Bad Blood: A VamPR Nightmare (Pisces Paranormal PR Agency Book 1)

by Bee Murray

  “Ugh!”

  A notification dinged on my phone and I glared down at the screen as an update from The Dawson Dirt popped into view. An exclusive, shocking new video was available featuring Seattle’s own Vinnie Quake and singer/actress/philanthropist Sandrina.

  I hated myself for clicking on it, but I needed to see my plans at work.

  The recording wasn’t high quality, and the lighting was dim until a spotlight clicked on and I saw him.

  He was standing in the middle of the dancefloor, tufts of his chocolate-brown hair sticking out from underneath a black leather pageboy hat. His shirt was 100% mesh, and he’s wearing tight leather pants that cup his ass like a lover’s caress. His sculpted cheekbones and muscled arms made him look like some sort of bondage-wet dream. When he moved, he glided effortlessly, his body gyrating with the beat of the music.

  He stalked her around the dance floor. His predatory nature would be obvious to anyone who knew what he was.

  Everyone else in the club probably thought he was just putting on the same act he pulled on stage. He pulled the petite beauty into his arms and leaned forward to inhale her scent at the base of her neck. His bracelet flashed in the light before they whirled away from each other, each dancing, gyrating, pulsating with the music like magnets separated before crashing back into each other.

  The video ended when he dipped her into an embrace, his hands covering her body and his lips on hers, and I sat down and bit my lip so hard it bled.

  My mind screamed at me; The asshole isn’t worth it! Go back to hating him! But my heart, my dumbass heart shouted back: He is mine to hate, mine to love. Mine. Mine. Mine.

  I may not be the best person in the world, but I always, always do whatever it takes to protect what’s mine. Back to work.

  History or not, I needed to see this through. I moved through the hallways of the deserted building like a ghost, making my way to the conference room we had set up as a command post. Someone went and retrieved cots and pushed desks together in the main cubical area and staffers were sleeping in spurts.

  Each of the team leaders gave me status updates, filling me in thoroughly on what they had accomplished. They surprised me with the thoroughness of their work. As unimpressed as I usually was with corporate minions, Vinnie had the cream of the crop working for him.

  Kelly was the most impressive. In less than five hours, she made Vinnie the top trending topic in five countries. Using primarily hashtags and several pre-programmed bots that our IT department deployed, she incited a small group of vampire-haters into a frenzy while simultaneously dropping vampire rights topics into the news cycle at all levels. Her assistants had been diligent in the leaking of multiple photos of Vinnie and Sandrina’s night out.

  Local news stations were already talking about the subtle-but-not-subtle-at-all symbol that Vinnie flashed about Vampire Rights. The talking heads on the network news are bringing in experts that are for, against, or generally apathetic about the idea of recognizing this growing community.

  Overnight, Seattle was bitten by vampire fever. All was going beautifully according to plan. I should have been impressed. Yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling of unease and dread that permeated every interaction.

  This ride was just getting started, and I knew from experience it would not be smooth sailing. If the anger from the anti-vamp crowd was half as intense in real-life as it was behind the safety of a computer screen, we would be lucky to get out of this with no one else getting hurt.

  I took another long sip of coffee and picked up my clipboard. The conversation had begun, it was time to set the stage for the next action.

  Sergio and Cole answered on the first ring and gave me a status update.

  The bodies were in place. Check.

  Vampire related paraphernalia removed. Check.

  The house primed and ready. Check.

  All that was lacking was a group of assholes to pick a fight with.

  This was the part I had been dreading. Picking a fight on the internet was easy enough, but this wasn’t just an argument. This was something bigger that had long-ranging implications for an entire group of people.

  As much as I wanted to win, I knew I had to approach this with razor-sharp precision. The three laptops in front of me were already loaded with software designed to post comments to dozens of news stories at a time, all under unique usernames.

  I started small.

  When you are trying to deflect attention onto another group, create a viable source of something to blame. For the anti-vampers, everyone knows who they blame. I commented on several news articles, blaming the vampire community for taking funding from the human community. I highlighted the emergence of new private clinics catering specifically to vamps and suggested they took up space previously designated for immediate human community needs.

  But the Seattle community hit back at me, countering my argument with science-based links and data proving my theory wrong. I smiled to myself. Some days, I loved my city.

  If deflecting with blanket statements doesn’t work, I remembered that personal anecdotes often left a lasting impact. Historically, people loved to quote things they hear that fit their personal narrative. I posted a story about a sick relative that didn’t get the care they needed because caring for a vampire took most of the blood supply that day.

  People started upvoting my story and the outrage was picking up. While a few people argued that my story wasn’t relevant—several others picked up the slack and started sharing commentary about how their sick relatives didn’t get the care they should have gotten because a vamp took their space. It probably had nothing to do with vampires in the first place, but that didn’t matter — I started the conversation. The sense of unease that dogged me all night came back with a vengeance.

  I’ve done a lot for my clients, but this felt wrong.

  By 7 a.m., the outrage picked up.

  Humans are so predictable. And utterly disappointing.

  I quickly added text to a few photos of Vinnie and his bracelet and shared them on Twitter and Facebook, knowing that they were just the kind of images to go viral.

