Rise above, Basi.
“I have forty-three dollars to give you now as a good faith payment.” I needed the rest for the bus until Wednesday.
Clint wiped his nose again. “Rent just increased to $175.00 each week.”
Don’t stomp. Don’t put your hands on your hips. “That’s not happening and you know it. Work with me, Clint. You get to keep a great tenant. I don’t have to lug my stuff to a new place. And I will do that, unless you compromise.”
He darted his eyes past me.
My heart sank. Bad move. Shouldn’t have mentioned having stuff.
He rounded on me. “Give the keys.”
Clint was a bottom feeder. I hadn’t failed to notice that in our interactions. But I never would have come here if I believed he’d try to intimidate me. We were on the street.
… The empty street.
He shoved my shoulder, and I stumbled back more shocked than hurt.
“Keep your fucking hands to yourself,” I gasped. I put the key between two of my fingers and made a fist.
Clint had a good double-chin-shaking laugh at that. Every trace of mirth drained from his face, a greasy contemplation taking its place. Ironically, my heart was beating nowhere as fast as it had at Live Right during the week. In fact, I regarded the slimy man almost impassively. Yet I’d be a fool to disregard the very real danger just because his eyes weren’t blazing.
“The keys, bitch,” he snarled. “Or we’re going to have a problem.”
The words do you know who you’re messing with, balanced on the tip of my tongue. I refused to let them past.
“I’ll need time to get my stuff out,” I told him. Neither of us missed the tremor in my voice.
A slow grin spread across his face. “Consider that your rent payment.”
My jaw dropped. Like fuck it was. I didn’t dare tell him the contents of the house were worth far more than my rent payment.
“And I’m keeping your bond.”
“No you won’t,” I spat back.
Clint rushed me.
I’d always assumed I’d have time to defend myself from a man of his hulking size.
I managed to stab him with the key once. He shoved me back, following quickly to deliver an eye-ringing slap. The ground seemed to slope, but as the ground raced toward me, Clint kept a ruthless hold around my upper arm.
I half crawled, half stumbled to remain upright, blinking through the ringing in my head.
“You little slut,” he growled. “Listen good. You never paid me a bond. We never had a contract. You never stayed here. Got it? Come back and I’ll slit your throat.”
I whimpered as my bone screamed in protest of his increasing grip. He was going to snap my arm.
“I won’t.” The sob left me.
“Keys,” he hissed in my face. “Now.”
Through blurring eyes, I stared into his beady eyes, lodged too close together. Lifting the hand with the keys firmly lodged between my knuckles, I dropped my gaze.
Clint loosened his hold.
I jerked my knee as hard as I could upward, crushing his junk. Shouting, I sliced the pointed edge of the key across his flabby cheek.
He howled, stumbling aside, hands cupping his crown jewels.
And I ran.
I ran.
And I didn’t stop.
10
I’d been assaulted.
My pride was forgotten. The time to involve Tommy was now. I needed help to fight Clint and get my stuff back. There might even be an agency or something that could help me. Tommy would know who to approach because I sure as fuck didn’t know the rules of this world.
The problem being that in the throes of panic, I ran for twenty minutes straight. I was in Pink now. That’s how far adrenaline carried me.
Beast! I could call Tommy! Yanking the phone out of my pack, I stared at the blank screen, clicking the power button.
Nothing.
Sighing, I glanced around the intersection. I’d never been to Pink. I could only recall driving through the place to get somewhere else. I went to Tommy’s in Orange, Green for brunch, and Blue and Black for high-end shopping, dining, and entertainment. I’d been to Red once, too—to a club with Tommy.
It was midday, and I had no idea where I was. The memory of the sprint here was a blur.
I dabbed at my cheek and nose, checking for blood. There wasn’t any, but my face fucking hurt.
“Excuse me?” I called to a younger woman carrying a few plastic bags.
She glanced up, her eyes widening as she backed away.
Crap. I probably looked like a zombie. “Can you point me in the direction of Orange?”
Still backing away, she flung an arm out.
“Thanks!” I started back for Orange, my pack thumping against my lower back. At least I had the presence of mind to take the crucial stuff out of Clint’s apartment.
I’d go straight to Tommy’s. She’d ring her father and he could get some friends together. I’d have to crash at their house for another week. Maybe more. No doubt he’d tell grandmother. But rushing into things had only brought trouble and regret to my door thus far.
I had to stop being so fucking naive and ignorant. This wasn’t a cute game of Sims. There were rules and complexities I was ignorant of that were getting me into trouble.
Trouble like finding myself legitimately homeless with fifty-five dollars and the remains of a grocery voucher to my name until Wednesday. I worked for some kind of mafia godfather and was trapped working in his illegal tower because of my financial situation. I’d lied to Tommy most of this week.
Where did the chaos begin and where did it end?
Absorbed in berating myself, it took a few minutes too long for the purple roofs to register.
“Purple.” I gasped.
She pointed me in the wrong direction! Or had I misinterpreted her flailing arm for help?
