Blood Slave (8 page)

Though quiet, it was a hate-filled hour in the stylish limousine.  I sat clenching my jaw while Lia imagined a thousand and one ways to kill-maim-violate me.  She did it to torment me.  She knew full well I could read every disgusting thing she imagined.

Enrique quietly observed the loving atmosphere between Lia and me.  When Lia pictured in her mind chewing through my body with her fangs, starting between my legs and working her way up through my torso, I’d had enough.

“She’s sick in the head!  Her mind is like a horror film where I’m the star who gets killed over and over!  Make her stop!”

I know it sounded whiny, but what could I do?  The psycho bitch smiled a sweet serene innocent expression.  She didn’t fool anyone.  Enrique lost his cool.

“This is unacceptable!  Stop it now!”  As soon as he spoke I felt a force clamping down on Lia’s mind, like his words had a tangible effect over her.  Lia’s malicious thoughts curved away from me to refocus a spike of resentment and hatred towards her master.  She imagined hitting him square in the nose, blood flying everywhere.

I looked from her back to him.  I knew he could read the same thing I could.  He had access to her mind through their weird connection.  Enrique didn’t even look at her or acknowledge her malice.

“Why do you put up with her?  She’s
sooo
sick!  There’s something seriously wrong with her!”

Lia twitched, reaching toward me as though she would rip me to shreds with her bare hands.  Then I sensed that clamp on her mind again, a force that blocked her from doing as she wished.  I looked at Enrique.  He hadn’t moved or said a word.  He hadn’t even looked at Lia.

She fought a silent struggle with the thing that blocked her from hurting me.  She flexed her hands, but she simply couldn’t move any further to reach for me.  Her hands were bound somehow.  I could feel how Enrique’s control bound her up physically, and it drove her insane.  The woman was a fountain of seething hatred and resentment directed at both Enrique and I.

“She can’t hurt you, I promise.”  He spoke quietly, pegging me with those beautiful eyes.  In the limo, against the backdrop of black leather, his hazel eyes became light brown.

His words revealed the truth in her mind.  She literally couldn’t make a single movement intended to harm me.  I laughed out loud.  “Ha!  You can’t touch me.  You really can’t lay a finger on me!”  Stupid me, poking at the caged lion.

Like a good zookeeper, Enrique turned on me.  “It’s bad enough without you taunting her.  Can’t you see I’m trying to keep things civil?  Don’t test my patience!”

He addressed Lia.  “And you’ll learn to live with Hope.  You brought her into our lives, you have only yourself to blame.  She’s here to stay, deal with it.”

We sat in silence for the remainder of the ride.  Each of us stewing in our own brew of emotions.  As usual, I decided to go with the
fuck-it
attitude.  She couldn’t hurt me though she wanted to, and Enrique seemed to have an iron grip on her.  I couldn’t help but wink whenever I caught her wicked stare burning a hole through me.  It drove her nuts, but it made me smile.  The chick was bonkers.

I’d never been to Canal Street before, too rich for my blood.  Apparently my fortunes had changed.  With the exception of the psycho’s presence, I had a truly awesome shopping experience.

Never have I walked into a Macy’s and been told, “Choose whatever you like.  We’re here to acquire an entire wardrobe.  All your toiletries.  Get whatever you need.”

We hit em all: Prada, Louis Vuitton, Victoria’s Secret, Mystique, Juicy Couture, and even J-Lo’s personal fashion line.  I loved it.  I soaked it up.  My affections were thoroughly purchased several times over.  If Enrique hoped for a loyal, happy, bloodslave, he sure knew how to get what he wanted.  It was
soooo
awesome.

The one useful contribution the psycho Asian bitch provided to my shopping experience was her inside knowledge of certain shop’s special wares.  Lia sidled up to a couple of the Asian chicks at various stores and asked to be shown, ‘the good stuff.’  With this we were ushered into a secret stash, huge walkin closets of ‘hot’ –
stolen
– goods that still bore the designer tags.  The store clerks assured us repeatedly the merchandise was ‘legit’, and could be verified by calling the one eight hundred line or via the manufacturer’s website.

I’d heard of this ‘Jersey shore’ lifestyle, buying nothing but expensive designer clothing, but I had never deigned to participate in such a thing.  Way too expensive for me.

