VAMPIRES OF MIAMI
Vampires of the World
Geoffrey Knight
Vampires of Miami © 2020 Geoffrey Knight
Self-published in the USA Geoffrey Knight 2020
Previously published as Vampire’s Lair 2017
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Published by Geoffrey Knight
Cover Design by Geoffrey Knight
Books by Geoffrey Knight
SERIES
FATHOM’S FIVE
The Cross of Sins: Fathom’s Five Book One
The Riddle of the Sands: Fathom’s Five Book Two
The Curse of the Dragon God: Fathom’s Five Book Three
The Tomb of Heaven: Fathom’s Five Book Four
The Temple of Time: Fathom’s Five Book Five
The Dame of Notre Dame: A Fathom’s Five Adventure
MY BILLIONAIRE
The Billionaire’s Boyfriend: My Billionaire Book One
The Billionaire’s Wedding: My Billionaire Book Two
The Billionaire’s Wish: My Billionaire Book Three
THE BUCK BAXTER MYSTERIES
Buck Baxter, Love Detective
Buck Baxter and the Disappearing Divas
VAMPIRES OF THE WORLD
Vampires of Rome
Vampires of Miami
Vampires of Cairo
Books by Geoffrey Knight
STANDALONE NOVELS
ROMANTIC-COMEDIES
The Chocolate Works
ROMANCE
One in a Million
The Pathfinders
The Pearl
ADVENTURE
Drive Shaft
Scott Sapphire and the Emerald Orchid
MYSTERIES
To Catch a Fox
THRILLERS
Harm’s Way
To the End of the Line
Books by Geoffrey Knight
STANDALONE SHORT STORIES AND NOVELLAS
A Cousin to Kiss
Anchor of My Heart
And the Beagle Makes Three
Be My Valentine, Bobby Bryson
Behind Our Eyes
Chained To You
Hotel Pens
The Boy from Brighton
The Declaration of Love
Untangling Tristan
VAMPIRES OF MIAMI
Vampires of the World
Geoffrey Knight
Chapter One
He propped himself up a little, dug his elbows into the sand, adjusted his sunglasses to sit a little more comfortably on his handsome nose, and stared, mesmerized and content, at the rays of light that glittered on the turquoise sea. In all his life, Jaxon had never seen the sun shine so brightly; he had never seen sand so white or a sky so blue, or an ocean so clear and beautiful. It was the perfect day.
The only thing spoiling it was the fact that he had no money, no clothes except for the T-shirt, jeans and sneakers stuffed in his backpack, and nowhere in Miami to stay.
He’d spent the last couple of bucks he had on a mango that barely touched the sides and a cheap pair of swimming trunks so that he could enjoy the beach without lying there in his jeans or getting arrested for swimming in the nude.
Nevertheless, money or no money, Jaxon was free.
He was happy.
He was smiling, and he hadn’t stopped smiling all the way down to Florida.
He was a handsome guy, and had no trouble picking up rides along the highway, but it made it even easier with that boyish, toothy grin stuck to his face. It made him look trusting, innocent, and absolutely irresistible, giving him an express ride south. From Chicago to Cincinnati, from Cincinnati to Atlanta, from Atlanta to Jacksonville then on to Miami, there was barely a moment when he wasn’t in the back seat of a wagon or the cabin of a truck, or in the passenger seat of someone’s sedan listening to their chatter in between seventies classics on the radio, being offered cups of thermos coffee, or helping to fold and unfold maps. One lady in her forties bought him a burger at a roadside diner, then offered to pay him for sex at a motel. Right about now, listening to his flat, rigid stomach grumble, he almost wished he’d taken her up on the offer.
But heck, he wasn’t complaining!
Here he was on Miami Beach. His muscular body and smooth, hairless skin was already turning a nice shade of brown. He grinned and said hello to complete strangers; he didn’t care. He was anonymous, one of life’s great escapees. Not a soul in Miami knew him. He was more than a thousand miles from his domineering father, his nagging, shallow, fashion-queen girlfriend, and his stuck-up college classmates, not to mention the memory of that night in the alley—the night that robbed him of his confidence, his hope for the world, his faith in himself.
It was all far behind him now. He had finally let it all go.
He was finally free.
That afternoon, lying on Miami’s South Beach, Jaxon Cain was a liberated man about to begin a brand new life. He would rediscover the man he once was, full of promise and potential. Only this time he’d do it alone, without the guilt and the badgering and the tragedy. It was time to wash himself clean and start over.
It was also time for a swim.
The hot sun had turned his body slick with sweat. When he sat up, rivulets raced down his large chest, his muscular arms, his six-pack stomach. When he stood, his trunks clung to the contours of his rather ample cock and his round, firm balls, leaving nothing to the imagination.
But again, what did he care?
He was a stranger in paradise, he could already feel his confidence returning.
