Bad Blood: A VamPR Nightmare (Pisces Paranormal PR Agency Book 1)

by Bee Murray

  Baldwin returned and handed me a leather bracelet that read: Vamp Community Justice. The steel clasp felt cold against my already icy skin and I rubbed at it as I thought about the fallout coming my way.

  Ready or not, I was overdue to face the masses.

  Operation ‘Distract and Dominate’ was officially underway.

  Another assistant with a clipboard and a Tuesday approved can-do attitude appeared in my doorway.

  “Mr. Quake, I’m glad to see that you’re ready.” She checked her watch and frowned slightly. Tick-tock. “Ms. Matson has arranged for you to meet up with Sandrina this evening. I’ve arranged for photographers to catch you taking Sandrina home to your penthouse apartment. You’ll meet her in the VIP section of Mermaidia.” She kept her eyes on her clipboard and didn’t look up at me. Fair enough.

  “This should keep you in the news and amplify the pro-vampire messaging. We received some intel from her team that Sandrina is working through a break-up and has an interest in making her recent ex jealous. They were very excited to work with us. Sandrina has no official stance on vampires, but she frequently advocates for peace and love. Her people want a love connection. Negotiations are between you and Sandrina on how that plays out, but her team ideally wants photos of you two kissing and dancing closely. They are not opposed to her staying the night and being photographed leaving your penthouse around midday tomorrow.” The assistant finally looked up and met my eyes, but her expression was steely and emotionless.

  I sighed and nodded. Sandrina was lovely but she was just so… young. Barely 21, she was the current darling of the up-and-coming glitterati—the hungriest of the sharks—and the amount of drama she could fit into one interaction was truly stunning.

  I supposed beggars couldn’t be choosers, and I was grudgingly thankful that she was willing to help. Obviously, she was getting something she wanted, but that was beside the point.

  Her message delivered, the assistant disappeared. They never bothered to wait for me to actually verbally agree to anything. It was part of being managed. Baldwin and Co. made sure each assistant was trained to simply announce information to me and then move on before I could complain or ask questions they couldn’t answer. It used to piss me off, but I’d figured out that it’s the best way to get anything done.

  Baldwin joined me in the elevator and clapped his hand against my shoulder encouragingly when I stepped out into the parking garage. My shiny red restored Corvette was idling at the curb, and I couldn’t help but smile to see it there. I loved cars. Anytime I had an excuse, I brought out this baby instead of riding around in the standard issue limousine or SUV.

  I slid behind the wheel and Baldwin closed the driver’s side door firmly.

  “Tuesday said to tell you not to fuck this up,” Baldwin said with a smirk.

  I pressed my foot on the gas quickly and the engine roared gently.

  “Of course, she does,” I said. “Stop touching my car.”

  Baldwin pulled his hand away from the door as though it was red hot. I shifted the car into drive and pulled away from the curb, headed toward downtown.

  Tuesday said...

  Tuesday used to be mine, and I’d thrown it all away.

  I thought I had come to terms with the fact that losing her was my fault. There’d been no other alternative… But that reason was feeling more and more hollow every day. It didn’t help that I still hadn’t figured out how to let her go.

  Something that felt like loss gnawed at my guts and I sucked on the straw of the to-go cup Baldwin had given me and tried to forget as the highway stretched out in front of me and my foot pressed down on the gas.

  * * *

  ***

  * * *

  The crowd outside Mermaidia was larger than I’d expected. Judging from the amount of press hanging around the door, Tuesday, Kelly and their merry crew of social media minions had done their job of dropping hints as to my whereabouts.

  I hate this.

  I slipped my sunglasses on and stepped out of the Corvette. A practiced smile slid across my face as the flash of cameras and camera phones burst in my face. As I eased through the crowd, I was careful to flash my bracelet when taking selfies with fans and gave the paparazzi lots of angles to photograph it and my cheeky peace signs.