I sank down onto the curb, my insides quivering as panic tried to push me over the mountain top so I could free-fall down the other side.
I wanted my grandmother. I needed my grandmother.
Beast couldn’t go on the internet—when the stupid phone deigned to work—so I hadn’t checked my emails since leaving the estate. The work computers only contained Monocle.
The public library. I lifted my head.
I could use their computers. Tommy helped me get a card when we went to type up my résumé.
I was closer to Grey than Orange at this point, and my soul craved contact with someone familiar. Someone who could protect me for a night. A person who would set me on the right path.
For me, that was either Tommy or Agatha Le Spyre.
Wrestling with the urge to give up, I set off for the skyscrapers of Grey—their tips visible over the rise of a hill.
The library was a popular place on the weekends, apparently. Waiting in line for one of the four computers gave me time to recollect some of my reason though. With greater reign over my mind, I could see that shock had me in its vice-like grip. Tendrils of desperate fear still curled around my chest.
“Number seven,” a librarian called.
I stood, and an elderly lady waved me over to the third computer.
The internet was surprisingly fast and too quickly I was staring at my grandmother’s email in my inbox.
She hadn’t emailed again, but that wasn’t her style.
Delaying the moment, I deleted my junk mail and read another email from Angelica apologising for our conversation on Friday. She hoped I understood company policy about the advancement of funds.
I hoped she understood that I was just physically assaulted and robbed because I hadn’t had an extra seventeen dollars.
Then again, it wasn’t up to Live Right or any business to pull me out of financial trouble. It wasn’t even the responsibility of my family or friends or the system. I had two feet to stand on like everyone else.
Just click the damn thing.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I tapped the mouse
icon on the email from Agatha Le Spyre.
Squinting through one eye, I skimmed over the email.
I love you, Basilia.
You will always succeed.
My forevermore love,
Your Grandmother
A burning slammed the space behind my eyes. Tears had remained in the background for days. The urge to cry was so fierce it overwhelmed the throbbing heat from the slap I’d received.
I breathed deeply, resting my head on the desk.
Don’t cry.
There was a time for tears. And that was when a child’s parents died. Then, a person was allowed to cry their tiny heart out.
I sucked in breath after breath and, in those agonising moments, came as close to crying as I had in twelve years.
When I’d regained control, I read the email again, swallowing back the surge of emotion a second time.
How had she known I’d need this?
My grandmother was fucking magic. That was how.
I came in here needing her. Guidance. Love. Somehow she supplied that in two short paragraphs that she sent the night I left the estate.
My heart swelled.
I re-read her sign-off. My forevermore love. It was something she started saying after my parents’ death.
Lifting my head, I trailed my gaze over the first paragraph again, drinking her words in.
You will always succeed.
My grandmother believed in me. Even though I’d left her and refused to be part of the rich bullshit. She was still rooting for me.
In my eyes, the two sentences in the top paragraph were linked.
I would succeed because people loved me.
As soon as I could afford to, I’d go see my grandmother. Before, I’d seen that as admitting defeat. Not anymore.
Smiling even if the gesture didn’t quite reach my soul right now, I typed out an email to my only relation.
Grandmother,
I caught the bus the other day
and lived through the experience.
My forevermore love,
Your Basilia
Logging off after, I caught the glares of those who’d been waiting their turn for the computers.
How long had I sat here for?
I nodded to the elderly librarian and left the building, gaping at the twilight sky. That explained the glares.
Butterflies erupted in my gut.
It would be dark soon.
Call me a coward or call me smart, but I wasn’t walking to Orange by myself at night. Clint’s grip on my arm was an all-too-recent reminder that I could be overcome in a matter of seconds. He could still be out there. Maybe he’d called some friends in to help.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.
I’d catch the bus back. Wasn’t like I had to pay rent anymore.
The library stop was the place I’d first hopped off with Tommy, so I headed there and waited.
... And waited some more.
When the librarian from earlier walked by, I smiled politely. She hesitated before approaching. The woman’s hair was confined in a bun at the nape of her neck—in a similar manner to my grandmother’s preferred style. That was where the similarities between them stopped.
“The buses stop at 4:00 p.m. on a Sunday,” she said, grimacing. “Or are you waiting for someone?”
I didn’t know what the time was. Clearly after 4:00 p.m.
Was I waiting for someone? Nope.
Did I have a plan? Nope.
She rested a hand on my shoulder. “Do you need help getting someplace, dear? Do you have somewhere to sleep?”
At least I didn’t look rich anymore. I must have skipped by the downtrodden nine-to-five-job appearance and proceeded straight to homeless.
Licky Lips probably wouldn’t know me.
“Dear?”
I focused on her. As it turned out… “I have somewhere to go.”
I waited in the small mall where I stole sneak peeks at the paper each day.
When 9:00 p.m. came around, I rode the escalator to the surface.
Stars twinkled high above, night in full stride.
The city was well lit, but I stuck to the shadows where possible, the memory of Clint all too vivid. My mind was convinced he or his friends lurked behind every corner.
