Page 21 of Vampire Savage

Once again, Landon strolls away from me with an easy, cool gait, and I’m left floundering and breathless. Unlike Kell’s though, this time I have no doubts. I’ll be at Lush tonight.

Chapter Nine

WREN

I almost cancel my ride twice before sucking it up and slip out of my apartment and head to the service elevator. When you have an overprotective father like mine, you learn fast to make friends with the staff. If it weren’t for them, I’d never have my own service badge and I’d never be able to leave my floor without notifying the security guards my father thinks I don’t know about. I debated taking my phone, the one that Landon has the number but leave it in favor of my secret phone. It’s under Niamh’s plan, and only she and the occasional boyfriend have the number. Tonight, I put the vampire’s number in it, but hopefully, I won’t have any reason to use it.

Do I feel bad that I have a secret phone that my father doesn’t know about? Yes, and I’m sure a therapist would have plenty to say about that. But I know for a fact my father tracks my phone and when I really don’t want him knowing where I am, I leave it home and take the other with me.

And I really don’t want him to have any idea that I’m going to Lush.

Along with my main phone, I also left my damn engagement ring. I take every advantage to leave it off, only wearing it when I leave the house for work. Thanking my team for their congratulations made my stomach churn. I haven’t even been able to bring myself to tell Niamh yet, since I know exactly what she’ll say.

But how can I say no when it’s something that only I can do for my father? I don’t want to marry Miles, and until I can figure out how to convince my father that marrying Miles isn’t the best thing for my father, I’ll play the part.

I hug my knee-length white wool jacket tighter as the elevator descends to the delivery bay where I’ll walk to the end of the block to meet the car. Niamh would be impressed that I decided to wear this outfit all on my own. If she gets me to a night club, I tend to wear something that balances modesty with sexuality, unable to risk the potential society blowback if I’m caught doing anything less than proper. Tonight, though, I dug through my closet until I found pieces I bought when a fling made comments about how I never dressed sexy at home. He didn’t last after that comment, but he had a point. So I’d gone out to a store specializing in lingerie loungewear.

I did enough research to know that Lush has a dress code, which surprised me, but my outfit should fit in even if I feel like everyone will be staring at me. Under my coat, I’m wearing a sky-blue lacy crop top with a flesh-toned liner over my breasts, the front tied together like a corset with matching blue ribbon and silver eyelets. I’m wearing matching satin shorts that barely qualify as more than boy shorts, since the only thing keeping the bottom curve of my butt covered is the lace that matches my top. My shoes are comfortable, white three-inch Mary Jane pumps with an ankle strap. With simple make-up and my hair tamed back into a French braid, I feel like anyone who looks at me will know I’m basically wearing lingerie under my coat.

What the hell am I doing? How is it possible that someone I’ve met only three times has this much control over me? True, Landon didn’t tell me to wear something I feel sexy in. But he makes me want to feel sexy for him. I want him to feel like he can’t think around me, just like I can’t think around him.

My phone pings and I pull it out of small purse, trying not to look at the condoms I’d put in there. Swiping it open, I follow the ping to the meeting place for my driver. Fortunately at this time of night, the area around my apartment isn’t too busy. The fee to take me to the Barrows is expensive, but there’s no way I was going to ask Simon to take me to Lush, even if he promised to never tell my father or log the trip. It’d be like asking your favorite uncle to take you to a sex club.

“How are you this evening?” the driver asks, meeting my eyes in the mirror. He looks friendly enough, with warm brown skin, cleanly cut black hair and bedroom eyes. He can’t be too much older than me, since he doesn’t have the baby face that guys in their young twenties always seem to have.

I pull my seatbelt on, giving him a brief smile. “Good, thanks.” Hopefully, my tone will make it clear I don’t feel like chatting during the ride.

“That’s good,” he answers, as he begins to drive and I bite the inside of my lip to prevent my sigh. Looks like I’m stuck with the awkward conversation that I loathe. “It’s a slow night for me, so I was happy to see a fare like yours. All the way to the Barrows, hmm? You look like a girl who likes to have fun.” He laughs, flicking his gaze to me in the rearview mirror before looking ahead again. This time his gaze is more creepy than polite and I want to sink deeper into my seat.

