The Nightlife: Las Vegas (The Nightlife Series) (3 page)

“We’re not gonna miss the Red
Hot Chili Peppers.  You can’t change my mind with those doe eyes.  Your
hypnosis doesn’t work on me.  And neither does the guilt trip.”

He caressed her pale creamy
ass cheeks, running his hands down to the very bottom curve of her inner thigh
as she applied a touch of makeup in the mirror.

She sighed.  He knew she
wanted more, wanted him to keep going.  But he stopped, whispering in her ear. 
“I am so dry.  This desert makes me very thirsty.  Hurry up.  We’re gonna be
late.”

He swatted her ass almost
causing her to tweak the lipstick she applied in the mirror.  He thoroughly
enjoyed teasing her.

She slipped into a tight
black Prada number that almost covered the bottom half of her butt, stretching
just barely over the top of her nipples.  One of the many designer outfits she
owned.  The girl dressed to impress, and impress she did.

She acceded, “
Oui mon cheri
, I will go for you, because I love you, and I am so very
hungry.”  She licked her lips.  “You have the tickets?  That was very nice of
them to offer for free.  I just love Las Vegas, the nightlife is so active.  Never
a dull moment,” she purred in her adorable French accent.

As they exited the hotel
heading out to the Vegas strip, the security cameras scrolled along to follow
and recorded their every move.

* * * *

Chapter 3

Anastasia adjusted her dress
to show slightly more cleavage while she waited for her roommate, Trina to
change her clothes.  Trina spotted Ana making herself even more beautiful than
she already was.  The healthy level of envy she held for Ana creeped up a few
more notches. 
How do women get so damn beautiful without even trying?

Raven black straight hair, soulful
ice-blue eyes, awesome clear white skin, Ana was a knockout.  Trina thought it
a shame Ana couldn’t find a boyfriend that hadn’t tried to knock her out.  This
last guy had seemed decent, but then he turned stalker after Ana decided she’d
grown bored with his antics.

Ana had a real thing for
assholes.  Trina watched as Ana dabbed cover up on her arm to hide the latest
bruises from her ex-boyfriend.  A strikingly beautiful shit-storm of trouble––Ana
attracted trouble like no one else.  “You know he’s still out there looking for
you.  Why don’t you file a protection order against him?”

Ana sighed, “He’ll get over
it.  They usually do after a month or two.  The cops told me last time they
didn’t want to see me back in the station all beat up.  They think I’m some
kinda freaky masochist!”

Trina stared at her.  
Well
aren’t you?

“Why are you getting all
dressed up?  I thought we made a pact, no more assholes!”  Trina wished she looked
half as good as Ana on a bad hair day.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean
I’m sworn off men!  They can’t all be assholes!”

That’s Ana, the perpetual
optimist
.  Trina thought she needed a
reality check.  Ana never saw the rotten apples littering the ground as she
continually reached for the rare golden apple on the tree.  Ana had stepped in
a lot of rotten apples in her lifetime. 
She should have learned by now.

* * * *

Ana looked sharply at her
roommate, sensing the undertones of negative tension, the jealousy.  It was a
common emotion in her life.  The men she dated were often jealous to the point
of violence.  She wished she didn’t have to deal with it from her roommate.

She had a very acute sense of
intuition; some might even call it a latent psychic ability.  Her father
believed himself psychic, descended from a long line of crystal ball wielding
fortune tellers.  She had accepted the fact she could intuit many things from
the people around her.  It was an essential survival skill in the whirlwind
mess of her daily life.

She sighed again, hoping this
wouldn’t become a repeat of other situations she was all too familiar with,
jealous girlfriends turned catty because their boyfriends spent way too much
time gawking at her.  She couldn’t help her beauty.  Some days it seemed more a
curse than a blessing.

Trina snapped at her with a
heavy dose of cynicism.  “Sure baby, they aren’t all assholes.  I think the
actual statistic is ninety nine percent.  But I’m sure you’ll find that special
one percent guy at a Red Hot Chili Peppers concert!”