In his sunglasses and trunks, and with a body that looked as though it had always belonged to Miami, Jaxon walked assuredly down the beach, and waded into the crystalline waters.
The cool, salty sea embraced him, caressed him, cleansed him. He soaked up the aqua waters for what seemed like an eternity, floating on the calm surface, dipping under and emerging refreshed. As the sun sank toward the west, he waded out of the sea, running his fingers through his short, dark hair that had now turned a moist caramel brown.
He did not have a towel, so he let the melting sun and the warm air dry his body.
As twilight set in, his flesh took on a bronze shimmer. In one afternoon he had shed his pale Chicago skin to reveal a new look, a new mask, a new man. From the beach he watched the day slip away, unaware that he was looking at his last sunset.
As that fiery orange ball melted into the sea, a full moon appeared in the east, shining down upon the Miami skyline. Little did he know, just as he was determined to become a new man, that Miami moon would soon become his new sun.
Chapter Two
In his last year of high school and the first few semesters of college, Jaxon had worked as a waiter in a busy diner in downtown Chicago. The work was hard, but the tips were good. Jaxon thought Miami looked like a town of big tippers, which
was exactly what his hungry stomach needed.
The electric blues and pinks and bright, buzzing lights of Ocean Drive lured him like a moth to a neon tube. Dressed in his T-shirt and jeans, with his backpack slung over one shoulder, Jaxon went from one bar to the next, asking if there were any jobs going. He was willing to work tables, tend bar, wash dishes, whatever it took. As the night crowds filled the Drive and the bars became crammed with dozens, then hundreds, of laughing, chatting, attractive patrons, Jaxon found it harder and harder to talk to the staff, who were having enough trouble trying to serve, let alone give any attention to a desperate jobseeker.
It was at a club called Moonrise where things changed.
Jaxon walked onto the open deck and into the dimly lit interior of the club, its throbbing music pulsing through his body. He turned more than a dozen heads, male and female, as he cut a line toward the packed bar.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked. He was strong and lean and handsome, with short black hair and a killer smile. He flipped a bottle of vodka in the air as he finished serving a pair of impressed young girls in small white skirts, pouring them two Bloody Marys that looked particularly bloody. But all the while he didn’t take his eyes off Jaxon. In fact, he seemed to zero in on him immediately.
“I’m looking for a job,” Jaxon called over the pounding of the music. “Anything you got. I’ll start at the bottom if I have to.”
“I’d like that.” The bartender smiled at him as though Jaxon had just made a pass. “What are you, a rent boy lookin’ to make good?”
“No,” Jaxon said quickly, a little embarrassed, although a few more rejections might drive him toward such a career. “I just need a break, that’s all.”
The bartender winked, and said, “Leave—”
Jaxon was expecting it. He turned and began to make his way back through the crowd, past the pretty girls sipping cocktails and the hot guys drinking their beers, thinking that the beach was going to be his room for the night. The night was warm, and the sand would be comfortable enough; then tomorrow he would start again. He’d swim in the ocean and start early, and by tomorrow night he’d have a job.
Suddenly, a hand grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. It was the handsome bartender. “Hold up, dude, I didn’t finish.” He pointed with his finger to an alternate exit. “Leave—through those doors, follow the alley down the side, knock on the second door on your right. The red door.”
His hand lingered on Jaxon’s shoulder a moment or two, and with a firm squeeze, he added, “My name is Zack. Tell them I sent you.”
“I will,” Jaxon nodded, finding it hard to break away from Zack’s gaze. He offered him his hand. “Jaxon.”
Zack shook Jaxon’s hand, then released his gaze and let go of his shoulder with a friendly slap. “Good luck with the job.”
Walking down the dark alley that ran alongside Moonrise sent a chill down Jaxon’s spine, despite the warm tropical night air. It had everything to do with the life he had left behind, and nothing to do with Miami or his future; so with all the fortitude he could muster, he put his fear out of his head, and kept walking.
There were two grimy, flickering lights in the alley, each casting a shaft of light over a doorway on the right-hand wall. The first door was painted white, and as Jaxon walked slowly past it, it suddenly burst open with bang and clatter enough to make him jump.
A large, round kitchen hand with blood, oil, and gravy stains smeared down the front of his apron barreled out into the alley with two huge bags of trash in his fists. As the door flew open, the sounds and smells of a frantic kitchen flooded the alley. The man with the garbage gave Jaxon an indifferent glance, then threw the garbage bags into a dumpster, and returned to the bustling kitchen.
Jaxon took a deep breath and composed himself, then continued on, remembering that Zack had told him to knock on the second door on the right.
“The red door,” Jaxon said to himself aloud, arriving at just that, a red door. Mosquitoes and moths flittered and slapped against the bare low-wattage bulb above the door. Jaxon raised his hand, ready to knock, but at the last second, he hesitated.
