Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
NOW
Asleek black car waits at the curb when I step out of my building, the engine purring low beneath the glow of a flickering streetlight.
Right on time.
The click of my heels echoes down the street as I make my way toward it, not in any particular rush. I’ve learned how this world operates over the past six months, and it didn’t take long to figure out who really holds the power in an underground blood economy.
Spoiler alert: it isn’t the vampires.
They may be intimidating as a species, but outlawing live feedings has tipped the scales.
If a vamp wants to feed directly from a living source, they have to play by the agency’s rules.
They can send out as many ‘engagement’ requests as they want, but donors are the ones who decide whether to accept or decline– which means, at the end of the day, we’re the real commodity.
It’s an intoxicating feeling to be the one holding all the cards for once.
Onyx silk slides over my skin as I move, the designer-label dress hugging my petite body like it was made for me.
It’s ridiculously expensive– the kind of thing I never would’ve even tried on six months ago, let alone owned.
Now, it’s just part of my regular wardrobe; attire fit for an engagement with a wealthy immortal.
The doors unlock with a soft click as I approach, the streetlights glinting off my slim platinum Bite bracelet as I reach for the handle.
All donors wear them. There’s a tracking chip inside so Bite can keep tabs on us during engagements, plus clients can scan the bracelet with their phones to pull up our profiles.
That feature is mostly used at donor galas, where we can be bitten by multiple vampires throughout the night, but I’ve had a few clients scan mine when I arrive just to make sure I am who I say I am.
Given the less-than-legal nature of this whole business, I suppose nobody can be too careful.
I pull open the car door, sliding into the back seat like I’ve done this a hundred times before. Because I have.
I’ve rapidly become one of Bite’s top donors, accepting multiple requests each week from vamps eager to pay for the pleasure of my company. Some just want to bite me. Others want more. I’m fine with either, as long as the price is right.
“Evening,” I greet cheerfully, settling into the soft leather of the back seat.
The driver gives a short nod in return, briefly meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror before blushing and dropping his gaze. He’s young, clean-cut, and adorably shy. I don’t recognize him, so he must be new.
“Bill, right?” I ask, defaulting to the name I call all the drivers who refuse to speak. I’m pretty sure part of their job description is not interacting with donors, but I’m not a fan of riding in silence.
Of course, he doesn’t respond.
My grin only widens.
God, I love a challenge.
I bite back a smile, crossing one leg over the other and smoothing my dress down over my tan thighs. “How’s your night going?” I press, leaning forward so he can see me clearly in the rearview mirror.
Men are easy. Most of them stop thinking the second a pretty girl gives them attention, and I learned a long time ago how to weaponize that to my advantage.
His eyes flick up briefly, his jaw tightening. Then he refocuses on the street ahead, pulling away from the curb smoothly.
I let a whole two blocks pass before I try again.
“Are you new, or have you been doing the whole mysterious chauffeur thing for a while?” I ask, keeping my tone light.
Nothing.
“Your commitment to the bit is impressive, but I’ve cracked tougher cases than you, Billy boy,” I say with a chuckle.
Another beat passes, then he finally caves.
“It’s Matt.”
“Ooh,” I tease, catching his eyes in the mirror and beaming a grin. “He speaks”.
The corner of his mouth twitches upward. Victory.
“So, Matt,” I sigh, settling back against the seat. “What’s a nice boy like you doing working for an underground blood agency?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” he murmurs.
“Well, I’m not a boy. And I’m definitely not nice.”
He glances back at me again, color rising to his cheeks. “Well… you look nice.”
“Aww, thanks,” I chirp, flashing him another smile. “You’re sweet.”
The rest of the ride passes easily after that.
We chat about how much city traffic sucks, discuss the promise of warmer weather in the forecast, and then we arrive at our destination.
Matt pulls the car up in front of a glittering high-rise, shifting the gear into park and glancing back at me over his shoulder.
“See you in a bit,” I purr, tossing him a wink before reaching for the door handle.
“I’ll be waiting,” he replies with a shy smile.
I climb out of the back seat, knocking the door closed with a hip and starting for the glass double-doors at the front of the building.
All of these places start to look the same after a while. Marble floors, soft lighting, and expensive finishes. I take a slow look around the lobby as I cross toward the elevators, the click of my heels echoing in the quiet space.
