Thy Kingdom Come: A Reverse Harem Vampire Romance

Chapter Three

Fear has never been a friend of mine. Fear makes even the strongest men weak, and I hate when it consumes me.

Over the next week, while bartending, I continue to look for the man who contributed to feeding me steak, a luxury I don’t usually get to enjoy. My memory is forever twisted with the combination of the dimly lit environment, along with my adolescent recollection of the man, but I still relive the fear that snaked its way through me at the time. He was damn near the twin of a foster dad I had flashbacks about ever since leaving the orphanage.

Halfway through my shift, my manager insisted I dance for the club from here on out.

Just great.

While trying to earn money for food this week, my ass no longer behind the shelter of the bar, the doppelgänger returns. Just the visual of his face has memories of that foster dad assaulting me, blinding me of my current life and plunging me into the past.

* * *

I was only fifteen at the time, yet my body was developing well beyond my years. When I tried to talk about it in therapy, the nuns at the orphanage told me if it weren’t for my promiscuity, the foster dad would have never shown his attraction toward me. They made it seem like it was my body’s fault for what happened. My only wish was that they would have hired a professional therapist rather than attempt to repair the damage on their own.

Hence the reason I never bothered to report the incident to the authorities.

The idea of a man who wasn’t able to control his basic urges made me ill, and I wondered if I would forever be sickened by morality.

The memory of that day continued to haunt me, but after hearing the stories of other orphans in group therapy, I’d realized I’d gotten off pretty lucky considering what could’ve happened.

Foster parents were dime a dozen, and most were only in it for the money, which was sad considering the massive amount of children in the system. But still, I was always beyond grateful to be placed in a home with the distant hope that I’d make an impression and find a forever family.

My hopes were always dashed… buried deep inside me until I had no hope left.

I’d only been at the new foster home for three days, my cot an uncomfortable reminder that I didn’t belong. Still, I’d kept up the hope of one day getting my own bed, my own sheets, my own blanket—finally getting a room of my own.

For that moment though, I had to deal with the cot, the small blanket covering me smelling of the family dog and a distant vomit stench I couldn’t seem to keep out of my nose.

But it was a bed away from the orphanage. I had to keep up that mantra. It was a bed. A bed away from the orphanage.

I was asleep, nearly comatose with the foolish idea of being part of a happy family, when the door cracked open. Light flooded the room just long enough for me to crack my eyes and see a blurry vision of a round man entering. My heart stuttered as soon as he closed the door, the light from the hallway disappearing. I was worried something had gone wrong… that he needed my help in some way… so I sat up and asked what he needed, worry inching up my spine.

I wasn’t worried for myself. Foster parents were supposed to be a haven for children like me. I was worried for the mother who had just made me an amazing meal, balanced well with veggies and meat that made my stomach grumble at the memory.

Before I could utter another word, the man lunged for me, touching my mouth with a single finger, hushing me.

“Keep quiet, Tess, or this will not end well,” he whispered, threat clear in his voice.

Confusion filled the void in my mind before dread finally coated my rapidly darkening soul.

Fear fueled my lungs as he touched me, his hands tracing every curve of my body… my breasts… my… my privates. It was too much for my young mind to comprehend. My brain was spinning. He was someone I should’ve been able to trust, and yet now he wanted something from me I didn’t know how to give.

My body froze in place, my heart stopping… and I swear it hadn’t beat since.

A noise echoed around the room, and it took a moment for me to realize it came from my own mouth. My body was protesting the invasion that was happening without my permission, no matter how much my heart and mind tried to shut off.

His hand flew up to my mouth, his sweaty palm salty against my lips.

He was trying to shut me up as gravity became a true fear, forcing his heavy frame to consume me… weighing me down and causing the cot to creak loudly with the burden of our combined weight.

The fatty tissue of his hand covering my mouth pushed my head back into the bar of the cot, the pressure getting heavier by the second, to the point where I couldn’t take it anymore.

I couldn’t breathe.

Gasping, I couldn’t inhale the oxygen my body needed… my heart still not beating with fear it would give me away. I couldn’t ruin the chance of having a home.

The pure need to breathe overwhelmed me, and before I knew it, the man hollered out in pain, my teeth sinking into the skin of his hand so hard, I drew blood.

Bliss overtook me at that moment, my body consumed by warmth and satisfaction. It was as if a flow of contentment and fulfillment flowed through my veins, overtaking every inch of my body at a rapid pace. I never knew something could taste so good… feel so good… be so good.

Just moments before, I vaguely considered giving up my life—my very existence—just to get the man off me. But as soon as I got a taste of him, my senses took over and I grabbed at him, pressing his hand to my lips, sucking at the blood as it flooded my mouth.

He jerked away, his eyes angry and filled with disgust as he looked down at me. I followed his gaze down my body and found my nightshirt torn. He’d done that, yet he looked at me like I was the one to throw myself on him when it was clearly his nasty, three-hundred pound body that pinned me down.

Still, no matter how disgusted I was with his actions, I was even more repulsed with my own as my mouth watered for another taste of his blood.

* * *

The touch of another dancer brings me out of my own mind. She whispers in my ear, her voice barely audible over the music, “Just keep moving. No matter what is going on in that brain of yours, just keep dancing.”

I was always used to being on my own behind the bar. To feel another person’s hands on me made me want to crawl out of my skin. However, I’m well aware of how jumping away from her touch would cause nothing but a headache in Crimson City, so I attempt a fake grin and let her lay her hands on me.

