Blood Slave Read Online Free PDF Page B

where it hurts.  The nose is especially painful.  I learned quickly where to hit to cause the most pain.  I may not be a buff little ghetto rat, but I know how to find what hurts.
    “I just want to go home.  I don’t want problems.  Why can’t you take me home?”  I was starting to sound whiny, and I had more goddamn tears.  I hate crying.  I virtually never cry.
    “I guess they don’t make em like they used to in Mexico anymore.”
    “I’m not Mexican.”
    “Had me fooled.”
    Who the hell are these people?  I began to think I’d stumbled on some satanic chicken-sacrificing cult.  There were several in Colombia, and I’ve heard of them here.  But there were no religious fanaticism indicators anywhere in her thoughts.  I have seen my share of fanatics on all sides of religion, and I can’t stand any of them.  They judge from the word go.
    All that Lia had on the brain was plain and simple bloodlust, a desire for violence.  Violence for violence sake.  The freak thought herself a vampire and wanted to drain my body of every drop of blood.  She wanted to suck me into cardiac arrest.
    Vampire or not, it didn’t really matter.  She thought I knew the truth about her, and was willing to kidnap-kill-maim-mutilate to keep her secret.  To think, I’d been totally enamored with her sensuality an hour ago.  Now all I wanted to do was run and hide in the deepest darkest hole I could find.
    I’ll never understand how a person can go from having sex with me to wanting to kill me in the span of a few minutes.  I’m not made that way.  Sure I have a temper, I get angry, maybe hold a grudge for a while, but I can’t really stay angry.  I did the nudity thing with Rubin to prove a point, to take away the power he held over me.  I didn’t do it out of hate.  I’m not that way, and I find it hard to understand people that are.  People like Arana and Lia, and even Faustino.  How could they commit such acts of violence against another person?
    There must be something missing, something fundamentally flawed within.  They are soulless, or their souls have been damaged beyond repair.  Who knows, I don’t get it.
    The limo stopped.
    “Get out and walk very slowly.  You move too fast, you start to run, and I will spread your skull all over this parking garage.”  I got out and walked, slowly, cautiously.
    We had arrived at a massive Park Avenue high rise, the Clementine Building.  Very nice, posh, ritzy.  I felt like a mouse entering the lion’s den.  I had left home in nothing but a black silk bathrobe, no shoes, shirt or underwear.  I entertained the silly hope my attire would magically bar my entrance to the inner sanctum.  Saved by one of those little signs that read no shoes, no shirt, no service .  I kept looking for one of those signs with the foolish hope of children.
    Turns out they had a residents-only elevator.  Lia had the code, 6627, which I plucked from her mind and promptly memorized.  The limo driver accompanied us up the elevator.  He worked for a limo service providing drivers, but they didn’t own the limo.  Lia’s Master owned the limo.
    The short, bald, fifty-something driver stood dead silent the whole elevator ride.  He had excellent self-control with his demeanor, but his eyes and thoughts were all over me.  Up my robe, tweaking my nipples, putting his finger in my ass, his fist in my hair.  He imagined doing all sorts of things to me.  I was nothing but a warm piece of meat to him, a trashy whore, which is kinda how I felt at the moment.
    Though his view of me seemed accurate, I did not choose this life.  I’d never really been given a choice.  My father, Rubin, Faustino, they all told me what to do, whether I liked it or not.  This was just another group of assholes taking away my freedom for their personal gain.  Beyond killing me, there wasn’t much they could do that hadn’t already been done by someone else who got to me first.  I tried to bolster