That was the first time he’d played at the club where she worked. Each night thereafter, he requested that she sit at his side. Purporting to be a gentleman, he hadn’t touched her or shown any sexual interest in her, telling her she was worth more than she could ever ask. He lowered her defenses bit by bit, until he convinced her to take a job with him. The truth was that he trapped her as a prisoner in his home.
Within a few nights, his demands of her body became a regular occurrence, an expectation, sometimes in full view of his staff, dependent on when the urge hit him.
In the beginning, she ignored the lies he told her and got off on the idea of being a kept woman. She indulged in the shopping sprees and even the public sex, and she enjoyed seeing that the others desired what she gave Gregor. It made her feel that she was better than the woman she was before he brought her into his house.
But as time progressed, his hand landed on her harder, and his protection became the suffocation of locking her in her bedroom. His cock was a weapon, forcing tears as she knelt on reddened and bruised knees in front of him.
Sophie thought Gregor was crazy for believing she was the reason he kept winning. But as the months she spent as his captive stretched on, to her dismay, he hadn’t lost a single game. She was his living amulet whose presence brought him power and wealth as long as she was near.
Fear of Hans killing her in some gruesome way if he caught her trying to leave—images of torture that flashed through her mind—had kept her there at the house or at Gregor’s side if they went out. But she couldn’t hide her inner desire to escape, and after seeing her wandering gaze towards exit signs in clubs, one night he flew into a rage.
Yanking her up from her chair by her arm, he manhandled her, pulling her behind him as she stumbled over her feet in her attempt to keep up with him.
“You’re hurting me!” she cried.
“I don’t give a fuck! Shut your goddamn mouth before I do something to really cause you pain!”
Once inside the hallway leading to the restrooms, he shoved her against the wall, caging her between his hands at either side of her body.
“What do you think you’re doing, Sophie?” he’d spat out at her. “Looking for an escape?”
“No, Gregor! I wasn’t doing anything of the sort!”
“Then, what was it? What grabbed your attention from the table?”
“I... I....”
Ideas of what to say, how to respond to him, floated through her mind, but all of them disappeared in the next moment when his palm met her cheek with a resounding smack. Her head snapped to the side, and she heard the crack of her vertebrae, as her eyes swam in unshed tears.
Holding a finger up in front of her face, Gregor growled, “Stupid bitch. You’re nothing but a two-bit whore I took from the streets. I’ve bought and paid for you a hundred times over since I brought you into my home. What did you think, that I was taking care of you out of the goodness of my heart? Oh, no. You and the fortune you bring belong to me, Sophie. You go where I want, and you do what I want when I want. Got it?”
Terrified that he might strike her again, she nodded, cradling her face in her hand.
“You’re never getting away from me. Ever.” Leaning down to her ringing ear, he said, “And to make sure, I ordered a locator chip. I’m gonna stick it under your skin with a big needle. Then I’ll always know where you are, Sophie. You’ll be a bright blip on a map on my phone screen.”
“No! Please don’t do that to me!” she begged, weeping, horrified at his plans for her. “I wasn’t trying to get away! I was just looking around! I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me! I swear it! Please!”
“It’s happening, so get any ideas of running out of your head.”
Certain he meant every word he said and dreading living the rest of her life under his thumb, she resolved to leave... or die trying.
Easing her backpack onto her shoulders as quietly as she could, Sophie watched and lingered in place for her next chance to flee. She didn’t have to wait long.
Ahead of her, the iron gate swung open, as an armored bank vehicle drove inside the compound. She looked up one last time at the window to see if the sheet was still there, announcing her mutiny should anyone look up. It was. Her absence hadn’t been noticed yet.
Without another backwards glance, she ran as fast as she could to the concrete wall that wrapped around the estate. After scrabbling over it, she dropped to the sidewalk and dashed towards freedom.
Chapter 6
Unfortunately for Sophie, the French Quarter wasn’t bustling with the usual amount of activity. Instead, city sanitation vehicles were rolling down the avenues, cleaning up the discarded plastic beer cups, shot glasses, and colorful neck beads, as the sound of the large brushes echoed through the streets.
“Just my luck,” she murmured, knowing that time was short for her to make her getaway.
A woman in goth makeup, wearing all black from her shirt to her boots, walked towards her, removing her keys from her skull-covered purse. She then unlocked a door, opening a voodoo tourist trap.
Looking at Sophie, she said, “Did you want a reading?”
“Ummm.”
“If you do, I don’t take walk-ins. Do you have an appointment?”
“No. I’m not here for that. Just waiting for a friend.”
“Then, get off my stoop. No loitering. No begging for money. Don’t block my customers.”
“Okay. Geez.”
As Sophie wandered on, she saw two women, one of which was clicking her keychain with a desperate look in her eyes.
She cried, “We’re never going to find it! We’ve been wandering around here forever!”
The other one said, “I thought it was down this street!”
Then a car’s headlights blinked, while its horn gave a short burst. They ran to the Honda, and once they reached it, they laid their arms over the roof as if they were hugging it.
“Oh, thank God!”
