Mercy's Debt (Montgomery's Vampires Series Book One)

by Sloan Archer

  When we finally made it to the bar, Liz made a face. “I have to pee,” she yelled.

  I stared at her in amazement. “Seriously? We just made it through the crowd!”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  I shook my head at her; sometimes she went out of her way just to be a rebellious. “You want a gin and tonic, right?” I called to her over the music.

  “What?”

  “Gin. Tonic. Good?” I screamed, cupping my hand while miming a person drinking.

  “You got it! Thanks!”

  She gave me a thumbs-up, and bounced her way through the tightly packed herd of dancing coeds, totally oblivious to the jaws dropping slack over her splendor. One by one, the heads turned as she passed, like leering human dominos. It was remarkable to observe, particularly because Liz wouldn’t give any one of them the time of day. She’d always denied it when I teased her, but she only had eyes for David.

  My mood improved dramatically when the dj cut the music and went on a break.

  A man standing next to me at the bar chuckled.

  “You were quite funny up there,” he said.

  I looked around the room. “Are you talking to me?” I asked, pointing to my chest.

  “Yes,” he nodded, turning to face me. He had money pinched in his fingers, and was waiting to be served like the dozens of other people mashed against the bar.

  Normally, I would have told a guy like this- a night club vulture- to get lost. There are few things in the world I despise more than being forced to make small talk with a creepy bar fly. The man wasn’t ogling me, though, or attempting any sort of come-on. He seemed to be making a sincere attempt to engage in polite conversation, so I decided to be nice and behave myself.

  He reminded me of the sort of guy a person would go to for help with financial planning, like a hedge fund manager or an accountant. He was good-looking in a conservative, fortysomething sort of way: fit body, handsome, nice smile. His pleasant face was framed by slightly thin, sandy hair that was clipped in a neat, age-appropriate style. He wore a nondescript outfit of a charcoal grey button-down polo, black slacks, and shiny loafers: simple but classy.

  He wasn’t anything like some of the other older men in the bar who were clearly in the midst of a midlife crisis. This man had taken the high road instead of deluding himself into believing that he could run with college kids, just as long as he dressed and behaved like a total cheese dick. What’s a boy like you doing in a place like this, I wanted to ask.

  There were a few things about him that were marginally off, like his watch. It had a large face, forest green crocodile strap, subtle diamond accents, and was by a well-known luxury label that I couldn’t fathom affording even in my wildest dreams. I’d seen the same timepiece in a print ad just a few days prior. Its price was more than what I paid to attend two years at Dewhurst.

  Then there was his coloring. He was beyond ghostly. His skin was blanched to such a degree that his chalky white flesh glowed underneath the black lights above the bar. I wanted to reach out and caress his arm, feel its texture.

  He was also using a hundred dollar bill to pay for drinks. I found this a little strange when considering Shwilly Pete’s famed two dollar drink menu. He appeared to be at the bar alone, so perhaps he was drinking for fifty.

  “I don’t understand,” I said, following up on the pale man’s opener. “How was I funny? I wasn’t exactly performing stand-up comedy.”

  “The way you threw that drink in that man’s face after he shouted at you,” he chuckled again. “That was brilliant.” I could detect a slight accent; English maybe.

  “Oh,” I laughed. “And here I thought that I’d let him off easy.”

  “What did he say to you that got you so fired up, Mercy? I love that name, by the way. Mercy. It just rolls of the tongue, does it not?”

  “How do you know my name?”

  “They announced it when you were on stage, remember?”

  “That’s right. Fantastic,” I quipped acidly. “Now every jackass in here knows me on a first-name basis.”

  “So, what did he do to annoy you?”

  “He heckled me. He yelled ‘show me your tits.’ What a tool.”

  “You were participating in a wet t-shirt contest,” he said good-naturedly.

  “Exactly. If he would have yelled ‘show me your ass,’ it would have been a different story. I’d already shown him my breasts, so what was the point? Was he hoping for déjà vu?”

  He threw his head back and laughed heartily. “I take it you do not suffer fools kindly.”

