by Sarah Black
“Ah, yes, the ever-elusive CEO who never shows up. Just leaves me a martini.” I make sure my tone is as dry as this damn drink before popping the olive in my mouth and crunching down, squirting olive juice across the table at her.
My sister rolls her eyes at me, those glued on lashes damn near fluttering off her face. “You’re a spoilsport, Penny.” She shakes her short hair, the hot pink strands threaded with black that grant her that badass look. I keep mine long with the violet ends. Her face pinches up in her telltale disappointed look. “You’ll get me fired.”
I sip my martini, making that obnoxious slurping sound that drives her crazy. I watch her visibly shudder before she slides into the seat across from me—her degrading uniform of a leather mini and bustier makes my lips sneer—the material catching on the vinyl seat. Maybe it will tear and she will learn a lesson.
“You could at least try, you know.” Oh, so we’re going to have that chat before the music starts up again. Damn her for taking advantage of the semi-silence of this ridiculous club.
“I see no point.” I throw back the last of my martini before shutting down my laptop and stuffing it in my bag. I have enough to finish it and send it in. No reason to stay and torture myself further.
“Penny.” I glare at her, my name a whine and a plea grating out of her smoky voice. “You know you can move on, right?”
I curl my lips at her, annoyance flickering through me. Even if there is that tiny voice in the back of my head telling me she’s right. “I know. But not with him.” I point at Jersey Shore who’s trying to pick up another girl far more interested than I’d ever be. One I’m sure will only use him for the iron in his system.
“I’m not saying date him. I’m saying—” Her hands display some questionable gestures. “Someone.”
“Oh, God, no! Not this talk!” I cover my ears, acting as childish as possible. Though her pink tinted lips smile at me with mirth. I shudder, no way is my baby sister giving me sex advice. Even if she’s only younger by a whole three minutes and thirteen seconds. It still makes me older and wiser.
“Think about it. You can just get off and go about your miserable life.” She picks up her tray, standing to hover over me in those demon heels. “Even an ice queen needs an orgasm every now and then.”
I groan, not even needing to hear this. “Did you want something?”
“Yeah. Boss wants you to write up an exposé on a new band.” I groan again, slamming my head down on the table.
“This is a waste of my talents,” I mumble into the sticky surface. “Let me guess, he’s already spoken to my boss.”
“Sorry, sis.” She doesn’t sound the least bit sorry. In fact, she sounds downright amused. She slips me the card with the date and time for the next wasted hour of my life. I have a small collection of black and gold rectangles at home now. I should burn them all.
“I could write about the famine in Sudan. The plague somewhere. Or hell, even about that shady judge. But no, I’m stuck coming here week after week writing for your boss.” I regret that my sister opened her big mouth and told him I’m a reporter. A baby reporter…okay, an intern. But I still have career goals that don’t involve booze and night clubs.
Not to mention the cover story we both cling to like a lifeline. A tedious one at best that at any moment may snap and break free.
Somewhere along the way, those lines blurred, and I saw myself as a real reporter, one who could make a difference. Not this new-aged, bullshit blogger giving out baking recipes where you have to scan fifty pages just to get to the damn ingredient list. Truth is, though, I’m a twenty-two year old at the bottom of the totem pole. I’ll need another job, and soon, if I want to eat.
“Hey, at least it pays well.” That’s funny coming from her, since she gets paid a hell of a lot more than me. “You can always come work here.” Poppy worries her lip, biting the flesh as she glances at the stage below. She doesn’t want me here any more than I need to be, that much is evident. I know she only works here to make sure no one knows about us, putting her life in danger every day. Now I’ve been sucked into this mess.
I can feel the pressure to run beating down on both of us as we pretend to be something we’re not.
“No. Nope. Never.” I will not waste my college education that I busted my butt for. In fact… “Tell your boss this is the last one. I’m done.”
I roll my shoulders back and stand. Determined not to be his back pocket reporter. He can groom someone else.
