Chapter 12 | The Taste Of Freedom
Luca
T hank the Undead that the drive from the church to Tao is relatively quick. With my heels crunching in the gravel, I make my way into the club through the staff entrance. When inside, I’m greeted by the sight of the staff setting up for tonight’s dinner service and party.
“Hey Luca! Things go alright with the funeral?” One of our waitresses asks as she places a red lamp on one of the dinner tables. I’m obsessed with the effect it creates with the red and black wall paneling. Satine is a feisty little firecracker as her name suggests, and I’m touched she remembered. Giving her a polite smile, I respond, “We only had one disagreement today, which is normal for us. Now let's get ready for the party!”
The shadows that were still clinging to me from the church fall away as I’m surrounded by the familiarity of the nightclub. Hearing cutlery cling against each other and greeting some bar men shining the glasses for the evening, helps soothe some of that unsettled feeling I’ve been struggling to shake .
Being a gay Supernatural is hard at the best of times, and even if I’m different, I can’t always draw attention to that. Having parents like mine helped though; they never cared who I love. They just want me to be happy. They taught me it doesn’t matter what life choices I make, as long as I’m okay living with the consequences of them.
Most importantly, they taught me that my happiness is not reliant on someone’s respect; both things can exist at once and have nothing to do with each other. I think it helped that Dad came from the Human Faction. He understood what it felt like to be an outsider. That's why I struggle to accept how horrible Alyssa and Eric are to their kids. Sure, we need to present as powerful; I get that. But when did that start becoming more important than family and being absolute dicks to your kids?
Shaking my head in disbelief, I refocus my attention on more important things. Tao is not just a club; it gives people permission to be different, to explore their darker sides and not have to be ashamed or apologize for it. Being here is the reminder I needed. Nothing is wrong with me. Heading towards my office, my phone chimes with a text from Silva to let me know she’s on the way there, too. She probably picked up my entrance on one of the monitors.
My first priority is to get out of these funeral clothes. Maybe burn them too. I want no reminder of this feeling of not being good enough, and the church represents that for me. Leaving my door open for Silva, I take my clothes off in one fluid movement until I’m just in my underwear and bend down to grab a spare black dress I keep for emergencies like this in my office.
I don’t hear Silva’s approach, which is standard for the Undead, but she makes her entrance known by asking me, “Was the funeral really that bad?” I finish pulling the dress over my head and straighten it before I respond. “I mean, it was fine; it's more the things the funeral brought up.” My response is vague because I’ve seen we have company, and I cock my head towards Silva, waiting for an explanation.
“When the donors heard you were going straight to the funeral, they were concerned you may not have time for blood. Evie here offered to come to your office to make things more efficient for you.” Evie and Silva create a striking pair. The donor is a curvy brunette with a sensual mouth, and Silva is a lot taller, leaner, and has beautiful caramel skin with her signature gray locks. She’s reminding me that when you’re wealthy like us, you learn not everything can be bought, and loyalty is one of those things. That is won over with kindness.
As a follow up, Silva adds, “Eat first, then we’ll talk business.”
Evie sits on my guest office chair, the black leather squeaking from disuse. “Wrist or neck?” she asks. If I had more time, I would prefer the neck, but since that usually leads to some form of sex, something I’m not keen to do in front of Silva while she waits, I go for the more efficient approach, the wrist. Evie offers her wrist to me, and my fangs snap out in response.
Seeing the old scars on her wrist, I try to match them as my fangs pierce her skin, and an explosion of flavors collide in my mouth. I’ve been told for some donors, the feeling of being fed on is like sex, where others have said it’s just an enjoyable high. Judging by the moans from Evie, I made the right call as it sounds like she falls into the sex category. She tastes exceptional, something like vanilla, with hints of chocolate and cinnamon mixed into one .
Taking a last pull of her delicious blood, I extract my fangs from her wrist and lick my lips before I smile at Silva. Clearly, she knows me better than I thought because I was hungrier than even I realized. Turning to Evie, I say, “Thank you Evie. That will be all. You may go join the other donors again, and please make sure to hydrate.” Turning to take my seat, Silva takes the guest chair where Evie was only a few minutes ago.