  “No sir, I do not,” I said, attempting to impersonate his posh accent, though I sounded more like a Jamaican.

  “You are funny. A good sense of humor is a valuable thing to possess.”

  “So is five hundred clams,” I said, holding up my clutch bag.

  “Ah,” he said. “Now I get it. It is all about the money, honey.” He winked at me conspiratorially.

  “Hey, it is when you’re drowning in debt.”

  I had no idea why I was telling a man that I’d only just met about my personal affairs. I seriously hoped that I wasn’t turning into a pet-less variation of the crazy cat lady due to all the time I spent on my own. I really needed to start getting out more, or else I was in real danger of becoming the sort if weirdo who yapped the ears off of strangers while in line at the grocery store.

  “I see. Let me guess,” he said, tapping his forehead. “You have tons of credit card debt because you went wild one day and bought more shoes than you have room in your closet for?”

  “Ha! I wish. Nope. Student loan. I owe over a hundred thousand dollars.”

  “That is madness!” he huffed. “Is that what college costs these days?”

  “It is when you go to Dewhurst. And that’s not even the full amount. Other students pay more, if you can believe it. I actually went there on a partial scholarship,” I smiled darkly, feeling a familiar panic gnawing at my nerves. “So, yah, every bit helps.”

  “Wow, Dewhurst. You must be really smart. I read somewhere that the president’s kid went there.” His face grew serious. “I thought you seemed too clever to be in a wet t-shirt contest just for the fun of it.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I said dryly.

  He put up his palms. “Hey, no, I did not mean it like that. What I am merely implying is that this place, it’s just so… bourgeois.” He made a revolted face, as if somebody near him had just passed wind.

  “Hey, you’re here,” I snapped defensively. I agreed with him nonetheless.

  “I have my reasons for coming to this place, but we both know that you do not really belong here any more than I do.”

  “Meaning?” My feathers were a bit ruffled. This guy knew absolutely nothing about me. Well, except for all the personal information I’d just shared with him.

  “I intend no offence,” he said. “Look, you are a pretty girl and you are smart. I am simply stating that there are better ways for you to make money.”

  “Like what?” Was he propositioning me?

  “You look worried. Please do not be.”

  He pulled a business card out of his front pocket and handed it to me. The card was high quality; smooth like satin while stiff at the same time, and a creamy white color as stark as the man’s skin. I flipped it over so I could read the business name: DIGNITARY. The writing was sleek, bold, and unembellished in a high-end, less-is-more sort of way. Classic old money. I rubbed my finger over the raised text.

  “What sort of business is this” -I looked down at the name on the card- “Michael?”

  “It is a business that my wife and I have run for many, many years. It has made girls like you very wealthy.”

  “That didn’t answer my question.”

  “Without revealing too much, it is a very exclusive service we provide to wealthy clients who… prefer their privacy. Members only.”

  “What? Like a brothel?” Now I was offended. Who in the hell did he think he was speaking
to?

  “Look,” he said calmly, “I think you may have the wrong idea, but I really cannot get into it any more right here. How about you come by tomorrow evening so we can have a chat? You would really like my wife. She is feisty, like you.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said coolly. I turned away from the bar, crushing the card in my hand.

  “That is too bad, because you would be out of debt in no time.”

  That got my attention.

  Still, I wasn’t sure I wanted to go there.

  Just what was he suggesting? What was this Dignitary place? For all I knew, the guy could be a psychopath. Anyone with a few bucks could have fancy business cards printed up. I’d have to be pretty desperate to even consider his offer.

  Sadly, I kind of was.

  “You would probably enjoy yourself while you were at it,” he called after me.

  I quickened my pace, but the fortress of sweaty drunks waiting for cocktails reared violently against my efforts.

  “I’ll take your word for it,” I called without turning around.

  “Call me if you change your mind. No pressure.”

  “Don’t hold your breath,” I called back. I whipped my hair over my shoulder, feeling like a badass vamp in an old black and white movie. I contemplated yelling “Well, I never!” but I thought it would be overkill.