Caught between fear and dread, I stopped in front of Kyros Sky, the key and chip that gave me access to Level 44 burning in my hand.
I’d waited until well after closing time, and Angelica had said no one would be here until midday tomorrow, but there was still a risk I’d get caught.
Until I reunited with Tommy, I was homeless. Sleeping on the streets was the very last resort. I could have tried the homeless shelter recommended by the librarian—my response hadn’t satisfied her that I had a plan. But Live Right, despite the alarming people and their maybe illegal agenda, was my first option.
I preferred the devil I knew.
Slotting the small silver key into the front door, I made sure to lock it behind me. Expecting sirens to howl at any second, I passed the electronic chip over the pad next to the lift.
Months spent in hotel rooms had taught me that much.
I used the chip again inside the elevator and pushed button 44.
My hell.
My salvation.
After the token ding, I crept into the reception area, one foot at a time.
No alarms went off, and my insides slowly unclenched.
It was just for a night. For safety. I could charge Beast too. Though I wouldn’t text Tommy until morning or she’d come to get me in the dark.
Right now, I was within four familiar walls. I could make do until morning.
I crept into my office, leaving the door ajar in case I had to make a silent getaway.
Crawling under my desk, I opened my pack.
A change of clothes—thankfully work clothes—glasses, purse and cash, grocery voucher, phone and charger, razor, toothbrush, and paste, body wash, and moisturiser.
My list of belongings had increased by a partial grocery voucher and a phone that preferred the early 2000s. Should I laugh or cry about that?
It had to be near ten at night. I was usually a night owl, but not after this hellish week. Not after today.
Yawn after yawn besieged me, yet sleep remained a flittering and distant sonofabitch. Instead, branded on the backs of my eyelids was Clint’s ugly mug.
I shuffled onto my other side and tried to find a better spot to nestle my head atop my pack. I was using my spare set of clothes as a blanket.
It was fucking cold in here.
Clint. Toss.
Clint. Turn.
Clint. Clint. Clint.
At first, I thought the muted thud was in my head. I’d been replaying the part where I’d run. The muted thud was my bag rising and falling against my back.
I only froze when someone laughed.
My eyelids flew open.
Holy fuck.
Someone was up here.
I wasn’t alone.
The woman laughed again. A lover’s laugh. A man echoed the sound in a deep baritone, their conversation a mere murmur of indistinct words.
I covered my mouth. Shit! This was bad. I mean, I could explain the situation. And would. But receiving a key and then using your workplace as a bedroom looked really bad.
Where were they in the building?
Removing my makeshift blanket, I eased out from under the desk and crept to the door, glad I’d left it ajar.
One of them had turned on an office light beside reception.
I recognised them. It was the young woman and man that Katerina had so strongly disapproved of being together. They’d snuck up here for pretty obvious reasons. The man, somewhere in his thirties, had her pressed against one of the reception benches. Her mini skirt was hiked, one of her feet hooked around his calf.
Who came to work to bang anyway?
At least it looked as though they’d picked their romping spot. I just h
ad to keep quiet and wait for them to go. They had no reason to come into my office—I hoped.
“That’s it, baby. You know you want it,” he panted. “I trust you.”
Jesus. Sexy talk was anything but when I wasn’t part of the action.
I cast one last amused glance their way but stilled, squinting.
What the hell?
The office light was catching on the woman’s teeth. Her fucking long teeth. The man tipped his head to one side, baring his neck, and—
Jerking violently, I slapped both hands over my mouth as the woman bit into his neck. One of her hands came up to push his head even farther to the side. The other clamped his body against her own.
She drew on him, slurping, swallowing, gulping.
She was drinking his blood.
He moaned, his hips moving against hers. The Bright Eye didn’t reciprocate, and his movements weakened. The man’s hands clawed at her back, slipping away to the soundtrack of her gurgling swallows.
The monster followed him to the ground, snarling as she ripped into his neck anew.
He stopped moving.
Eventually, she stopped too.
I couldn’t blink or think. I couldn’t even inhale. Frozen to the spot, fear pulsed unchecked at the thought I was next; that this vampire—for that’s all she could be, as impossible as that concept was—was thirsty for more.
A switch flicked within her. One moment she was a snapping animal. The next she was screaming bloody murder, shaking the man’s corpse.
The man she killed.
“Ryder,” the vampire moaned. “No. Come back.”
She bit her wrist, dripping glistening ruby droplets into his mouth.
I couldn’t look away. Terror—shock—demanded that I watch until death found me.
She sobbed over her dead lover. Her meal. “Kyros will save you.”
Gathering the man in her arms with no perceivable effort, the young woman raced to the emergency stairs, disappearing in a whoosh of air.
I knew then what my mind hadn’t fathomed on my first day at Live Right. Part of me had understood they weren’t human—that they were other. My brain had rationalised my reaction to their predatory grace and features and anger.
Blood Trial: Supernatural Battle (Vampire Towers Book 1) Page 11
