The Mafia Vampire's Mistress

Chapter 2: A Bargain Struck, Part 2

Jesamen

The words were a dismissal, and in a blink, Amias’ was at my side, my arm locked in an iron grip by his large hand as he began to drag me towards a door set on the opposite wall from where I had entered. The room he pulls us into is small and nondescript compared to the large and ornate chamber we have left behind us, containing nothing but a small wooden table, a dull light overhead, and a man as small and plain as the room around him.

“Sit,” Amais says, shoving me into the chair across from the man.

He makes a small face of annoyance and disgust at Amais’ rough handling, but does not utter a word in my defense. Instead, he pulls a stack of papers from a thin briefcase, setting them on the table between us. A thick, heavy pen follows before the briefcase is snapped shut and returned to rest on the floor at his side.

“Right, straight down to business,” he mumbles, his eyes avoiding me completely, darting to the sides as if searching for Amais, who has moved to stand behind him.

“I understand that you wish to receive a loan for a substantial amount of money from the Carmine family. While not an unheard of practice, it is rare to approve such a large sum to a human such as yourself, let alone one of such…limited means,” the man mumbles again, adjusting the papers before him.

It is only then that I notice my name has already been typed in clear, bold print across the top line of the papers. A contract, one with only two ways out- repayment or my life is forfeit. The panic again threatens to overwhelm me, but I fight it back, clinging to thoughts of Rickie, his tearful eyes as he begs me to help him, to save his life.

“I understand, and appreciate the family being so generous with me,” I whisper, doing my best to hide the shaking in my voice. But the contract makes it all suddenly seem so real, including the consequences should I fail to repay their generous loan…

Amais snorts, finding something amusing about my choice of words, a sentiment that is shared by the man sitting before me. His plain face suddenly bears a menacing smile, an eagerness in his eyes that was not there before.

“Yes, more than generous…now to discuss the terms of repayment,” his voice has taken on a new, hungry tone. Gone is the mumbling drafter, discussing terms with halfhearted and lukewarm enthusiasm. In its place sits an enthusiastic, passionate man. The sight turns my stomach, filling me with dread.

“I understand these terms will likely be vastly different compared to what you are used to, so do not hesitate to ask questions if you have them. I wish to be clear and…thorough.”

My growing sense of foreboding chills at his intimadating tone, leaving no room for doubt- whatever the terms of this contract are, it is abundantly clear they will not be in my favor. He drones on about the payment schedule, the interest, and countless other aspects that I know I should be paying attention to, but I can’t. A persistent ringing in my ears has started, drowning out his words completely, my eyes have become heavy and unfocused, unable to read the various words he attempts to draw my attention to.

A cold sweat covers my skin, leaving me feeling slimy, unclean…a feeling that is worsened immediately by a gentle yet persistent tapping on my hand.

“Miss Smith?”

“It’s Smyth. Like ‘smite’, but with a ‘th’ at the end.”

The correction is a habit, born of countless years of frustrations and mispronunciations. Even from a young age, I knew that I was special. Much too special to hold an ordinary name such as Smith. No, a name like that would not do for someone as beautiful and intelligent as me.

“My apologies, Miss Smyth. Are you clear on the terms of punishment, should you default on your payments?”

“Clear enough- you kill anyone who defaults, send anyone else who wants to borrow from you a message.”

“Not exactly,” his smile has grown impossibly large, no longer appearing menacing, but instead taking on a saccharine appearance. The change does nothing to assuage my growing panic- if anything, it makes it worse.

“You see…dead bodies cannot pay their debts, after all. Not the most effective message, or method of collecting on a debt. No, you should fail to make your payments, we will find a way to reclaim the value of our…investments.”

My blood runs cold.

“I see…and you would do that by…?”

“We would do that by placing you within one of our pleasure houses, to service our guests in whatever manner they see fit until your debt has been repaid, or until death takes you- whichever comes first, you see.”

My heart is beating so hard, it feels as if it may burst from my chest. His eyes travel eagerly down my blouse, as if he can hear it. Perhaps his kind can.

“And….what manner would I likely serve them in?” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them, though I know whatever answer he gives will not be a happy one.

‘Remember Rickie…he needs this, he needs you…he will help you with the payments, you aren’t alone in this. You will not default on your debts,’ I repeat the words as much as I can, until I finally begin to believe them, until the pounding of my heart slows slightly, bringing a look of disappointment to the man’s face.

“There are many tastes that are served in our houses, but our patrons typically come to sate one of their thirsts,” he whispers, fangs slowly elongating until they hang just below his lower lip, “All of our contracts are signed in blood, just a few drops. I’m sure you understand.”

Gently, he grasps my hand and pulls it towards him, turning it to expose my wrist and the pale blue veins winding along its surface. He stares expectantly, and I realize only after several moments of silence that he is waiting for me to answer his unasked question.

‘For Rickie,’ I think, holding the mantra in my heart, hoping that it will give me strength.

“Do it,” I say through gritted teeth, eyes slammed shut as if that will actually do anything to shield me from the sting of his fangs piercing my skin.

At first, there was nothing.

Nothing but the sounds of my heart, of my shallow breaths, nothing until-

Pain arching up my arm, radiating from my wrist.

Fire lacing my veins, burning away whatever blood they held.

The seconds ticked by, my heart now beating at a slow, almost sluggish pace. I was certain I would soon be nothing but a shell, a withered, bloodless husk of a person if he drank a moment longer. Yet he kept drinking, his grip on my wrist growing stronger, tighter. Inescapable.

‘Just a few drops, he said…’

It was the lost thought I had before the fire in my veins began to cool rapidly, the burning turned from pain into a delicious, sensual pleasure that robbed me of all thought and reason. Before I could ask where this new feeling came from, oblivion swallowed me whole and I drifted slowly, peacefully into unconsciousness.