“It’s your funeral, besides, I’m just about done myself.” She saunters off, annoying me with that last comment. Her skirt is far too short. But she does what she wants. Surviving far better than me. At least one of us is.
I throw my laptop bag over my shoulder, dreading the fight through the crowd. Peeking back at Poppy, I debate the door with the exit lights streaming against cushioned red velour. This entire section is decorated with velour and black vinyl.
Do I risk it and go out the back? Do I not?
The DJ’s break ends and the thumping bass vibrates my table. Screw this crowd and this damn club.
Every Wednesday, the owner sets me up in this VIP section overlooking the dance floor below. I walk up here before the crowd swells, and milk my martini until I’ve had enough and my head threatens me with a music hangover the following day. And every Wednesday, I’m stuck fighting this damn crowd. I haven’t met him, not yet, and I have my suspicions as to what he is.
Right now, there are very few people up here, so if I can just walk to the emergency stairwell like I own the place, I might get away with it.
It’s worth a try.
I tighten all my muscles, impersonate a real ice queen, and strut like a runway model to the door, pushing it open like I own the place.
I instantly deflate like a balloon on the other side as a girlish giggle escapes me. “I can’t believe I got away with that.” There aren’t many things you fuck with in this world, and one of those is a creature more powerful than you are. Not knowing what the owner is, the risk I just took could very well out me.
There isn’t even anyone to stop me in the florescent lit space. The job may be tolerable if I use this stairwell more often. I snort, no, I’m done. I’d rather write about kittens being rescued by firemen.
Sexy, hot firemen. Maybe Poppy is right, and I just need to get laid. Just not by anyone here.
My sneakers squeak on the steps on the way down, and I hope no one can hear me. Or is watching me from a surveillance system? The last thing I need is to end up behind bars somewhere bartering for a bar of soap. Actually, that’s the best that could happen if I got caught.
One flight down and I realize I’m not alone anymore. Muffled moans break the barrier of the stairwell. Like the perv I am, I press my ear to the first-floor door. But all I hear is the thump of music.
I should walk right out that exit door. Stroll away and never look back. After all, this place has been nothing more than a headache on steroids. Demanding my presence and not once asking for it. Dangling cash in front of my face like a carrot, and as needy as I am, I took it because I was starving and too proud to ask anyone for help.
So instead of making a good decision, I creep on silent feet to the lowest level. The one where a sign reading “Employees Only” hangs from a metal door. Well, technically I’m an employee. Semantics rides a fine line.
I tug the strap of my laptop bag closer as the moans grow louder.
Louder.
I bite down on the inside of my cheek, those moans could be from pleasure or pain. Two distinct possibilities in a club filled with nightmares. Why I’m walking down here is a question I’ll have to delve into later. Over a nice glass of red or another martini. But right now, a flush coats my skin as perspiration beads between my breasts while I mull over whether to pry or run. I press myself against the lower level door, my ears straining to hear more.
On tippy toes, I peek through the cross-stitched window. Seeing no one but hearing everything, I
ever so slowly press the handle down and peer inside. The moans grow louder, unmuted by the stairwell door. Still, I can’t decide whether they are from pleasure or pain.
Leave.
I should, but I can’t. My moral compass spins out of control as the moans turn to a breathy scream.
Something nags at the back of my head, telling me that something just doesn’t fit here. That something just isn’t quite right. I snag a piece of paper from my bag, placing it over the lock, so I can still get away quickly in case the door locks behind me.
Stacks of old beer crates, barrels, dusty totes, and more line the musky basement. I flatten myself against the wall as the cries grow even louder.
Leave.
Again, the thought spears my mind.
Another scream pierces my ears. I know there are creatures who exist that can make you beg for pleasure even while death sits in patience to carry your soul away. At this point, I should turn around and go home, and allow whatever nefarious actions that are happening to just play out.
Mind set, I turn to sneak back the very few feet I’d gone when my neck prickles with that sixth sense, telling me someone is watching me.