  The comments quickly rolled in, each more explosive than the last. My guilt weighed on me. I’ve had nothing against the vampire community as a whole, and I knew our actions were going to make their afterlife harder.

  I logged into the dredges of social-like-media and started dropping comments about Vinnie Quake and his vampire bracelet. I trolled him mercilessly on Twitter, Instagram, and Reddit. I even dropped some comments on LinkedIn. Soon, #VinnieTheVampLover and #TraitorVinnie started trending. With one strategic email to my hacker friend, Vinnie’s personal home address was leaked all across the dark web.

  We set the stage. The general public could take it from here. Gods help us.

  I was grateful to step away from my computer command post and focus on the logistics of blowing up a house full of bodies.

  Baldwin provided me with the information on all the staff members who had been in the house on the day of the incident. I steeled myself and looked through the folders, my heart in my throat. I didn’t normally get emotional at work, but this case wasn’t normal. Eight lives gone. Exsanguinated at the hands of someone they’d trusted and looked after. Their employer. Their friend.

  They weren’t bad people. They didn’t deserve this.

  In my line of work, I regularly interacted with people who deserved violence and pain. Cartel leaders. Criminals. Warlords.

  Not the housekeepers and chefs and assistants who busted their asses to keep the lives of the rich and privileged worry free.

  Nothing would bring them back. If I was successful, that meant justice would never be served in this case. The man who killed them in cold blood would walk free.

  The best we would be able to do was something to honor their memory and even that felt cheap and inadequate.

  I debated calling Carlyn and asking for help. She’d been around for a long, long time. Surely, she would hav
e advice that would be pertinent to the clusterfuck I found myself in.

  I glanced at the TV and did a double-take.

  Live camera crews gathered outside Vinnie’s building as Sandrina popped out wearing a large hat and the same clothing from the club. Vinnie was obscured in the shadows but Sandrina went up on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his lip. His hand drifted towards her ass and gave her a friendly squeeze. Sandrina turned and waved to the paps, blowing kisses and posing for photos in all her morning-after glory. The press ate it up, shouting questions at Vinnie who just waved and disappeared back into the lobby, ever mysterious and eccentric. A little idea percolated in my mind as I watched him avoid the sun as much as possible before he slid behind the wheel of the Corvette.

  What if we hid the crime, but not the man?

  What if… Vinnie came out as a vampire?

  I yawned, turned to my minions and gave them orders to wake me the second anything of note happened. Satisfied they could take the reins; I crawled under one desk and pulled my tote bag to me. I pulled out a travel pillow and a small blanket and promptly fell asleep, secure knowing that the world would probably still be a dumpster fire when I woke up.

  * * *

  ***

  * * *

  I was right.

  When I woke up again it was midafternoon and the dumpster fire was still blazing away.

  Sometimes it sucks to be right all the time. Someone had ordered a variety of snacks and I gorged myself on Hot Pockets and coffee while each of the team leads gave me an update.

  The media was enthralled by Vinnie and reports that he had ties to pro-Vamp groups was dominating the news cycle. His connection with Sandrina was creating a lot of buzz that only increased when the first connection between a public statement advocating for vampires and Vinnie appeared linked to his social media.

  The teams debated on whether or not to make a statement. Baldwin was adamantly against it, convinced it would ruin Vinnie’s brand. Kelly and the assistant squad advocated that it was a calculated risk that would eventually pay off because Vinnie himself was a vampire. We eventually agreed to like and comment on a single Instagram post from a pro-Vamp organization and see where it went.

  Baldwin grudgingly found us an organization he could live with being associated with.

  Sanguine Sunsets was a tiny local independent bookstore. They had a popular vampire book club that was held at night so that actual vampires could attend. At Baldwin’s direction, Vinnie liked their post advertising the vampire book club and commented on it with: “This looks awesome! Would love to check it out sometime!”

  That was all it took.

  The bookstore was overwhelmed with attention and after two hours, we had secured a spot for Vinnie at the club meeting tonight. A book club meeting that would be heavily photographed? That had all the makings of the perfect alibi and I sent a text to Sergio and Cole to stand by.

  Vinnie’s house plans were spread out on the table in front of me. According to the blueprints, all the staff rooms were in the same wing which made this plan even easier than I’d hoped. I circled the gas line that was closest to them and sent a reminder text to Sergio and Cole to turn it on.

  Georgia had a room with a wide window—perfect for a Molotov Cocktail to make it through and ignite the place. They would cut the power and security system approximately 15 minutes before the house blew. That's how long it would take for a luxury customer to get a tech on the road to make any repairs.

  I wracked my brain, trying to think of what else the little pissants in the anti-vamp groups would have a wet dream about if they could pull it off. Those little dicks loved drama… and what’s more dramatic to a vampire than a stake? Or… blood?

  I sent a quick text to Sergio and asked him to pick up a sizable amount of pigs’ blood and some garden stakes. Humans took things at face value. Realistically, it would be weeks before they untangled the mess enough to realize that pigs' blood had been mixed in. CSI in a city plagued with Vampiric Infections was hard enough, and I was about to make it a lot harder.

