Page 101 of Blood Owed (Blood Mafia 1)
The vampire manning the desk snaps to attention when he sees Colt, frantically clearing stacks of paper from the top of the desk and knocking over a bottle of blood. The liquid spills down the front of the desk, pooling in a dark red puddle on the white tile floor.
I suppress a shiver and avert my eyes. I know the bottled blood is given willingly, but it’s still a shock to see so much of it. Especially when the sole reason it was down here was to be someone’s dinner.
Colt stops a few feet from the desk. I have a feeling he’s keeping his space for my sake. He shoots me a look I can’t read before turning to the vampire.
“Is my lane open?”
Eagerly nodding at Colt, the vampire says, “Yes, sir,” then clicks a button on the bottom of his desk.
A buzz emits from the locking system and a green light flashes above the door.
“This way,” Colt says, gesturing me forward.
I’m not afraid of what’s on the other side, but having two vampires at my back is super uncomfortable. Trying not to let my inferior nature get the better of me, I push the bar and step into a brightly lit room on the other side.
I blink to clear my vision. Shots ring out in rapid succession. I take a step back, crashing into Colt’s hard chest. His arms wrap underneath mine, and he holds me for a second while my heart rattles in my chest.
He’s kind enough not to say anything about my slight panic, and once my eyes have fully adjusted, I step out of his arms. Moving around me, he offers me his hand, and I place mine in his, letting him lead me past several booths toward the very last one. There are two people in here other than us, and I feel some of the tightness in my chest subside.
I’ve never been particularly afraid of guns. My dad used to take me to shoot clay pigeons, but we used shotguns. Colt lays out three handguns on the table to the right of the shooting window and pulls out a box of bullets.
“Here, let me show you how to load the magazine.”
I bite my lip and go to stand next to him, hesitantly taking the lone bullet he’s holding out for me. He demonstrates how to load a few and gives me the mag to try.
“Come on,” I say when the bullet doesn’t slide in as easily as it did for Colt.
He crosses his arms, refusing to help me.
Using enough pressure to feel like I’m going to break my finger, I finally finagle it into place.
“Again.”
I narrow my eyes but grab another bullet from the box, working it into place a little quicker than I did the first time. It still hurts like a bitch though. He makes me load in twelve more rounds.
“Good, now slide the mag in and let the slide drop.”
I close my eyes. “You’re saying these things like they should make sense.” My dad always loaded the guns. I was just a teenager when we went shooting; I really have no idea what I’m doing, and I hate feeling stupid.
He laughs softly then steps forward and demonstrates on another gun. I follow the directions. Thankfully, it’s easier than loading it. He takes the gun from me, lets the first bullet out, and then kicks the next one into the chamber. Then he drops the mag and reloads it.
“Why’d you do that?”
“Loaded the chamber. You could have dropped one in before the magazine, but I like to keep the wear and tear down. This way the hook isn’t stretched too far to one side.”
I nod like it makes sense to me when really, I feel like an even bigger idiot. He smirks at me.
“Ready?”
Pressing my lips together, I nod. “Sure thing.”
He positions my body and walks me through the mechanics of the Glock. His hand moves mine slightly down and out of the way of the slide.
I gaze down at the target, which is impossibly far away and simply do my best. I miss more than I care to admit, but a few hit pretty close to the mark. My hand is vibrating from the action. This Glock is entirely different from a shotgun, and I kind of like how powerful it makes me feel.
“Not bad, let’s do a few more.”
“Okay,” I say, smiling at him without holding back. “Let’s kill some bitches.”