  After about two solid minutes of struggling, I was finally able to wiggle my way through a wormhole in the crowd, which I realize was the lamest dramatic exit in the history of dramatic exits. To add insult to injury, the overzealous mob tossed me like a beach ball, and I slammed into a guy holding a pitcher of beer. The beer slopped down the front of his shirt, and he was angry.

  Then he realized who I was.

  “Hey! Top Titty!” he yelled, clapping me hard on the back with his clammy hand. I flashed him a pained smile, contemplating just how long it would take to drown myself if I put my face in his pitcher.

  I finally made my way to the restroom just as Liz emerged from the double doors. She looked ready to commit homicide.

  “Hey, sorry it took so long. The line took for-ever,” she grumbled, wiping her wet hands on her designer skinny jeans. “I don’t understand what these bitches find so damn complicated. You go into a stall, drop your pants, take a piss, and get the hell out of there. I could hardly get in the door. There’s, like, a hundred chicks crowding around the mirror. One of them elbowed me in the ribs!”

  I tried to interject my two cents, but Liz was on a roll.

  “Sorry, girlfriend, but just because you put on your best ‘come fuck me’ red lipstick, it doesn’t make you a sexpot. Elbow me in the ribs all you want, but it still won’t change the fact that nobody wants to sleep with your skank ass. Nobody.”

  I almost felt sorry for the invisible woman Liz was berating. “Geez,” I raised my eyebrows at her. “Somebody is in a bad mood. You are aware that I’m the only one standing here, right?” I shook my finger at her like a matron. “Tsk-tsk, young lady. You be nice, now.”

  “Sorry,” she said with chagrin. “I don’t know why I even bother going out to these meat markets. Every time I do, I just get fired up about all the wasted girls crunching on my toes with their high heels, and end up spending half the night bitching about how loud the music is.” She looked shamefaced. “Is it sad that I’d rather be at home, curled up with a good book and a glass of wine? God, when did I get so old?”

  “I’m right there with you, Grannie,” I said. “I’d happily choose a blanket and a book over this any day.”

  “Come on! We can’t be the only ones who feel this way. Look at this place! It’s a total sausage fest. How could anyone find this appealing?” She laughed self-consciously, rolling her eyes.

  I looked around at the sea of men sporting thick chain necklaces, uneven spray tans, and rhinestone-encrusted t-shirts with ironically-faded tattoo detailing. “Let’s get out of here, then,” I suggested.

  “But we haven’t even had a drink,” she sulked.

  “Fuck it,” I said, grabbing her hand. “Let’s just go. We can grab a bottle of wine on the way home.”

  “Sounds good to me. Hey, what’s this,” she asked, pulling the crumpled card from my fingers.

  “Oh, some creeper gave me his business card while I was waiting for a drink, which,” I said, making jazz hands, “obviously, I never received.” I smiled drolly, placing a hand on my hip. “Seriously, who do you have to flash your tits at in this place in order to get a drink? Oh… wait.” I slapped my forehead, pretending to remember the wet t-shirt contest.

  “Ha-ha,” she said dryly. She gazed at the business card. “Damn, and here I thought you’d met somebody.”

  “Right!” I snorted. “Not likely in this hellhole.”

  “Not to get all after school special on you or anything, Mercy, but I do worry about you at times,” she said thoughtfully.

  Oh, God. Not this again. A tacky nightclub was no place for us to have a pity party in my honor. Liz was so preoccupied with my love life that she tended to approach finding a mate for me like it was her sole responsibility in life. Honestly, I would have given her a salary if I’d actually had any money to pay her.

  “You shouldn’t. Nobody ever dropped dead of celibacy.” I sniffed.

  “How long has it been?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I stalled.

  “How long, Mercy?”

  “Oh, you know… maybe around...mmm-hmm-mmm.” I wouldn’t meet her eyes.

  “Yah, sorry, I didn’t catch that.” She leaned in close to me. “How long?”

  “Okay, okay! It’s been… a little over a year.”

