Bite: A Shifters of Theria Novel (2 page)

BOOK: Bite: A Shifters of Theria Novel
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CHAPTER TWO

ROBBING A THIEF

After one final flick of the tongue, he rises up and reveals the grin I knew was hiding between my legs. He crawls up over top of me and plants his knees at my sides. His clover-patterned bulge sticks straight out, casting a shadow over my naked body.

 

“Go ahead,” he says with his big smirk.

 

My brain screams no, but the rest of my body won’t listen. My hand disowns me, reaching up towards the member. His big dick is warm against the tips of my fingers, and soon enough, the palm of my hand. My heartbeats at a mile-a-minute, a combination of reluctant dread and curious anticipation.

 

Just do it, I tell myself. Get it over with.

 

The thought of satisfying Freddie is nauseating. The feeling of him throbbing in my hand is tormenting. I need to sell it; I can’t let him catch on. Unlike Freddie’s weak display in the cage, I have to go the distance.

 

His idiot smirk refuses to leave his smug face. I can’t; it doesn’t seem worth it. It's not worth giving the bastard the satisfaction, even if it would be short-lived. I need to get out of here—out of this motel room.

 

“Hold on,” Freddie says. “You have a condom?” he asks.

 

“No.” My heart pounds my chest.

 

“Better make sure I got one—don’t wanna get ya pregnant or anythin’. That’s the last thing I want.” He lets out a little laugh, making sure I know he’s insulting me—the motherfucker. “I’m pretty sure there’s one here,” he says, throwing his body across mine and reaching down, next to the bed. I can feel his hard dick across my belly as he rifles through the messenger bag.

 

“Move that light closer, will ya?” he says.

 

My heart is on the verge of exploding. “Sure.”

 

I move the light as close as I can—right into the back of his skull. With a single blow, Freddie is unconscious—out like the light I hit him with. I don’t think he’s dead—I can still feel the throbbing vein in his cock against my bare belly.

 

“Freddie?” I nudge his body, making sure he’s out.

 

His lack of response is just the response I’m looking for. I push his heavy body off mine and begin to dress. Any second, Freddie will be awake, pissed. I push his body off the messenger bag.

 

“Fuck you, prick,” I say to his unconscious body.

 

I leave the motel with no evidence of my existence, except for a gob of spit on his pretty-boy face.

 

Olivia’s Survival Guide, tip #22: getting knocked out isn’t like the movies. Unless they’re in a coma, people don’t stay unconscious for more than a few minutes at most.

 

 

The leather messenger bag is heavy and its wet strap keeps slipping off my shoulder. I hold it close to my body so the pouring rain doesn’t seep inside and ruin the money.

 

Heads turn as I step onto the city bus. The hungry glare from an awkward-shaped man makes me realize I left my bra behind, on the motel floor. Freddie’s unconscious body must have fallen on top of it.

 

Ugh. Not again.

 

So much for leaving no evidence behind. Luckily, I haven’t written my name on the tag of a bra since the eighth grade.

 

The awkward-bodied man continues to stare at me, at my chest. There’s an old saying in Ilium:

 

You’re only right

to wear white

when working the streets

on an Ilium night.

 

It’s easy to spot a prostitute in Ilium. They’re the ones wearing white over skimpy lingerie, or their bare tits. In Ilium, the rain never stops. In Ilium, white is another word for translucent.

 

I cover translucent top with my arm and turn away, but I still can’t escape the man’s horny glare. Even in his billboard photo, which the bus now passes, he's got the eyes of a sex-starved lunatic. According to his sign, his name is Crazy Dave and he owns the used car
emporium
next to the Holiday Inn.

 

At the next stop, Crazy Dave steps off the bus, leaving behind a pool of saliva in his otherwise empty seat. Unfortunately, in Crazy Dave’s absence, stares from the other passengers continue. Their heads tilt down as I look up, save for one old Chinaman, whose bitter smile breaks my body.

