Chapter Two

Pandra leaned toward her dressermirror and applied her fire engine red lipstick, smoothing on the finishing touches for her upcoming night out.

One of her extra-special nights out.

She was dressed in one of her few slutty outfits that didn't expose her midriff; something she wouldn't be doing for a while now that the tattoo on her belly was shanked through with an ugly red scar. Feck knew where her jewel belly-button ring had chipped off to.

A leather romper was tonight's outfit of choice, the garment hugging her like skin to a grape. Plenty of cleavage was exposed from the plunging metal zipper in front, and the half-moons of her arse were put on display by the short-shorts—although her cheeks were covered by fishnet stockings that rode down to her knees. Below that, she was wearing tall black "pirate" boots, the leather hugging her tight over the ankles and calves then flaring into a wide cuff at mid-thigh.

In the reflection of her mirror she saw Jorgé, the Parthen butler, come to attention in her bedroom doorway. "Your gentlemen friends are here, Miss Pandra." The butler stepped aside to allow two men access to her bedroom: Bo Bo and Duane.

Hardly her friends.

The two were a couple of deviant masochist grotbags who mucked about with her because they got their rocks off on the shocking and aberrant life she led outside of this prissy mansion…and for the skill she had at terrifying them. Their relationship was symbiotic in its way. Whenever she needed an extra-special night out to blow off a head of steam, these two found her something vile to do. As a reward for their efforts, she lavished plenty of abuse on them.

Bo Bo, real name Beauregard, was short, stocky, and suffering from early pattern baldness. He vaguely resembled George Costanza from Seinfeld, but without the glasses. Base humiliation got him off, and he generally didn't give her much trouble.

Duane was a different article altogether. He was a long streak of piss, tall to Bo Bo's short, and lanky of build with greasy hair. He had a complexion riddled with acne and beady eyes like a shithouse rat's. He was into full-on physical domination and pushed Pandra to make things worse for him. He was the dodgy tosser she had to watch.

True to form, as soon as Duane saw the mean look in her eyes, his expression brightened maliciously.

She squinted at the two in the reflection of her mirror. "It's going to be blood sport tonight, lads." She needed to clobber someone more than she needed oxygen. "What's the crack on that?"

"Fight at the pits," Duane answered.

"Blades?"

"Just fists."

She turned around and settled her bum on the edge of her vanity, putting the lid back on her lipstick tube with a sharp click. "Dull as dishwater, Duane."

"Well, there's a—"

"Goin' out?" Murk propped one shoulder against the jamb of her bedroom door.

She showed Murk her teeth in a smile. "Private party, love. No big brothers allowed. Terribly sorry and all."

Murk surveyed the length of her body. "It's too soon afterward, Pandra," he said quietly.

She caught back a flush of heat. Did the gobbin really think she needed to be reminded that five hours ago she'd been wallowing in a mound of her own guts? She hooded her lids at her brother. "No worries, mate. I'm hale." She lifted her right hand and wiggled her immortality ring at him.

Murk shook his head. "You still lost a lot of blood, Pandra."

She could practically hear Duane snicker.

She flashed her brother a murderous look. Fecking asshole, Murk, giving away a weakness in front of her minions. Anger moved like heavy mire into her chest. "I'm touched, truly, at your show of brotherly love." She picked up a pack of Camels from her dresser and pinched out a ciggy with the tips of her sharp, red-painted fingernails. "But if you're worried I'm too dicky, I could pan your head in to prove otherwise." She tucked the cigarette between her lips.

Murk watched her in silence. The threat was real, and he knew it. By some genetic anomaly, she'd ended up with the strength of three of her half-R?u brothers put together. Considering the power of even one half-R?u, that was no piddly thing.

She picked up a lighter and, with a stroke of her thumb, ignited it. A one-inch flame shot up and she leaned the tip of her Camel into it. "You want to see me lamp my brother, lads?"

"Yeah," Duane answered.

Such a good little laddie.

"Uh, oh, Murk, that's hard cheese for you." She picked a piece of nicotine off her tongue. "I like to please my lads, don't I, boys?"

"Yeah."

"I'm taggin' along tonight," Murk announced.

She laughed, then cut off the sound with an abrupt closure of her mouth. "Don't think you want to be privy to what's going to happen with me tonight, old mucker."

Duane made a mrm sound and Bo Bo ran his tongue over his lips, back-and-forth, back-and-forth. That's what Bo Bo did when he got excited. Lick, lick, lick… sick arse.

She flicked a gesture at Murk. "Push off now."

Murk grinned at her. He had a surprisingly handsome smile for such a nasty piece of work. Fact was, all of Raymond's progeny were exceptionally good-looking, herself included. But for some reason Murk felt the need to ball it up. It'd probably been the light of his day getting his nose broken by a Varcolac during the Scripps Hospital mission when Murk and her now dead half-brother, Ren, had tried to kidnap Toni.

Murk folded his arms in front of him. "You don't think you owe me a little fun tonight, ducky?"

She dragged on her cigarette. She owed Murk her life. If he hadn't come along when he did and helped her replace her immortality ring, she'd be pushing up daisies. Had Raymond just assumed that someone would happen by and save his daughter? Or had he given it a moment's thought? A burning coal lodged in her chest. Jaw squared, she rounded on Duane. "What other blood sport is going on tonight?" she demanded.