One of the many things I appreciate about her is she doesn’t fill the silence with useless words. When she talks, it matters. Yet it's because of her lack of words right now that I know something is wrong.
I sigh, bracing myself. “How bad is it?”
Silva checks something on her tablet she carries everywhere before she explains things to me, keeping her eyes on it as she talks, “There was…a rumor of a potential police raid tonight, so while I would have liked to wait for your approval on clearing the funds, I already paid the relevant people off while you were gone. It was a timing thing, and my worry was if I waited, we would have lost our opportunity.”
Silva’s right, it would have been better involving me, but I wasn’t available, and she did the best she could. I nod my head, accepting it. She carries on once it’s clear I’m not going to argue. “Because the payout was bigger than normal, it would be in our best interest to have a good month financially, so we can recoup some of our funds. Dinner service is ready to go. It’s another full night of bookings. We have a new client on the money laundering side so that's a positive report. The staff is hard at work, and everyone is happy…” Her voice trails off, and I can hear the unspoken, “but.”
“Out with it, Silva,” I tell her, “what’s so bad that it makes you nervous to tell me?”
“These rumors about Supernatural assassinations concern me. We don’t know how it will affect our business yet, and some of the donors didn’t show up for work, and Ryder doesn’t know where they are either. It doesn’t help that Storin is also in the donor room, causing a scene despite the repeated warnings he’s been given.”
Accepting Silva’s report and assessment, I grab my compact to check my hair and makeup. Satisfied, I snap it shut and tell her, “Let’s go. It's time everyone is reminded of how we deal with disrespect in this club.”
Exiting my office, Silva and I make our way back through the club, this time a different part of it. We pass mostly dancers who call out a greeting, and I return them by name. Marching up the dim stairway that leads to the donor room, my eyes adjust to the growing darkness. If we placed a bodyguard here, unsuspecting humans will want to know what is being guarded. Instead, we’ve gone with the approach that if you don’t know the donor room is here, you’ll avoid it. It has worked for us so far, but just in case, we sound proofed this room as well.
Silently, I enter the room, spotting Evie in the corner looking healthy again. I’m thrilled to see we have a full house of the Undead in here, especially so early. But not all donors are looking as healthy as Evie, so I make a mental note to check we’re rotating donors enough to account for the blood loss, and maybe we need to look into opening a second donor location.
I’m pleased to see my silent approach is still working for me. I lean against the door frame and clear my throat to announce myself. Checking my nails casually, I make my play. “Storin! So good to see you frequenting my club. I’ve heard reports you’re unhappy though. You know we value your business, so how can I fix that?” I croon.
He leaps from his seat and stalks towards me red faced as he gives me a piece of his mind. While I don’t appreciate his blood-breath and spit spattering in my face, I don’t move. I can’t have him thinking I’m intimidated by him. Many of the Undead forget about our natural fighting ability because, in these modern ages, we rarely need to use it, and it seems like Storin has forgotten that as well.
“This place has fallen to shit since your parents handed the running over to you.” He spits on the ground, and while it’s unsanitary, I don’t stop him because I want to let him dig his hole. Placing a sickly sweet smile on my face, I ask him, “Well, you still haven’t told me what you’re unhappy about? I’m happy to accept your formal complaint if that will help smooth things over?”
It seems he has no issue with digging his hole deeper, yelling even louder than before. “You’re disgusting, and you can go fuck yourself with a rock. You bring shame upon the Undead with your filthy habits, and you can take this useless whore with you.”
Even if I’m raging inside, I stay calm. That’s important for this next part. “What makes her useless, Storin? She’s here to provide blood, and by the looks of the fresh puncture marks on her body, she’s done that. Let me guess, you wanted sex, and she said no.”
I’m met with silence. I was fine while he insulted me. I’ve been called worse.
But insulting the donors, our literal life blood, is where I draw the line. They will be respected under my watch. “You are no longer welcome here, Storin. From here on out, you’ve been banned from this club, and if you keep coming, I will make sure you are banned from every Undead institution on this continent. Good day.” I tell Storin politely, though I don’t expect him to listen.
