Blood Type
Page 20
The silence was weighted. All she could do was stand with their bodies nearly touching. His finger on her mouth. Her mind wandering to hellacious places.
“You are my Subject. Can you imagine what it was like when I found you missing? When you turned up with three of my kind?” She shook her head minutely. He bared his teeth to her, and she shrank back. “These are meant to drink your blood. To drink you dry until there is nothing left of your body but a dry corpse. We are killers. We don’t hesitate. Just because we’re wearing suits and seem more like you…does not mean we are like you. We are not like you. They especially are not like you. The only way you get to the top of Visage is to be fucking ruthless, Reyna. Do you understand?”
“You’re…scaring me,” she whispered.
“Good.”
He pulled away and ran his hands back through his hair, trying to pull himself together.
“What happened while I was gone? Tell me everything.”
She explained what happened in the car with Cassandra and then the conversation about the Blood Census and rare blood types with Harrington.
He growled low in his throat and looked ready to punch something all over again. “I told you not to say anything.”
“I know,” she whispered. “But a Blood Census and a blood antidote…those sound really serious. Does anyone else know about that?”
“No. And no one else needs to know.”
“I don’t have anyone to tell,” she murmured. “Becks?”
“Another question? You wear on my nerves.”
She bit her lip. “If you didn’t agree with the Permanent program, why did you get a Permanent Subject?”
“Does it matter?”
“You won’t drink from me. You don’t trust your colleagues. You disagree with the work Visage is doing, yet you’re at the top of the totem pole. I’m just trying to understand you…”
His eyes found hers again for a quick moment, a reckless abandon as he beheld her. “It would be better if you didn’t.”
Chapter 12
The rest of the afternoon went better than expected. While Beckham and his associates each had a cocktail and discussed the company, Reyna ate a completely normal lunch. But after that Beckham kept Reyna on a tight leash. Whatever had him spooked after she left Visage without him carried over to their everyday life. She didn’t leave the penthouse without him, which meant she never left. Her world had become one big routine, and it was nothing like how she thought it would be.
What stood out most was that after nearly six days with Beckham he hadn’t drank from her once. She honestly had no clue how he was still functioning. A week was max time in between meals without feeling sick and irritable. And while Beckham honestly couldn’t get any more irritable than he already was…he certainly wasn’t sick.
She didn’t know what that meant, but after Cassandra’s display at Visage, she wasn’t keen on asking him about it.
Reyna occupied her spare time browsing the Internet. Ever since talking to Harrington, she had taken an interest in the Blood Census development and research on antidotes. Rumors floated around out there that Visage had bought the Blood Census from the government for some secret mission. Reyna wished she could tell people how true that statement really was. But of course she couldn’t. She couldn’t do anything to risk the money to her family.
As another day rolled around, filled with utter boredom and endless surfing of the Internet, she remembered that she had Everett’s business card in her purse. She dragged it out of the bag and dialed the number.
After two rings, Everett answered, “Hello?”
“Everett! It’s me, Reyna,” she said enthusiastically. She knew it was crazy to be this excited about speaking to someone, but she hadn’t left the house and she was going a bit stir crazy.
“Ah, Miss Carpenter,” he said. “Have you decided to join us?”
“Am I still welcome?”
“Of course. Where should I pick you up?”
“Oh…um, I’m still at Beck—Mr. Anderson’s,” she explained. She had never felt more awkward.
The line was silent for a moment.
“Right. Okay. I’ll get you at the valet desk at nine on Saturday.”
“Sounds good. I can’t wait,” she said.
“See you then.”
“Wait, what should I wear?” She had never thought about that before Beckham, but now she worried that she would be over- or underdressed everywhere she went.
Everett laughed. “Whatever you want. We’re just going to a club.”
“Club. Right.” As if she had ever been to one.
That was how she ended up rummaging through her closet for something acceptable to wear at eight at night on a Saturday. She still hadn’t told Beckham she was going out, but she thought it might be better to warn him on her way out than to try to convince him to let her go. He had said on her first day that she wasn’t a prisoner. If that was the case, then he should have no problem letting her go out with some friends. It would be fine.
