Semua Bab Damned Straight to Heaven: Bab 41 - Bab 50

NickI said the quiet part out loud for once, and Christian gives no response to my hoarse whisper of a far too honest truth. I shouldn’t be tipping him off to the fact that it’s a mistake to trust him. I’m here for answers. I should be doing whatever it takes to get them. I’ve been getting way too comfortable with him. That offer of an actual safe space, a confidante: that’s a far more fucking dangerous temptation than any physical want. This vamp ain’t fucking worthy of trust. He’s a fuck-buddy, at best, and he is still a manipulative bastard when it comes to anything outside of our ‘proclivities’. He ain’t told me shit about the drug yet, or Sicillio. Now he’s hammering home that point of what a fucking mistake it is to confide in him – giving no answer save endless minutes of eerie, damning silence. I keep my eyes squeezed shut… but sleep won’t come. I know he’ll be gone by the time I wake, moved on to some other hideout… Because hell, he doesn’t trust me either, not after I b

Christian I allowed Nico to cover up all the most important bits with the innermost layers of his formal evening wear, before I knocked him out cold. Still, it’s not like he’s at risk of discovery and humiliation. He’ll only be out for a minute. That’s why I snap the handle off the bedroom door before I exit to further delay him. I can’t have him stepping into this scuffle with that swarm of mafia thugs trying to crowbar open the entry to this cellar. A part of me wishes I could keep him locked up safe inside that room for the entire week, keep him away from the mayor’s fundraiser on Friday… The cellar door gives way with an echoing clang of metal, and the stench of that sweating crowd of doped up enforcers wafts all the more potent down these darkened steps. “This intrusion has ruined a most lovely evening,” I calmly inform them. The scar-faced brute at the head of the crowd curses and whips out his gun. I’m right on top of him before he can even pull the trigger. I break his wri

Nick I ain’t ‘his Nico’. I aught to punch him in the teeth the next time he uses that off-limits nickname. Fucker always knows the exact thing to say to get under my skin, throw me off guard… And while my guard was down, I let myself get choked out again. Now more of my friends are fucking dead. Even muffled as it was through that doorway, I could tell by the gunfire, the voices, the screams… I knew it was the Family he was ripping up out there. Then he dares come waltzing right back to that bedroom, covered in their blood and joking about needing a change of clothes. “Fucking monster.” He proved that double when he started sucking out my blood like that. I’m guessing he was only such a model of self-control our first few encounters cuz he had multiple thralls and blood donors keeping him nice and full. That, and I had the protection of the drug, keeping me all sour and unappealing and shit. Literal demon blood I’ve been shooting up into my veins, if Chris is to be believed… He

NickDrawing attention would not do shit to get me out of this mess. Louie didn’t even tape my mouth before cinching this hood over my head – just my hands, so I’m free to yell and thrash and kick against the trunk…Though any civi that happened to realize there’s some struggling human being in the trunk of this Buick… 90 to 1 odds they do nothing, not even place a call to the blues. My cursing thuds ain’t attracting no attention anyhow, seeing as we’re ripping along deserted streets at 80 miles an hour. No traffic cop’s gonna pull us over for blowing through stop signs on this side of the city, ’specially not at three in the morning. Hell, the entire night-watch is probably occupied at the mess of a murder scene Chris made out of our Family’s enforcers. The memory sets me to kicking and cursing all the harder. I know it’s fucking futile. It’s gonna make Louie all the more pissed with me. They might shoot me inside this fucking trunk. It’s dead Jed’s car. They’ll need to scrap it a

ChristianThe blare of a close-range siren is such an ear-splitting annoyance. The modern world really is just so overwhelmingly loud at times, but I still prefer it to the quiet – the eerie, oppressive silence of the countryside and backwater communities, the suffocating stillness of a crypt... Commotion is freedom, excitement. I like the hum of night-life, the buzz of voices on every block, the blare of horns and jazz music echoing out from dance halls and speakeasies. Even the sirens aren’t normally a bother, but I find them a grating annoyance this night.Maybe it’s the fact that I’m stood at a crime scene – the perpetrator who brought gory end to all these monstrous, mafia affiliated experiments. Perhaps it’s how upset Nico was with me. That hatred in his eyes…That used to be exciting too. It was a promise of struggle, conflict, a dance and a pursuit. But rare moments of raw vulnerability had come to replace those harsh edges in our most recent evening together, and I found that