Page 92 of Taste of Blood
“One more question. Was R7 at O’Hara’s?”
“O’Hara’s?”
“Don’t play dumb with me. We followed your guys to it.”
“I’ve never been there.”
Are you fucking kidding me? How the hell are we supposed to find this asshole if he’s got his men scattered all over the city?
I stare at the piece of shit hanging there and have to stop myself from pummeling him into paste. Instead I tip the bag of blood over his face and squeeze, letting it run over his lips and down his chin. He struggles against the chains, his outstretchedtongue lapping at it, but most of it ends up dripping down his chest.
“W-why did you do that?” he wails.
I toss the empty bag aside and offer him a sadistic grin. “Because I could.”
And because I can’t stomach another minute of this asshole’s bullshit, I walk over to the table and pick up the crossbow and shoot him.
I don’t stick around to watch him die.
30: Asher
BECAUSE I DON’T feel like going straight home, I tell Benjimen to take me to Lupercalia. This thing with Cord has me tied in knots, and I decide to lose myself in a little mindless entertainment for a few hours.
It’s not about facing off against Dante. I’ve encountered plenty of men like him in my business dealings and never had a problem putting them in their place. No, it was seeing Cord in that environment. Imagining him spending his days with those people. I know I said I wouldn’t criticize his lifestyle choices, but I wish there was some way to make him see he’s so much better than that.
I know Cord feels he has the freedom to indulge his violent tendencies with the Crimson Guild, but Dante is unworthy of his talents. He’s a thug and a bully, but I can’t say anything without pissing Cord off, so I’m forced to keep my opinions to myself.
And that’s not easy for me. I’m used to speaking my mind. To having the upper hand. But I know that’s what drove Cord away in the first place, so what do I do? The last thing I want is to chase him off when we’re just starting to put things back together again.
It’s early in the evening so business at Lupercalia hasn’t hit the nightly rush when I arrive. I flag down Esmerelda and ask if Armand is available.
“For you, of course,” she assures me. “Do you want a room or an alcove?”
I don’t even think about it before replying. “A room.”
She pulls a key card out of her pocket and types something into her iPad. “Here you go,” she says, handing me the card. “Room 407. I’ll have Armand meet you there. Enjoy.”
I take the card and head off to the elevator, trying not to think about what I’m about to do. It’s not like Cord and I are exclusive. Hell, he only shows up when I badger him into it or he needs blood. And I’m sure he isn’t worrying about me when he gets his daily fix from whatever random stranger he picks up in a bar or alley. He told me himself he was doing just fine before we ran into each other on the street.
So why am I feeling guilty? It’s not like I’m cheating on him. You can’t cheat if you don’t have a relationship, can you?
Armand looks as delicious as he always does, especially when he saunters across the room toward me and starts taking off his clothes. I lean back on the bed and tamp down the voices in my head as I reach for him, intent on losing myself in the arms of my favorite donor.
Easy, right?
And yet, I keep seeing Cord coming apart under me the last time I had him in my bed.
Bound, bleeding, and begging.
The look on his face when it was stuffed with my cock.
Knowing there’s no one in the world I would rather be with.
Armand reaches for my pants, unbuttoning them then lowering the zipper. I watch him pull them down, his fingers slipping inside my boxers. Stretching for my cock. Licking his lips in anticipation.
“Wait.”
He looks up at me, eyes shining with lust. I know he’s good at what he does, and that he’ll have no problem making me forget, if only for a while.
