The door at the bottom of the stairs was magically opened by a clone of her escort. The new guy shuffled over to a black van parked in the alley with the engine running. He pulled back the side panel, and Brown Teeth pushed Tempest inside. She landed on her back with her legs splayed. Both men laughed at her as she closed her legs, sat up, and tried to pull her coat down. The fall had twisted her back, and she couldn’t find a comfortable position. The door opener cupped his cock, made a licking motion with his tongue, and said, “I’ll ride in the back with the merchandise.” Brown Teeth shoved him aside. “You got shit for brains? The boss wants her.” He slammed the sliding door, and they both climbed into the two fronts seats.
As the van rolled along the alley, Tempest searched for anything she could use as a weapon, something that might give her the opportunity to buy a few seconds to make a getaway. But the only thing sharing her space was a collection of crumpled fast-food bags, empty cigarette packs, and a suspiciously red-stained towel in the corner. She didn’t relish the idea of running half-naked through a blizzard, but the alternative seemed worse.
One of her captors turned on the radio and heavy metal blared from the over-sized speakers, causing her to briefly cover her ears with her hands. The music was so loud she couldn’t hear what the two mob guys were talking about, but they seemed to be having a heated discussion about something. One of them pointed a thumb in her direction. She had a bad feeling about the topic.
* * * * *
It was a short ride. Just as Tempest’s exhaustion wrestled down her fear and she started to nod off, the van came to a sliding halt. When her abductors turned off the engine, the music blaring from the radio suddenly ended and the silence was thick. It was almost surreal, as if all sound had been sucked from the universe. Her mouth went dry, and her stomach fluttered with anxiety. As a musician, Tempest was used to attacking her eardrums regularly with a wall of sound, but in her present anxious condition, the silence felt like instant deafness. Maybe the heavy snow created an additional acoustic damper, or maybe she was just so tired she was about to lose it completely.
The whole thing was weird. Not only did she have the sense of floating in a soundless void, but the two goons in the front seemed to be motionless, as if her brain had pressed an inner “pause” button. Nothing had felt normal to her since her brief time with Malveaux. Her reality train had definitely derailed. He must have drugged her.
She was startled out of her altered state by the slamming of the front doors. Her entourage had gotten out of the van, and Brown Teeth was tugging the side door open. A blast of cold air triggered an adrenaline rush and set her teeth chattering again.
“Come on, girlie. End of the line. Haul ass.” Brown Teeth grabbed one of her ankles, dragging her by one leg toward the opening. She didn’t have time to brace herself, so her upper body slammed back against the floor. Her coat was bunched up around her waist. The other evil Elvis snickered as he leaned in and slid a finger along Tempest’s exposed clit.
“I’m gonna get me some of that, one way or another,” he wheezed.
Tempest didn’t even blink. Her free leg kicked out, and her foot caught him between the eyes. He went down like a skyscraper in an earthquake and didn’t move. Her martial arts training was the best investment she’d ever made.
“Fuck,” Brown Teeth growled, releasing his grip on her ankle. “He’d better not be dead, or it’ll be your ass.”
Tempest jumped out of the van, pulled her jacket down and got up in Brown Teeth’s face. She couldn’t see any benefit to playing victim.
“Yeah, you’re big and bad. I get it. If you’re gonna kill me, just do it, but nobody touches my pussy without an invitation, and you two assholes don’t have one.”
He took a step back and laughed. “I wouldn’t touch that pussy with somebody else’s dick. All you working girls got cooties.” He looked down at the stunned mobster crumpled in the deep snow. “I’ll take you downstairs then come back for him. The boss don’t take kindly to chicks knockin’ out his second cousin. You better hope he’s feelin’ generous today. Let’s go.”
Tempest didn’t care if the idiot thought she was a hooker. It wasn’t a news flash that most men she met hated women. They thought the only thing women were good for was fucking and sucking cock. Of course, the housewife version had to do the cooking and cleaning bit too. In the inner city, it was still 1950, but if she was going to get wasted by some mob boss, she’d at least go down fighting.
