The Mark of the Vampire Queen by Joey W. Hill Page B

blow and rammed his fist into Jacob’s stomach. Jacob reacted with another punch to his face, hitting his lip and winning first blood.
    The restaurant was clearing, people were shouting. Jacob was vaguely aware a couple of the less sensible workers had jumped into the fray, trying to pull them apart. In the end, they had to give up and stand back to avoid being casualties, for the two brothers were too skilled at fighting to countenance interruption and the workers just kept being tossed to the outside.
    Jacob maneuvered them to the corner, caught Gideon by the scruff and slung him against the emergency exit. The alarm detonated when the crash bar gave way under Gideon’s weight, but by then they were in the alley and out of the area involving innocent bystanders or destruction of property Jacob knew he didn’t have the funds to replace.
    He charged Gideon with a yell, tumbling them into a collection of garbage cans that scattered like bowling pins as they landed among them. In some distant part of his mind, Jacob knew they were riding the rage, letting it drown out the memories of loss that had bonded them so closely as well as driven them apart.
    It drowned out everything, including the police sirens.

5
    B ECAUSE Gideon tried to trip Jacob on their way into the police station and Jacob responded by using his shoulder to ram him into the wall, the officer who’d brought them in had recommended to the guard on duty that they be cuffed to the bars on opposite sides of the communal cell. He’d also threatened them with an officer assault charge because they sandwiched him in the middle of the scuffle. Gideon’s private arsenal had not helped matters. While the cops had been partially mollified by his concealed carry permit for the guns, Jacob was sure they were running every background check on him possible, including searching the data banks for international terrorists.
    Perhaps because Jacob had been a little more polite to the cops and wasn’t carrying twenty pounds of weapons like an action movie star, he’d been cuffed where he could sit on a bench, whereas Gideon’s choice was standing or taking a seat on the questionable cesspool of the floor.
    The guard on duty was posted at a desk near the cell. He kept an indifferent eye on them and the other occupants, ignoring any wise-cracks as he worked on paperwork. Their cellmates were mostly drunks sleeping it off, a few petty criminals, a scared-looking white-collar kid who’d probably been pulled with pot in the car and was thrown in the tank to put the fear of God into him. He was keeping his head down, his hands twisting around each other as he tried not to look toward several of the more hardened offenders who were sharing sullen company in the corner.
    Jacob felt the ache of the fight in every muscle. His eye and jaw were swelling and there was bruising in his ribs, but he didn’t think he’d cracked any. Gideon sported a similarly damaged face. Despite that, Jacob wished they weren’t cuffed. Beating on each other was preferable to staring at one another across thirty feet of space, everything said and unsaid vibrating in the air between them, making his headache worse.
    â€œYou look like shit,” he said.
    Gideon’s head lifted. “You’re not looking so pretty yourself.”
    â€œNo. I mean you look like shit, Gid. This is beating you down.”
    â€œShut up.” Gideon turned his face away. “You don’t get to talk to me as if you’re my brother. After we leave here, I’m not looking back. You’re one of them now. My brother’s dead. You hear me?” He spun around abruptly, making the cuffs clank against the bars and earning a sharp glance from the guard. “Dead.”
    â€œSo love’s all about meeting your terms, is it?” Idiot, stubborn, hardheaded jackass. You used to sing to me when I had nightmares. You used to smile.
    Gideon turned away farther,