I freeze.
My pulse pounds and my palms sweat, but curiosity digs claws into my need to know, and I inch forward. My eyes land on a woman, fully clothed—or mostly clothed—in a black cinched dress. Behind her stands a man, his eyes downcast and his mouth on her neck while an arm wraps around her writhing body. His embrace is intimate yet firm, unyielding to her need.
It’s far from the scene I was expecting to play out. Or perhaps it wasn’t. Seafoam green eyes find mine and his body freezes. A drop of red liquid spills from the corner of his mouth as her eyes roll into the back of her head and a long, drawn out moan slips from her lips.
I can’t move. My entire body freezes on the spot. I can’t even think or will my muscles to twitch, even though I know I’m completely in danger. I knew better than to go searching here, of all places. I knew that with one misstep I could tear apart our lives.
Slowly, he lifts his head, his hand coming up to draw a kerchief from his suit pocket. The woman drops to the floor, her body falling in a knotted heap, all while his eyes stay locked on mine. His white kerchief dabs at the blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.
“Now, what am I supposed to do with you?” He tsks, stepping toward me.
Suddenly, adrenaline floods through my body and I backtrack, my feet crashing over boxes and tripping me. My body goes airborne, my arms flailing wildly.
Arms catch me and a jolt of fear pinches my every muscle. “You ruined my meal, kitten.” His dark hair flops over onto his forehead as he inhales long and slow.
I need to run, to break free, but a power holds me in place. Somewhere deep inside me something cracks open, spilling forth, ready to defy this creature. Something I would die to protect, something I secreted away for a decade.
He eyes lock onto mine, and with it something slithers into my mind, a foreign invader I cannot fight off. Even though a fissure inside my soul leaks something just as deadly, ready to fight back.
“Shhh, kitten, just let me in.” Panic swells in my head, my heart beating out of control. “This isn’t how I thought we would meet. Not at all. So, I’m going to have to leave you with something else. For now.”
My memories fizzle and a heavy pulsing thumps inside me, one that would rival that of the DJ a floor above.
“You are a strong one, aren’t you?” He leans in, his spicy scent invading my common sense. His fangs, so close to my head, send a flare of fear through me. “You smell so fucking good. I think I’ll leave you with something to think of me by.”
Inside my skull, something snaps. My muscles turn rigid and feeling flees from me, leaving me as nothing but a hollow shell.
“There we go.” The mystery man steadies me before stepping back to pull off his suit jacket. “Usually when a human discovers us, we have to make you forget. But you, Penny, I’ve been wanting to meet you.” He throws his jacket to the side before unbuttoning his shirt. Worry causes my palms to sweat, but I can’t move. “Don’t worry, it isn’t what you think. Well, maybe that’s what you think, but not for long.” His hands flutter to the sleeping blonde.
My throat garbles as I strain for control of my own mind.
“Not yet. See, I’m going to strip and change a few things around. Purely for my benefit, of course. And you, my sweet kitten, are going to run.” He unbuttons his shirt, then his hands move to the zipper of his pants, the sound echoing all around us. He moves his body closer. His eyes once again locking onto mine.
My head aches as bit by bit everything fades away to nothing. My eyes blind to the room before me until it all spirals back in.
“Run.”
Something inside me breaks, and with it a flood of memories of a head bobbing in a frantic rhythm, of red lips and devil’s eyes, thrusts and bursts of speed with moaning and slapping, flash across my frontal lobe.
Heat flares inside me. But it’s wrong, it’s all wrong.
This. This is too much. I need to get out of here.
I back away, sprinting to the stairwell door, and fling it open. My feet slap on the steps as I rush away. My breathing labors as I push through the first-floor door leading outside.
Just as the basement door slams against the wall.
He saw me!
I dodge partygoers as I run, pushing past them as they yell at me for shoving them. Crud, some things just can’t be helped. I curse myself for not having a car. Usually the walk back helps me clear my head of the pounding music.
Not tonight.