“There’s the spirit!  You
betcha, I’m gonna find that special one tonight.  I gotta good feeling about
this!”  The intuition kicked in hard.  Ana felt certain tonight would bring
someone very important into her life.

* * * *

Chapter 4

The September night air felt
slightly brisk, but still far warmer than the New York climate at this time of
year.  Hand in hand, Aaron walked Michelle from Caesar’s to the Luxor.  He had
to hand it to her.  She managed those five inch Manolo Blahniks very well.

The massive, shiny black
pyramid of the Luxor could be seen from miles away, but up close it bore a
sheen of midnight blue mirroring.  The lighted apex pierced the night, a
sweeping beacon of commercialism and a world renowned symbol of the decadence
of Las Vegas.

As they passed through the
throngs of concert goers Aaron recognized several faces of the rich and famous,
rock stars, Hollywood actors, and professional athletes.  These poor souls were
pursued endlessly by the paparazzi, photos flashing non-stop, hounded by a
barrage of questions.  The glitz and glamour of Vegas was out in full force
tonight.

After a twenty minute wait
the crowd filed into the concert and made their way to the general admission
area near the stage.  The press of bodies directly in front of the stage
reduced movement to a stifling squeeze and shuffle.  The forced intimacy of
tightly packed flesh kicked their bloodlust into high gear.  Little drum
patterns of pulsing heartbeats brushed his skin as he passed through the
crowd.  He could hardly wait for the music to begin before feeding.

Looking to Michelle, he
watched her pupils dilate in eagerness.  Inhaling her prey’s scent her lips
parted in expectation of the sensual feast to come.

“
Je meurs de faim
.”
  She
spoke directly into his mind.  
Dying of hunger
.

He read her intent to gorge
herself on the glut of willing prey.  The space immediately surrounding her
filled with men, attracted to her like bees to a blooming orchid.  Her prey had
no hope of escape from her pheromonal cloud of enticement.

She exuded sexuality almost
tangible, like ink obscuring the waters around the octopus before it strikes.

As he separated from Michelle
the bodies surrounding him pressed intimately to his back, arms, and chest were
now 100% female, each stealing furtive caresses as they brushed up against
him.  An especially striking woman of jet black hair, creamy skin and bright
blue eyes attracted his attention.  The play of contrasts between the
white-black-blue hues stopped his roving eye.  This ‘Snow White’ held his
attention as she drifted closer to his sphere of influence.  He reached out
telepathically.  A jumbled mix of thoughts, feelings and emotions from the
women nearby assaulted him.  He sifted, filtered, and flowed past them to reach
Snow White about twenty yards out.

‘Anastasia’ jolted at his
telepathic probe.  Her ice blue gaze pierced him as if she knew who invaded her
mental privacy.  He caught the unique flavor of her mind.  She sensed him in
her mind, sensed him nearby.  His invasive probe drew her in.  He tasted the
unusual tang of her powerful intuition.  He wanted her, wanted to learn more of
what made her tick.

They were
cattle
, good
for little more than feeding, but not this one.  This one was special.

Before he could delve deeper,
a blare of music assaulted his acute hearing and the lights dimmed.  He hadn’t
noticed the entrance of the band.  Snow White and the surrounding prey had
consumed his attention.  When he looked back in her direction she was gone. 
He’d lost sight of her in the blast of noise and madness from the music.  The
whole crowd jumped and jostled back and forth.  Snow White had vanished.

He refocused on his partner
in crime.  He caught a sense of Michelle’s blood euphoria leaking through their
psychic bond.  She had bitten down into her chosen victim at the start of the
music.  He located her fifty yards away, giving her attentions to a massive,
tattooed brute whose big-gun biceps locked around her petite torso.  The brute
held her intimately, reacting to the erotic hormonal stimulation of Michelle’s
venom by squeezing her ass and grinding on her.  She drank deeply, allowing the
man free rein with his roving hands.  She let him cop a feel as long as she got
what she wanted.

