Blood Type (Blood Type 1)
Reyna couldn’t believe he would sit there and drink from Penelope. The one thing he always refused Reyna. She had thought it so erotic watching the people onstage drink, and the thought of Beckham drinking from her so personal. All of that gone in a blink of an eye. She felt ridiculous, but her eyes blurred with tears at the display, and she knew she needed to get out of there. Get far far away.
So, without looking back or a thought for her safety, she turned and fled.
Chapter 27
Reyna stumbled out of the main room of the brothel. It was difficult to see where she was going through the tears in her eyes, but she pushed past people anyway. All she wanted to do was be alone. She felt a breakdown coming on and couldn’t allow herself to do that in front of people.
Yet, she couldn’t seem to find anywhere unoccupied. The Vault was built like a maze, trapping her inside and refusing to let her out of its grip. All she did was move in the opposite direction of the traffic. After a few minutes, she found a long hallway lined with doors that was practically empty compared to the rest of the building.
She wiped her eyes softly, trying not to smudge her makeup, and then walked down the hallway in search of an empty room. She wrenched open the first door. A man had a girl bent at the waist and was drilling into her from behind. Reyna squeaked in surprise and then quickly slammed the door shut.
She raced farther down the hallway and tried another door. This one was even more disturbing. There were at least ten people involved in whatever sex acts were going on.
“Don’t you see the room is occupied!” a girl yelled at her.
“Sorry. Sorry. I didn’t know,” Reyna murmured.
A nude vampire man who had been watching the display grabbed her wrist. “Hey, love, not so fast. You look absolutely delicious. Why not stay and join us? Plenty of room for one more.”
Reyna felt panic setting in and she shook her head violently. “No…no, thank you.”
“Oh, come on. We’ll be gentle. Won’t we?”
His eyes clearly said that gentle wasn’t even a word in his repertoire. Reyna tried to yank away from him, but he circled her waist and drew her farther into the room.
“Let me go!” she shrieked. “I said no!”
“You’re part of the Vault,” he said, breathing in the scent of her hair. “No doesn’t exist here, doll.”
Reyna blanched. “That’s rape,” she barely got out.
“You’re here. You already gave consent,” he said callously. “How tasty you must be with all that blood running so fast through your veins. I can feel your heartbeat skyrocketing.”
“Please, please let me go.” She knew she sounded breathy and desperate, and she didn’t care. She was desperate. She hadn’t wanted this to happen. She had just wanted to be left alone to sort out what had happened with Beckham.
“Let’s just see what type you are…not that it matters in here,” he cackled.
Reyna froze in place. This was exactly what Beckham had said. These people were obviously part of the first faction of vampire who had no regard for humanity. They didn’t care if they raped her or if drinking from her would inevitably kill her or everyone else in the room.
The man grabbed her wrist, his nails biting into her skin. He glanced down at the diamond bracelet Beckham had put on her wrist earlier that evening. When he read the inscription, he dropped her hand as if he’d been burned.
“Beckham Anderson?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, stumbling backward.
“I’ll take my chances with someone else. The man is a bloody lunatic.”
Reyna didn’t need to be told twice. She bolted out of the room to the sound of laughter. She ran all the way down the hallway until she was sure no one else had come down this far, and then entered an entirely empty room. She crashed back into the bed, curled her knees up to her chest, and let the tears flow.
After a minute of near-hyperventilation, she shook her head and forced herself to get it under control. She could be upset—about Beckham, about Penelope, about the man who had wanted to rape her—but she couldn’t let it leave this room.
No wonder Beckham hadn’t wanted to bring her here. He didn’t even drink from her. He certainly didn’t want to share, and yet he was out there drinking from Penelope. Doing who knows what to Penelope.
Ugh! She couldn’t even think about that.
She had fallen for him. That much was certain. It wasn’t just physical anymore. She saw the real Beckham in the glimpses. The way he told her about the Elle rebels, the way he constantly looked out for her and protected her, the black card he had given her while asking nothing in return, the camera he had given her when she had needed an escape, the way he talked to her about photography. Everything. He wasn’t the hard businessman or the bloody lunatic that he showed everyone else. He was a different man entirely, and it was breaking her heart into a million little pieces to accept that he wasn’t going to be hers.