Half an hour later.
Brown pulled the Ford SUV up to the entrance of the apartment building where Locke was renting a unit.
Locke opened the car door and waved goodbye to Brown through the lowered window.
“Goodnight, Brown.”
Brown shook his head.
“I’m heading straight back to the office to dump the data.
Once you get in tomorrow morning, we’ll start our move.”
Locke thought about it and nodded.
“Alright, see you tomorrow.”
Since his partner was being so proactive, Locke didn’t want to dampen his spirits.
Brown smiled, hit the gas, and sped off toward the Sentinel Secret Service headquarters.
Locke watched Brown’s car disappear down the street before turning around, slipping his hands into his pockets, and walking into the building.
The eighteenth floor.
*Ding!*
Locke stepped out of the elevator, pulled his keys from his pocket, and checked the time as he unlocked his door.
Three in the morning.
Normally, he would have been fast asleep by now.
But tonight, he didn’t feel even a shred of fatigue.
In fact, he felt incredibly energized.
Ever since he had fused the vampire gene, risen from E-rank to B-rank, and transformed into a child of the night, sleep seemed to have become completely optional.
*Not bad.*
*No need to sleep.
Mathematically speaking, my day is eight hours longer than everyone else’s.*
Standing by the bar in his living room, Locke downed a glass of bourbon, feeling quite pleased with himself.
“Huh?”
As the liquor drained from his glass, Locke paused, blinking in confusion at the empty glass in his hand.
He turned around, grabbed a bottle of bourbon he had bought at the supermarket a while ago from the liquor cabinet, opened it, poured another glass, and drank it down in one gulp.
But…
the feeling was wrong.
Locke stared at the freshly opened bottle, then glanced at the empty bottle of Thunder Bourbon sitting on the counter.
His eyebrows twitched.
In the next second, he opened the cabinet’s bottom drawer and pulled out a fresh, unopened bottle of Thunder Bourbon.
Not all bourbons were created equal.
Thunder Bourbon was the absolute, undisputed king of spirits.
To put it in perspective, even a bottle of Thunder Bourbon produced just last month would cost enough to cover two years of rent for his current apartment.
Normally, Locke couldn’t afford such an expensive drink.
He had swiped this bottle from his father’s private liquor cabinet in DC when he returned to New York after Christmas last year.
Locke cracked open the new bottle of Thunder Bourbon and downed another glass.
Instantly, a wave of warmth bloomed within his chest.
“It wasn’t an illusion.”
Locke raised his eyebrows.
Feeling his cold body heat up once again, he poured another glass and drank it down.
As the liquor slid down his throat, the warm current spread.
Before long, Locke could clearly feel his body temperature—which had turned cold ever since he fused the vampire gene—returning to a normal, warm state.
“Incredible.”
“Thunder Bourbon actually has this kind of effect?”
Once he confirmed the theory, Locke drew in a sharp breath and stared at the bottle in wonder.
He remembered that back at his family home in DC, there were still two cases of Thunder Bourbon that someone had gifted his father.
*Maybe I should call Mom tomorrow and have her ship them to me?*
With that thought in mind, Locke poured himself another glass and drank it.
With three glasses of Thunder Bourbon in his system, his body temperature seemed to have fully stabilized.
Right then, a knock sounded at the door.
Locke put the Thunder Bourbon back into the cabinet, set a fresh glass on the opposite side of the bar counter, and walked over to the front door.
He opened it.
Standing before him was a woman in a sleek, form-fitting black suit that perfectly accentuated her striking curves.
Her fiery red hair cascaded over her shoulders.
Natasha smiled at him.
“Long time no see, Locke.”
“Not that long.
Excluding today, it’s only been ninety-three days.”
Locke smiled and stepped aside, letting her in.
As previously established, when Locke had first sought out supernatural abilities, his primary target had been vampires.
He had attempted to use SHIELD to track them down.
During that process, the person he had contacted was none other than the legendary Black Widow, Natasha Romanoff.
He had originally hoped to get leads on New York’s vampires from her.
Though that endeavor had yielded nothing, Locke hadn’t minded, and the two had maintained a close friendship whenever Natasha traveled to New York on business.
However, six months ago, after Locke got married due to family matters, Natasha had cut off contact upon finding out.
After locking the door, Locke walked back to the bar.
“Want a drink?”
“Sure.”
Natasha scanned the apartment’s layout, then hopped onto a barstool, watching Locke pour the drinks.
“Doesn’t look like much has changed here.”
Locke handed her the glass of bourbon.
“It’s just a rented apartment.
What’s there to change?”
“I don’t know,” Natasha shrugged.
“Where’s the wedding photo?
Locke clinked his glass against hers, downed his drink, and looked at her with a half-smile.
“Are you sure you don’t know?”
He didn’t believe her for a second.
He was willing to bet that the moment Natasha found out he was married, she had pulled up every piece of data on his wife, Esme.
Meeting Locke’s gaze, Natasha smiled, neither confirming nor denying his suspicion.
“I thought you said you’d never get married.”
“My dad forced me.”
Locke gave her the same answer he had given Brown.
He refilled her glass and raised his own again.
“You work in DC; you should know how it is.”
Natasha nodded.
“I do know a little.”
The name Underwood might not mean much in New York.
But in Washington, D.C., that surname carried immense weight.
A few drinks later, Natasha tucked a stray lock of red hair behind her ear.
Leaning her face on her hand, she looked across the bar at Locke, who was resting his arms on the counter and smiling back at her.
“That wasn’t a mutant.
It was a vampire, and he was our informant.”
Locke shrugged.
“I know.”
“Then why…”
“Five of my men are dead.
If I just hand this case over, morale in my department collapses.”
“Is that the only reason?”
“Of course.” Locke smiled at her.
“What else could it be?”
Natasha laughed softly.
She ran a hand through her fiery red hair and changed the subject.
“It’s getting late.
I should head out.”
Locke raised an eyebrow.
Seeing that she made no actual move to stand up, he smiled.
“Not staying the night?”
Natasha’s amber eyes shimmered as she looked at him, her lips curving upward.
“You’re married.”
“I know.” Locke nodded, then added with a grin, “She’s a flight attendant.”
Natasha raised her eyebrows.
Locke kept his eyes locked on hers, his smile widening.
In the next second, the two of them moved simultaneously across the bar.
It was like dry tinder meeting wild flames, a passionate spark that instantly consumed them both.