Dinner with a Vampire. Abigail Gibbs

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СКАЧАТЬ A single image flooded my mind behind my closed eyes: the lifeless body of Claude Pierre, crumpled and bleeding on the stone flag.

      ‘I could snap that pretty neck of yours in two with less effort than it would take for you to squeal,’ he whispered in my ear. ‘So I suggest that you do what we say, because you can’t outrun us and the police won’t stop us.’

      I didn’t know what the hell he meant by ‘Prince’ but I believed the rest of it. The sincerity in his voice was equal to the malice. I bowed my head, beaten.

      ‘Better,’ he murmured. He grabbed my hand and tugged. As I whirled around to follow him, I saw a man sprinting into the end of the street. His dull beige suit looked odd when compared to the narrow streets and sordid bars of the back alleys. His feet slowed and he came to a stop, staring straight at us, his hand shooting up to his head, almost as if in defeat. I inhaled sharply. I knew him. He worked with my father. Or rather he worked for my father.

      He took a few hesitant steps forward, his eyes resting on me. For a brief moment, I met his gaze, but he averted his eyes and backed away. With a raised hand, he gestured behind him as policemen and -women rounded the corner. Their steps slowed and they came to a halt, watching us with fear burning in their eyes as Kaspar turned, allowing his gaze to roam across the officers, almost daring them. He exhaled and squared his shoulders, pulling me close to his chest. I tried to fight him and yell out for help, but he twisted my arm behind my back, leaving me yelping as though daggers were being thrust into my side where the stitch was. Entwining his arm around my waist, he backed away a few paces, dragging me with him.

      He bent down to my ear and snarled. ‘Too slow.’ Without another word, he swept me up in his arms and flung me over his shoulder. I started to protest, pummelling his back, but he didn’t seem to notice as everything became a blur. The buildings were flashing by and when I looked up, the crowd had gone. In fact, we were not even in the same street. My heart sunk. He had been right. They had not chased us. Why had they not tried to stop us?

      In minutes, we had left the chaos behind. I did not want to know how fast we were moving – all I knew was that it was fast enough to make my head spin. I closed my eyes to keep my head and breathing in check, but just a few seconds later my feet made contact with the ground and I landed in a heap at Kaspar’s shoes beside two very expensive-looking cars.

      I blinked, convinced I was seeing double. They were identical, from the perfectly polished black of the body to the heavily tinted windows. Even the number plates were similar, except for one letter.

      Who the hell are these people? Handsome and brilliantly rich; their fatal flaw was murder. I swallowed as those thoughts faded. I knew enough of London to know the hallmarks of organized crime. Yet the police didn’t stop us.

      The sound of distant sirens broke the quiet of the side-street and somebody behind me picked me up, bundling me into the backseat of the nearest car. He slammed the door and walked around, getting in the other side. I recognized him as the one who shared the same eye colour as Kaspar – emerald. Kaspar and Fabian got in the front of the same car, with Kaspar driving.

      ‘Put your seatbelt on,’ ordered the guy sitting next to me. I ignored him, sitting as rigid as a plank, with my arms folded across my chest. He gave an exasperated sigh and reached across, grabbing my belt.

      ‘Freak,’ I muttered. The boy chuckled.

      ‘The name is Cain, not ‘freak’. I’m his younger brother,’ he revealed, nodding in the direction of Kaspar, which explained the uncanny likeness. ‘What did you say your name was?’

      ‘Violet. Violet Lee,’ I muttered and with that went silent. Gazing out the window I could see yet more police cars pass by. My stomach flipped as I saw a policeman glance over at us. His eyes locked with mine for a brief moment, before he turned away, as if he hadn’t seen me at all.

      We were leaving the city behind now, already out of the congestion zone. As we started hitting the open roads, I felt the car speed up and I glanced at the speed dial. It was hitting one hundred. I felt a familiar thrill in my stomach, but for once, it wasn’t welcome. My head was pounding and throbs of pain were still shooting down my side. I pressed my hands to my ribs and it eased a little, but not much.

      I curled up on the seat, drawing my knees up to my chest, leaning my head against the cool window. My eyes were drooping and my body was begging for the release of sleep, but I didn’t want to think about what would happen if I allowed myself to drop off. Holding back the tears, I mechanically began analyzing my situation with as much detachment as I could muster.

      I had just witnessed the mass murder of thirty men in the centre of London. I had been kidnapped by six fast and strong guys who did not seem to want to kill me – yet. I did not know where the hell I was going, who the hell these people were, and what the hell was going to happen or how long it would take for someone to notice I was missing.

      I began to contemplate jumping from the door, but just as a plan had started to form there was a click and the central locking turned on. A dry sob escaped my lips.

      Joining the deserted M25, we left the city I loved behind. The scenery gradually changed from city to suburban and eventually to sprawling fields, dotted with the occasional town or village. The signs we passed read Kent and I began to wonder whether they might be heading to the port at Dover to get to France. A glimmer of hope began to ignite in my heart. There was no way they would get through the port. But that hope dwindled as we veered not south, but north, towards Rochester.

      Another sob escaped and I saw Kaspar glaring into the rear-view mirror. His brother, Cain, placed a hand on my shoulder and I stared at him, wide-eyed. He didn’t look like a killer. He looked like a kid.

      He smiled. In my mind, I heard a man shrieking.

      I shrugged him off and turned into the seat, my hair forming a curtain, shielding me from view. I let my forehead rest against the window. Tears began to fall, unchecked, streaming down the glass and tracing patterns in my breath on the window. Wrapping my arms around my shoulders, I delved into my mind.

      I knew what I had left behind. The question was: What was I going to find ahead?

      THREE

       Violet

      An hour stuck in a car with three deranged killers was not my idea of fun. I couldn’t sleep, for fear of what might happen. I couldn’t talk because Mr Charming-went-out-the-window constantly reminded me that I was at his mercy and should therefore keep my mouth shut. I couldn’t even look out the window, because it was too dark, so instead I had to listen to an animated conversation about someone called Amber von Hefner’s tits. Lovely.

      The sun was beginning to rise, and I glanced at my watch: an early birthday present from my father. My father. What would he and my mother do when they found out what had happened to me? What about Lily, my little sister? She was just thirteen; she should not have to deal with this.

      But more crucial thoughts ran through my head: What would these strange killers do? Hold me to ransom? ‘Silence’ me? It didn’t even bear thinking about.

      Looking back at my watch I realized it was half-past four in the morning and approaching sunrise, the first glimmers of light appearing. The fields were falling away, giving way to thick, dense forest. The road was becoming more winding, and fewer and fewer cars were passing by, as all the time we climbed up and up.

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