  If there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s making the scene as believable as possible. Our city’s finest won’t try too hard to see something else. Especially if it takes the heat off them and focuses it elsewhere.

  That settled, I checked back in on my burgeoning little riot and felt a strange, perverse sense of pride at how quickly it had escalated.

  According to the internet, both Seattle and Vinnie Quake were going to burn tonight. It felt surreal that I was in control of it all.

  I closed my laptop with a flourish and replaced it in my ever-present bag. If the city burned tonight, then there was no reason to deny myself any longer. There was one more fire I needed to put out, once and for all. If nothing else, I needed closure.

  My phone buzzed in my hand the same way it has been for the last 24 hours. Notification after notification—but this wasn’t something I’d been expecting. My caller-ID read “Mansplainer Zach” and I stared at it in confusion.

  “Zach? Who the hell was Zach? Oh—” I muttered out loud before realization dawned on me. Oh.That Zach.

  We didn’t exactly leave things open-ended, so I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what he wanted. He couldn’t possibly believe we were ever going to be a thing after that “date.”

  I hit Ignore and focused on the task at hand. Closure. Or something like it.

  7

  VINNIE

  Over the rush of water that poured over my head and pounded into my back, an insistent knock on the door of my penthouse suite thundered behind an already powerful headache. I slapped the shower control off and stood there, a hand braced against the cold tile as water dripped off my body and pooled on the floor. I was tired and cranky.

  The irritating knocking continued unabated, and I gritted my teeth. If whoever was outside wanted to talk to me so badly, they were going to regret it.

  I stepped out of the shower and strode across the apartment. I didn’t bother with a towel. Instead, I ripped the door open with a furious scowl, bare-ass naked.

  This could very well go down as the biggest night of my life and I was not pleased to have my private time interrupted. Whoever dared to break into my inner sanctum could deal with my nudity or get the fuck out. Except, when I opened the door, it wasn’t one of my legion of assistants or even Baldwin. It was the one person with the power to strike me speechless.

  Tuesday.

  She looked me up and down with a tiny smirk on her face. “Does your medical condition include sensitive skin? Have to air dry now?”

  I missed her humor in my life. Always laced with a certain edge that I couldn’t quite pinpoint. I stood there, stunned, as she stepped around me and into the hotel suite I kept as a permanent apartment.

  “Love what you’ve done with the place. Very minimalistic. Have a nice time with your little friend last night?”

  She dropped her enormous bag on a tacky silver couch and walked over to the window to peer down at the view below. I let the door slam with a loud bang, but she didn’t even flinch, much less turn around.

  A possessive, primal feeling pooled in my gut that defied my self-control and caused my fangs to descend against my will.

  Tuesday doesn’t owe me a goddamn thing.

  I’d left her.

  I’d hurt her.

  I had also created this giant mess and then begged her to clean it up.

  I owed her a life debt.

  She deserved a gentleman, not a monster.

  But I couldn’t let her go. Not yet.

  She came here willingly, knowing full-well the nightmare that I’d become. I might as well play this one out and see what happens. I growled and stalked toward her, but paused long enough to grab a throw blanket off the couch to wrap around my waist like a towel.

  “If you are trying to intimidate me or seduce me with your vampirey pheromones or whatever they call them—it won’t work.”

  Tuesday pivoted, and her breasts brus
hed up against my bare chest, further awakening my monster. I should have warned her she was playing with fire, but Tuesday’s never been one to back down from a fight. Her nipples were hard and she leaned into me slightly. Game. On.

  “No? Your nipples seem to think otherwise. Maybe you should let them know.”

  I stepped closer to her and pushed her back up against the window, fully invading her personal space.

  She didn’t say a word, but then again; she didn’t have to.

  “I can smell your arousal, Tues. I may piss you off, but I’m also turning you on. Or do you want to lie and deny it?”

  I watched gleefully as she struggled to control her facial expression, but little bits of rage escaped through her neutral mask.

  “Move.”

  Her voice was cold and authoritative, and she followed it up with a heavy push against my chest. When I didn't comply, she raked her fingernails down my bare skin and left long, red scratches.

  My self-control was already teetering on a wire, and I had to back up to avoid losing it on her. The pain she caused made my blood sing.

  Tuesday moved around me with quick steps, grabbed her bag from the couch and then sat in the lone armchair to face me. She guarded her expression and fumbled with an envelope that she pulled from the depths of her massive purse.

  “I wrote you a letter, Vincent,” she said shortly. “You don’t have to read it. But I needed to write it. It’s how I get closure. Because how we ended? The way you left me? That messed me up for a long time. You made it so I couldn’t trust anyone for years. Hell, I didn’t even let myself be touched again by another person until literally hours before I got the call to come rescue your sorry ass. I can’t talk through this with you. Not right now. Not when we have so much in the air, but… I wrote it down, and now you have to take it. I don’t care if you read it, but you have to take it out of my hand… like right now.”

  The monster in me went into hiding at the thought of emotional healing and wellness, and whatever part of me that’s still human looked at her warily, and reached out to take the letter that she offered.