Page 26

Reyna stumbled out of the main room of the brothel. It was difficult to see where she was going through the tears in her eyes, but she pushed past people anyway. All she wanted to do was be alone. She felt a breakdown coming on and couldn’t allow herself to do that in front of people.

Yet she couldn’t seem to find anywhere unoccupied. The Vault was built like a maze, trapping her inside and refusing to let her out of its grip. All she did was move in the opposite direction of the traffic. After a few minutes, she found a long hallway lined with doors that was practically empty compared to the rest of the building.

She wiped her eyes softly, trying not to smudge her makeup, and then walked down the hallway in search of an empty room. She wrenched open the first door. A man had a woman bent at the waist and was drilling into her from behind. Reyna squeaked and then quickly slammed the door shut.

She raced farther down the hallway and tried another door. This one was even more disturbing. There were at least ten people involved in whatever sex acts were going on.

“Don’t you see the room is occupied?” a woman yelled at her.

“Sorry. Sorry. I didn’t know,” Reyna murmured.

A nude vampire man who had been watching the display grabbed her wrist. “Hey, love, not so fast. You look absolutely delicious. Why not stay and join us? Plenty of room for one more.”

Reyna felt panic setting in. “No…no, thank you.”

“Oh, come on. We’ll be gentle. Won’t we?”

His eyes clearly said that gentle wasn’t even a word in his repertoire. Reyna yanked away from him, but he circled her waist and drew her farther into the room.

“Let me go,” she shrieked. “I said no!”

“You’re part of the Vault,” he said, breathing in the scent of her hair. “ No doesn’t exist here, doll.”

Reyna blanched. “That’s rape.”

“You’re here. You already gave consent,” he said callously. “How tasty you must be with all that blood running so fast through your veins. I can feel your heartbeat skyrocketing.”

“Please, please let me go.” She sounded breathy and desperate, and she didn’t care. She was desperate. She hadn’t wanted this to happen. She had wanted to be left alone to sort out what had happened with Beckham.

“Let’s see what type you are. Not that it matters in here.” He cackled.

Reyna froze in place. This was exactly what Beckham had said. These people were obviously part of the first faction of vampire who had no regard for humanity. They didn’t care if they raped her or if drinking from her would inevitably kill her or everyone else in the room.

The man grabbed her wrist, his nails biting into her skin. He glanced down at the diamond bracelet Beckham had put on her wrist earlier that evening. When he read the inscription, he dropped her hand as if he’d been burned.

“Beckham Anderson?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, stumbling backward.

“I’ll take my chances with someone else. The man is a feral murderer.”

Reyna didn’t need to be told twice. She bolted out of the room to the sound of laughter. She ran all the way down the hallway until she was sure no one else had come down this far, then entered an entirely empty room. She crashed back onto the bed, curled her knees up to her chest, and let the tears flow.

After a minute of near-hyperventilation, she forced herself to get it under control. She could be upset—about Beckham, about Penelope, about the man who had wanted to rape her—but she couldn’t let it leave this room.

No wonder Beckham hadn’t wanted to bring her here. He didn’t even drink from her. He certainly didn’t want to share, and yet he was out there drinking from Penelope. Doing who knows what to Penelope.

Ugh! She couldn’t even think about that.

She had fallen for him. That much was certain. It wasn’t just physical anymore. She saw the real Beckham in the glimpses. The way he told her about the Elle rebels, the way he constantly looked out for her and protected her, the black card he had given her while asking nothing in return, the camera he had given her when she needed an escape, the way he talked to her about photography. Everything. He wasn’t the hard businessman that he showed everyone else. He was a different man entirely, and it was breaking her heart into a million little pieces to accept that he wasn’t going to be hers.

As sexy as this place had seemed when she first entered, the Vault was a disease. It did nothing but perpetuate the very behavior the blood type cure had tried to curb.

She longed for her camera to reveal the real dark side of the vampire elite, but of course she couldn’t do that. She didn’t have her camera, and even if she did, she wouldn’t implicate Beckham in this. As much as she hated him right now, she wouldn’t hurt him the way he had hurt her.

