Page 2 of Blood Taken (Blood Mafia 2)
All of them.
Stupid, stupid, fools.
They're going to regret taking me.
Mark my words, Blood Mafia will pay.
* * *
I parka few blocks away from my apartment and use the fire escape to get to my living room window. Thankfully I left it unlocked and it opens without much protest. My feet hit the floor and then, and only then, do I feel my heart rate calm.
I lean against the wall next to the window and close my eyes, taking a moment to breathe and process my actions.
I've royally messed up.
Stabbing Colt is probably the equivalent to signing my death warrant.
It's only a matter of time before they come for me.
There's no way I can stay here. This is the first place they'd check.
With that thought slamming around in my brain, I snap my eyes open, fully prepared to pack a bug-out-bag as fast as possible. My apartment is dark in the early morning hour; it’s one. The darkness only lasts for a few seconds.
Someone turns the lights on.
I blink rapidly, holding the chef's knife in front of me.
How did he heal so quickly?
When my eyes adjust to the sudden brightness, I see it isn't Colt waiting for me. I glance over the two women standing before me, both familiar but for entirely different reasons. One I recognize from when I was a teenager, the other is a faded memory tacked to my bulletin board.
"Hello, Demi," my mother says.
I scrunch my eyebrows together, trying to understand what's happening. Why is she with Ms. Hammon, my high school history teacher, and why is Ms. Hammon wearing leather pants?
My mother—scratch that, egg donor—takes a step closer.
"Don't," I say in a low voice, hefting the knife in her direction. "This won't be the first time I've stabbed someone and trust me,Mother, I'd have no qualms with stabbing you."
Resentful? Who, me?
Never.
Okay, I'm pissed. I do not understand why she is here, but the important thing is that she left me when I was a child. I have an actual mother and she's not her.
The stupid picture I kept of her and my birth father are the only reason I recognize her. My whole life I assumed she'd never return. Yet here she is, not looking a day over thirty, and smiling at me like I've just won first place in a spelling bee.
"Why are you here?" I direct my question to Ms. Hammon. I can't quite bring myself to look at my egg donor again. It hurts too much and I'm already a frazzled mess. They're delaying my plan.
"We've come to take you home," my teacher says in her firm but kind voice.
Aside from the leather pants and my mother, Ms. Hammon looks the same. Her light brown hair is piled into a bun, and she’s wearing a patient look like she’s waiting for me to understand what she’s explaining.
"This is my home." I use the knife to gesture around my living room.
The woman I'm refusing to acknowledge sighs. "Demetria, I know you must be upset, but if you come with us, we can explain everything."
I glare at her. "How you expect me to listen to anything you say is astounding to me. You lost all right to talk to me the moment you left. You're a coward."
