Feeling a bit better now that I have a plan, I gulp some water from the bathroom tap, take a piss, and hop into the shower. All going well, I’ll be out of here in a few hours and on the road to Leeds. The boys are going to laugh their heads off when they hear about this!
After I’ve washed and dressed in the same clothes I was wearing yesterday, I knock on the door. It opens immediately, but there’s no one behind it, which is a bit strange. Before I have a chance to think, I’m propelled out of the bathroom. Despite me struggling to go left towards the front door (which I can see right there!), I’m forced right and into a comfortably furnished, but dimly lit lounge. It’s a basement flat and winter, so there’s not much daylight at all. I squint, and the main light switches on. Ah, that’s better.
Now I can see a woman with red hair tied up in a ponytail lying on a cream couch. An open book is propped up on her knees. Sitting on the arm of the couch is the brunette who answered the door last night. They’re both strikingly pretty, but my gaze lands on Sadie, who’s leaning on the windowsill. Her small pink T-shirt is tight around her breasts, and I can tell she’s not wearing a bra as hernipples are clearly defined. And her black skirt is more of a belt, showing off bare legs that resemble smooth ivory. They’re crossed at the ankles, which taper into delicate arched feet with pink toes. I gulp, feeling that tug of attraction in my groin again. She’s obviously insane, more’s the pity, but she’s super hot too.
Everyone is looking at me.
‘Hi, Elliott,’ Sadie drawls. ‘How was your ... shower?’
Her sultry voice makes it sound like I was wanking off in there or something.
‘Fine,’ I say gruffly, determined not to blush in front of her. ‘You mentioned something about breakfast?’
‘As promised.’ She nods to a side nook, where there’s a table set with a plate and spoon, a box of cornflakes, a jug of milk, and a banana. Basic, but it’s food, I guess. And it will help me think clearly and logically.
I shovel cereal into my mouth and chew rapidly, glancing at the two girls on the couch, who haven’t spoken yet. But the brunette is staring at me curiously, as if she hasn’t seen a man before. She seems a bit odd. And really pale, like she doesn’t go outside much. The red-headed girl, with the long ponytail, is reading and acting like I don’t exist.
‘Hi, I’m Elliott. We met last night?’ I address the brunette politely. Maybe if I get to know her, she can help me escape. She seemed shocked at seeing me at the front door.
The girl nods. ‘We did. Nice to see you again.’
‘Yes, sorry,’ says Sadie. ‘These are my flatmates, Floss and Hester.’ She nods at each in turn. ‘I’ve filled them in on the details, and we had a flat meeting about it last night. We all agree.’ Her eyes slide to the redhead, whose lips are pursed. ‘Well, Hester was a little resistant at first, but she’s come round to my way of thinking. So the upshot is you’re going to be staying here with us for a while. Until we get things set up anyway.’
I almost choke on my mouthful of half-chewed cereal. They’reallfucking crazy! Then remember I need to stay cool and calm about this and obtain as much information as possible—for the police.
‘Right,’ I say. ‘So are you going to tell me what this job is?’
Sadie gnaws at her bottom lip, and a flash of unease crosses her face. It’s the first time I’ve seen her look rattled.
‘It’s ... er ... a humanitarian position.’
‘Humanitarian? I don’t get it.’
Sadie rolls her eyes. ‘We need blood, OK? A regular supply. And you’re going to get it for us.’
I blink, looking round at them. ‘B-blood?’ I stutter. Blood is not good. Blood equates to murder.
‘Yes,’ says Sadie impatiently. ‘To drink.’
My physical reaction to this statement—namely heart pounding and palms sweating—seems to be causing extreme interest amongst everyone. All three are now leaning forward slightly, noses raised, and their eyes are focused solely on my neck.
I think I’m in deep shit.
Chapter 11
Sadie | London, 1758
I’m escorted through a narrow hallway that leads to a large back bedroom. It’s well furnished and has a feeling of snug comfort, especially when the gentleman lights the gas lamps and the room glows golden. I glance once at the big bed laid with a dark-green satin coverlet and then away, knowing that’s where I’m to spend the rest of the evening.
Does he live here alone?I wonder, looking around at various items in the room. From the framed maps on the wall and the various knick-knacks—coloured glass bottles, jars of shells, carved animals—arranged haphazardly on the mantel, it appears he likes to travel, picking up various treasures here and there as he goes.
The gentleman removes his black woollen cloak with a flourish, hooking it onto a coat stand. Again, I’m struck by how breathtakingly handsome he is. He gives the impression of old money and ancient castles; of claret sipped by a fireside after a hearty meal.
‘Am I permitted to know your name, sir?’ I ask.
‘Mr Darius Vexley,’ he says gruffly. ‘But please call me Darius for the duration of our appointment, Miss Smith.’ His lips quirk. ‘I enjoy hearing women call out my name in the throes of passion.’
He’s confident,I think. I suppose I could fake it and moan his name if that’s what he likes. Despite my popularity for making men spill their seed, I don’t usually orgasm myself. Not that they care. They’re paying me for their pleasure, not mine. I can’t even remember the last time I came ... I think it was last month with that duke fellow who insisted on several more goes until I did, but he never paid extra ...
