Blood Slave ( The Nightlife #0)

Blood Slave ( The Nightlife #0) Page 10

I was such a mess. I wanted Enrique to come back. I couldn’t stand to be away from him. And yet I wanted to run home to the Towers. To top it all off, I didn’t trust him one bit. He could lie to me! No one can lie to me, but he could. I wanted to trust him. He seemed sincere, he seemed to care. I wanted so bad to take him at face value, to believe the fairytale. Could I really live to be a hundred, here, with him, in this fabulous Park Avenue penthouse?

After agonizing for the entire half hour while I dressed in Lia’s designer clothing, I decided to give him a chance. Why not give Enrique a chance to prove he’s the real thing? Like he said, no use fighting it. I recalled the serenity prayer one of the girls at the Towers taught me, the mantra from a Narcotics Anonymous 12-step program.

“God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference today.”

I don’t really have faith. I don’t know if God exists, but the words make sense to me. Why stress out about things I have no control over? I might as well make the best of our shopping trip. I mean ... how bad could it be?

I’d hyped myself up for a Manhattan shopping spree, and then she opened the door to my room. “It’s time to go.” Fantastic, the psychotic vampire bitch from hell would be there too. Not very fairytaleish.

We rode in the limo again, but the chauffer was a young Hispanic man, way more respectful than the previous asshole. He thought I was some rich bitch niece, daughter, or family friend of Enrique’s. He didn’t for one second suspect my true identity and relationship to the boss. What a difference a few hundred dollars’ worth of clothes can make. The chauffer envied me. He assumed I’d been born in the lap of luxury, all because of how I dressed, and the respectful way Enrique held his hand at my back. I almost turned to him to say three hundred an hour or fifty dollars for a blow job. I wanted to see the shocked look on his face as I tore down the illusion he’d built up about me in his mind. Almost ... but I didn’t. I enjoyed the illusion too much.

The limo ride from the Upper East Side Park Avenue to the shopping mecca of Canal Street took almost an entire hour. It would’ve been so much faster on the subway. I guess filthy rich vampires prefer to ride in style. Some real serious style: black leather seats, a wet bar, music.

Though quiet, it was a hate-filled hour in the stylish limousine. I sat clenching my jaw while Lia imagined a thousand and one ways to kill-maim-violate me. She did it to torment me. She knew full well I could read every disgusting thing she imagined.

Enrique quietly observed the loving atmosphere between Lia and me. When Lia pictured in her mind chewing through my body with her fangs, starting between my legs and working her way up through my torso, I’d had enough.

“She’s sick in the head! Her mind is like a horror film where I’m the star who gets killed over and over! Make her stop!”

I know it sounded whiny, but what could I do? The psycho bitch smiled a sweet serene innocent expression. She didn’t fool anyone. Enrique lost his cool.

“This is unacceptable! Stop it now!” As soon as he spoke I felt a force clamping down on Lia’s mind, like his words had a tangible effect over her. Lia’s malicious thoughts curved away from me to refocus a spike of resentment and hatred towards her master. She imagined hitting him square in the nose, blood flying everywhere.

I looked from her back to him. I knew he could read the same thing I could. He had access to her mind through their weird connection. Enrique didn’t even look at her or acknowledge her malice.

“Why do you put up with her? She’s sooo sick! There’s something seriously wrong with her!”

Lia twitched, reaching toward me as though she would rip me to shreds with her bare hands. Then I sensed that clamp on her mind again, a force that blocked her from doing as she wished. I looked at Enrique. He hadn’t moved or said a word. He hadn’t even looked at Lia.

She fought a silent struggle with the thing that blocked her from hurting me. She flexed her hands, but she simply couldn’t move any further to reach for me. Her hands were bound somehow. I could feel how Enrique’s control bound her up physically, and it drove her insane. The woman was a fountain of seething hatred and resentment directed at both Enrique and I.

“She can’t hurt you, I promise.” He spoke quietly, pegging me with those beautiful eyes. In the limo, against the backdrop of black leather, his hazel eyes became light brown.

His words revealed the truth in her mind. She literally couldn’t make a single movement intended to harm me. I laughed out loud. “Ha! You can’t touch me. You really can’t lay a finger on me!” Stupid me, poking at the caged lion.

Like a good zookeeper, Enrique turned on me. “It’s bad enough without you taunting her. Can’t you see I’m trying to keep things civil? Don’t test my patience!”

He addressed Lia. “And you’ll learn to live with Hope. You brought her into our lives, you have only yourself to blame. She’s here to stay, deal with it.”