They’d pulled up in the alley behind an old multi-story building. The nearest door was labeled “deliveries,” and she guessed that’s what she was.
Strong smells assailed her nostrils, spicy smells that should be mouth-watering, but instead made her queasy. As Brown Teeth steered her into a large area filled with tables piled with food, she saw a sign in the corner that read, “Motor City Catering.” Well, that explained the aromas. She suddenly realized it had been almost a full day since she’d eaten anything. No wonder her brain was mush.
Nobody seemed to pay much attention to them as they passed through the room. Women of various ages stood at the tables and along large sinks, chopping, arranging and packaging food.
They passed through a doorway at the far end of the room, and stood at the top of a set of stairs.
“Try not to fall, girlie. I wouldn’t wanna havta tell the boss you had an accident.” He yanked on her arm, and they climbed down a long staircase. She didn’t know how far underground they were, but she suddenly felt cold and clammy, as if she were walking down into a crypt. Not that she knew what it felt like to be in a crypt, but she had a vivid imagination.
As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Pee Wee Herman -- or a guy who looked just like him -- met them and gave Tempest’s body a serious eye scan. “The boss had to run an errand. He said to put the merchandise in the spare room.” Pee Wee was shorter than Tempest, but he managed to work up a good leer. “I’ll take her.”
Brown Teeth must have been lower on the feeding chain than Pee Wee, because he nodded and stepped away, trudging back up the stairs.
“This way,” the small man said.
He escorted Tempest to a room at the end of the hallway and opened the door. Reaching into the room, he clicked on the overhead light and extended his arm in a sweep like a game show host.
“Here’s your crib for the next few hours. There’s a couch and some blankets. Turn on the TV if you want. Somebody will bring you some food. I’m sure the boss doesn’t want you to starve to death, at least not until he talks to you.” He found that so amusing he squeaked out a hiccupping, high-pitched laugh. “In you go.”
He shoved Tempest, and she saw his eyes fix on her thighs and the glimpse of ass that no doubt flashed as she caught her balance.
“Maybe I’ll come back down and keep you company,” Pee Wee told her.
“Yeah, you do that,” she said, smirking at him. “And if you find any men on your way down, bring them along, too. I don’t do gnomes.”
Pee Wee’s face twisted into an ugly mask, exposing the true character hiding behind the insipid exterior. He backed away and slammed the door. Tempest heard the key turn in the lock.
Chapter Eight
Malveaux’s eyes opened, and he shoved against the top of the coffin, slanting the lid back against the wall of his lair. He sat up.
Something felt wrong.
He usually arose with all his hungers riding him like a ravenous beast, and his only concern was which desire to sate first and where. The beast was tormenting him, as always, but he felt strange. In all his many years, he’d never awakened with someone else’s voice in his head. Absently rubbing his rigid cock, he mentally scanned the environment inside his hiding place, and outside in the cemetery, seeking the source of the foreign thoughts and emotions. Perhaps some of the superstitious juvenile delinquents had decided to visit the graveyard after all. He’d have to give them a big enough scare to send them away permanently. Maybe he’d drag one of them inside for breakf
ast.
But the voice -- the emotions -- seemed female…and familiar.
He climbed out of the ornate coffin and strode into the bathroom, the odd remnants still floating through his mind. He stepped into the large glass-enclosed shower, turned on the hot water, and lathered himself with soap, replaying the events of the night before. Grasping his erection, he stroked vigorously, recalling the sensation of pounding into Tempest’s snug pussy and imagined what it would be like to have access to that succulent slit for all eternity. He growled as he exploded in pleasure, sending a thick spray of semen dripping down the glass.
Tempest. The voice was hers.
He froze under the hot water, listening to the dream-like dialog running through his mind. He didn’t usually pick up the thoughts of his victims from such a distance unless he intended to. Being a passive receiver hadn’t ever happened before, but then he’d never come so close to making anyone his offspring. Perhaps she’d gotten more of his blood on her tongue than he thought before they’d been so rudely interrupted. The notion of already being so connected to her was exciting.