  When I finally made it into the club, I scanned my surroundings, immediately thankful for Baldwin’s foresight in giving me a blood bag before I left the house. The entire club was a writhing, gyrating feast.

  An intoxicating buffet.

  The blood of each person who moved in that club had its own special aroma. Some were spicy, others were gentler, sweeter, with almost floral tones.

  I hastened to the VIP area, anxious to escape the general club population and took refuge in the more exclusive and less populated luxury tables. Sandrina was holding court in the center of the VIP balcony, and she blew me a flirty kiss as I caught her eye. I wiggled my fingers at her and struck a pose that made her giggle and wave me up.

  I heard the whispers around me as I made my way toward her. The glow of cell phone screens and flashes told me that Tuesday’s plan was working as fingers tapped on screens. They spread the word that Vinnie Quake was out on the town… wearing mesh and leather, but most importantly, supporting vampires.

  As much as I fully understood the reasoning behind this plan, something about the fact that the universe knew what I was wearing anytime I went out in public freaked me out.

  From germs to gossip, people couldn’t resist spreading shit around. They just couldn’t resist. Little did they know, I was a carrier for both a germ, and the prime subject of the gossip. Overachiever.

  I stepped across the velvet rope separating the VIP area from the general club goers, and Sandrina launched herself out of the booth to give me a big hug. She held me slightly longer than absolutely necessary and tilted her face up to press a kiss on my cheek. I could feel, rather than see, the camera phones being tilted our way and the buzz of the club as the news spread. Show time.

  Sandrina was a pro at playing these games. She made it seem so easy. For a woman in this business, it was probably more than a game -- it was a survival tactic.

  I winked at her suggestively. “Wanna give these assholes a show?”

  She grinned up at me and then turned slightly to move us into the light so that it hit us perfectly before she tapped a finger against my jaw.

  “Dance with me,” she said in a business-like tone. “You can grab my left breast—but not my right one. I like neck kisses, hair pulls, and if you’re feeling really bold, you can take a tequila shot off my body later. We’ll have one full make-out session in front of the cameras in approximately a half an hour. You’ll drive me back to your place in that sweet little Corvette and then we’ll go upstairs. When you walk me into your building, your hand can be on my ass, but you are not to touch anything else below my waist. We want to make it believable, but not so much so that Bruno has a conniption fit and breaks down your door at 5 a.m. Does that work for you?”

  I blinked at her as I processed everything she had said. This petite dynamo had already beautifully choreographed our evening to best take advantage of the press, and her ex. She truly had this down to an art form and I looked at her with renewed respect. I leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

  “Game on,” I whispered into her ear, before I dropped another kiss tantalizingly close to the pulse point on her throat.

  She returned my smile and ran a bold hand down my chest as she pushed me onto the couch. As soon as my thighs hit the cushions, she straddled me in a quick motion and pressed her face close to my ear as she swayed her hips gently in time to the music.

  “So, are we trying to distract the press from an ex or from those vampire lover rumors I’ve been hearing? Which is it?”

  I grunted, unable to concentrate on both her subtle lap dance and the frank business conversation she wanted to engage in.

  “All the above?” I managed.

  She n
odded sympathetically and her gaze landed on the vampire rights bracelet around my wrist, but she said nothing. The song changed, and she flipped around just as quickly as she had straddled me, content to use me as a chair as she reached for her champagne and then leaned back against my chest.

  “For the record? I think it’s brave. That you’re willing to go public with the vampire rights views. It’s a risky move, but a bold one.” She drained her champagne glass and glanced at her phone.

  “Oh! The first photos of us have hit Twitter!” She squealed and all of her friends crowded around to see the latest buzz.

  I took the moment to check my phone.

  Tuesday had texted just two words: Go Time.

  I glanced down and saw Peter Dawson, renowned purveyor of the daily gossip rag “The Dawson Dirt” hovering just outside the velvet rope of the VIP area and an idea to expedite the situation came to mind.