We sat in silence for the remainder of the ride. Each of us stewing in our own brew of emotions. As usual, I decided to go with the fuck-it attitude. She couldn’t hurt me though she wanted to, and Enrique seemed to have an iron grip on her. I couldn’t help but wink whenever I caught her wicked stare burning a hole through me. It drove her nuts, but it made me smile. The chick was bonkers.

I’d never been to Canal Street before, too rich for my blood. Apparently my fortunes had changed. With the exception of the psycho’s presence, I had a truly awesome shopping experience.

Never have I walked into a Macy’s and been told, “Choose whatever you like. We’re here to acquire an entire wardrobe. All your toiletries. Get whatever you need.”

We hit em all: Prada, Louis Vuitton, Victoria’s Secret, Mystique, Juicy Couture, and even J-Lo’s personal fashion line. I loved it. I soaked it up. My affections were thoroughly purchased several times over. If Enrique hoped for a loyal, happy, bloodslave, he sure knew how to get what he wanted. It was soooo awesome.

The one useful contribution the psycho Asian bitch provided to my shopping experience was her inside knowledge of certain shop’s special wares. Lia sidled up to a couple of the Asian chicks at various stores and asked to be shown, ‘the good stuff.’ With this we were ushered into a secret stash, huge walkin closets of ‘hot’ – stolen – goods that still bore the designer tags. The store clerks assured us repeatedly the merchandise was ‘legit’, and could be verified by calling the one eight hundred line or via the manufacturer’s website.

I’d heard of this ‘Jersey shore’ lifestyle, buying nothing but expensive designer clothing, but I had never deigned to participate in such a thing. Way too expensive for me.

Only in America will people spend thousands of dollars on clothing, verify the serial numbers to make sure it’s not a knockoff, and then donate it to charity when it goes out of style. I wondered if the IRS had a qualified tax deduction for donating out-of-style designer jeans.

Back in Colombia no one would ever conceive of the idea, let alone do it. Americans are a breed unto themselves whose consumer culture is so strange as to be unbelievable to foreigners who’ve never experienced it firsthand. My new three hundred dollar J-Lo jeans could’ve supported a poverty stricken family in a hillside shack in Bogota for an entire month. Knowing this, I still loved those jeans. They were awesome. Especially since I didn’t have to pay for them. I felt a connection to J-Lo beyond the fact that we were born on the same day – we both enjoyed ass-hugging jeans.

Lia couldn’t help but stare at my ass, I flaunted it. I caught her looking. I winked at her, poking at the caged lion again. She immediately gave me a vivid image of sinking her huge oversized fangs into my juicy rump.

It didn’t bug me much anymore. I knew she couldn’t hurt me. I may never get used to her sickness, but I could dismiss it more easily. I had a shopping high. Nothing could bring me down, or so I thought.

Enrique carried the role of perfect gentleman. Complimentary, considerate, patient, smiling as I modeled my new wardrobe. He seemed to genuinely enjoy spending obscene amounts of money on me. It became increasingly difficult to hate him for converting me into his latest slave. I had to admit I didn’t really feel like a slave. A captive maybe. I wanted his bite constantly, but he accommodated me every two to three hours. I stayed pleasantly hyped on his personal brand of euphoria. I had begun to wonder if I should wear a pad all the time. I wet myself whenever he sunk those wonderful little pointy teeth in my neck.

My fairytale shopping spree ended with a picturesque walk in the night air at the park. Well … it’s kind of a park. They call it ‘The Highline’. Some artsy conservationists transformed an ancient weed-strewn elevated rail track in Chelsea to a strip of park – bike path – recreation area. Ten whole city blocks of uninterrupted recreation: greenery, wildflowers, and boardwalk.

Enrique treated me to a pair of kosher sausages as we sat on a balcony overlooking the Hudson. It kinda felt like a moment, at least until Lia’s creepy thoughts reminded me of her intrusive presence. I had begun to enjoy my blissful ignorance of Enrique’s thoughts. It added a touch of mystery to my life. For the first time ever, I had to take a man at face value, to trust without the certain knowledge of his intentions.

Chapter 7

The ride back to Park Avenue flowed smoothly. Lia seemed to have mellowed out. Instead of thinking about my demise, she focused on the details of a business venture of Enrique’s in Madrid, Spain, his birthplace. The two of them had their mind-speak session running back and forth for several minutes. He planned to send her to Spain for a negotiation with a corporate board. She’d been working with Enrique’s Madrid attorneys for several years now. Obviously he trusted Lia much more than I realized.

“How long is she leaving for?” I cut into their private talk with my blunt edge.

“Stay out of my head bitch.” She sooo wanted to gut me.