Xander (Sons of Sangue Book 5)

By: Patricia A. Rasey


To those of you who helped me get through this story,

you know who you are.

It’s been a roller coaster ride of emotions.

Life happens, thank you for being there!

Thank you to my editor, Trace Edward Zaber.

You rock, man!!

Chapter 1

“You got something of mine, asshole.”

Rage itched up Alexander “Xander” Dumitru’s spine. No one spoke to him with such blatant disrespect, especially someone who apparently didn’t have the courage to do so face-to-face. Heat pooled in his eyes, threatening to turn the ocular organs into twin obsidian pools.

“I want it back,” the caller hissed.

The voice on the other end of the blocked call wasn’t familiar, rendering Alexander clueless as to what the hell was going on. If he possessed whatever the caller accused him of taking, then he was damn well going to keep it.

“Who the fuck are you calling ‘asshole’?”

The caller chuckled, the sound thick with menace. “If I don’t get back what belongs to me, that will be dead asshole.”

Fangs punched through his gums. He didn’t bother to hold his vampire DNA at bay. The motherfucker was lucky Alexander was on the other end of the cell and not standing scant inches from him. He’d take great pleasure in draining the craven fuck with little regard.

“I’d say you must have a huge set of balls, but then that would require you having the nerve to call me ‘asshole’ to my face.”

“Consider yourself forewarned,” the man said, Alexander hearing the smile in his final words.

The call ended.

“Son of a bitch.” Alexander stared at his own reflection in the Gorilla Glass before tossing the cell to the scarred bar.

After grabbing the tumbler of Sprite he had been sipping before the phone rang, he tossed it back, feeling the carbonation burn a path down his esophagus. His gaze went to the bottle of Gentleman Jack sitting half empty on the bar. For the most part, he didn’t partake in whiskey. It reminded him too much of his alcoholic parents and how it had torn apart his family. But right now, he’d certainly welcome the buzz, no matter how temporary. Damn his vampire blood for not allowing him a good drunk.

If the idiot on the phone wanted whatever he thought Alexander possessed, then it was only a matter of time before the gutless recreant showed his face.

He ran a hand down his slightly whiskered jaw, his gaze sweeping the dark, empty living area of the clubhouse. Grigore “Wolf” Lupei and Ryder Kelley, the other two residents of the Sons of Sangue clubhouse, had gone to bed a little over an hour ago. He had meant to follow suit, bunking on the sofa since his room was otherwise occupied. Alexander needed to get his head screwed on straight and figure out what the hell he was going to do with the clubhouse’s new occupant.

India Jackson.

The black-haired, dark-skinned, leggy beauty had walked into the clubhouse a couple of months ago, pregnant, with nowhere to turn. And his stupid ass had invited her to stay. Kaleb “Hawk” Tepes, the Sons of Sangue club president, had damn near blown a gasket. But what kind of a man would he be to turn her away when she had been in dire need of a friend?

A smart one.

Hell, he still had no clue to the identity of the baby’s father. The thought gave Alexander pause. Could the caller have been speaking of India? If that were the case, then he definitely wasn’t giving her back. The asswipe, whoever he was, had wanted her to abort the baby, India having expounded as much when she had first moved in. So, in Alexander’s eyes, he didn’t deserve to have her back. He’d have to go through Alexander first.

Alexander poured himself the other half of the lemon-lime soda, then set the empty silver and green can beside the phone on the bar. He took a sip, then leaned his forearms on the wood and folded his hands around the glass. His gaze traveled to the window, catching sight of a small red flare.

What the fuck?

Righting himself, he skirted the bar and headed through the living area to see exactly what the fuck was going on. The explosion popped his ears milliseconds before the blast wave of air and fire threw him against the bar, knocking the wind from him and snapping bones, flipping him over the counter where he landed in a heap on the floor behind it. The smell of burnt hair, flesh, and wood wafted to his nose.

Alexander groaned.

He tried to suck in much-needed oxygen, only to cough up toxic fumes. Smoke hung thick in the air, obstructing his view. The electricity flickered, then died. He struggled to stand and regain his balance. He could barely hear the thundering of feet headed in his direction over the ringing in his ears. Hacking up more black smoke, he spit on the wood floor.

His equilibrium had him stumbling, grabbing the countertop to steady himself. He’d likely ruptured an eardrum from the force of the blast. Grigore and Ryder skidded to a halt, just shy of what remained of the living area. Ryder snatched the fire extinguisher from the hook on the wall, aimed, and spread nitrogen-laced foam over the area, putting out the remaining flames.

The sofa on which Alexander normally slept was little more than burnt wood and steel. Had he gone to sleep an hour earlier when his MC brothers had, he’d be part of the burned rubble. Alexander ran a smoke-blackened hand through his hair, sending soot airborne.