Turning on my heel to give him the perfect opening, I immediately sense him coming for me. It's the speed of the wind from his attack that he doesn’t account for. Whipping around low into a crouched position, I push my hand through his chest. This alone won’t kill him; it will just hurt. Unless I pull his heart out.
I squeeze it to emphasize my point, growling out, “I gave you one warning already. Consider this your final one. Next time, I will kill you. Understood?” His face is going red, and I don’t know if it’s from his pain or outrage, or both, and he continues to swear at me.
I laugh, shaking my head at him. “Really? While I have my hand in your chest? That’s just dumb.”
The threats still pour from his frothing mouth, so angry that the words are mostly garbled. But I’m over it, so I pull out his heart, and I let it fall to the floor with his body. Looking around the room with my bloody hand, I let that act as a message to the remaining Undead.
My voice is cool as it washes over the tense room. “If you’re unhappy with something, feel free to file a complaint with our management team. We’re happy to address it. But you will not be disrespectful. I can appreciate this is an unpleasant turn to all our evenings, so everyone gets a full night of drinking on the house.”
Turning to Silva, she hands me a handkerchief to clean my hands. Ignoring the rest of the people, I ask her, “Silva, would you mind getting someone to take the trash out? I will let Storin’s family know about his unfortunate demise. ”
Leaving the donor room, knowing that Silva will handle the rest, I keep my stroll casual as I head back to my office, even if my heart is thumping from what I just did. I need to tell Mom because she’s still head of our empire, even if I’m hesitant to. I don’t want to diminish my authority.
Storin was from one of the Undead families, and in a choice of who was walking away from that encounter unscathed, it was always going to be me. He didn’t want to listen, so I had to resort to violence. None of this is helped by Silva’s comment on the assassinations, and that’s even more concerning than the life I just ended.
Talk about shit timing though. When I get back to my office, I find Amelia waiting for me. The first thought that goes through my head is that I would skip the entire party for her if she asked me to, and that thought shakes me more than anything else that has happened today. She’s enough to stop me in my tracks with her green eyes and dark hair. Even though she's wearing jeans, a shirt, and beaten up sneakers, she’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. She’s always seen more in me than anyone else, and I’m reminded of that now.
“I thought you quit?” I ask her.
Her face is guarded. “I did. I just came to collect my last paycheck. If you don’t mind handing it over?”
How do I tell her I miss my best friend? She’s putting distance between us that doesn’t need to be there, but because I respect her, I let it go. Grabbing her check out of my cabinet, I turn to give it to her to find her right in my face, soft chest right against mine. Gulping, with my voice low, I ask the only question I care about right now. “Will I see you again?”
After a moment, she replies, though her voice is bitter. “I don’t know. You’ve made it clear there can be nothing more than just sex with us, so I don’t see the point.” I don’t bother hiding the hurt from my face. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s trying to make me hurt as much as I’ve hurt her.
Nodding, I lean to kiss her goodbye on the cheek, except we both go the wrong way, and our lips end up touching instead. I freeze because there is no way it could be real. It's all I’ve wanted for so long, even if I’m not allowed to have her. It’s better than anything I could have ever imagined.
Fireworks are going off in my chest, and Amelia runs her hands down my back until she’s grabbing my ass. It's sensual, sexy, and I’m ready to cross the line with her right now. Consequences be damned.
Except the knock at the door has other ideas.
Breaking the kiss, I look at Amelia and if “are you fucking kidding me? ” was a facial expression, that would be us right now. She runs her hands through her hair in frustration, and for a moment, it looks like she has more to say but second guesses it.
Silva peaks her head into my office, and her face remains neutral, even after seeing Amelia and I tangled up with each other. I know she’s just doing her job, so I won’t take my frustrations out on her.
At least she sounds a little apologetic, “Luca, your guests are here. The party is starting.”
Silva leaves us alone again, but the moment's over. I sigh. Amelia mumbles something about a huge mistake and rushes out of my office without a backwards glance. And with her, she takes a piece of my heart.