Page 17 of Blood Owed (Blood Mafia 1)
My heart flutters when he says the word, and he flashes a knowing smile at me. He can hear my fear.
“Nothing beats a fresh”—he drops his nose to my neck and takes a deep breath—“hot”—he rests his lips against my pulse—“vein”—he finishes while his lips caress my skin.
The shiver racing down my spine is equal parts fear and anticipation. I’ve never been bitten before. Part of me wonders how it would feel. I’ve heard some women say it’s intoxicating. Though media reports have shown others crying and traumatized by the experience.
His sharp teeth scrape against my neck, and I gasp, pressing my back into the wall. I’m not ready to find out how it feels. That or my survival instinct is finally kicking in and trying to keep me alive.
The dark chuckle he lets out floats over my skin, and gooseflesh rises all over my body in response. “Little pig, little pig, let me in.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “You’re too ugly to be the big bad wolf.”
He laughs again. “We both know that’s not true.”
“I’m going to pee on you if you don’t let me down.”
Pulling away from me, he scrunches his face in disgust and pushes me toward the bucket. “You’d better hurry up then.”
I scowl at him. “Leave.”
He shakes his head and kicks his foot against the wall before leaning back. “Boss will kill me if I leave you alone and unchained.”
My face flushes with embarrassment, but my bladder chases it away. I shimmy my shorts and underwear down. Thankfully, he doesn’t watch me. I stare at him while I relieve myself.
“Do you know dogs watch you when they go to the bathroom because they feel safe with you and their instincts tell them you’ll watch their back?”
I scoff. “I’m not a dog, and I don’t feel safe with you, asshole.”
“The name’s Colt.”
“Sure it is.”
He glances at me when I say that, his eyebrows pulling together in surprise. “You don’t believe me?”
I shrug and meet his gaze, not caring that I’m squatting over a five-gallon bucket while I air dry. The jerk didn’t even bring toilet paper. “There’s literally no reason for me to believe anything you say.”
Colt nods. “Fair enough.”
Another minute passes before I feel comfortable enough to pull up my shorts. Colt averts his eyes once again. Isn’t it odd a vampire and mafia man is kind enough to let me keep a tiny shred of dignity?
“Sit down.”
I take that back. “I won’t fight.”
Colt’s smirk is mocking, and he points to the chair. “Lies will get you nowhere fast.”
The only things I can use as weapons in the room are the chair and the bucket full of piss. I’m not chancing being covered in my own pee, so the chair it is.
Colt lets out a growl when I run to pick it up. He’s a step behind me and it gives me enough time to spin around with the metal chair raised high. He snatches the seat with his hands, denting the metal frame with his supernatural strength, and his eyes darken with frustration.
“I told you not to fight.”
The chair smashes against the far wall and falls to the floor in a broken heap. Note to self: do not piss off Colt. He’s not as flirty as Grayson when he’s angry.
“I had to try,” I confess, not feeling an ounce of remorse.
He almost looks taken aback by my comment, but he quickly schools his face. He pulls a syringe out of his pocket and squirts a bit of clear liquid out.
“No, you don’t have to do this. I’ll stop fighting. Look, I’ll sit on the floor. I don’t need a chair.” I’m babbling, but I don’t want whatever cocktail he has waiting for me in the syringe.