Instead of answering, I hum noncommittally, staring hard out the window, hoping he finally gets the point. He’s right, that it’s a slow night, and it took long enough just to find him as a driver willing to go to the Barrows. If I asked to get out at the next light, I might not find another driver and he’s already going slow enough I’m worried I won’t get there on time. If I’m late, what will Lan do? Will he leave, thinking I stood him up? Will he call me, only to get my voicemail? Will he... punish me?

A shiver that has nothing to do with how little I’m wearing under my coat moves through me until it pools in my core. I’m not wearing any panties, and the satin against my sex is warm and smooth. At this rate, they’ll be so wet, Lan will know I thought about him the entire way to Lush.

“So, fun plans tonight, then?”

God, will he just shut up? I give him a tight smile. “Not really. Meeting a friend.” I’m very thankful that I selected a drop-off point two blocks away from the club’s entrance. I have a feeling if this man knew I was going to Lush, he’d be the creep that keeps my number. Another good reason for having a secondary phone.

“I know some clubs in that area. Specialty ones.”

“Is that so?” I ask in that bland, supplicating tone all women have mastered when it comes to men in situations like this. “I wouldn’t know.” Looking at my phone, I’m relieved to know we’re approaching one of the bridges that connect the two cities. I only have to deal with the driver for another ten minutes. The estimated arrival time is seven minutes till eleven, which means I’ll need to power walk in these heels to make it to the door on time. I hate being late, hate how it makes me feel anxious and like I’m risking failure and angering someone. If I was late as a child, it was almost worse than not performing well in my father’s eyes. Not even a perfect performance at whichever extracurricular it was could absolve me of the sin of tardiness.

I consider texting Landon to let him know I might be a few minutes late, but something holds me back. Maybe it’s some survival instinct? He’s seemed to slip into my life so easily, and having a phone that he doesn’t have the number to offers a small slice of comfort. I’m not afraid of Landon, more so of how he makes me feel and how much I want him to take over every part of my life.

The driver continues making increasingly suggestive comments, and I surreptitiously check to make sure my coat isn’t open and revealing my lack of attire. No, I’m still fully covered, so he’s just a grade-A creep. My foot starts bouncing as I keep my eyes on my phone, replying with a bland, non-answer to each of his overtures. Finally, he pulls along the curb next to the block I listed and I’m unbuckling before he even stops the car.

“I’ll send you my phone number,” he says, looking over his shoulder with a smirk. I’m already opening the door. “That way when you’re ready to go home, I can drive you again.”

“That won’t be necessary,” I bite out and slam the door behind me. “Fucking creep.” I have five minutes to walk two blocks to the entrance of Lush according to my phone and the driver isn’t leaving. Determined to ignore him, I stride down the street, hating the sensation that he’s still watching me. Did I think he looked nice at first? He definitely looks like a creep. I can’t even relax when I hear him driving, since the dude decided to drive in the same direction I’m walking. When I get a chance, I’m absolutely reporting this asshole.

The street light is red, and I don’t have the walk sign. He pulls beside me and, making the sudden decision, I take a right, continuing down the street away from him. I’d rather be late to Lush than have him follow me the entire time.

Maybe it’s because I’m listening so hard on the sounds behind me that I don’t notice anything until it’s too late.

A fierce grip rips me off my feet, pulling me into a narrow alley I hadn’t noticed. My feet scrape across the ground as I try to get them back under me, my heart racing as panic floods my veins. In the struggle, I drop my phone, hardly registering the clatter as it hits the dank ground. I wrestle against the steel grip, but whoever has me isn’t human. There’s no way a human is as strong, as fast as this person is.

I force the panic back. I’ve trained in self-defense and even took a few years of martial arts. Sucking in a breath, my eyes smarting from the foul stench coming from my assailant, I use the hand on the arm he’s gripping and grab his arm too. Then in a practiced move, I swing my weight to the right while bringing my other forearm down over his elbow.

He barely flinches.

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