  I pulled Sandrina close and embraced her as I leaned down to whisper my plan in her ear. Her sweet giggle was all I needed to get started. With a quick text to the DJ, I grabbed her hand, and pulled her off the couch to get started on the escalation of our distraction campaign.

  Hand in hand, we let ourselves out of the VIP area and walked down the steps. We sashayed through the crush of people until we reached the dance floor. With a wave of my hand, someone trained the spotlight on us and the DJ played one of Sandrina’s more sensual hits.

  The crowd moved away from us and formed a circle as we danced around each other—the beat pulsed through us as we moved our bodies together. The sexual energy of the room made me sweat as I tried to keep hold of my monster. I could feel my fangs already trying to descend as the smell of Sandrina’s arousal filled my nostrils every time she brushed up against me.

  The beat became stronger, and our movements more fluid. We danced, bumped, and ground on each other—both of us breathing hard as we lost ourselves to the music for a moment. As the last beats of the song played, I pulled Sandrina close. I dipped her back before I slammed my lips down on hers, my hands curved protectively around her body as I groped her left breast, as requested, not her right.

  The crowd around us burst into applause as we came up for air, looking, for all intents and purposes, like a couple that had been caught in a private moment. Sandrina was even blushing as she smiled at the people around us.

  “Wanna get out of here, baby? My penthouse has an incredible view,” I stage-whispered to her, loud enough that Peter Dawson could hear me.

  “I need you to take me home,” she whispered back before she launched herself into my arms and wrapped her legs around my waist.

  I held her there, her body pressed flush against mine as we moved through the club. She was close enough to feel my arousal, and I tried to shift so it didn't stab her. Common courtesy, really. But she just giggled and stopped me as she ground against me enticingly and threw her head back as if in ecstasy. Little black spots appeared in my vision while I struggled with the temptation of her creamy neck exposed so close to me.

  “Oh, Vinnie! You’re so naughty!” she called out and giggled as some of her fans screamed provocatively when we passed by. She blew kisses to them over my shoulder. I growled and slapped her ass playfully, relishing the screech of surprise she let out.

  “Would you have me any other way, babe?” I said through gritted teeth, thankful to the Gods that we were almost to the car.

  The facade weighed on me, and the terror of slipping up plagued my mind.

  I knew from experience the gossip rags were already debating our couple nickname. I fully expected to see something nauseating like ‘Vandrina’ or ‘Sinnie’ trending at any moment.

  But that was infinitely better than the alternative.

  We had accomplished what we’d set out to do. Yet a part of me wondered what Tuesday would think when she saw the photos. She hates you, dude. Stop thinking she’s going to get jealous. That ship has sailed, caught fire, and sunk in the harbor. Seriously.

  Safely in the car and briefly blinded by the barrage of camera flashes, I checked my phone, but there were no more messages from my new PR manager.

  I pressed my foot down on the gas and grinned as Sandrina squealed with excitement as the engine roared. Music pulsed through the Corvette’s updated sound system and we headed back towards my luxury penthouse uptown.

  Phase one, complete.

  6

  TUESDAY

  It wasn’t until I heard the roar of that Corvette as it pulled away from the curb rip through the air that I felt free to let my breath out fully and sit down to assess the clusterfuck of a situation that I got myself into. This plan wasn’t my best. It wasn’t even a solid second-place effort. This plan was bottom-of-the-barrel-crisis-response thinking. But, even if it wasn’t as glamorous as my plans usually were, I felt confident that it would work. Probably.

  Antagonizing the hate-groups was a risk. If that went wrong, a lot of innocent vampires and others would be caught in the cross-fire. My sense of ethical responsibility warred with my desire to win at all costs.

  I already broke one rule when I failed to disclose to Carlyn that the client was the previous love of my life. I could still call her. There was still time. Mistakes were going to be made during this case, and I would be lucky if they didn’t cost me my job or possibly my life. What’s that saying? In for a penny, in for a pound. Fuck.