Only in America will people spend thousands of dollars on clothing, verify the serial numbers to make sure it’s not a knockoff, and then donate it to charity when it goes out of style.  I wondered if the IRS had a qualified tax deduction for donating out-of-style designer jeans.

Back in Colombia no one would ever conceive of the idea, let alone do it.  Americans are a breed unto themselves whose consumer culture is so strange as to be unbelievable to foreigners who’ve never experienced it firsthand.  My new three hundred dollar J-Lo jeans could’ve supported a poverty stricken family in a hillside shack in Bogota for an entire month.  Knowing this, I still loved those jeans.  They were awesome.  Especially since I didn’t have to pay for them.  I felt a connection to J-Lo beyond the fact that we were born on the same day – we both enjoyed ass-hugging jeans.

Lia couldn’t help but stare at my ass, I flaunted it.  I caught her looking.  I winked at her, poking at the caged lion again.  She immediately gave me a vivid image of sinking her huge oversized fangs into my juicy rump.

It didn’t bug me much anymore.  I knew she couldn’t hurt me.  I may never get used to her sickness, but I could dismiss it more easily.  I had a shopping high.  Nothing could bring me down, or so I thought.

Enrique carried the role of perfect gentleman.  Complimentary, considerate, patient, smiling as I modeled my new wardrobe.  He seemed to genuinely enjoy spending obscene amounts of money on me.  It became increasingly difficult to hate him for converting me into his latest slave.  I had to admit I didn’t really feel like a slave.  A captive maybe.  I wanted his bite constantly, but he accommodated me every two to three hours.  I stayed pleasantly hyped on his personal brand of euphoria.  I had begun to wonder if I should wear a pad all the time.  I wet myself whenever he sunk those wonderful little pointy teeth in my neck.

My fairytale shopping spree ended with a picturesque walk in the night air at the park.  Well … it’s kind of a park.  They call it ‘The Highline’.  Some artsy conservationists transformed an ancient weed-strewn elevated rail track in Chelsea to a strip of park – bike path – recreation area.  Ten whole city blocks of uninterrupted recreation:  greenery, wildflowers, and boardwalk.

Enrique treated me to a pair of kosher sausages as we sat on a balcony overlooking the Hudson.  It kinda felt like a
moment
, at least until Lia’s creepy thoughts reminded me of her intrusive presence.  I had begun to enjoy my blissful ignorance of Enrique’s thoughts.  It added a touch of mystery to my life.  For the first time ever, I had to take a man at face value, to trust without the certain knowledge of his intentions.

* * * *

Chapter 7

The ride back to Park Avenue flowed smoothly.  Lia seemed to have mellowed out.  Instead of thinking about my demise, she focused on the details of a business venture of Enrique’s in Madrid, Spain, his birthplace.  The two of them had their mind-speak session running back and forth for several minutes.  He planned to send her to Spain for a negotiation with a corporate board.  She’d been working with Enrique’s Madrid attorneys for several years now.  Obviously he trusted Lia much more than I realized.

“How long is she leaving for?”  I cut into their private talk with my blunt edge.

“Stay out of my head bitch.”  She
sooo
wanted to gut me.

“We’ll talk of this later.  For the sake of civility, please refrain from abusing your talents.”

“Okay.”  I mumbled agreement, feeling like a naughty little bad girl.

A stab of jealousy hit me right in the heart, and twisted hard.  They had such a long-standing connection, so intimate.  How could I ever compete?  I’d be forever relegated to
food
status, a third-wheel.  I felt sure Lia would hate me with a passion for years to come.

I tried to focus on the positive.  Lia would be leaving soon.  I’d have Enrique all to myself.  I had a crisp new, sexy wardrobe valued in thousands of dollars, a complete makeup kit, and all the ridiculously expensive hygiene products a girl could ever want.  To top it all off Enrique insisted I choose several cocktail dresses and gowns for certain black-tie events in the future.

That was a good thing right?
 They planned on keeping me around for a while.  I chose to see it that way.

My pleasant little fantasy bubble of denial popped violently as we arrived at the penthouse.  Enrique locked me back in my room with a promise to return in an hour.  I’d been looking forward to some more one on one time with him, and I could hardly wait for his return.  Then I picked up on a conversation that wasn’t meant for my ears.

I overheard their weird mind-speak, through Lia’s mind, of course.  True to character, she started bitching at Enrique the moment he closed the door to my room.