Her thoughts were chaotic. She was very angry about something.
Malveaux turned off the water, stepped out of the shower and dried himself. He sat down on one of the marble benches in the dressing area and closed his eyes, concentrating on Tempest’s thoughts. She was yelling at someone who was holding her prisoner, a man she identified as Pee Wee in her thoughts. Intrigued, he willed himself into her consciousness and watched through her eyes as a small man came toward her and grabbed her arm. “I’m takin’ you to the boss now. Be a good little slut or else.”
“Get away from me, asshole!” Tempest pushed the guy, and he went down on his ass. The look on his face as he climbed to his feet told Malveaux that his offspring wasn’t safe in that place. Tempest didn’t know what kind of sick fuck she was dealing with.
But Malveaux did. The small man was his employer’s pet psychopath.
Malveaux strode over to the closet, pulled various pieces of black clothing from the hangers, and dressed quickly. He’d considered morphing into one of his alternate forms immediately so he could get to Tempest right away, but he needed to take his car. He didn’t think the bond between them would extend to her being able to morph with him, so human transportation was necessary to retrieve her.
He decided to collect his few personal items, just in case he didn’t return to this location. He filled a small suitcase, gathered the rest of the clothes from the closet and walked around the area, making sure he hadn’t left anything behind.
His stomach tightened, and he felt his anger build as he made his way to the garage. He couldn’t wait to wrap his fingers around the maniac’s neck. That kind of disrespect was intolerable. The small man had to know that Tempest was connected to him. There was no other reason they would have collected her. He couldn’t understand what his employer was up to. The mobster boss was the only one in his organization who knew what Malveaux really was; he’d hired him for that very reason, and since he knew what Malveaux was capable of, he had to know he was playing with fire.
Malveaux clicked on the lights, opened the car door, and threw his possessions into the back seat. He did a double-take as he recognized Tempest’s guitar case and briefcase, which were still where he’d stashed them at the start of their evening. She’d probably been frantic when she woke up in the closet, saw the condition of the room, and then realized her guitar was gone. He smiled. She’d be much easier to persuade since he had something she valued. He really didn’t want to overpower her if he didn’t have to. Seduction was so much more interesting.
But he’d gladly overpower his employer if necessary. Maybe he’d been too tame with the mob boss, given him a false sense of security. Malveaux ran his tongue over his teeth, aware that his fangs had descended and that he was hungry. Yes, he determined as he slid into the driver’s seat, perhaps it was time to give the boss a lesson in vampire reality.
He clicked open the door to the underground garage, rested an arm along the passenger seat of the car, looked back over his shoulder, and waited as the stone slid effortlessly to the side. He shifted into reverse and backed silently up the dirt incline. He’d only gone a couple of feet when he stomped on the brakes, cursing.
“Fuck! What the hell?”
The top half of the opening gave him a stunning view of the full moon hanging low in a star-studded indigo void. The bottom half was filled with a solid block of white. It wasn’t snowing anymore, but the blizzard had obviously managed to dump several more feet of snow while he’d been dead to the world in his coffin.
Annoyed, he unfolded himself from the car and strode up to the opening, glaring at the arctic landscape. The wind had sculpted a huge snowdrift against the Neolithic garage door that had been covering the underground driveway, and now there were mini-mountains of the fluffy stuff sparkling in the moonlight.
He threw back his head and laughed at the stupidity of it all. What other vampire would bother digging a car out of a snowstorm, when he merely had to transform and be done with it? Who else would waste his time salvaging either a human toy or a human female? Shaking his head, he smiled. He shouldn’t be surprised. He’d been eccentric even when he was alive. His idiosyncratic tendencies were what had attracted the attention of his sire, which then brought Malveaux to the never-ending nightmare his life had become.
Thinking about Tempest reminded him that there was a score to be settled. The mob boss’s lackey had dared to put hands on his offspring, and retribution was on its way.