  “Jesus Christ!” She spat. “YOU HAVEN’T HAD SEX IN A YEAR?”

  A few men standing near us gaped at me disbelievingly. “I can change that,” one of them snickered, eating me alive with his gaze.

  My man had a barbed wire tattoo on his bicep. He was also wearing sunglasses, saggy jeans, and, the pièce de résistance, a shirt with a pot leaf embroidered on the collar. He was also sporting the largest pendant I’d ever seen; the thing had to weigh at least ten pounds. It was rendered all the more ostentatious due to its faux yellow diamond detailing and chunky gunmetal chain from which it dangled.

  I was unexpectedly disconsolate as it occurred to me that my only take-home option for the night was this walking cliché. I’d been cheated; I suffered the same sort of disappointment a serious wine connoisseur would probably feel after spending all evening hunting for a rare vintage chardonnay, yet only managing to net a musty old case of Ripple.

  I shot the group a filthy look before turning my back on them.

  “God, Liz! Next time, try to say it louder,” I snapped. “I don’t think people east of the freakin’ Golden Gate were able to hear you.”

  “Sorry,” she muttered, lowering her voice “But a year? I knew it had been a while, but not that long.” She let out a long whistle, shaking her head at me pityingly, as if I’d just informed her that I’d been diagnosed with a terminal illness and only had a week to live.

  “I’ve been busy,” I said lamely. She shot me a dubious look.

  I pulled Michael’s card from her finger and shoved it in my handbag, desperate to change the subject. I hadn’t had sex in a while, so what? It’s not that I’d become a nun or didn’t feel a desire to have a man around. Of course I did.

  Anyone could have sex, though. Not everyone could have intimacy. What I truly craved was closeness, familiarity. I missed having a man around who knew that I found runny eggs repulsive, and took my coffee with half and half, never milk, and who would embrace me in the early hours of dawn, holding me close until I fell asleep.

  The longing was so constant that it had become a dull aching that I didn’t quite know how to soothe, an itch that I couldn’t scratch, a sharp splinter underneath my skin that I couldn’t dig deep enough to remove. I felt the void so strongly at times, it was nearly intolerable.

  I lived in a city of millions, but somehow I was
still all alone.

  “You’ve got to start putting yourself out there again,” Liz harangued.

  I’d heard this lecture before. Soon she’d start sounding like a coach giving a hopeless pep talk to the losing team two minutes before the end of the game.

  “I know. You’re right,” I said, reduced to spouting platitudes.

  “Not every man is a cheating bastard like Mathew...” She drew in a sharp breath as soon as she said his name, ending her tirade.

  But it was too late. The damage had been done.

  Mathew.

  I gnashed down on my teeth until my jaw hurt. Why did she have to go and bring him up? It had been over a year, yet the hurt and anger were still as fresh as the day I caught him in bed with another woman… In the bed we’d been sharing for over two years, our bed, balls-deep inside of a sleazy bleach blonde whose name he later admitted he didn’t even know. He swore that she and her fake double-D’s had meant nothing to him. But if he was willing to throw away all that we had over “nothing,” then what did that make me? Less than nothing?

  I squeezed my eyes closed, trying to block out the memory. I’d grieved enough. He wasn’t worth getting upset over.

  Liz, recognizing her faux pas, threw her arm around my shoulder. She rested her head against mine. “Sorry,” she muttered.

  “Nah,” I said, trying my best to sound as if I really didn’t give a shit. “I’m over it.”

  She nodded her head, mollifying me. We both knew that I was anything but over it.

  “Want to get out of here?” she asked, breaking the tense silence.

  I smiled up at her. It was the best idea that she’d had all night.

  FOUR

  I woke the next morning to the sounds of Liz gagging.

  I sat up on my elbows, worried that she might be hurt, but then the memory of the night before came flooding back, along with a ferocious wave of queasiness. I collapsed back down on my pillow and groaned. The ceiling spun out of control above me. I rolled on my side to stop whirling inside my head. It helped very little.