At least she kept telling herself that.
After investigating clubbing attire online, she finally decided on a shiny black dress with a silver undertone, tiny little straps, and a square-cut bodice that hugged her figure like a glove. She paired it with some intense strappy black heels and then piled all of her dark hair on the top of her head with a few wispy strands loose around her face. It was so different from her normal ponytail. She hoped that she would blend in.
At quarter to nine she eased out of her room in search of Beckham. She wasn’t looking forward to this.
The living room was empty as usual, and she ended up having to text him to get him to come out of the back room, since she wasn’t allowed in it. When he appeared before her, he stopped short in the open doorway. His eyes widened as he drank her in from head to toe. The air seemed to crackle between them.
“What are you wearing?” he asked.
She gestured down at her outfit. “A dress? You left it in my closet.”
“Yes. But not for nine o’clock at night when we’re staying in.”
She swallowed and worked up the courage to tell him. “Well, I’m going out with some friends.”
Of all the responses she expected from Beckham, laughter was the last one.
“Your friends? The ones in the Warehouse District?” he asked incredulously.
“No!” she cried. She couldn’t hold back the anger in her voice. He didn’t have to be an asshole about it. “The ones I’ve made since I’ve been here. I’m going out to a club nearby and that’s that.”
Beckham straightened immediately. He clearly didn’t like her tone or the thought of her meeting people he didn’t know about. “Who are these friends of yours?”
“I’m going out with Everett from downstairs.”
“The valet?” Beckham asked. He pursed his lips.
“Yeah.” She straightened her dress and ignored his pointed stares. She was not backing down. “I’m meeting some of his friends.”
“No,” he said. “That doesn’t sound safe.”
“What do you mean it’s not safe?” she demanded. “You don’t even know them.”
“That’s why it’s not safe.”
“No! You don’t get to decide that. You said I wasn’t a prisoner, and you’ve been treating me like one all week, especially after I left Visage without you. What was I supposed to do? They said I was going, and you would catch up…so I went. You can’t force me to stay here!”
“You are my Subject. Can you imagine what it was like when I found you missing? When you turned up with three of my kind?” She shook her head minutely. He bared his teeth to her, and she shrank back. “These are meant to drink your blood. To drink you dry until there is nothing left of your body but a dry corpse. We are killers. We don’t hesitate. Just because we’re wearing suits and seem more like you…does not mean we are like you. We are not like you. They especially are not like you. The only way you get to the top of Visage is to be fucking ruthless, Reyna. Do you understand?”
“You’re…scaring me,” she whispered.
“Good.”
He pulled away and ran his hands back through his hair, trying to pull himself together.
“What happened while I was gone? Tell me everything.”
She explained what happened in the car with Cassandra and then the conversation about the Blood Census and rare blood types with Harrington.
He growled low in his throat and looked ready to punch something all over again. “I told you not to say anything.”
“I know,” she whispered. “But a Blood Census and a blood antidote…those sound really serious. Does anyone else know about that?”
“No. And no one else needs to know.”
“I don’t have anyone to tell,” she murmured. “Becks?”
“Another question? You wear on my nerves.”
She bit her lip. “If you didn’t agree with the Permanent program, why did you get a Permanent Subject?”
“Does it matter?”
“You won’t drink from me. You don’t trust your colleagues. You disagree with the work Visage is doing, yet you’re at the top of the totem pole. I’m just trying to understand you…”
His eyes found hers again for a quick moment, a reckless abandon as he beheld her. “It would be better if you didn’t.”
Chapter 12
The rest of the afternoon went better than expected. While Beckham and his associates each had a cocktail and discussed the company, Reyna ate a completely normal lunch. But after that Beckham kept Reyna on a tight leash. Whatever had him spooked after she left Visage without him carried over to their everyday life. She didn’t leave the penthouse without him, which meant she never left. Her world had become one big routine, and it was nothing like how she thought it would be.