Turning, he jogged down the driveway, opened the car door, and flipped the transmission into “neutral.” Returning to the rear of the Jag, he grabbed the bumper with one hand, lifted the back tires off the ground, and pulled the car up toward the blocked entranceway. Willing himself to rise into the air, he angled out around the snow peaks, pulling the silver Jag with him. He smiled as he imagined the tales that would be added to the cemetery’s already spooky history if anyone saw the mysterious flying man pulling a silver car through the air.
Floating all the way out to the deserted street beyond the gate of the cemetery, he lowered the car, got in, and drove toward the heart of the inner city.
Within minutes, Malveaux had parked the Jag one street from the mob boss’s headquarters. Not wanting to lose any more good leather, he stepped out of the car, peeled off his designer clothes, and threw them into the back seat. Using his preternatural speed, he traversed the alley, circled the target building -- taking note of the doors and windows -- and located the source of the human thoughts and emotions he sensed on the lower level. He debated with himself for a moment about the most fulfilling way to make his presence known. Did he want to make a grand entrance? He’d always wanted to recreate his favorite scene from the movie Dracula, where the fiend burst through his wooden crate, snarling, as he set upon the meddlesome mortals. It might be fun to crash through a wall or two. Or should he keep a low profile until he figured out what was going on? If he decided to be subtle, transforming into fog wouldn’t work, because how many buildings contained creeping fog? No. He’d have to take the form of a small animal. He grimaced at the thought. Compressing himself into a small form was like being encased in a too-small body cast, or so he imagined. In any event, it was an unpleasant experience.
His mental argument abruptly ceased as a high-pitched female scream pierced the air. Grabbing the handle of the door, he tugged just enough to snap the lock, and then morphed into the form of a rat. Scurrying through the now-empty food preparation room, he descended the stairs and headed for the loud voices emanating from the open door at the end of the hall.
Malveaux stuck his small head into the room just in time to watch the boss’s pet psychopath wave his pathetic, half-limp cock in front of Tempest’s face. She was secured to a folding chair by duct tape, her hands and feet bound. She was also naked except for her black boots. Huge twin sentinels loomed on either side of her. Seated behind a large 1940’s-e
ra desk was the grinning mob boss, Salvatore Amato. He leaned back in his chair, fingers linked behind his head, as he enjoyed the show.
“Stick that pencil dick a little closer to my mouth, motherfucker, and I’ll change it from a compact to a mini.”
Pee Wee snickered, rubbing his cock. “Quiet, whore! You’re gonna’ love having your jaws wired open. The boss’s nephew is a dentist. The only thing that will move will be your tongue, and by then you’ll make it do whatever I say. You’ll take me as deep as I want, but you might not be able to sit down by then, ‘cause of what I’m gonna do to your tight little asshole with some of my favorite sex toys. Maybe I’ll give you some laxatives first, just to make it more fun.”
Malveaux had heard enough.
He crept into the room, placed himself behind the two goons flanking Tempest, and morphed back into his vampire form. Assuming a monster-movie stance, he raised his arms and snarled, prominently displaying his pointy fangs, along with the other pointy thing exposed by his nudity.
Shocked, Pee Wee released his withered cock and stumbled back against the boss’s desk. Malveaux captured the psycho’s frightened eyes and froze him with a mental command.
The matching guards simultaneously turned toward him, and he grabbed each by the neck, lifting them off the ground, pressing his sharp fingernails into the soft flesh. He held one struggling mortal in each hand, and felt his heart pound with excitement as his raging blood lust took control. He slammed the two stunned men to the floor, knelt, and drank from the wounds in one neck, then the other, ripping the thin flesh with his sharp canines. He lifted his mouth from the second lifeless body, blood smeared around his lips and chin. Remnants of his feast dripped from the ends of his long hair, which stuck to his chest. The smell of blood enflamed his need, and his whole body trembled as he assimilated the crimson manna.
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