Pretty When She Dies

“Do not fuck with me boys,” she warned, and tried to wrench free.



They didn't budge and their grip remained secure. Slowly, she realized they were not human.



Dammit.



“Um. Hi?”



“Let's go,” one of them said with a grim smile.



“Santos is going to love this one,” the smaller guy with the super short hair decided. “Yeah. This one will be fun.”



“Look, I'm just passing through and-”



“No vampire just passes through nowhere. You're in our territory now, puta. Better hope Santos is in a good mood.”



The big guy took a firm hold of her as if she was his girlfriend, his huge arm slung over her shoulders.



Amaliya tried to break free one more time, but she was held securely in place against the beefy man.



“Oh, shit,” she whispered and was escorted away into the night.



Chapter Eighteen



Amaliya kicked the back of the car seat as hard as she could every few seconds and screamed at the top of her lungs. Trapped in the trunk of a small sports car, she felt claustrophobic and pissed off. The brutes had fastened her hands and feet together with plastic handcuffs. They had actually left her duffel bag, still smelling of garbage, in the trunk with her. The reek was getting to her.



“Just let me go,” she screamed again, and kicked as hard as she could.



The car veered to one side and her head slammed into the side of the trunk. This had happened several times and she was sure the driver was doing it on purpose.



She could not believe her luck. Just when things looked like they were going to get better, Cian ditched her in San Antonio, and she got picked up by gangster vampires.



Her body smacked into the side of the trunk again, then the car came to a hard stop, and she slammed into the rear of the backseat.



“That fucking hurts!”



“Not like it's gonna hurt, bitch,” a muffled voice answered her.



The back seat of the car was pulled down to reveal a small opening and the large vampire pulled her through into the interior of the car. It was obvious they did it to knock her around as much as they could. She was yanked out of the vehicle and the big guy accidentally dropped her on her face.



Wiggling around, she managed to flip onto her back as the biggest guy, bald and massive in a goldenrod yellow shirt, stood guard while the smaller guy got her bag.



She reared her legs back and tried to kick him. Without even glancing her way, the large man caught her booted feet in one massive hand. Flipping her back onto her stomach, he leaned down and grabbed the waistband of her jeans and hoisted her up off the ground. Carrying her like she was a bag, he walked up a narrow driveway to an enormous house nestled into the side of a hill.



We must be on the Northwest side of San Antonio, she thought.



Latin music filled the air and an assortment of Mexican-American women of all sizes, skin and hair color, all clad in sexy outfits, stood on a patio off to the side of the house sipping drinks and laughing. They barely glanced her way as she was dragged up the front steps and into the Spanish-style house. Carried over tiled floors, Amaliya tried wrenching free, but to no avail.



The big man carried her through the house and finally up a stairway that ended in a massive room. A fireplace dominated the room on one end, which made no sense since San Antonio never had weather that needed one. Hoisted over the back of a leather couch, she was dropped onto it.



Several of the girls from outside wandered in to look at her. Speaking in Spanish, they leaned over and studied her. A few looked disappointed and one said, “Vampiro.” She realized they had been hoping for a nice meal. Two of the girls were quite fair and she figured they had a lot of European blood. The third looked like a pure indigenous Mexican. She was very tiny, with coal black hair, and strong features. From the way she carried herself, it was obvious she was the one in charge.



“Look, I am just passing through, ”Amaliya said firmly. “I didn't mean to break any rules.”



The woman leaned over her, her long black hair brushing over Amaliya's skin. It smelled of cinnamon and vanilla. “Mistakes happen. Unfortunately, Santos doesn't like excuses,” the woman said in a husky voice.



Just then a man in black slacks and a white shirt entered the room. He was not very tall, but he carried himself as though he were a man of great power and influence. His hair was dark brown and curly, while his eyes were brown flecked with amber. His skin was dark, yet had a pale undertone. She wondered how old he was. It was obvious he had not been in the sun in a very long time. Waving a hand, he dismissed the women before taking a seat across from her. She assumed this was Santos.