“She’s a cheap whore.  She’s nothing but trash and you treat her like a princess!”
  I actually heard her growl-snarl within her mind.

He snapped back,
“You’re the one slumming it with the trash in the ghettos of Spanish Harlem, so don’t complain if you bring the filth home!  I am not to blame for your foolishness, but I will clean up the mess when you force me to.  You’re stuck with her now.  Learn to make the best of a bad situation.”

I stifled my gasp, trying to be quiet as I put my head to the wall to close the distance.

“So how does bribery and bullshit chivalry equate to ‘making the best of a bad situation?’”
  She mocked him, mind-speaking in a weird tone, a parody of his voice.

“I’m trying to ease her transition into our household, to take away the sting of these drastic changes in her life.  She probably won’t live long anyway.  You know this.  Is it so horrible to make the time she has left enjoyable?”

“Oh … is that what you were doing?  It looked to me like you were courting the tramp.  I thought maybe you were shopping for an engagement ring.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.  She’s a whore.  I’ve no interest in her beyond the need to maintain an atmosphere of congeniality in my home, which you brought her to.  She’s nothing more than a bloodslave, but she deserves some respect and care.  She doesn’t deserve to be treated poorly.  You will be civil with her.  Cease these pointless attacks.  It’s childish and serves no purpose but to create discord.”

“Whatever.”

“I want you to start thinking about how she will fit in here with our nightly routine ….”

I couldn’t catch anything further.  They had walked too far down the hallway.  My range was only about twenty feet.

I had to sit down, my knees wobbled.  Lia hadn’t been joking at all.  I felt her extreme rancor and jealousy.  She actually believed Enrique liked me.  Well, he certainly dispelled that notion. 
You’re the one slumming it with the trash in the ghettos of Spanish Harlem, so don’t complain if you bring the filth home
.  Don’t think I’ll ever forget those words.

No mistaking the way he felt about me.  Trash.  I was nothing but trash in his eyes, a bloodslave whore.

“You fucking asshole!”  I didn’t want to cry.  I hate crying.  “Damn!”

The son of a bitch made me cry.  I can insulate myself against people when I know who they are, where they’re coming from.  Their nastiness doesn’t bother me so much, I just consider the source.  But Enrique caught me by total surprise.  I had begun to trust him.

That little exchange pretty much ruined all the romance of an otherwise decent evening.  I had an entire hour to brood.  I would die soon.  Explained why this room was set up with locks on the outside of the door.

“Who puts locks on the outside of a door?  Who does that shit?”

What was I to them, bloodslave of the month?  Honored guest until I died in a few weeks?  Obviously Lia didn’t care to maintain the façade.  She wanted to get it over with now, minus all the pomp and ceremony.  Why pamper a girl who’s going to die tomorrow?  She seems practical that way.  It’s a waste of time and resources to cater to someone so close to death.

I wanted to hate Enrique.  I wanted to denounce him to his face, tell him I knew all about the ruse.  At the same time I wanted him here, touching me, biting me, making love to me.  He made me his slave in every sense of the word.  In spite of all the reasons I should hate him, I still needed him, which made me hate him even more.

I’ve never needed anyone like I need Enrique.  It’s a dependency.

“You asshole!”

The asshole showed up with that sexy confident smile, the one that fit perfectly with his trimmed goatee.  What a beautiful man.  I hated him for being so appealing. 
The fucking master of my universe – asshole.

I forced a smile like I do with all my clients.  I don’t have to like someone to give a satisfying performance.  He hugged me, kissed me in pretense of affection.  I kissed him back with the same pretense.

“Ah, querida, you do look lovely with nothing but black silk.”  A hungry look in his eyes.

Though I wanted to hate him, tried hard to hate him, it felt so damn right in his arms.  It was all a product of this bloodslave shit, but I couldn’t get past it.  I wanted him near, touching me, biting me.  All my reasons for hating him became meaningless in his arms. 
God, I’m such a loser
.  No matter the fact he saw me as filthy trash, he still held this power over me.

“I missed you already.  I need you.”  I gave into the irresistible desire to be with him.  It allowed me to forget all the reasons I should hate him long enough to service both our needs.  I untied my robe, and his hands helped remove it.  The soft expensive silk flowed off my shoulders like water pooling on the ground at my feet.