Something suddenly told him this moment was going to change things forever.
Something inside asked him if he really wanted to do this.
Something warned him to be careful.
It was the same feeling he’d had that night in Chicago, seconds before he’d decided to get out of the cab and take a shortcut home.
He didn’t listen to it then, but he wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.
As he began to turn on his heel, the red door abruptly opened.
Jaxon stood there, hand still raised in the air and poised to knock, now staring wide-eyed at a short, portly man in his mid-fifties. He was wearing a suit and tie, and looked suspiciously like some sort of butler. “Yes?” he asked slowly, almost melodically.
“Sorry, wrong door.” Jaxon winced apologetically.
He lowered his hand and turned to leave, when suddenly the man dressed like a butler said, “Did Zack send you?”
Jaxon stopped. He didn’t want to get Zack into any sort of trouble, but the guy in the suit was beginning to weird him out. He wasn’t sure how to respond, so the butler answered for him. “You look like Zack’s type. I can pick Zack’s men.”
Jaxon was puzzled. “I was just looking for a job,” he said politely, trying to set the record straight. “But I think there’s been some kind of mix-up.”
The butler smiled. “No mix-up, sir. Please, come this way.”
“Actually, I think I’d better get going.”
“Where?” the butler asked, a knowing smile on his face.
Jaxon sighed and sidestepped the defeat. “You have a good night.” He returned the smile, then began walking back down the alley, back toward the bright lights of Ocean Drive, and the beach beyond.
He made it six, maybe seven steps before the butler called after him: “Do you believe in destiny, Jaxon Cain?”
Jaxon froze mid-step, then suddenly turned. At first he thought that perhaps Zack had told this guy his name. Perhaps they had an intercom, or maybe he’d called through and said Jaxon was coming.
But that was all Zack knew—that his name was Jaxon.
Jaxon had never mentioned his surname. He was a stranger in paradise, nobody was supposed to know who he was.
“What did you just say?”
The butler’s thin lips curled once more into that overly aware grin. “I said, do you believe in destiny? Do you believe it is your destiny to be here?”
“How the fuck do you know my name?”
The butler ignored the question “You’ve already taken destiny into your own hands in your decision to change your life. To alter the course that others had set out for you. The question now is, are you willing to allow us to pave you a new fate? One that will be more to your liking? One that will fulfill your…” He paused a moment, and looked up at the insects flickering around the bulb. “What is the word in your head—”
And then he found it, and smiled directly at Jaxon. “—potential, that’s it.”
“Us? Fate? Words in my head? Are you crazy?” Jaxon dropped his bag, angry and confused and distinctly threatened. He desperately wanted to pick a fight with this asshole. He also wanted to turn his back and walk away. But more than anything, he wanted—
“Answers,” the butler whispered. “You can hit me if you like. Or you can leave. Or you can come inside, and let me offer you a drink. That’s where the answers will begin. That’s where the healing starts.”
“Healing?” Jaxon asked, now more bewildered than ever.
“Yes. Why else did you run away?”
“I didn’t run away,” Jaxon asserted defensively. “I just…” But there was no honest end to his sentence, and his anger trailed away.
The butler simply nodded. “I understand. By the way, my name is Mayfair. Please, leave your inhibitions at the red door.”
With that,
the short, portly man turned and disappeared, leaving the red door wide open for Jaxon to enter.
Which, eventually, he did.
Chapter Three
One word got Jaxon Cain through the red door: healing.
Fighting his better judgment, fighting the memories of the past, fighting every rational fiber of his being, he stepped through the red door with one thing in his heart. Hope. Hope that perhaps a new fate could be paved for him, just as Mayfair had said.
The second he set foot inside the small corridor, the red door slammed shut behind him. Jaxon instantly turned, and tried the handle. It had locked automatically.
“Mayfair! This door just locked! Where the fuck are you? I wanna get out!”
But Mayfair was nowhere in sight. Ahead of him, the narrow corridor led to a descending set of stairs. Warily Jaxon approached, and peered down. The stairs led to a lower level that looked something like a basement, a bar, some kind of alcove. Slowly Jaxon took one step, then another, down the stairs.
“Mayfair! Mayfair, can you hear me? Let me out!”
As Jaxon called out, he continued lower and lower down the stairs, until eventually the entire room came into view.
It was a beautiful, plush room that looked like a private nightclub. Red lounges, retro coffee tables and sixties swivel pod chairs filled the space, while hundreds of candles illuminated the room, forming stalagmites of dripping wax on the tables and floor without any care or regard whatsoever to the damage caused. At the far end of the room, Mayfair stood behind a bar with a cocktail shaker rattling in his hands.
He saw Jaxon, then went about setting a napkin and cocktail glass down on the bar.
“Mayfair! Did you hear me? I said I wanna go!”
“Of course, Mr. Cain. Would you like a cocktail first? It’s a house special.”
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