Counting coup. And an implication of impotence, insecurity, thrown in for good measure. But she knew his face. Knew his voice. Knew that hint of an accent. Knew his ability.
Knew his fucking scent.
Either he wasn't too experienced with orders which didn't involve surviving witnesses or had one heck of an ego.
"Yeah, don't worry. I'm thinking Mexico sounds real homely, this time of year, anyhow," she relented with a dissatisfied sneer. All of it a lie. She was that much more determined to now stick around, like a knife in someone's back. "If you want, I can put in a good word for you with a drug cartel," the vampire quipped, giving a shrug of chained shoulders.
One thing was certain. No more meet-ups with first-timers.