All she wanted was to go home to her brothers. She had saved enough for a little while, and she would redouble her efforts to get another job once she got back to them. Anything would be better than this game they were playing.

She sat up on the bed and took a deep breath. Yes. That was what she would do.

Just as she came to that conclusion, the door to her room popped open. She scrambled to her feet, ready to tell the person to leave her alone. Then Roland walked in, closed and locked the door, and she knew immediately that she was royally fucked.

“Hello, pet.”

Reyna attempted to mask the fear rolling off of her. Roland was not like the other vampire, who had released her at the mention of Beckham’s name. Roland knew no fear. He had been toying with her for weeks, waiting for the right opportunity to strike.

“You’ve been playing cat and mouse with me.” He ambled forward slowly. He watched her with close attention.

“No, I haven’t.” She put conviction in her voice, but she worried it was lost. All she had was fear at this point. How could she escape Roland in a locked room made for this very thing?

Roland tsked her like a petulant child. “No lying, pet. I’ve been watching you. I knew I would find you alone eventually.”

He stepped even closer to her, and she hurried away from him. The deadly smirk on his face only increased with her fear. He backed her up until her knees hit the bed. She sat down heavily and scooted out of his reach.

“Beckham is probably looking for me,” she told him.

“No. He’s not,” Roland said with conviction. “He’s thoroughly occupied with Miss Sky and will be for some time, I assume. He always is.”

Reyna winced at the mention of Penelope and Beckham alone together. The worst of it all was that it was true. Beckham hadn’t even seen her leave when he drank from Penelope. He wouldn’t be looking for her, and Roland clearly enjoyed watching the realization come over her.

“But no worry.” Roland ran his hand down her arm. She felt sick to her stomach. “I plan to keep you occupied on my own.”

Reyna dashed to the other side of the bed and ran to the door. But before she had even made it past the bed, Roland grabbed her arm. She cried out as he held her in a bruising grasp before throwing her back against the foot of the bed.

He laughed. “You will not leave. I’ve ensured it.” His hand brushed her dark hair out of her face like a caress. She gritted her teeth. “Now, where were we? Oh, yes. Don’t tell me that you haven’t imagined this moment. I know I have.”

“I’ve never thought about you in that way,” she growled.

“You would think of him that way, but not me?” he asked in disgust. “He has no interest in you but as a passing fancy. I find your will entertaining. A thing worth breaking like a prized stallion. Back home in France, we used to pay a pretty penny for a broken horse. I will see it done to you, too. Starting tonight.”

Reyna screamed as he lunged for her. She darted out from under his arm and dashed toward the door again. She grappled with the lock, but she wasn’t fast enough. Roland’s hand clamped down on her hair and wrenched her backward. She yelled as some of her hair was pulled from the root and her twist unraveled from its pins. As he dragged her by her hair across the room, she lost her footing and he dug in deeper to yank her along.

He threw her back on the bed and crawled on top of her. Tears streamed down her face from the pain in her scalp and the terror of what was to come.

“Look at the way you tremble and cry and taste,” he said, bending down and licking her tears off of her cheek. “Oh, I plan to savor your taste.”

His hands fell to her corset, and he ripped it open from top to bottom, revealing her breasts to him.

“Please, no,” she cried. “Please, please, no. No, no, no, no, no.”

“Oh, yes, you will be a delicacy.” Roland bent down and kissed her on the lips. She recoiled from his touch and refused to yield. “How I love this game, but I was told not to play with my food.”

Her head was jerked back, exposing her throat. His fangs bore down toward her. She felt the touch of his mouth on her neck. It was over. This would be her first vampire bite and probably her last.

Then time slowed. The door to the room burst open. Roland lifted his head to see who dared disturb his private room, and Reyna caught a glimpse of Beckham looming in the doorway. He was a murderous shadow in all black, his face a storm cloud ready to release.

