Page 23 of Blood Owed (Blood Mafia 1)
“Who’s the dumb one now?”
The elevator doors swish open, and I bolt, running down the thirteenth floor and away from the infuriating vampire.
“I didn’t call you dumb,” I hear him call after me.
His amusement is particularly annoying since I just broke his nose. He is a vampire though, so he’s probably already healed. Which means I have about four seconds before he—
“Gotcha.” He grabs both of my arms this time and lifts me. I kick as he hauls me against his body. “Where’d you learn to fight, Demi?”
“Ryker’s Boxing Club.” I jerk my arms, causing a stabbing pain in my shoulder but doing nothing to help me escape his ironclad grip. The gym I went to three times a week clearly wasn’t worth the seventy-five dollars I paid for what they deemedelite warrior classes.
“You can’t fight your way out of this, Demetria. Eventually you’ll give in.”
Why does he have to say my name like that?
“I won’t,” I promise him.
He sighs. “Everything would be a lot easier if you did.”
I drop my head and laugh. His hands are tight enough that I’ll probably have bruises in the morning. “You’re insane if you expect me to stop fighting for my life. I’ll find a way out, maybe not now, but I will escape.”
The knife I leave in his chest will be my parting gift. He doesn’t need to know about that yet though.
Chapter Seven
Demi
Colt locks me inside a massive apartment. I kick the door and try to break the handle with a cast-iron pan I find in the kitchen. I’m either too weak to break it or the material used for the knob is too strong.
“Son of a bitch.” I spin around and hurl the pan at the wall. There’s a big dent where it hit. I go punch the same spot, collapsing the drywall inward and releasing a smidgen of pent up anger. When I pull my hand out of the hole I created, I notice the split skin on my knuckles.
Since me catching an infection while I’m being held prisoner is the least of my captors’ concerns, I wash the dust and blood off with hot, soapy water. Someone has to worry about my health, and it sure as shit isn’t going to be the vampires.
Once I dry my hands and wrap a thin towel around my knuckles, I explore the apartment. I bypass the living room and head toward the bedroom. The door is open and it’s dark. I feel around for the switch on the wall, blinking a few times when the bright light flicks on once I’ve found it.
The black four-poster bed is covered in a dark red comforter. Four large pillows sit behind a plethora of smaller ones. The cases are black and red, complementing the blanket and pillars. The nightstand and dresser are both black as well and the carpet is charcoal gray.
I rifle through the stuff on top of the dresser. A few pieces of paper, a watch, some money, and a pretty switchblade. I pocket the knife and continue snooping around. When I’ve finished inspecting the closet, I know whose room I’m in.
Grayson’s.
The majority of the clothes are casual or for working out, and Colt’s always wearing his Blood Mafia suit. Plus, there’s a soap bottle in the bathroom that smells like Grayson. Cedar and orange.
Wandering back into the living room, I decide there’s nothing wrong with taking my shoes off. I undo the laces on my Chucks and sigh in relief when the carpet is as soft as it looks. I don’t mind wearing shoes, but nothing beats being barefoot on a nice carpet.
I grimace when I see the hole in the wall. Grayson’s not going to be happy about this. Especially since I doubt he realizes I’m locked in here. The TV is waiting patiently for someone to turn it on but I’m not in the mood for some crappy show. All I want is a shower now that I have a bathroom at my disposal and no one watching me.
I go to the master bath and strip out of my filthy clothing. I quickly wash my shorts, shirt, and underwear in the sink. Not willing to take my chances, I carry the switch blade into the blue tiled shower and close the see-through glass door. There’s no real sense of privacy in this bathroom. The toilet has a half-wall blocking it from my view, but that’s it. The door leading to the bedroom is a sliding door which doesn’t have a lock.
I tip my head back, keeping my gaze trained on the door while the warm water cascades over my hair and body. Grayson doesn’t have shampoo and conditioner, so I use his delicious smelling soap to wash the thin layer of dirt and sweat from my body. My eyes flutter closed as the warm water beats against me.
“I see you’ve made yourself at home.”
My heart tries to burst from my chest, and I grab the knife, swinging it toward the glass door and holding it at the ready. “Get out.”
Grayson’s brow rises, and his eyes drop down my body quickly before flitting back to my face. “This is my bathroom.”
“Colt locked me in your apartment.”
