Blood Slave Read Online Free PDF

maintain composure, but Lia’s thoughts were the most disturbing I’d ever encountered.  She played a silent game of torture with me.  She imagined things while she watched my reaction.  I’d learned years ago to suppress my reactions to people’s depravity.
    I read my priest’s mind when I was fourteen.  He imagined screwing me while I bent over to tie my shoes.  My dress had creeped up to the point he could see my white panties.  Totally shocked, I overreacted.  I freaked out right there in the middle of church service, making accusations in front of the whole congregation.  My father was so angry, shaking his head in embarrassment, apologizing profusely.  He’d told me on several occasions, not to react to things people hadn’t done or said, estas loca – you are crazy.
    After that episode, Daddy decided he could no longer deal with my peculiarities.  He figured if I wanted to accuse innocent men of perversions, then I should understand it.  Colombian rationale doesn’t always make sense by American standards.  Sometimes two plus two equals three.  My father did the math, found me wanting, and sold me to Rubin the very next day.
    I never made the mistake of letting my reactions to people’s sick thoughts show ever again.  But Lia had sorely tested my composure.  I tried not to react.  I tried so hard to stay calm as she imagined atrocious, unspeakable things.  But she noticed.  No matter how quiet I was, how I stilled my shaking hands in my lap, she knew.
    She could sense the changes in my respiration, she could smell my fear, and there was that other thing, the colors.  She could see this hazy color, an aura.  My aura screamed my terror and anxiety.  She knew exactly what she was doing to me.  She sniffed the scent of my fear, breathed it in deeply.  She could even taste it, and it excited her to new levels of imagined violence.
    As she envisioned shoving a knife up between my legs Jack-the-Ripper style, I started to cry.  I couldn’t help it.  The bitch smiled at me.
    “Please stop.  I’ll never tell anyone.  I promise.  I don’t want to die.”  I begged shamelessly.
    I was more afraid than I’ve ever been.  I had this sense of her as something more than a petite little Vietnamese woman.  She was a predator through and through, a Hannibal Lector, a Jeffrey Dahmer, a psychopath.  The girl was extremely dangerous.  The kind of dangerous people can be with all limits of propriety and conscience removed, zero regard for the sacredness of life.  She was capable of anything, and somehow she had figured out I read her mind.  She thought herself an actual vampire, and I was starting to think the same.
    “You’ll not die … yet.”  Not until we see the Master .  “It’s too bad you’re so damn cooperative.  And here I thought you had some spine.”  All the more fun to rip it out .
    She wanted me to come at her, to try to fight my way out.  She was purposely trying to scare me into action.  Leaving as quickly as we did probably saved my life.  My immediate cooperation was the only reason she hadn’t pulled that trigger.  She itched for me to make a move, anything she could construe as a possible threat.  Then she’d be allowed to kill me.  Those were the rules she lived by, the rules of her Master .  Straight up fucking weird.
    “What, you’re not feeling froggy bitch?  Don’t think you can take me?  Come on.  Do it.  You know you want to.”  She set the gun down on the seat next to her.
    I stared at that gun sooo hard.  Oh how I wanted to go for it.  She folded her hands in her lap and grinned with anticipation.  She wanted me to go for it.  She wanted it as much as I did.
    “I’m not that stupid.”
    “Perhaps.  But are you that weak?  I thought there was more to you.”  She was slick.  I wanted to break her slick little nose.  I’ve been in a few fights, and knowing what they want to do before they do it does help at times.  Knowing