Blood Slave

He was a non-entity, a blank slate. If I closed my eyes I wouldn’t even know he stood in the room with me. It felt very disorienting. I always knew who stood nearby. I could place them by their thoughts and emotions. I’d never encountered anyone with a mind so completely blocked. I felt blinded.



As he walked towards us with that flowing grace, he and Lia communicated silently about me. I picked it up through Lia’s mind, the weirdest thing I’d ever heard.



“She’s a telepath. I can’t compel or control her. She knows what I am, we have to eliminate her. She’s fully aware I bit her three times. We can’t let her live with what she knows.”



It all poured out in a whiny stream of puke, she projected her anxiety about me straight at him. And then shit really got weird. He spoke to her, not out loud, but directly into her mind. I did a double-take to verify his mouth hadn’t moved. I could hardly believe it.



“You think she is a threat to us?” His lips hadn’t moved.



“She knows too much, who knows for sure how much. She’s probably listening to us at this very moment.” Her lips didn’t move.



They both turned to me simultaneously, staring, digging into me with their freakishly intent, accusing gazes. I looked away, doing my best ‘who me’ act. He looked back at her, unhappy.



“Perhaps she is, but who would she tell? Who would believe tales of vampires?”



My blood froze cold. Vampires – for real?



“It’s not for me to make suppositions. I acted on the potential threat.”



“She wasn’t truly a problem until you brought her here. Now you have exposed us both. But you already know this. You think me so foolish I cannot see your manipulations? You think to force my hand by creating a threat I must act upon.”



“I simply wanted to contain the situation.”



“Of course, a situation you created and made a hundred-fold worse by bringing her here to my door-step. I’ll not be manipulated. You hoped to sate your sick desires on her, and you wish my permission. Let’s not couch it in lies.”



Their mental back and forth moved so quickly it gave me a headache. I could barely keep up with the flow of words so much faster than anything spoken.



“Yes Master, I want to kill her. If you’d allow me to kill at my discretion I wouldn’t have exposed you. I could’ve taken care of it discreetly with no one the wiser.” Lia sounded snipish, as if it was all his fault that she brought me here.



“Your discretion is ever flawed. You prove the necessity for my limitations with your foolish actions.”



“I beg forgiveness.”



“No you don’t, you are begging permission to kill.”



“Yes.”



“And how did you find her? Walking the streets? I think not. You used the escort service, and they have the call records and financial payment records of the reservation fee. Is that your definition of discretion? The police investigation would lead to us in a matter of hours.”



The entire conversation passed in the span of ten seconds of staring at each other. It ended abruptly when the Spaniard lashed out at Lia. He smacked her really hard, a whip-crack backhand. He hit her so hard her feet left the ground as she flew across the room. The sound of it echoed in the open space, breaking the uncomfortable silence with sudden violence.



It scared the shit out of me. I actually gave out a girly squeak. Lia picked herself up off the floor about eight feet from where she’d been standing and straightened her skirt like it was no big deal. Tough little bitch.



The Master stared me down for a moment, then introduced himself in a cool calm voice. “My name is Enrique de la Riguera, but I suspect you already know that.”



He watched me intensely, looking down on me from that imposing Spaniard beak. I had that same over powering feeling I’d experienced earlier with Lia. I returned his stare, refusing to be intimidated. His features reminded me of something I saw on the History channel, Spain had been overrun by Arabs at one point. As a result, the Spaniards had a heavy blend of Arabic genetics. He had that same Arabian hooked nose. An imposing nose, especially when he stared down it at me, ready to piss myself.



I didn’t fall for his ruse. I never admit I know more than I should. I tried to still my shaking hands and played it off. “My name is Hope. I don’t have a clue what’s going on here, but I’d really like to go home now. The people I work for are gonna be very upset if I’m not returned soon.”



He stared at me unblinking, unfazed, unperturbed. He drove me nuts with his mental silence. It felt so wrong to be cut off from his thoughts, like I was missing something vital. He could lie and I’d never know it. No one could lie to me. Never stopped them from trying, but still, it’s a point of pride. He robbed me of my one advantage, which I really needed now more than ever. How unnerving.



“And who do you work for?”



It’s a rare occasion I admit openly I work for the cartel. But they had me in a real situation, my life on the line. A little name dropping might prove useful. I opened my mouth, but Lia interrupted.



“She works with an internet-based escort service. She doesn’t have a pimp, she’s lying.”