After unlocking it, they got inside, and the driver started the engine. Sophie watched, as the two began talking and then unfastened the seatbelts they had just secured themselves in. One of them pointed to a restaurant. Then the car shut off, and they stepped out and made their way across the street.
“Just one more shot, and then home!”
Oh, to not have a care in the world like that!
“Hey, watch it,” a guy slurred, coming out of nowhere, spilling his beer on her sneakers.
Stretched over his protruding beer belly, his shirt read, Head Officer, Pussy Patrol. Assume the Position! Sophie recognized it from a club where she’d danced before and rolled her eyes at the thought that he’d probably paid $75 for that ugly and repulsive thing.
“Sorry about that,” she said, lurching closer to him as if she’d been shoved.
While grabbing him at his waist with one hand, she lifted his wallet from his pocket with the other.
“You’re pretty. What’s your name? Wanna party?”
“Maybe! Where at?”
“Back at my place. I got a whole floor at the hotel. For me and the guys,” he belched, as he ogled her. “The whole frat. We’re having a reunion. You could come have some fun with us. Other girls are there already.”
“No, thanks.”
“Stuck-up skank.”
“Yeah, fuck you, too,” she muttered under her breath, knowing what she would have been in for had she agreed to go with him.
That could’ve been one of Gregor’s goons, and then where would you be? On your way back to him! Don’t be stupid! Keep your guard up!
She scanned her surroundings for any scary familiar faces. Then after ducking into the hidden protection of an alleyway, she opened the billfold and yanked out the cash.
Twenty bucks? That’s it?
Still, it was more than enough for a café au lait and a beignet. At the thought, her stomach rumbled, and she took off for the crowd cover that would certainly be present at the popular Café Du Monde.
She tossed the wallet into the garbage can nearest the oncoming dump truck. She needed money, but she wouldn’t risk using something as easily traceable as a stolen credit card.
As she walked, she melted into the shadows of tall men, joined women in groups, and merged into the early tours trudging through the quarter. The air was sultry with the moisture from the Gulf of Mexico dampening her skin. After a few blocks, she was sweating and rethinking the coffee in favor of an ice-cold bottle of water. But after being awake all night, she needed the spark the caffeine would give her and decided to splurge and get them both.
Reaching Jackson Square, where the café had been in business since 1862, she took a table towards the rear so as not to be seen from the street. A few minutes later, she had a steaming cup in front of her, a sweet pastry for breakfast, and a moment to think and regroup.
Short of more funds, she was at a dead end. She thought about her limited options to get more money. She wasn’t above panhandling, but the city had outlawed it. If a cop saw her begging tourists for a buck or two, the result wouldn’t have been good, especially if the officer was on Gregor’s payroll.
Marking that possibility off the list, she was down to around ten dollars, unless she wanted to dive for change in the fountains. Though she had no qualms about picking pockets, the thought of stealing people’s wishes from where they lay in the water put a sour taste in her mouth. If she had an extra penny, she probably would’ve tossed one in herself with a prayer for her safe exodus.
A bit surprised that, as far as she could tell, nobody was searching for her yet, she supposed that back at the estate, they assumed she was sleeping the day away like she usually did. She’d been careful not to give them reasons to suspect her of anything other than obedience, and from all appearances, her charade had worked.
At least, for the moment.
With a sigh, she resigned herself to lying low until the French Quarter was filled with plastered, easily manipulated marks. She was certain that once darkness fell, Gregor—but more terrifyingly, Hans, his sadistic right hand—would be on the hunt for her.
Exhaustion crept over her, despite the powdered sugar and caffeine she’d consumed. Taking a risk, she wandered the streets to a less populated area. After finding an empty home with a For Sale sign in front of it, she curled up on the back porch, shaded by tree branches and a vined trellis, and fell into a deep sleep.
When she awoke, night had descended, and with it, the urgency to do what she had to in order to survive and get out of town. Hurrying back to Bourbon Street, she heard the noises of the crowds and the strains of live bands playing, both of them telling her that the place was filled with inebriated locals and tourists ripe for her nimble fingers.
She blended into the sea of people, not emerging until her backpack was laden with stolen wallets, money clips, and jewelry she could pawn later.
Chapter 7
A remote location in Italy
Holding in his hands the crushed reports of more dead bodies that had been found drained in the swamps of Louisiana, Magno Zara stalked the halls of The Directive’s headquarters.
“Unacceptable!” he thundered, as he crossed into the conference room, where his second in command Jana Noskova and lead investigator Clarence Collins were waiting to meet with him.
Tossing the papers onto the table, he paced the room, as the watchful eyes of his team followed him.
“I told you it couldn’t be a coincidence, Magno,” Clarence said. “Five or ten, even fifteen, maybe I could believe a serial killer was on the loose, since all the victims disappeared from the same city. But that doesn’t jibe with the M.O. in these cases. The timing is not right. These murders are happening too frequently, and there’s no calling card being left behind. And from the photos I’ve seen, the bodies sustained damage inconsistent with an animal attack. Alligators don’t leave those kinds of wounds.”
