arthur continued following the car at a safe distance. It was headed into a grungier side of town dubbed Lower West. Half warehouses and half dive bars. Arthur was familiar with the area, on account of having to respond to multiple calls in this area regularly. It was a shithole with some charm. A good place for vampires to hideout without getting noticed.

  The little red car eventually turned down a street, then another. Apparently the driver never noticed them because he never seemed to speed down or slow up. At some point he stopped outside of what was an old, red brick building that looked like it had been turned into one of Lower West’s many shitty bars. It had no obvious identification or name besides a few cars and some motorcycles parked out front indicating there was life inside. Or unlife.

  “The Jackroller,” Saint said with a grin. “Love this place. Lots and lots of assholes come here. Ferals included. Peeps who don’t like eyes on em. Didn’t know this place was still up and running.”

  “Kind of sounds like we shouldn’t be here.”

  Saint blew a raspberry, “Why not? You afraid to get dirty?”

  Arthur shrugged, “Just seems like a lot of the guys we’re currently at war with might be here.”

  “Relax man. As long as you don’t go telling everyone who we work for we’ll be fine. I’d be surprised if anyone notices me, its usually fresh bloods and other greenies in here. But, might be a good opportunity to see who this guy is working with, or if he knows anyone. Pretty sure his name is Ronald, or Ronnie, or some shit. Thinks he’s a mercenary or something, but really he’s just a fuckup for hire like most Ferals.”

  Arthur shrugged, “Fuck it, let’s go. Just remember only of us drinks blood. If something goes wrong I’m getting the hell out.”

  Arthur parked the car a little ways away from the entrance of the bar. He and Saint got out, making their way towards the front. There were only about six or seven total people here from the looks of it, and the inside corroborated that. It was a dingy little establishment with about ten tables and less chairs at the bar. Lots of red lighting, lots of poorly taken framed photos of people Arthur didn’t recognize, and lots of neon signs with words, phrases and images that seemed a little too on the nose for a bunch of vampires trying to law low. Cigarette smoke permeated the air and slow, low toned rock music droned on over the quiet conversations.

  All the people in here were minding their own business. Nobody even bothered to look up as Saint and Arthur came in, except for the bartender. The bartender, a bald man with a mutton-chop beard and a leather cut jacket was currently chatting with someone at the bar, but his eyes were on the two of them the whole time. Arthur clocked it immediately, and if Saint even noticed he didn’t show it, just continuing on to a secluded table drenched in shadow, like most of the others. It was difficult for Arthur to see any kind of detail in here due to the low light. Nobody else seemed to have that problem. As he was looking around, the bartender had made his way over to the table, draping a rag across his shoulder.

  He looked at Saint, slowly, then at Arthur. Then back to Saint.

  “You trying something stupid here, pal?” The bartender asked. “We don’t do feedings in here.”

  It took Arthur a moment to realize he was the food being referred to, yet another reminder that humans and vampires being buddy-buddy wasn’t so common. Like he needed another reminder the precarious position he was in. But it didn’t bother Arthur. They didn’t know Saint like he did. Saint shook his head.

  “Nah, he’s my biter.”

  “Oh. My bad,” the bartender said. “Just keep your nose outta trouble then, this is a clean establishment. Despite what it looks like,” he grumbled as he walked away.

  Arthur just looked at Saint. “Do I have to ask what?”

  “You know Renfield?”

  Arthur put his face in his hands, “Holy shit, I am Renfield.”

  Saint laughed, “No, nah. You’re not him. But that’s what Renfield is, a biter. I think, at least. Some people call ‘em thralls. Helots is another word I’ve heard.”

  “Wait, what? Helot? Like, a slave?” Arthur asked.

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  Saint nodded. “Yeah. But it ain’t like that. Sometimes there’s humans that a vamp like. But they don’t wanna turn them, or maybe can’t. Or maybe the human doesn’t wanna be turned for whatever reason. You can sorta drip feed them, with your own blood. Gives them a few benefits without making em’ going all the way. But the caveat is, like us, they always need more, and it has to come from the same vamp. Always nipping at your heels for more. Biters. Honestly they’re a bunch of sad fucks most of the time and totally being used. Usually only rich old bastards who need people to help with day to day human shit use them. Obviously you’re not one, but it’s a lot better than explaining why I’d bring a human to a place like this.”