Breathe.

She smiles as she grabs my waist, her front gyrating against my backside in an attempt to get me moving again. Turning and looking into her eyes, I silently thank her for snapping me out of my own memories. Immediately, I take notice of the men around us—they’re cheering, the dollars flying out of their hands like they’re on fire. A true smile covers my face for the first time in forever, not because men are finally paying attention to me, but because a female is actually doing something to help me instead of hurt me.

The thought of it is likely to put most people in a blinding hole of depression, but for me, I see hope. I see that I’m actually capable of being attractive to someone… anyone… even if it’s not just because of my body.

Following my partner’s lead and with a flick of my wrist, I release the strap on my halter, my breasts freeing and causing the men to cheer even louder. Bills are showering the floor of the stage as well as being tucked into every little scrap of clothing both of us are wearing.

It’s more money than I make in a week tending bar, and my eyes widen at the thought I won’t have to go hungry—for at least a little while.

My expression falters as I realize I don’t even know this girl’s name. She comes to my rescue, and I don’t even know her? This isn’t something I’m used to… it’s not something I’ve ever experienced. No one has ever reached out to help me. Yet some girl I’ve never even bothered to acknowledge comes to my rescue when I’m at my lowest? The entire concept is foreign to me.

The song ends, and our manager swirls his finger in the air, signaling for us to switch out with other dancers. We nod, doing as we’re told, and bend over to pick up our tops. It kills me to leave the bills on the stage, but I know just as well as the other girls that someone will pick them up and make sure we get our cut. Gathering our tops only takes a few seconds, but I still make sure to mouth the words Thank You in the other dancer’s direction, her smile showing me she is accepting my gratitude with grace. For that, I am thankful as we both make our way backstage, our asses wiggling with each step we make.

“You need to learn to put a cap on that,” the other dancer tells me as soon as we’re in the silence of the dressing room.

I look at her with surprise, unsure of what she means. I’m taller than she is, and oh so much thinner, but she is still way prettier than I could ever dream of being.

She waves her hand in the air. “Don’t go down memory lane while up there,” she says, pointing to the door leading to the stage. “It’ll consume you before you can blink. Don’t let it take over. Pretend you’re someone else entirely while out there.”

“I…” Stuttering sounds are the only pseudo words leaving my lips at this moment. I honestly don’t know what to say. “Not sure it’s possible for me.”

“Are you kidding?” She scoffs loudly while putting her top back on and donning a robe, leaving me standing there mostly naked, save for my thong. I don’t mind though, starting to get used to being naked. “Even though you’re usually behind the bar, you’ve been working here way longer than I have, and yet you seem to be completely lost out there. Just make friends, even if they’re not real, and you’ll do fine.”

I look at her curiously. I had to wonder what her game plan was with helping me. Usually, no one lent a hand unless it benefited them somehow.

“The name is Katherine… Kat for short. I’m KitKat on stage though,” she tells me with a sly smirk. It’s clear she knows I’m oblivious to my surroundings, which surprises me for a moment before I realize I’m probably the only one lost in this world.

I hold my hand out to shake hers, and she returns her palm willingly. It’s probably the first human contact I’ve had in years aside from the uncomfortable lapdance my manager had set up for me earlier that night.

“Tesla,” I say in response. It always feels so weird to say my own name. I’ve never been confident in talking about myself, even if it’s something as simple as a name.

“That’s your stage name, but what’s your real name?” she asks, her hand still holding mine as she grins at me, waiting patiently for my response.

I nod and pull my hand away. “That’s it.”

“So, like the car?” she asks.

I laugh and finally wrap my robe around me. I cinch the sash tight and notice how much thinner I’ve gotten lately. “I wish I were as fancy as the car.”

“Well...” Kat blushes. “You’re prettier than the car, that’s for sure. You just need to have confidence.”

I turn away, unsure of what to say. Do I play the honesty card and tell her I don’t know what it means to have confidence? No. That would be a mistake.

No one needs to know what’s going on in my head.

Instead, I turn back to her and say, “Thank you again for being so kind on stage. I have worked here for a while now, but this whole dancing thing is new to me.”

She nods, dropping her gaze so she’s no longer looking at me. “You helped me too. Those men out there were practically snoring until I touched you. They’re a bunch of pigs looking for something new and interesting. If you would’ve refused me touching you, they would’ve been able to tell the tension on stage.”

Kat’s right. The men who frequent this place are nothing more than a drooling squall of vultures looking for a quick fix that goes beyond porn. Occasionally, the dancers will get the timid married man who just wants to be included on a guy’s night out. But, for the most part, we deal with regulars who don’t know how to keep their tongues in their mouths.

I start to walk away, my shift over and my fingers itching to count the tips we earned.

“I’m done for the night too. Want to go for a nightcap?” she asks, her voice hopeful.

Before I have a chance to respond, a young girl comes bouncing over to us, a bucket full of cash looped in the crease of her elbow.

“Here,” she says, breathing hard while handing the basket to Kat. “I need to get back out there. Candy is on right now, but Sean wants you two to go back out for one more set if you’re available.”

She doesn’t wait for our response as she sprints away.

Joy.

Another striptease is just what I want to consume my life.

Kat looks at me with hopeful eyes. “You up for it?”

I stand there, thinking about it for a moment, unsure of just what I’m up for. Regardless of what Kat and the others saw, I damn near had a panic attack on stage. Am I really ready for another bout?

“I’ll be there. Don’t worry,” Kat says.

“They want us both.”