Page 2 of Bite

I work up the nerve to count the cash in my pocket. Twenty-seven dollars, mostly in ones and some sticky coins. Not even enough for groceries, let alone rent.

Dammit.

My phone buzzes, and I swipe open the screen.

Bex

Here! Let me in, bitch!

Pushing up from the futon, I hit the button by the front door to buzz her in, then step out into the hall to wait. Her short black hair bounces around her head as she jogs up the stairs, breath puffing in the cold. She tips her head back to gaze up at me, dark eyeliner smudged just enough to make her look like trouble. And she is– in thebestway.

“Thought you had a shift tonight?” she calls, her voice echoing through the stairwell.

I hang my forearms over the rail, peering down at her with a frown. “Got fired,” I reply flatly.

A smirk curls her red-painted lips as she cranes her neck to hold my gaze, still bounding up the steps. “What’d you do this time? Spill hot coffee in another customer’s lap?”

“Worse. Slapped my boss.”

She stutters a step and blinks up at me, then jogs up the rest of the stairs faster, panting when she reaches the top of the landing. “What’d he do?”

“Whipped it out and told me to suck it,” I mutter, cringing.

Bex wrinkles her cute little nose in disgust. “Ugh, gross.”

“Tell me about it.” I sling an arm over her slender shoulders, guiding her into my apartment.

She makes herself right at home, tossing her jacket over the back of the futon and grabbing a beer from the fridge while I close the door behind us and flip both deadbolts.

Where I’m all edges and grit, Bex is fire and flash– tattoos, neon nails, too much eyeliner, and a cackle that could shatter glass. She wears her black hair in a razor-sharp bob that angles at her chin, and one glare cut from her fierce green eyes can make a man wilt in fear.I’ve seen it.She’s an incredible artist, picks up occasional modeling gigs, and somehow always lands on her feet no matter how chaotic life gets. Basically, she’s a total badass, and I count myself lucky to exist in her orbit.

I make my way back over to the futon, reclaiming my spot with a heavy sigh.

“So, what now?” Bex asks, plopping down beside me and twisting the cap off her beer. “You gonna try selling your used panties online or something?”

I snort a laugh, shaking my head. “Hard pass. But there’s no way I’m gonna make rent. I’d scheduled double shifts forthe next two weeks and was counting on those tips to pull me through.”

She takes a sip of her beer, tilting her head. “How much do you need?”

“I’ve got twelve hundred due next week,” I mutter, leaning forward to snatch my own beer off the coffee table. “And no idea how I’ll come up with it.”

She winces as she swallows, wiping her mouth off on a wrist. “I can float you a couple hundred, but that’s all I’ve got right now. Have my own rent due.”

“Thanks,” I breathe, shoulders slumping. “Just need to figure out how to get the rest, or I’m out on my ass.”

Bex pokes her tongue against the inside of her cheek, squinting at me. “What about blood donation?” she asks tentatively. “With all the vamps around the city, it’s always in demand. Easy money.”

“Yeah, but it’s only fifty bucks a pop, and you have to wait forty-eight hours between donations,” I scoff. “There’s no way I’d make enough in time.”

She hesitates for a beat, taking another pull from her beer bottle. “Well, that’s through the blood banks. There are other ways,” she says cryptically.

I narrow my eyes on her. “What do you mean?”

“There are…services,” she replies, picking at a loose thread on the hem of her sweater. “Private ones. The safe kind. You set boundaries, get screened, get paid a hell of a lot more…”

“You meanlivedonations?” I choke, nearly spitting out my beer. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I’m not,” she deadpans. “I’ve done a few. Just when I was desperate. And it was fine. Safe, even. I did it through an agency. They vet the clients, and everything’s completely confidential.”