  Arthur nodded. “Damn. Sounds like a pretty tough existence. Are there a lot of them? Why don’t they…I don’t know, rise up? Rebel?”

  “Eh,” Saint said, leaning back in his chair. “Why would they? Our blood is like crack to them. Plus, biters live longer, are tougher, a little sharper. Plus, they usually get other benefits too. It kind of is like you and us, without the drip feeding part. You do what we say, you get cool new shit. And you still get to walk around in the sun and all that. Plus, don’t feed a biter for a while, they start feelin’ real bad until they just wither away. So once you’re in, you’re pretty much in for life.”

  “So…why haven’t you made me one? Wouldn’t it be…better? I’d be stronger and all that?”

  Saint raised an eyebrow at him, “I don’t want some guy followin’ me around like a puppy on a leash. Do you want to be a puppy?”

  “No, I guess not. What about Bartolome?”

  Saint shrugged. “Bartolome is a powerful, old dude. He’s got a lot of shit on his plate. I deal with em’ sometimes. They’re mostly weirdos. Dunno why the fuck they’d want to be half a vampire. But from I understand they all did it voluntarily, Bartolome don’t want anyone working for him that could betray him.”

  “What? Why the hell would anyone agree to be a…helot?”

  “I don’t know every single one personally, but there’s a lot of reasons.”

  Arthur nodded. “You think I could take one?”

  “Like what, in a fight? Maybe. Like I said, they ain’t anywhere near the level of someone like me. They’re tough, but a dude who knows how to fight could take one out. Hence why even if they’re close to the boss, at the end of the day they do what we say cus’ otherwise we’d fuck them up.”

  Although he didn’t outright say it, what Saint had just indirectly told Arthur, purposefully or not, is that if he ever stepped out of line, he’d be dogmeat. Not that he planned on it any time soon, but it still was a stark reminder. Their conversation lulled, Saint not seeming to notice, continuously looking around the room trying to find Ronnie. Or Ronald. Or whatever his name was. Arthur looked around the room. Still, nobody seemed to notice or care he was here, but he wondered what they’d think if they knew. A human, just casually hanging out with vampires. All of a sudden, it began to feel less like a fun, grungy bar and more like being a slab of fresh steak in a lion’s den.

  “Our friend just went into the backroom,” Saint said suddenly. “We’ll wait here, I don’t think the bartender would like it if we just waltzed around where we’re not wanted.”

  “Why do you care what he thinks?” Arthur asked.

  Saint gave him a slow look. “Where did that come from?”

  Arthur shrugged. “You could probably fuck him up, right? Why care what he thinks?”

  “I told you already, bro. I still work for Bartolome, and right now Bartolome doesn’t want us causing problems. Though I like where your head’s at. If you got power, you should be able to use it. Fuck anyone who thinks otherwise.”

  “Hm,” Arthur mused. Without considering the answer, he asked, “Why haven’t you made me a vampire?”

  Part of him felt like the question felt wrong coming out. Like it wasn’t something you were supposed to ask, or it was rude. Or like, it was one of those things where if you had to ask…but Saint didn’t seemed bothered. In fact, he barely seemed to react at all.

  “I dunno. Do you want me to make you one?”

  Arthur just stared, suddenly the atmosphere felt much more intimate, more so than he intended. Not in a good way either. It made him uncomfortable. Even the thought of being turned seemed necessarily intimate. At least, in what he imagined being turned into a vampire looked like.

  “Uh, I’m not sure.”

  “Well I can tell you I sure as shit don’t. I like our relationship the way it is, Arthur. If I became your daddy, that complicates things. There’s kind of an unwritten rule that you do good by your sire. Your sire being whoever turned you. What that usually translates to is you lick my boots for as long as I want, until you get fed up with it and kill me, or run away, or whatever the fuck. Most vampires aren’t the sharing type, and having another person to take care of, and teach, and all that shit is a pain in the ass.”

  Arthur just nodded. He agreed with Saint, and wasn’t really sure why’d he asked in the first place. Curiosity, maybe. “Who is your sire?”