I whipped out my expired visa from my purse and shoved it at Enrique. “Wrong. I’m Colombian. I work for Faustino Vasquez. I’m under his protection. If you don’t let me go right now there will be hell to pay!”



I’d really gotten into the role. I played my trump card to the fullest. I had no idea the ramifications of my words, how much more danger my connection to Faustino created.



Enrique sneered at me, at Lia, and looked at my visa. He flipped the card over, and flipped it again to study my four year old photograph. He nodded to himself in confirmation and calmly handed it back to me. No sooner had I took my visa from his hand than he turned on Lia snarling in rage.



“You ignorant bitch! You brought a telepathic prostitute who works for EL Tiburon into my home!” His lips moved on that one. He virtually screamed at her.



The fact he knew Faustino’s nickname on the street spoke volumes. I began to realize I might have made a mistake. Then he did it again.



I never even saw him move. He smacked Lia across the room. I jumped and squeaked this time, very girly. He was so damn powerful. I’ve never seen a grown person tossed around like a rag doll.



It came to me then, just how dangerous Enrique was. I’ve seen quite a few fights in my time. Colombians brawl over anything. But I’ve never seen what I watched Enrique do twice in the past five minutes. He graduated to the scariest person I’d ever met, more intimidating than Arana or Faustino.



Although I couldn’t read anything from Enrique, Lia’s mind supplied me with plenty of information. Enough to know I was dead meat. As she picked herself back up off the floor again, I read it all. Enrique had occasional dealings with Faustino, which made me a liability. I might compromise his business with the cartel. Add to that the fact they thought I knew their secret, that they were vampires. Either of those reasons was sufficient cause to have me killed. Both reasons combined to create a synergistic blend virtually guaranteeing my death and dismemberment. Lia thought they should feed my corpse to pigs to dispose of the physical evidence.



I turned and ran for the door, terror driving me. I ran like an animal being hunted. I ran for my life.



* * * *



Chapter 4



Terror is an emotion in a class all its own. Few people ever know true terror in their lives. I mean the run or die, run till your heart bursts kind of terror. I’d certainly never experienced it before. It robbed me of all sense, all reasoning capacity. All I could do was run.



I made it about twenty feet. I had begun to think I might just make it out of there. I wrenched to a painfully abrupt halt by a set of immensely strong iron-sinewy arms. Felt like being hooked by a waist high steel bar.



Enrique snatched me up in his powerful arms and lifted me off the floor like my hundred and fifteen pounds was nothing. When the intense instinct of flight is denied, all that’s left is fight.



I fought with all my strength and spitfire and heart. I kicked and clawed. I screamed obscenities in multiple languages. I flailed, pummeled, elbowed, bit and scratched. Nothing seemed to do any real damage until my flailing right knee caught him square in the groin. That changed things.



He grunted in pain and promptly let go – then smacked me into next week. A real whopper. Felt like he hit me with a cast iron skillet. I went flying, sprawled out flat on my back on the beautiful gleaming hardwood floors.



I saw stars, and the landing knocked the wind out of me good. I lay there spread eagle, dazed, mostly naked. My robe had come loose and fallen to the floor in our struggle. I like to think that’s what saved my life, my nudity and vulnerability. That and a little begging. When terrified of being murdered and fed to pigs, begging is not out of the question. In fact, I highly recommend it.



He scooped me back up off the floor. “Please let me go. I won’t say anything to anyone. I’m not even legal. You saw my visa, it’s expired. I won’t go to the cops!”



He didn’t say a word, and Lia’s mind remained firmly set on my death, so I kept at it.



“I’ll work for you. I can make two thousand a week. I do guys and girls and even group sex! You can have me for free all you want, every day, three times a day if you want. I give the best blow job you’ve ever had.”



Somewhere in the mix, begging, naked in his arms, attesting with all sincerity to my superior blow job skills, I saw a change in his face and attitude. Anger morphed to pity. Pity was good. I could live with pity. Pity meant he might not kill me. I sensed the difference and pressed the advantage.



“I’ll never tell a soul, I promise. I swear on my mother’s grave. Tell me what you want. I’ll do it right now. I can go all night long. I’m like the energizer bunny.” I reached into his pants to demonstrate my willingness to service him right there and then. He stared at me with something like pity, maybe even sympathy.



“Stop!” he yelled. “Be still. I’m not going to hurt you.”