Page 68 of Skin Trade

“No. I know who Sir is. But you know who I am?”

The woman smiled at her. She couldn’t have been older than forty, not that it showed in her face, just something about her said her age, but she looked much younger, a good decade younger. “Everyone here knows who you are. Sir left specific instructions.”

That news left Payton without an answer for the woman. “Thanks,” was all she managed to say to her. She left with a nod. It wasn’t the first time someone had spoken to her as if they’d known her, but she didn’t know them. She’d put it down to their friendliness and not any pre-informed instructions. It made sense now, the people she’d seen, the way they’d been, even Tasha’s preconceived animosity.

“Shit.” It meant nothing.

Payton’s stomach was too much in knots to want to put anything in there. She could eat when she got to her father’s place. But anything now, she’d likely bring back up in a heartbeat. Still, she went to the food bar and grabbed herself a bottle of water and a breakfast bar and shoved them in the pocket of her hoodie.

There really was no one around. No cleaners, no staff. Nothing. Yet the place was spotless. No one would be able to tell that this place had been wall to wall people just a few hours ago. Even the bar area where she’d met Bobby was dark and empty. Good. She didn’t need anyone seeing her and asking questions she wasn’t sure how to answer. So, they’d all been given their own instructions about her, but did they all know Seth had told her she was free to go if she wanted?

Maybe not.

When she slipped in behind the bar, she gave the door a cautionary glance. It was still locked, the latch still in place to keep anything from coming in. She was tempted to put her hand to it, see if there was anything on the other side. Instead, she reached under the bar like Seth had the night before and took out the box he’d used. It’s weight in her hands meant she had to use both to lift it up. It was made of cold metal and not locked.

The gun was back in the holder inside. All cleaned up and refilled, ready for the next invasion. Down the side of the box, slotted into the foam-made setting were cylinders of liquid filled pellets. The one’s Seth had made. She put two cylinders in her pockets and took out the gun.

How anyone in the movies wore a gun tucked into the back of their waistband was beyond her. When she tried it, the hard metal nozzle of the gun dug into her lower spine and made it uncomfortable. Plus, she was sure when she moved, the damn thing would work its way out. She’d probably lose it and drop it at one of the most important moments. It fit in the pocket of her hoodie better.

Seth’s blades were on a shelf at the back of the bar. They’d been cleaned and carefully placed on stands. Had he grabbed them before he left? No. They hadn’t been there. She would have noticed them, something like that. So many details on them, so much had gone into making these. She lifted down the smaller of the two. The big one was for a man, it wielded bigger, longer, and although she wasn’t short, it would be cumbersome for her to try and walk with it. Besides, the smaller one also fitted in her hoodie pocket and she was sure she didn’t need to walk with the blade in her hand the entire time.

Instead of going back to the foyer, Payton walked through the main room, weaving herself through the tables, the stages, and all the seats for the entertainment. The smell of lust, sex and blood still hung in the air, unwanted, used up. The tang of something forbidden. The last time Payton had tried to leave and test the freedom Seth so claimed she had, she’d left via the main doors at the front and Seth had seen her. Not that he’d stopped her, but this was different now. She wasn’t going out half-assed and unaware of what was waiting out there. She patted the gun and knife in her pocket, checked she had the address with her and marched on towards the exit and the last sprint towards her freedom.

A smaller foyer greeted her. Yes. This was the one she’d seen, the one he’d brought her through. Instead of large glass doors and guards, this door was an elegant fire door. Still made of the same glittering glass, but with none of the extravagance. This door was simple, easy. A push bar rested through the middle of it. Payton hesitated, going to push the bar and then stopping because there was a good chance this was locked. She ran her hands along the edges, trying to find the wire that would set off an alarm. She could disconnect that, but there was nothing.

She pushed the bar without pushing the door and waited for someone to come and ask her what the hell she was doing, but no one did, so she pushed the door open and stepped out.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

The heat outside blasted against Payton’s skin. It swept in and slammed against her, knocking her back. She gasped from it. Sand whipped around the area where the breezes smashed into each other around corners. They made little swirls of sand. Some spun around her feet; some whipped up around her and she had to cover her eyes.

“Just the sun,” she said. “That’s all.” She’d half expected to be pounced on when she walked outside, but from the creatures, not Mother Nature. The sun she could deal with. The days were hot, too hot now. Time, and the way people had treated the planet had seen to that. Some days, the sun’s rays were so hot they could burn a human to a crisp, literally, let alone a vampire. Or someone with an affliction to the sun.

Taking a breath, she let herself get her bearings. Her heartbeat was a throb in her chest. She pulled her hood over her head. She could at least protect herself that way and not get sun stroke from walking the however many blocks it was to her father’s office. Already a warm trickle of sweat made its way along her spine and she arched a little with it.

“This is it.” She closed the door to Skin Trade. The door’s handle was pushed into the frame of the door on purpose. Designed that way so only a key would get it free. But she had no intention of walking back in there. Not yet anyway. She pushed the door, making sure it locked back into place. She might not have wanted to stay at Skin Trade, but she’d never forgive herself if she’d left the door open and the thirsty got in and claimed some lives.

The bare street was bathed in sunlight and sand. All of it. Sand had piled against the kerbs in places where it had caught and bunched together. Blood marks decorated the ground in others. Dark now, baked in the sun. Sand covered some of them and it had stuck, creating a sort of Sandman shape, if the Sandman was ever run over and laid splat on the ground. There were no bodies here, though. Just the marks. No litter either, nothing to say that this place had been alive last night. Clean-up crews were amazing.

It was three blocks before she came across her first body. Yelping, she stopped and readied herself, gun in her hand, but as she got closer to it, she let her hand relax on the gun. Just a dead one. Charred up and left on the street.

Another body a few feet ahead. Its missing jaw gave it an odd look and instead of a throat, it had a gaping hole. It had been shot, through the jaw perhaps. Its half-melted body created a puddle on the ground that seeped in. It had a missing leg, but both arms were intact, and at this angle, it had probably dragged itself to its final dying spot.

The acrid odour of something burning caught Payton, and further up flames swallowed a body.

“Hey,” someone called from across the road. “Hey, you.”

Payton looked up, peered out from beneath her hood to see two men, one of them waving at her. He had on what looked like a boiler suit and a hat. A big fan roared beside him. Eyes wide, Payton backed up.

“Hey, wait,” the man called.

No chance in hell. He had an axe in one hand, big, firm, all ready to take a swing at her, and he was coming across the road. His big heavy boots clomping in the dirt. “Please” she said, putting her hands up, another step and another back away from him.

“Lady,” the other man called to her. “Stop.” The other man had some kind of hatchet, but it was bigger than any hatchet she’d ever seen. She backed up, right into the arms of one of those creatures. Teeth gnashed at her. She screamed and wheeled on herself. Clawed hands came out of the shadows grasping her, snagging her hood off her head and pulling it so the hoodie itself went tight around her neck. She grabbed the edge of it at her throat, pulled it to breathe.

Something sharp dug into her hair and caught her scalp.

One hand on her own throat and the other went to her pocket to pull out Seth’s knife. She screamed at the creature and at the same time brought her blade around and slashed across the thing’s stomach. Warm gooey blood slid out, some of it going across the back of Payton’s hand, but the creature didn’t stop. It got a good hold on her, one hand going around the back of her head to pull her into its broken needle teeth. Oh God, its breath. She gagged on it. Thick, like warm, rotten meat.

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