  “He no longer resides on our immortal plane, fortunately. Used to be a real cunt. Guy was a real sicko. Torturing people was like a hobby for him. Even by cartel standards he was brutal. He turned me back in Mexico. Glad I never have to see his ugly face again.”

  “But he taught you what you know,” Arthur said slowly, trying not to broach a bad topic.

  Saint looked back at Arthur, and laughed. “Yeah I guess that’s true! Apple doesn’t fall from the the tree, huh.”

  Arthur swallowed involuntarily. He had to remind himself that although he and Saint were friends, or whatever they were, Saint was by no means a good person. He had to remind himself of who he was dealing with, what kind of people. Despite the fact they never brought him to the more…impolite, business dealings, they were still killers. Suddenly, being anything more than just a human business associate with Saint seemed like a really, really stupid idea.

  “Do you have any real family? Mortal family.”

  “Nah. Never knew em well in the first place. Even if I did they’d be old and dead by now.”

  “Wait, how old are you?” Arthur asked.

  “Little over ninety. Nothin’ crazy in vampire years.”

  “Shit,” Arthur said. “You look like you’re my age.”

  “All right, shut up, shut up. There he is. He’s leaving with…oh shit, no way. Don’t stare, but looks like I was right. Our little nasty fucker is involved with some serious heavy hitters.”

  Arthur kept his eyes forward. A few moments later there was a thumping of boots drawing closer to their table, before a very large man passed them by and out the bar. He was wearing a heavy, green jacket with the hood up, jeans and thick combat boots. Arthur only got a glimpse at his face, but he was dark skinned, dour, and had piercings in his nose and lips.

  “Come on, I wanna see where this goes.”

  Saint suddenly stood, beginning to leave the same way the Feral and the large man just had. Arthur scrambled to get up and get following behind him.

  “Who the hell is that?” Arthur asked.

  “Come on, I’ll explain on the way. We need to figure out where he’s going. At a distance. We really don’t want to get too close to that guy even when he’s in a good mood.”

  -

  They didn’t have to follow him far. The pair had exited the building but stopped just outside in the dirt lot which was being used as a makeshift parking lot. Saint had stopped Arthur inside and waited about thirty seconds, trying to put some distance between the two groups before heading out to follow. However, it quickly became apparent that there had been no reason for them to wait after all.

  Even from inside the bar they could hear the sound of metal crunching, followed shortly by an anguished cry of pain. The two of them quickly made their way outside to see what was happening. Arthur wasn’t sure exactly what their goal here was, so he just followed along for now. Outside, the large man in dark clothing was standing over something. To both Arthur and Saint’s surprise, the man was standing over the ragged body of the Feral punk, who was groaning on the floor. The punk himself had made the crunching sound; the other man had thrown him so hard into a car it had dented the door and the Feral was laying next to it, crumpled into a ball of pain.

  Saint held out a hand and stopped Arthur as if Arthur was getting ready to jump in and do something. At this point, Arthur didn’t even know whose side they were on, if any. Whichever side that might’ve been, Saint clearly thought it better to just let this happen. Based on what occurred next, Arthur figured he probably couldn’t break this up even if he wanted to for whatever reason.

  The size difference between to the two vampires became obvious when the larger one lifted up the punk by his shirt collar, dangling him like a child. In a sweeping motion, he spun around like a shot-put thrower and flung the man halfway across the parking lot. The Feral screeched as he literally flew, slamming into a dumpster so hard there was a second loud sound of metal being smashed, and bones being broken. Arthur knew vampires were strong, but this guy was strong. The Feral cried out again and crumpled once more onto the ground. Like a professional fighter getting ready to deliver the knockout blow, the huge man strode towards him across the lot. The Feral was letting out pathetic whines like some sort of kicked dog. But, before he reached him, the large man stopped, now having noticed Arthur and Saint.

  As he looked up, a building light from the bar illuminated his face. He had a broad, crooked nose, an uneven face, and his lip had been scarred at one point. He wasn’t malformed or disfigured in the same way Benny was. But he was ugly. Not in the gross, frightening kind of way, but in the mean, frightening kind of way. This was accentuated by the fact that the man looked about as big as a rhino. He must have been a former boxer or fighter, because he walked with the type of swagger that told anyone who fucked with him they’d been in for a bad time. Arthur’s hand almost went to his stake instinctively, but a part of him knew it would be useless against a guy like this. He wouldn’t even be able to swing the stake before becoming the next victim flying across the lot.