"No punch-ups, Pandra," Murk intervened. "Not tonight."

Anger seeped into her head and made R?u red spark at the corners of her vision. Aye, her beastie had been riding dangerously close to breaking free ever since her punishment today. But "going R?u" was like a nuclear temper tantrum; she might grow invincibly strong when she slipped into the demon side of herself, but at the expense of complete loss of control. No, thank you ever so much. She didn't care for that. "You should shut your cake-hole, Murk. Protective Big Brother doesn't suit you."

Murk merely stared at her again.

She turned aside, sucking in a huge lungful of smoke and exhaling it sharply. Murk had been through this before, though. He must know how weak she was feeling. How painful it was to have this burning coal of helplessness residing inside her. How filled with self-loathing she was. Mashing out her cigarette, she twisted it hard into the ashtray, then shrugged. "All right, I'll indulge." She looked at Duane. "What else do you have on the agenda?"

"I know where the Iron Cock is tonight."

"Ah! Now there's a brill idea." The Iron Cock was a sex club where anything could go on and usually did. The illegal part of people shelling out brass for "favors" kept the location constantly changing. That, and the drugs that were generally being passed about. She arched a brow at her brother. "You like taking it up the arse, don't you, Murk?"

Murk's expression didn't change. "Not the last I checked, ducky."

"Bo Bo does." She lavished a nasty grin on her minion. "Don't you, Bo Bo?"

"No," Bo Bo squeaked even as his tongue darted out and slithered across his lips. Lick, lick, lick…

They all piled into Pandra'scar: a Porsche 996 Carrera 4-seater coupe, jet black on the outside, pristine beige leather upholstery on the inside, and an in-dash 6-CD changer, plus plug in for an MP3, with speakers that could blow a girl's head clean off. Blimey, but she loved this car. She ragged it onto the I-5 freeway with hardly a sound from the purring engine. She had the Foo Fighters playing, and the rock band was belting out "Free Me." Pandra tightened her grip on the steering wheel. How apropos was that sentiment? She drove faster.

Careening off the I-5, she came to a red light at the end of the ramp and braked to a stop. Reaching into her small black purse, she pulled out two Camels. She lit them both and handed one to Murk.

"Hey, we're back here, too, you know," Duane whined. "How the fuck 'bout one for us?"

She unbuckled her seatbelt, handed Murk her ciggy, then leaned into the back seat and slammed her fist into the side of Duane's jaw. His head bounced off the passenger side window and cracked it.

Duane cried out.

"Shut your fecking trap." She sat back down. "And if you get blood on my car, I'll make you eat your own conkers." She reclaimed her cigarette from Murk, catching Bo Bo's reflection in the rearview mirror. His eyes were wide with terror. "Neither of you get to ask for anything tonight. You hear, you lousy piece of shites?"

Bo Bo licked his lips. Bleeding spacko.

The traffic light switched to green. She put the Porsche in gear and continued toward Barrio Logan, the scrotty part of town where the Iron Cock was operating tonight. Dragging steadily on her cigarette, she struggled to ignore the sharp pain in her belly. Her immortality ring didn't take away all sensation, and considering her intestines had been playing Twister on the floor earlier today, she was feeling right cattled. She should be home soaking in a hot bathtub at this very moment, and if there was anyone in her life with an ounce of sense or an ickle of real affection for her, that's exactly where she'd be.

In a sudden aching rush, she missed Inga, one of the nannies who'd cared for the brood when they'd been growing up. Raymond certainly hadn't let them be raised by their mean-as-piss demon mum, Yavell. When Pandra was a little girl and had an ouchy, Inga always made her feel better with songs and biscuits and kisses. Those days were long away now, though. She couldn't remember the last time there'd been a nurturing female influence in Raymond's household.

She switched lanes, gunning the Porsche past a Corvette. "Do you remember Inga?" she asked Murk.

Murk glanced at her. "Our hot Swedish nanny?" He made a rough sound in his throat. "Who could forget a set of milkers like those?"

She snuffed out her cigarette in the ashtray. "Don't be a shit-face, Murk. She was a good sort."

Murk paused. "She was." He turned his head to stare out of the window. "I liked her cookies."

"Raymond got rid of her because of you lads, you know. You wankers got too interested in shagging her."

"Hey, not me."

"Aye, I forgot," she drawled. "You're as innocent as a bairn."

Murk tapped his fingers on his knee. "Maybe we should give Inga a bell."

She snorted. "Can you imagine what Inga would say about us now? She'd be right proud of what we've become, for dead certain."

Murk went back to staring out the window.

Twelve-thirty in the morning on a Saturday night and the streets were empty in this part of town, with only the occasional cluster of dicey-looking gangbangers milling about. The roads were slick from a recent sprinkle of November rain, the shiny black asphalt reflecting the lights of the traffic signals and the street lamps in a way that seemed surreal.

It wasn't real. This world. Her. How could any place where a father all but killed a cherished daughter be real?

With a hard punch of her finger, Pandra forwarded CDs to the Red Hot Chili Peppers and the solid drumbeat of "Dani California" pounded through the Porsche.

She drove the rest of the way in silence.