I Bite She Sucks, Bloom, Penelope [recommended reading TXT] 📗

hard steel stopped me in my tracks. I saw Maisey get yanked back just like I had by his other hand.

As quickly as that, our escape was thwarted, and we were being physically dragged into the building.

Maisey was putting up more of a fight than I was. She even managed to land a kick on his leg. "Let us go, asshole."

"I'm starting to consider it," he said, shoving us in front of him and through the door, which he pulled closed behind him.

I got a real look at the place—and a real smell. The whole building smelled like a mixture of cheap women's perfume and Axe body spray with a dose of body odor for good measure. There was a cheap neon sign hanging over the stage that identified the fine establishment as The Wet Flea.

The atmosphere was all cracked, dated woods and handmade furniture with a touch of industrial gothic. Overhead, a rickety cast iron walkway stretched from one side of the room to the other. When you threw in the mob of shaggy haired men—many of whom looked like they belonged at a heavy metal concert—and the equally metal, frighteningly dressed women, it was unique, to say the least.

I realized there was something similar in the way Riggs was dressed to the dancing people. Riggs had the look of an off-duty rock star and these people looked like groupies. I took a closer look at his wild hair, the various bits of tattoo showing beneath his leather jacket, and the collection of bracelets on one wrist. I glared at the bracelets. I hated when guys wore stuff like that, but Riggs pulled it off, which made it even more irritating.

I couldn't put my finger on what it was about the way the people were dancing in front of the stage, but something seemed odd. I guessed it was probably the fact that I'd never actually been to this sort of place before and I'd only read about it. Maybe it was normal for people to kind of hop together in unison or let out weird, dog-like barking sounds and howls.

I took in a deep breath of the vaguely nauseating smell and found myself smiling wide.

Maisey shot me a disgusted look. "Why do you look so pleased? This place is a shit hole."

"Smells like an adventure," I said.

She rolled her eyes. "Adventures get people killed in real life. Speaking of which, we need to get you to the nearest doctor and load you with every antibiotic they have as soon as we can shake this creep."

"This creep can hear everything you're saying. And what's wrong with her immune system?"

He was slowly moving us past the dancing people and toward a bar, where a handful of more normal looking people were hunched over drinks. A beautiful woman in black leather pants and a jean jacket was grabbing a brightly colored bottle from a mirrored wall lined with what had to be about a thousand different choices of liquor.

"I told you," Maisey snapped. She had to look over her shoulder to glare at Riggs because he was prodding us from behind toward two stools, which he sat us in. He took the seat beside me, which meant Maisey was directly next to some huge man with a shaved head. "She has a compromised immune system. She hardly ever leaves the apartment because it could get her sick. Really sick. And now you just dragged her through every fucking germ in the city and it's probably all having a free for all in her body right now."

Maisey's voice shook at the last sentence, and I realized she was barely covering her fear with the anger she felt toward Riggs.

I gave her hand a squeeze. "It'll be okay. There's that thing you were talking about, right?"

Maisey bulged her eyes slightly and shook her head. Our conversation about vampires and her desperate attempt to cure me felt like weeks ago, but mentioning it brought it all back to the surface.

"What are you two muttering about?" Riggs asked.

"I was asking if she thought they sold sandwiches here," I said quickly. Stupid. I needed to catch up, and fast. Vampires and werewolves still sounded like silly kid's stories to me. But my reality had rapidly changed, and I needed to shake that reaction as fast as I could. If this guy was who I thought he was—or what I thought he was—then he must not have any idea what my sister was.

God, I still hadn't even had a chance to let that sink in. Maisey said she was a vampire. But if the vampire blood would've supposedly been a dead giveaway to the people in this club, why wouldn't he smell that my sister was a vampire?

Either it was all bogus, or there was some reason. Maybe the smell got stronger with time? Or he thought he was just smelling the blood he hadn't completely cleaned from her? But what would happen when he insisted we get all the way cleaned up?

All that mattered was I needed to start being more careful. Way more careful.

Riggs seemed to light up at my mention of a sandwich. "You're hungry?" he asked.

"Uh," I stammered. "Yeah, actually." As if to confirm I wasn't lying, my stomach let out a pitiful gurgle.

Until that moment, I’d only ever seen Riggs as a stoic, somewhat grumpy beast of a man who looked like he punched holes in walls for fun in his spare time. But the mention of food seemed to light him up. He plucked a menu from the bar and leaned toward me.

He was close enough that his forearm was touching mine. I should’ve been running for the nearest full-body hand sanitizer bath, but all I could think was how exciting it was to be around people. Real people. Even if “people” in this case meant a kidnapping asshole.

“You’ve got to try the burrito. It’s got jalapenos, but they’re not that spicy. I can ask her to go easy on them