  Saint spoke out to him as their eyes met. “We’re just enjoying the show, Lewis. No problems from us.”

  The big man snarled in response, but turned, going back to his business. He stood towering over the Feral, almost twice his size. The Feral could barely stand at this point as Lewis yanked him up onto his feet again, the Feral’s knees buckling underneath him. Before the Feral could protest, or beg for his life, Lewis began raining heavy blows down against his abdomen and ribs, the other hand still holding him up like a rag doll. Arthur grimaced. He’d seen street fights before, but this was just a brutal beating.

  “You know each other?” Arthur asked Saint, trying to distract himself from the beatdown.

  “Mhm. Both of us came to the states for the first time, around the same time, up in New York. Neither of us knew anything about anything, but we stuck together for a while. Not a single person fucked with us, vamp or otherwise.”

  “But somehow you both ended up down in Texas.”

  Saint nodded. “Yeah, lot’s of shit happens over the course of a lifetime bro. We ended up growing apart. I don’t think there was a lot of real connection there in the first place, to be fair. Just two guys trying to keep their heads above water.”

  “And now Lewis spends his time beating the life out of dumb punks.”

  “Some things never change,” Saint chuckled. “I’d heard rumors Lewis was here, just never thought I’d find him like this.” Saint turned to look at Arthur, “Just so we’re clear, Lewis ain’t a good guy. If what I’ve heard is right, he’s not exactly agreeable with what we’re doing here in Longley. So don’t go spillin’ the beans about everything.”

  Arthur made a face, “I don’t know why you keep thinking I’m blabbing about everything to people. I’ll be cool, relax.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Just know that from what I heard, it might be more than just a disagreement on beliefs. He might be workin’ for the other side.”

  Arthur watched Lewis clobbering the Feral, then looked back at Saint with an eyebrow raised. “Other side? Looks like he’s dismantling the other side right now.”

  “Ain’t just us an the Ferals, Arthur. There’s a lot of people with a lot of different power bases in our world. If I’m right, and I usually am, Lewis works for one of those groups, and they’re not so happy with what we’re doing in Longley. But I don’t know all the details.”

  “Sounds like there’s a lot more going on here than you’ve told me.”

  “That’s right. And like I told you before, better if you keep your nose out of it. The more you know, the bigger a target you become. If Lewis over there thinks you’re an ignorant mortal who I’m dragging along, you aren’t a threat. If you know who he works for and what they want and know you been watchin’ him do it, you might be a threat.”

  “Fair enough, I suppose. Although, at some point I feel like I’m going to have to know a little bit more if we’re going to keep getting involved in stuff like this.”

  “Maybe,” was all Saint said in a dismissive manner, his attention fixated on the ‘fight’.

  “Ok, well you can at least tell me what Lewis does so I can avoid being the next sack of shit being tossed around a parking lot.”

  Saint sighed, like all the questions were starting to annoy him. That offended Arthur, just a little. Maybe the questions were annoying but Arthur had a right to know, and Saint was being particularly adamant about not telling him anything.

  “He’s called a Claw.”

  “That’s…fitting,” Arthur said, watching the scene in front of them.

  “The short of it is he’s a nasty bastard, and he’s the right hand of an even nastier bastard. He’s kind of like an enforcer. Someone needs head crackin’, he cracks. Someone needs bones broken, he’s breaking. Someone does something to piss him off, well,” Saint trailed off, motioning to the Lewis, continuing to beat the Feral to death.

  Lewis finally seemed to be finished beating the life out of the punk, dropping him on the ground like a pile of trash and wiping his bloody hands on the Feral’s clothes. The Feral was just lying there, motionless. It was hard to tell if he was dead or not. Lewis turned, seeming to have forgotten Saint and Arthur were there, making a face before coming back over to them.

  “Santiago," he said in a gruff British accent, practically ignoring Arthur. “I’m on business, what do you want?”