“Habla Espanol?”



Struggling to sit up, she shook her head. “No. Sorry.”



“What kind of name is Amaliya?” He tossed her driver's license onto the coffee table.



“Russian. But my Mother messed with the spelling a little.”



“You Mexican?”



“Part. My grandmother.”



“And you don't speak Spanish?”



She felt a little defensive and finally managed to get upright. “I was raised in East Texas with my Polish family. My Mom was half German, so we weren't, you know, straight up anything.”



“I see.” His expression was cold and odd.



She was hunched over lopsided, but he didn't seem to care.



“And why are you in my city?”



“I got ditched here,” she answered. “I was on the way out of town when your guys nabbed me.”



“Who ditched you?” He was eerily calm and cold.



Amaliya felt hesitant to say Cian's name even though he had her removed from his city. “I'm not sure.”



Santos moved so fast, she didn't even see him coming at her. Suddenly, she was on the floor and her jaw felt broken. Slowly, calmly, Santos leaned down next to her as she spit blood on his tiled floor.



“Who sent you?” The Master of San Antonio pulled a kerchief from his pocket and began wiping up her blood in a nonchalant manner.



“No one,” she gasped. “No one sent me.”



This time she saw the blow coming and tried to duck away. He was far faster than she was. He hit her so hard her head smacked into the tiles and the world spun around. Blood began to slide into her eyes as she gripped the floor with her tied hands, and tried to steady herself. The pain was excruciating and she could not concentrate on anything other than it ripping through her.



Numbly, she realized that Santos was still speaking to her. He struck her again before she could determine what he was saying. This time she felt her cheekbone crack and blood bubbled out of her mouth as she gagged.



“Who sent you?”



There was no way she wanted him to hit her again, so she whispered, “The Summoner.” It was a gamble, but Cian was afraid of the bastard who had made them. Maybe Santos would be also.



Santos calm demeanor disappeared and he drew back from her. Numbly, she noticed he was splashed with her blood. Wiping his hands on his black trousers, he said something sharply in Spanish to the big guy in the yellow shirt waiting nearby. Amaliya was busy spitting up blood when she was heaved up into the air again. This time the big vampire gripped her under her armpit and held her off the ground.



Santos appeared in front of her again. “Who sent you?”



“The Summoner,” she managed to get out.



“Break her arm,” Santos ordered.



Amaliya screamed before the big man could get a good grip on her. “Call Cian! Call him! He'll tell you!”



“You know Cian?” Santos raised an eyebrow. He considered her words, then said, “Break it.”



Amaliya twisted hard and fell to the floor. Despite being tied up, she kicked frantically at the big man as he tried to reach down and grab her again.



“Mi único y verdadero amor,” the dark haired woman said from the arched doorway.



Santos looked up at her and Amaliya managed to get purchase on the floor and push herself under a huge wrought iron table.



“What is it?” Santos demanded.



Amaliya tried to worm her way away from the big man as he got down on the ground and tried to grab her feet and drag her out. Her face felt swollen and it pulsed with pain. There was no way she was going to let anyone break her arm without a fight.



“You got a voice mail from Cian.”



“Really?” Santos reached out for the phone.



Screaming, Amaliya felt the massive guy catch her leg and began to draw her out from under the table. She was so desperate, she tried to grab a chair leg with her teeth. Roughly, she was pulled out from under the safety of the table and was rewarded with a hard punch to her chest. Blood spurted from between her lips and she knew she had heard her ribs break as her body was enveloped in overwhelming agony.



“Manny, leave her alone. Cian called to claim her as part of his cabal. We don't want to mess her up too badly if she is worth something to him,” Santos said in his deadly, calm voice. He then dialed a number and raised the cellphone to his face, the glowing keyboard illuminating his face red.



As Amaliya vomited up more blood, she heard Cian's voice faintly from across the room. And then she felt her head fall to the floor and drag her body down into darkness.