Yeah… this place isn’t cheap.
Then again, none of them are.
Every client I’ve taken through Bite has been fabulously wealthy– the kind of wealth that buys privacy and penthouses and whatever the hell they want.
Including me.
Not that I’ve got any shame where that’s concerned. I’m a hustler, and blood donation is the easiest money I’ve ever made. Get bit, get paid, leave. Simple, clean, and ridiculously profitable.
Of course, I signed on for Bite’s supplemental services, too. Companionship? I can talk to anyone. Dates? Sign me up for a free meal anytime. Sex? I enjoy it, so why not get paid to get freaky with a hot vamp? I listed my sexual preferences, identified my hard limits, and signed on the dotted line.
There’s zero shame in my game. I’ve got full control over which requests I take and which I turn down, so it honestly depends on my mood. Sometimes, I just do blood. Others, I agree to do more.
Tonight’s request was for more, and while Vincent is a first-time client, his profile picture pulled me in immediately. I barely even hesitated before clicking ACCEPT.
The elevator ride up is quick and smooth, ending at the top floor.
Of course. It’s always the top floor with these guys, like altitude is just another way to remind the world where they stand in it.
Another thing I’ve learned over the past six months: the only thing bigger than a vampire’s appetite is their ego.
By the time the doors slide open, I’ve already slipped fully into my agency alias: Tiffany.
Donors are encouraged to use fake names for anonymity, and it’s kinda fun to play a character.
Bex is a sad little orphan who grew up in foster care, but Tiffany’s a trust fund baby from the suburbs who gave it all up to carve her own path.
She’s the type of girl who walks into these kinds of places like she owns them.
I barely make it a step off the elevator before the penthouse’s heavy black double-doors part, swinging open. And, just like always, the client looks even better in person than he did in his profile picture.
Physically, Vincent appears to be in his mid-thirties, but there’s no real way to tell a vampire’s true age by looking at them.
Instead, you have to pay attention to other things– like this apartment, for example.
Unless he was born rich, it’d take at least half a century to amass this kind of wealth.
Pair that with the fact he’s dressed in a vintage three-piece suit with slicked-back hair, looking like he just stepped out of a 1950’s mobster flick, and it’s a safe bet that he’s lived at least three of my lifetimes.
“Tiffany,” he greets smoothly, giving me a slow once-over. His sharp amber eyes track me in that subtly predatory way that’s distinctly vampire– hungry, but controlled. “You’re even more stunning in person.”
I smile like I haven’t heard it a hundred times before. “Funny, I was just thinking the same thing about you.”
His mouth curves in a smirk as he moves aside and gestures for me to come in. “You came highly recommended, and now I see why.”
“I try to leave a good impression,” I reply lightly, stepping past him into the condo and letting my gaze drift casually over the space.
Damn, it’s nice. Open layout, massive windows, city lights spilling in like something out of a movie. Exactly the type of place I’d love to call my own someday.
Soon.
I’ve been saving up, stashing away most of my earnings with grand plans for the future. Eventually, I’ll have enough to buy myself the home I deserve. Hell, maybe Vincent and I will be neighbors.
He leads me further inside, gesturing toward the living area in a clear invitation to make myself at home. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Whiskey,” I reply easily. “Neat.”
He nods, already moving toward the bar cart in the corner. “Of course.”
I drift over to the couch, running my fingers lightly along the back as I take in the view outside the windows. From way up here, the city’s beautiful; all twinkling lights and polished steel. You can’t see the grimy underbelly that people like me claw their way through daily just to survive.
I’ll escape the grind someday. Taylor did.
A flicker of her crosses my mind– of how fast things changed for my best friend after I handed over that Bite card.
She signed up at the agency a month after me, but her time as a donor was short-lived.
After just a couple engagements, she caught the eye of a vampire king, and now she’s living in his mansion, happier than she’s ever been.
Same path, different outcome. But if another cast-off of the foster system built a future for herself in this world, then surely I can build my own, too.
Vincent returns with a glass in hand, offering it to me.
“Thanks,” I say as I pluck it from his fingers, letting mine brush his for just a second longer than necessary. I flash him a coy smile before circling around the couch and lowering myself onto the expensive leather.