  Saint grinned, “Just admiring your handiwork. Thought that lick there might’ve been a lead for something we’re lookin’ into, but not sure if we’ll get any questions out of him thanks to you.”

  Lewis growled, “Don’t want you muckin’ up the place here with your killing. This is our business, and it’s handled. Go somewhere else.”

  Lewis was turning to leave, but stopped. He and Saint were eyeing each other. For a moment, Arthur thought they were about to go at it. Lewis was big, bigger than most men, and apparently had more strength than other vampires. But Saint was…vicious. He had seen the things Saint had done to some of their targets, and knew he always carried a knife on him. As far as he was concerned, this could go either way. Arthur was about to speak up and intervene, but suddenly all three of them were lit up in the darkness with the headlights of a car.

  The little red junker with a dent in the side was now facing them, engine rumbling. The spot where the Feral was lying crumpled was now empty.

  “Jesus Christ that guy can still move?” Arthur asked.

  Lewis growled again, hand over his eyes, “Tough little rat.”

  From the driver’s side of the car the Feral leaned out the window, his face purple and black with blood streaming down it. He shouted something at them maniacally, though Arthur couldn’t understand it due to the engine. In a split second the car tires began to spin and kick up dust, and before Arthur could react, Saint was yanking him out of the way as the two ton vehicle was speeding directly at them. Arthur and Saint hit the dirt. As Arthur was falling, he saw Lewis hadn’t moved at all, the car careening directly into him.

  The engine roared forward and slammed into Lewis. Arthur couldn’t see exactly what had happened, but had a pretty good assumption that Lewis had just been crushed against the back of the bar as the car crash into the wall. Arthur dragged himself onto his feet and swore, drawing his firearm, as Saint was already up and beginning to move towards the car. But, they both stopped.

  Lewis was in fact between the car and the wall, but Arthur now saw that Lewis had not been crushed at all. Both of Lewis’ feet were half up against the wall, bracing himself, while his entire body as nearly perpendicular with the ground, both arms having caught the grill of the car like he’d just locked up a wrestling opponent.

  “What the fuck…” Arthur mumbled in amazement. The sheer amount of power, and durability it would take to stop being hit by a fucking car was unimaginable to Arthur. He’d already seem some incredible feats of power by various vampires, but this was something else entirely. It was like a golf cart had tried to ram an elephant. The cars tires were desperately trying to gain traction against the dirt lot, spewing up debris behind them in a big cloud of dust. By the time the Feral realized what was happening, it was too late. Lewis roared louder than the car’s straining engine, and in one huge motioning yanked the car up off the ground and flipped it onto it’s side. s

  Arthur, gawking, turned to Saint who was equally surprised. Arthur had a feeling Saint might not be so formidable compared to Lewis after all.

  As the car slammed on it’s side, the bartender and two others ran outside to see the commotion. All they witnessed by the time they got there was Lewis moving at inhuman speed, ripping the door off the top of the side-turned car, yanking the vampire punk out of the car, and violently removing his head from his body with a disgusting tearing sound. Blood sprayed all over Lewis’ dark clothes, and the sight of Lewis standing on top of the car with a decapitated head in one hand and it’s former body in the other was enough to cause all his hairs raise up on his body.

  The bartender and others who had come outside looked surprised, maybe horrified, but neither them, nor Arthur or Saint looked like they were going to intervene. As Lewis composed himself, standing atop the flipped car like some sort of lion after a successful hunt, he looked around himself at the staring people. He jumped down from the car, still holding the pieces of the Feral. Lewis made his way over to the nearby dumpster and deposited the remains into them, looking down at himself now covered in a spray of blood.

  “Fucks sake. Sorry Jerry,” Lewis said to the bartender. “Dumbass almost put his car through the wall of your place.”

  “Uh…thanks…” the bartender mumbled.

  Lewis was muttering expletives to himself, as he flipped his hood up and walked away from the bar, disappearing down the street like it was just another night for him. Maybe it was.

  Arthur turned to Saint, who for the first time Arthur had seen, had a look of concern on his face.

  “Forget to mention he could do something like that?” Arthur asked.

  “Like I said, been a while,” Saint said slowly.

  “Guess we’re not getting anything out of the Feral.”