  I didn’t have to stay.

  Vinnie was already out and about dancing with some tart at a club.

  No one would blame me. Not really. Not when the truth came out.

  The man killed and ate his household staff.

  I could end this in a myriad of ways. I could call my boss, the police, the feds, hell. I could call the press. Yet, my hand never reached for my phone.

  Vinnie. A vampire. Whoever runs this sorry universe sure has a sense of humor.

  To think, all those nights when I prayed to any and every deity to curse his sorry ass. All those days when I cried over his photos in the magazines and indulged in toxic ‘what if’ spirals. The man was singing his heart-out to thousands of screaming fans at nighttime concerts and living a double-life as a fucking bloodsucker.

  Strangely, I wasn’t afraid of vampires. Not really. Even when he admitted to me in a room full of people that he ‘lost control’ and turned into a literal monster who murdered and consumed eight people in the last 24 hours. I should be afraid. I should walk or better yet, run away.

  But I didn’t.

  I stayed.

  Hell, I’d even signed on to help the psycho bastard.

  Maybe, when all this is over, I would take Carlyn up on that offer of a vacation. Go somewhere extra sunny where there are no vampires and get my head on straight.

  Because with Vinnie, I can’t make rational decisions.

  He fucked me up big-time… possibly forever.

  All the rage and the hurt and the sheer pain that I’d spent five years pouring into hours upon hours of hot yoga and tear-filled therapy came roaring back the second I saw him. It was still so fresh that it felt like I might burst into flames at any moment.

  I sipped my coffee and frowned at the shaking hand that held my oversized cup.

  There was a moment right before everything went sideways five years ago when I believed everything was literally perfect. Like it couldn’t get any better, even if I’d wished for a thousand years.

  Life was much simpler back then. We weren’t rich. I had just finished grad school and spent all my time hunting for jobs and going to Vinnie’s gigs.

  Back then, he was just another kid in the Seattle music scene trying to make it, singing in cover bands and contests. It was us against the world and we were happy. Or at least, I was. Until he walked out of my life without a look backward.

  The alert on my phone rang and snapped me out of my reverie. Right. Work.

  The little notification popped up and I clicked it mindlessly. A photo loaded and I stared at it, breathing shallowly.

  It was V
innie holding Sandrina up against him and walking through the club. Her tight dress was riding up enough to show off a very toned ass and the hint of a thong. The visible tent in his pants had sent the gossip rags running with frenzied speculation about his cock. Vinnie had his hand on Sandrina’s ass and they were smoldering at each other.

  My breath caught in my throat and I wheezed, my emotions taking over.

  I tossed my phone across the table and exhaled heavily.

  I literally choreographed this and then leaked it.

  I orchestrated this entire scene. These photos were absolutely, unequivocally my idea. I glanced down and saw a gallery that was trending on Twitter and fiery rage filled me. Tuesday, pull yourself together.

  Yesterday, if you’d asked me if I was jealous of my ex’s groupies, I would have told you to fuck right off with that noise.

  But today?

  Not today, Satan.

  Today, I felt the glacial pulse of jealousy run through me each time I saw a fresh shot of Vinnie and the saucy singer who climbed him like a tree in the middle of a crowded club. I can’t do this.

  I slammed my phone down, put my head in my hands, and tried to breathe.

  Vinnie left you. He left you and became a literal monster. He has killed people. Killed them, drank their blood, and then asked you to hide it and clean it up. He cheated on you instead of supporting you during a terrible time in your life.

  You. Deserve. Better.

  My stupid, traitorous heart wouldn’t listen to reason. It never did. But the problem was, I couldn’t dwell on the night we lost each other without thinking of the hundreds of nights where we found ourselves in each other. The good times we had, the raw animal chemistry, the promises we’d made—they all came flooding back to me one after another.