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I wanted to roll my eyes. What an egotistical prick. As far as I could tell, Maisey and I were in mortal danger. But this guy was treating it all like it was an ordinary day at work. And he had the nerve to start trying to extort money or “favors” out of us while we were still on the run? Besides, he looked like he couldn't have been much past his mid-thirties. Who retired in their thirties?
“Look on the bright side,” he said. “The fact that I’m asking for payment means I expect to get you two through this in one piece. You would need to be worried if I wasn’t asking.”
“Or it means you’re hoping to collect as quickly as possible because you don’t think we’ll last long,” I muttered.
He gave me another concerning look—considering he was still driving like a lunatic in an action movie—then chuckled. “Good point. We can pick this discussion back up when we’ve met with my partner, then.”
Oh, great. He had a partner. Of course he did.
He pulled the truck to a screeching stop outside a nondescript bar, then tossed the keys to a young guy about my age outside. “Park this somewhere inconspicuous.”
The guy caught the keys and nodded at Riggs like he was afraid of him.
"Oh, hold on." Riggs went to the bed of the truck and unstrapped Steve. "There's a wounded vamp in the back. Put him in storage for now."
"No," Maisey said.
"Calm down Wonder Woman. We can't take him in there. The howlers will tear him to pieces the second they smell him. He'll be safe in storage. Safer than anywhere else, at least. Anybody finds out I brought a half-dead vamp to The Wet Flea, and he'll be fucked, though. That means you'll be fucked if anyone finds out, got it kid?" He was speaking to the young guy still holding the keys, who gulped and nodded.
"Storage," Riggs repeated. "Nobody knows what's in the back."
The kid nodded rapidly, then half-ran to get in the truck and took it around the block and out of sight.
"I don't like this," Maisey said.
Riggs sighed. "And I don't like missing my favorite food truck, which is closing in about ten minutes. But here we are, aren't we?"
"What is a howler?" I asked.
"One step above feral," he said offhandedly. "Oh, uh," he paused, frowning at me. "Steve might've spurted on you a bit."
"What?" I asked.
Maisey winced. "You got some blood on your face."
My stomach sank and I started to rub furiously. Blood. On my face? Calling myself a germaphobe wouldn't be accurate. It was more like I was allergic to germs. Blood was like the king of germs, and the idea of it on my face made me want to step into the nearest washing machine head-first.
"Here," Riggs said. He actually licked his thumb and started rubbing at my face. "You're just smearing it around like that."
I swatted at him and squirmed, but he just gripped me by the back of my head and proceeded to clean me with his spit. Just beneath my outrage, I found the whole ordeal equal parts mortifying and embarrassingly exciting.
As sad as it was to admit, having a hot guy thumb his spit around my lips and chin was about as erotic as my life had ever become. My poor, deprived body was humming with heat by the time he was done, and it definitely wasn’t all embarrassment.
Maisey tried slap at him to get him to stop, too, but it was all over in a few seconds. "She's got a compromised immune system, asshole," she grunted in between useless swings. “Quit slobbering on her face!"
"She's going to have a compromised neck if she goes in there smelling like vamp blood," he said.
He reached out and took hold of Maisey, just like he had with me, and started cleaning the blood from her skin with spit and elbow grease.
I had to admit I enjoyed watching her struggle and swear as he worked to clean her up, especially considering she needed a much more thorough cleaning.
My smile faded when I remembered what he was cleaning from us. Blood. On our faces.
A shiver ran through me. How the hell had I gone from throwing hopeless love notes out my window to this?
With us apparently cleaned enough for his standards, Riggs pulled open the nondescript door to the building. Instrumental music played with a dance-like rhythm inside. It was all electric guitars and heavy drumbeats.
I glanced past his broad shoulders to the room inside, which was packed with people who were all gyrating to the rhythm. I could see a bar off to the side and a band up on a stage, but not much else. It seemed dark in there, but instead of scaring me, that just made it seem more exciting.