 

I’ve reached a new low. I may as well be a prostitute, sleeping with gangsters for money, trading my body and my pride for cash. Ilium bus drivers already assume I am a prostitute. This isn’t the first time this week my tits are Ilium Transit's main attraction.

 

The bus coming to an abrupt stop outside of a local nightclub. I catch the messenger bag as it slips from my lap. Under the shallow cover of the club’s awning, thirty under-dressed girls stand, waiting for the bus door to open. When it does, they pour in, in their little high heels and skimpy skirts. The volume on the bus jumps from zero to ten within seconds.

 

Six girls cram their skimpy bodies tightly around me. None seem to care that I can see straight down their low-cut tops, and straight up their short skirts.

 

“Oh my God, I can’t believe he said that to you!” one girl shouts.

 

“I know, right? It was so cute,” her friend shouts back.

 

“He’s so cute. You guys would, like, totally make a cute couple.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Oh my God, yeah.”

 

Had we stopped out front of a nightclub or a cloning facility? The girls’ voices are indistinguishable. Their outfits are all made from the same square foot of fabric and their hands are all glued to cell phones. None of them go a minute without sucking in their cheeks, pushing out their lips, and snapping a selfie. Dolphins only breathe once every five minutes. The monotony of their redundant voices blends with the hum of the bus’ engine.

 

 

The bus stops again. Only a single passenger boards. She takes the seat ahead of me. She is quiet and alone and she doesn’t seem to mind the noise on the bus, or smell of vodka and artificial strawberry flavouring. She has impeccable style: leather jacket, genuine chinchilla fur shawl, and, most eye-catching of all, her black crocodile-leather purse with golden embellishments.

 

I’ve seen that purse before. And that golden logo—that two–lettered monogram: BV. That purse is the whole reason I wound up in this mess. If it wasn’t for that purse, I would be at home with a cup of hot tea, comfortable in my warm bed and dry pyjamas.

 

“Excuse me,” I say.

 

The woman smiles. She doesn’t seem to notice my transparent shirt, soaked hair, or running makeup.

 

“Yes?” she says. Her voice is gentle and kind.

 

“That bag—where did you get it?”

 

The woman looks down at her bag, as if she can’t remember which bag she left the house with. “It was a gift,” she says.

 

“Where is it from?” I ask.

 

“I’m not sure,” she says with a smile.

 

“Who gave it to you?” I ask. The woman has tremendous patience. I’m starting to annoy myself with my relentless interrogation. I can’t help it. I need to know where she got the purse.

 

“I told you—a friend.” The woman looks away.

 

“Don’t you know where they got it from?”

 

The woman looks back at me. She takes a breath and then forces another smile. “Unfortunately, I don’t know.”

 

“It’s beautiful.”

 

“Thank you. It’s certainly different.”

 

I can’t help myself. I need to know. “It looks different. Who makes it?”

 

The woman no longer bothers to smile. “Like I said, I don’t know.” She looks back out the window.

 

“There’s a logo on it—I don’t recognize that logo.”

 

She doesn’t respond. Instead, she shrugs.

 

The name of the company is written in small letters, too hard to read from across the lane. “Beau—” I start reading aloud. She pulls her purse away before I can finish reading the first word.

 

“I’m sorry. This is my stop,” the woman says. What a bitch. I just wanted to know the designer.

 

“Wait.” I try to stop her, but she’s too agile, already off the bus before I stand up. The bus jolts forward, throwing me onto a bed of heels and painted toes.

 

“Hey!” a young girl yells.

 

“Watch it!” yells another.

 

“Sorry,” I say, springing back up to my feet. I grab the messenger bag.

 

“Oh my God, look at my shoes! They’re scuffed! They’re ruined!” a girl whines as I walk towards the exit.

 

I’m still four stops from home, but I’ll live. At least the silent streets don’t have judging stares.

 

BOOK: Bite: A Shifters of Theria Novel
2.79Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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