“Let her go, Roland,” Beckham said, his voice low and dangerous.

Roland laughed, on the edge of madness, but he made no move to release Reyna.

“She is mine .”

“Then come take her from me,” he challenged.

Beckham took one deadly step forward, and Roland moved to puncture her neck. Reyna screamed, but before Roland’s fangs reached her, he was yanked off of Reyna and hurled across the room. His back hit the wall, and he landed in a crouch on the ground.

“You would fight me over her?” Roland asked.

“You leave me no choice.”

Roland came to the same conclusion. Neither of them waited; they launched themselves at each other, moving so fast they were a blur. Reyna had thought Beckham’s fight with the rogue vampire in the alley had been too fast to follow, but this was something well beyond that. Roland and Beckham were both excellent fighters. They were on equal footing. Both deadly and terrifying, with pasts that spoke for themselves and had earned them the highest positions at Visage. She didn’t stand a chance of keeping up with the fight. Punches were thrown and blocked, bodies hurled against walls that shuddered and released plaster from the ceiling, and furniture broke into pieces at their assault. It was like a synchronized dance made lethal.

Reyna stayed out of the way of what was happening. She crouched in a corner, hugging her tattered corset to her chest. Neither of them slowed down as their attacks turned more and more brutal. Finally, everything slowed down to the one moment when Beckham landed a perfectly executed hit to Roland’s temple, and he dropped like a ton of bricks. Whatever Beckham had done had left Roland completely immobilized.

He wasn’t dead, Beckham wouldn’t want to kill him, but in that moment, she hoped for it.

“What is going on in here?” someone called, entering the destroyed room.

Reyna hadn’t even noticed that they had drawn a crowd. She held her corset tighter to her and curled deeper into her corner. She wanted to leave. She wanted to forget this night had ever happened. Beckham adjusted his suit and faced the man, who was pushing everyone else out of earshot.

“It’s been settled,” Beckham said.

“You know the rules, Mr. Anderson. No fighting of any kind.”

“I’m well aware of the rules. Mr. Batiste was taking possession of my property without my permission. I was within my rights to stop him.”

The man glowered at him. “Fine, but we must ask you to leave, as you have made quite a spectacle of yourself.”

“No one in, no one out,” he reminded them.

“We protect our own. We’ll take you out the back way.”

Beckham still looked murderous, and the man seemed ready to relent at any minute. But rules were rules, apparently, and Beckham had broken one of the cardinal ones to save her. Finally, he nodded.

Beckham turned to address her, and he realized she was mostly naked and shaking. “Oh, Reyna.”

He helped her to her feet. She couldn’t seem to stop herself from shaking at what she had witnessed. Beckham shrugged out of his jacket and quickly threw it around her shoulders. The jacket smelled like him, and she pulled it tight around her. He placed his hand on her lower back, but she stepped away from his touch. He might have fought for her, saved her, but that didn’t make up for all the other bullshit.

She was done. She was so done. Beckham Anderson had no right to her body or her mind any longer.

“Reyna,” he said, his voice straining.

She shot him an ugly glare and then teetered across the room. She made it only about halfway to the door before her legs gave out and she fell forward. Beckham was at her side in an instant, holding her up. She wrenched away, but the adrenaline was wearing off. She felt ragged and exhausted, humiliated and exposed, and angry. She felt so angry. But her body wasn’t listening to her. Her legs were not working.

Shock.

She was in shock.

When she didn’t move another step, Beckham scooped her up into his arms and carried her out of the room. She didn’t even have the words to argue with him. To shout at him and tell him to leave her alone. To tell him how much better her life had been without him in it.

The man who had forced Beckham to leave directed them down a hallway to where another door was located. It wasn’t quite as large as the Vault door but still looked sturdy.

“I’ll have to lock up behind you.”

“That’s fine. I’ll have my driver pick us up from our location,” Beckham said.

Then he carried Reyna through the door and out into a long tunnel completely devoid of any- and everything. The club door slammed behind them, sealing itself shut and casting them into utter darkness.