Aaron looked back in the
direction of his vanished Snow White.  She fascinated him.  In a world of
bovine, herd-like people, Snow White stood out.  Regretfully, he focused his
attentions on the surrounding women.  They waited not-so-patiently for him to
look their way.  An attractive red-headed
ginger
with cute freckled
cheeks and golden-hazel eyes had been rubbing up on his thigh
accidentally
for several minutes.  As he sifted through her mind, he sensed her eager, wet
flesh, throbbing with hot anticipation.  Her mind filled with vivid imaginings
of him atop her naked body, screwing her long and hard, whispering sweet
nothings.  The girl was high as a kite on Xanax.  He imagined taking her right
there.  He hardened thinking about flipping up her skirt, bending her over and
plunging in over and over.  Images of Michelle’s rosy pink slit flashed through
his mind.  He could do it.  Little ginger wouldn’t care.

It was tempting, but unwise. 
He wasn’t above screwing the food once in a while.  His relationship with
Michelle was not monogamous.  They still occasionally moonlighted as escorts,
high paid prostitutes, but that nasty incident with the NYPD detectives halted
most of their
dating
activities.  He had become exceedingly
overprotective of Michelle ever since their mutual near-death experiences.

The ginger began to get more
aggressive.  Her semi-casual rub became a caress.  She slid her hands across
the crotch of his pants as he locked gazes with her.  Her cute, puffy lips
reached up, ready for a kiss as she continued her massage, working him to full
length.  Clad in thin black designer slacks, she stroked the contour of him
through the light fabric.

The crowd shifted with the
music, shoving the red-head up against him, pushing her into his embrace.  She
conformed to his body, wrapping her inner thighs around his left leg.  She
looked him in the eyes with expectation, a flush in her cheeks.  His bloodlust
kicked into high gear.  The mesmerizing power of his gaze struck her
speechless.

Leaning in close, he bit into
her neck with a wet chomp.  He could easily have been whispering something in
her ear, telling a joke, or perhaps just hugging her.  None watching would ever
know how quickly and effortlessly he consumed her life’s blood, injecting her
veins full of rapturous venom.

As euphoria took hold, she
pressed and ground her silky moist center up against his thigh, humping his leg
like a dog.  Her dress hiked up exposing white satin panties and a wet spot on
his pants.  He drank deeply, experiencing her ecstasy of orgasmic release
through blood and telepathy.  The gush of her sex dampened his pant leg,
pulling a cry from her lips as he released her mercifully.

Not too much, not for too
long
.  Very dangerous to over-feed. 
He timed his feeding precisely as Michelle taught him, thirty to sixty seconds,
no more.

He leaned back to look at the
ginger as she shuddered, convulsing on his leg with one last pelvic grind.  She
clung to him for support in acknowledgement of the intimacy they shared.  It
was always like this with the
cattle
.  They enjoyed being victimized,
couldn’t get enough of it.  The ginger would cling to him all night long if he
let her, a grave mistake.  Theirs was a solitary life, no room for
relationships.  People died too easily, severely injured in a momentary loss of
control.  Michelle had zero flexibility on that point,
no bloodslaves, no
pets
.

Michelle had taught him to
separate from their victims and move on to the next target.  He looked over at
her to see how she fared.  She practiced what she preached.  She had moved on
to another man of more normal stature and fed deeply from his neck.  He liked
to keep close tabs on her.  He’d almost lost her three weeks ago.

Fiercely independent,
Michelle lived solitary for many years prior to meeting him.  He couldn’t dictate
her comings and goings.  Subject to her compulsory commands, Michelle ran the
show.  But that didn’t stop him from worrying, from checking on her constantly.

He extracted himself from the
ginger with a direct stare and hypnotic suggestion, “It’s time for me to go.”  He
felt her looking longingly in his direction as he weaved through the crowd, moving
away from her.