What stood out most was that after nearly six days with Beckham he hadn’t drank from her once. She honestly had no clue how he was still functioning. A week was max time in between meals without feeling sick and irritable. And while Beckham honestly couldn’t get any more irritable than he already was…he certainly wasn’t sick.
She didn’t know what that meant, but after Cassandra’s display at Visage, she wasn’t keen on asking him about it.
Reyna occupied her spare time browsing the Internet. Ever since talking to Harrington, she had taken an interest in the Blood Census development and research on antidotes. Rumors floated around out there that Visage had bought the Blood Census from the government for some secret mission. Reyna wished she could tell people how true that statement really was. But of course she couldn’t. She couldn’t do anything to risk the money to her family.
As another day rolled around, filled with utter boredom and endless surfing of the Internet, she remembered that she had Everett’s business card in her purse. She dragged it out of the bag and dialed the number.
After two rings, Everett answered, “Hello?”
“Everett! It’s me, Reyna,” she said enthusiastically. She knew it was crazy to be this excited about speaking to someone, but she hadn’t left the house and she was going a bit stir crazy.
“Ah, Miss Carpenter,” he said. “Have you decided to join us?”
“Am I still welcome?”
“Of course. Where should I pick you up?”
“Oh…um, I’m still at Beck—Mr. Anderson’s,” she explained. She had never felt more awkward.
The line was silent for a moment.
“Right. Okay. I’ll get you at the valet desk at nine on Saturday.”
“Sounds good. I can’t wait,” she said.
“See you then.”
“Wait, what should I wear?” She had never thought about that before Beckham, but now she worried that she would be over- or underdressed everywhere she went.
Everett laughed. “Whatever you want. We’re just going to a club.”
“Club. Right.” As if she had ever been to one.
That was how she ended up rummaging through her closet for something acceptable to wear at eight at night on a Saturday. She still hadn’t told Beckham she was going out, but she thought it might be better to warn him on her way out than to try to convince him to let her go. He had said on her first day that she wasn’t a prisoner. If that was the case, then he should have no problem letting her go out with some friends. It would be fine.
At least she kept telling herself that.
After investigating clubbing attire online, she finally decided on a shiny black dress with a silver undertone, tiny little straps, and a square-cut bodice that hugged her figure like a glove. She paired it with some intense strappy black heels and then piled all of her dark hair on the top of her head with a few wispy strands loose around her face. It was so different from her normal ponytail. She hoped that she would blend in.
At quarter to nine she eased out of her room in search of Beckham. She wasn’t looking forward to this.
The living room was empty as usual, and she ended up having to text him to get him to come out of the back room, since she wasn’t allowed in it. When he appeared before her, he stopped short in the open doorway. His eyes widened as he drank her in from head to toe. The air seemed to crackle between them.
“What are you wearing?” he asked.
She gestured down at her outfit. “A dress? You left it in my closet.”
“Yes. But not for nine o’clock at night when we’re staying in.”
She swallowed and worked up the courage to tell him. “Well, I’m going out with some friends.”
Of all the responses she expected from Beckham, laughter was the last one.
“Your friends? The ones in the Warehouse District?” he asked incredulously.
“No!” she cried. She couldn’t hold back the anger in her voice. He didn’t have to be an asshole about it. “The ones I’ve made since I’ve been here. I’m going out to a club nearby and that’s that.”
Beckham straightened immediately. He clearly didn’t like her tone or the thought of her meeting people he didn’t know about. “Who are these friends of yours?”
“I’m going out with Everett from downstairs.”
“The valet?” Beckham asked. He pursed his lips.
“Yeah.” She straightened her dress and ignored his pointed stares. She was not backing down. “I’m meeting some of his friends.”
“No,” he said. “That doesn’t sound safe.”
“What do you mean it’s not safe?” she demanded. “You don’t even know them.”
“That’s why it’s not safe.”
“No! You don’t get to decide that. You said I wasn’t a prisoner, and you’ve been treating me like one all week, especially after I left Visage without you. What was I supposed to do? They said I was going, and you would catch up…so I went. You can’t force me to stay here!”