Shouts echo behind me, followed by catcalls.
There’s no way he ran out naked. I skid to a stop behind a parked car and look back. Sure enough, he’s standing in the crowd with a semicircle of gawkers surrounding him as he looks on into the night.
Searching. For me?
“Penny, what the hell?” My sister’s voice draws his attention and I yank her down. Of course I would hide behind her car.
Don’t hear her, don’t hear her, don’t hear her.
“Shut up. Don’t speak. Just don’t do it,” I hiss at her.
“Valentino is naked again, I see.” She crouches beside me, eyeing up this Valentino I’m trying to hide from.
“Who is he?” I whisper, as his head cocks to the side. Impossible, there is no way he heard me.
Her laugh is a bit too loud. “Only the boss.” I cringe as he follows the sound of her laughter.
“Unlock your door.” I yank on the handle to her powder blue beetle, trying to get in.
“Oh snap, you are hiding from him. This has got to be good.” She pops up and deliberately walks toward Valentino without unlocking the door.
My heart can’t handle this crap. I’m about to die of embarrassment right here. Right now. Hopefully she doesn’t give me away.
Then again, my sister is a grade A bitch. She won’t deviate from the facade.
Not like this.
Not him, sis. Not him.
But no amount of mental pleading will keep her from doing whatever it is she wants to do. Oh no. She saunters back, finally unlocking her car door.
“Get in, Penny!” She did it. She gave me away. I regret every choice I’ve made today from the moment I rolled out of bed. I should have called in sick. I should have avoided everything today. But no, right now I’m in the most awkward situation I could have ever put myself into.
Still crouching, I open the passenger side door and slither inside, shutting it on a silent click. My sister doesn’t bother with furtive maneuvers, she simply opens her door, simultaneously starting the engine and rolling down the windows. The old gremlin purrs to life.
Valentino begins a leisurely naked stroll toward our car, not an ounce of shame on his otherworldly handsome face.
I wish the ground would open up and swallow me whole. But I wasn’t born with an ounce of luck.
Valentino leans down, resti
ng his forearms on the window frame. I do my best to keep my eyes forward.
“Hello, Penny, it’s nice to finally meet you.”
I hold my breath, deciding to say screw it and own this moment. I turn toward him, and those sinful lips of his kick up. His seafoam green eyes flickering with mirth. Though something behind those eyes dances with a dare. Sending a warning up my spine.
“Valentino.” I smile, glancing down to what the door is hiding from view. “I quit.”
2
Sleep became nothing more than a daydream around two this morning. The few precious hours I had were nothing but visions of Valentino and his sinful, naked body. Unabashed masculinity strutting through town, his eyes set on me and only me.
Then my dreams turned into a fanged nightmare. Valentino’s teeth lengthening while clothing appeared on his body and he leaned down, sinking his teeth into my neck.
And I wanted him to. I loved it. Even though part of me screamed and rebelled. My body and mind torn into two.
Needless to say, I woke up hot and bothered and slightly horrified.
I’ve been chugging coffee ever since.
The need to pour my fourth cup overwhelms me, my body stuck on autopilot. I blink away the blurry screen I’d been focusing on, the words a mesh of utter bullshit. Giving in to my craving, I head to the small kitchenette at the Post—my daily hell and biweekly paycheck. I’m nothing more than an entertainment columnist struggling to report real news.
Yellow walls streaked from a time when it was okay to smoke inside greet me, along with the lingering scent of cigarette smoke. Chipped linoleum threatens to trip me, and the brown countertops peel away at the edges. Yet it is my home away from home. I lift the sludge simmering in the glass pot and pour what’s left into my cup then turn off the coffeemaker. No one in their right mind will drink any more today besides me. Most stop drinking the beverage somewhere around noon, not me.
I can’t focus, and hoping the caffeine will ward off the loss of brain function is nothing but desolate hope. Especially when I can’t make sense of anything. Every time I attempt to concentrate, all I see is Valentino.