“New Orleans has been quiet for centuries...” Jana leaned forward and laid the paper she’d been reading on the table. “...other than some internal squabbling every now and then. What’s changed?”
“It’s a city famed for vampires. Humans are aware that they live amongst them. It isn’t a secret. This threatens the rules you put in place intended to protect them from supernaturals’ superior abilities; the delicate balance is being shattered. Who would dare to defy you, Magno? Who would be so reckless? Could it be someone newly turned who’s unaware of your orders? Or perhaps one who’s gone insane?”
“A vampire with a wish for the true death is who it is,” Jana growled, her eyes taking on the yellow hue of her wolf that almost matched her blonde hair. “At least, that’s my guess.”
Magno laid his hands on the table and said, “I’m sending you two to find out and take care of it.”
“You’re not coming?” Clarence asked with an arched brow.
“I have other matters that require my attention.” Magno straightened. “But if you’re still investigating once I’m done, then I’ll fly out and meet you.”
Jana said, “How many do we think are in the parish?”
“At least a few hundred.” Clarence eyed a report in front of him. “Based on our last census.”
“And how long ago was that?”
“A few decades.”
“It’s surely increased since then,” Jana said. “I’m expecting thousands to have found their way there.”
Plopping his feet down to the floor, Clarence stood and approached, nodding at her.
“I’m sure you’re right. We’ve got our work cut out for us.”
“Let’s get on with it, then,” she replied. “I’ll gather the weapons.”
“I’ll phone the airport and get them to ready the jet.” Clarence gestured to Jana. “Don’t forget to pack your Dramamine.”
“Stop talking,” she said, as her face paled. “Not another word.”
Clarence laughed, and Jana growled in irritation. Magno looked at them and crossed his arms over his chest.
“I’d wish you good luck, but it’s those you’ll be hunting who’ll need it.”
Chapter 8
New Orleans
Michelle sat alone at the bar, nursing her drink and thinking about the enigma in her life, Remi Bellerive. His brooding face rose in her mind, and she sighed, as she raised her glass for another sip. He had given her the night off, like she was an employee rather than his lover.
She recalled him saying, “Go out and have a good time. Call a friend and go dancing or something. You could use some time away from me.”
What does that even mean? I want to be with him, and he knows that.
The house band was playing a slow, sad melody that made her want to bury her head in her hands and cry. Remi had warned her not to fall in love with him, but she couldn’t help herself. Her heart ached, knowing that her feelings for him were unrequited.
She found the confidence with which he carried himself and the way other men looked at him—with a mix of jealousy and respect—terribly attractive. She loved how his hair fell over his face, those small curves of black bouncing when he was fucking her, and even more, the way he held her tenderly afterwards. To her, his entire persona was the ultimate aphrodisiac, and she had tumbled head over heels for him.
During the months since she’d been living with him, she realized there was no hope that he’d ever feel the same for her. But she couldn’t tear herself away. The small glimmer of optimism, that maybe one night he’d recognize he loved her, refused to be doused. She was as addicted to him as he was to his cards.
After signaling the bartender Marcel for another of whatever she was drinking, the night’s special, she eased off the stool and meandered to a dark booth by a window, where she could see what the rest of Bourbon Street was doing.
Getting wasted... just like me.
Suddenly, there was a commotion outside, and she stirred the ice in her drink with her swizzle stick while she watched. Men were yelling and chasing a raven-haired woman wh
o was running as if her life depended on it.
“Stop, Sophie! Come back the easy way! You don’t want this to get ugly!”
“Help!” the woman screamed to those around her, but no one stepped in to aid her. “They’re going to kill me!”
Michelle moved to the doorway and lifted her drink to her mouth again. The guys chasing the female were a good ways away from her yet but gaining fast. It looked like she was headed straight to where Michelle stood.
“What’s goin’ on out there?” the bartender asked, looking out the door. “Why they chasin’ her?”
“Not sure, Marcel. Whatever it is, it can’t be good.”
“Gettin’ my shotgun.” He then walked away. “Damn dealers, pimps, or traffickers after that little thing. I guarantee it.”
When he returned, he waved his weapon in the air, yelling, “Y’all, help her! She ain’t gonna stand a chance against ‘em! It’s ten to one, and they’ve got a vamp with ‘em!” To Sophie, he shouted, “Over here, girl! Get your ass in here! Now!”
As if his call were a command, the crowd surged towards her, making a wall with their bodies, blocking her assailants from following after she slipped through. Fights broke out between them and her aggressors, the forms of the men and women obscuring hers as she sped forward.
“You can run, but you can’t hide, Sophie! Gregor’s gonna find you! He’s gonna make you pay for leaving him, bitch!”
Perspiration poured down Sophie’s face, and she pumped her arms, sprinting, favoring one leg.
As she neared, Marcel pushed Michelle to the side, shouting, “Move!” and then, “Sophie! Straight to the back, girl! Go! Lock yourself in!”
She soared over the threshold, bringing a breeze with her, clutching her backpack in a death grip. She didn’t slow a bit, and a moment later, Michelle heard a door slam at the rear of the building.
“Go check on her. Get her somethin’ to drink.”
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