Chapter 1: And So It Begins . . .

Beep. Beeeep. Beep. Beeeep. Be-
My hand snakes out from beneath the covers and silences the dollar-store alarm clock. I grab it, squinting at the LED display. 9:15 PM. Slowly, I open my eyes, letting the neon rays of the city pierce my retinas with their ambient glow. The remnants of a hot summer day past have all but vanished by the time I drag my ass out from under the comforter. Rubbing the sleep sand from my eyes, I swing my feet to the floor and curse, recoiling from the cold concrete. I finally stand. My back is popping like bubble wrap and I can feel the pain starting. Good thing I have a chiropractor appointment at midnight. Maybe he can do something about it. I stretch, and the pain really starts.
"Yay," I mutter.
I shuffle, half naked, to the kitchenette and pull open the mini-fridge. I groan. There is nothing in it but Corona, Coors Light, a head of lettuce, O negative and A/B positive bags, and cigarettes. I can't believe it. I hate having a roomie! Lazy, disorganized, not to mention that the bastard keeps stealing my blood and my Johnny Cash CDs.
Roommates suck.
I shut the fridge and resign myself to go out and feed. I don't enjoy that at all. Maybe I can find some old homeless wino. The mere thought makes me cringe. Forget it, I'll just go and pick up a damned chump-change vampire. Moving to the stereo, I flip through the collection of CDs that I have found over the years. What the case was doing on top of the fridge, I will never know,but . . . wait. Why the hell do we have LETTUCE? I shake my head and go back to looking through the CDs, and what do you know! Johnny Cash is gone. Again. I take a deep breath.
"Damned son of a-!" Aw, hell. Screw the whole lot of it. No point in crying over it. I grab my Rammstein out of its sleeve,throw it into the player, close the top, and press play. Of course, I blare the damned thing. I smile when the downstairs neighbor starts banging on the ceiling of his apartment. I turn back and go to the couch. It's one of those pull-out dealies. I whip the comforter off to reveal my roomie.
Keith is snoring, sound asleep. His tight, lithe body instinctively curls into a fetal position when the blanket disappears. But that's it. Between the cold air pouring from the rickety air conditioner and the heavy metal thunder, I figured he'd wake up or at least grumble for fuck's sake. Damn, I swear that vamp could sleep through a mortar attack! I climb back onto the couch and spoon against his back, my own toned body conforming to his shape. Keith moans and reaches for the now non-existent blanket. I grasp his hand, conscious of my immense strength, and lay it back down. Doing so makes him growl deep in his chest, much like a tiger. Shivers go down the length of my spine. Then I get an idea. Devious as it is, I like it. I know how to wake this little piece of meat up. I crane my neck around so I have a perfect shot at his tender neck. Just this simple action awakes the hunger; I can feel my eyeteeth pushing through my gums. Slightly painful, but forgettable. I open my mouth, lean down, and brush his neck with my fangs. Then I settle my lips on his soft skin, sucking and nibbling. Keith stiffens at this delicate teasing, but does nothing to stop my vampiric assault on his neck. I continue caressing and licking, bringing his hot blood ever closer to the surface, and then let my hand wander to the front of his jeans, massaging the growing mass between his legs. This makes him groan and move his hips back, bumping my own penis, which has grown with excitement. I slowly unzip and unbutton his jeans and take his dick out into my expert hand, stroking and tugging gently.
Keith tries to tun over now, but I block his attempt with my body. That's for later, love. I stay silent. My teeth make quick contact, and he moans as I draw my tongue over the superficial wound I make. I taste blood, sweat, and his adrenaline. His hand finds its way to my boxers and tugs them down, unleashing my raging hard-on. I pulse in his hand as he lavishes my main man with attention. My nerves light up. My breathing becomes ragged, and I almost can not control my hand on him. But I calm a bit, gather my control over the situation again. Keith whispers my name and pushes me onto my back, but I am ready for this. I flip him onto his back and run my entire torso against the head of his dick. Keith moans and grabs my hips. I ignore this (with IRON WILL, mind you) and continue my assault on his neck, spicing up the encounter by thrusting against him at the same time. My excitement grows too fast, and Keith only makes matters worse by grabbing my balls, rolling them in his hand. Holy shit. That does it. My involuntary jerk sends my teeth plunging past the thin barrier of his skin. Keith freezes, paralyzed but the shock of adrenaline and pain coursing through his veins. I wrap my hands around his shoulder and neck, going for the feed . . .
The phone rings.
"Son of a fuckin' A!" Keith moans sadly as I get up, blood dribbling out of my mouth and off his collar bone. Of course, I have to answer it. Could be my 'employer'. I grab the handset on the fourth ring. "Yeah?"
Silence, then, "Meet me at the Palacade in one hour." Click. More silence. Fuck.
Keith had sat up by the time I hang up. "Business?"
I nod. "Sorry, love. Maybe we can finish this another time?"
He smiles and motions me forward. I do so, and suddenly he grabs my ass and pulls me down on his lap, his dick standing between my legs. "Fuck me first." His neck is still dripping blood, so I lean forward and lap at the stream. "A quickie."
"Fair enough," I growl.



An hour later, I am well fed and at the Palacade, which is exactly what its name implies. Are you rich? Powerful? Famous? Infamous?
This place will make you cream in your panties.
I stand at the base of the marble staircase and look up at the gilded entrance. You can taste the glitz and glamour. Let me tell you, it is a bitter taste at best. A lady sheathed in a mink fur coat and stilleto heels breezes past me, smelling of expensive perfume and even more expensive tastes. I catch a glimpse of a Chihuahua in one jewel encrusted hand. I shake my head, disgusted. Ah, well. I adjust the fit of my red silk tie and smooth down the black cotton dress shirt I just bought. I then check my clack jeans for lint and my matte black wingtip shoes to see if one had come untied. Finally, I slip off my black leather bomber jacket, drape it over one arm, and adjust my silver ring. I smooth back my long black hair and tie it back with a red hair tie. Yeah, I know. Typical vampire style. But I love it.
Okay, ready to advance into the decadence of the Palacade. This had better be good, or I am going to knock Lorenzo Fuentes through the roof.
You see, Lorenzo Fuentes is my 'boss', for lack of a better word. Well, actually I can think of a lot of words to call Fuentes, but none are for prime time TV. He handles my contracts and what-not. In short, I am a killer for hire. A hit-man, if you will. Death merchant, mercenary, and other names. My weapon of choice? My teeth.
I spot Fuentes, who seems to be enjoying the company of two pretty bunnies. It helps that he is a good looking, smooth talking man, like me. I have something he does not, though. Let's call it 'vampiric charm'. As I walk past, women of all ages and races follow me with their eyes. Some stop eating, some even pause conversations to gawk at the dark, handsome wraith that sweeps past them like out of a romance novel. I even grace the better looking ones with a sidelong glance, and then I am gone. Just like the movies. I move through the sea of warm human bodies, feeling sick to my stomach. I hate human decadence and vice!
I arrive at the table. I don't wait for an invitation. I pull out a chair and sit down directly across from the man. Fuentes shooes the women away, but they take their time, sharing giggles and stealing glances at me. Believe me when I say that I really don't like this kind of attention. Finally, they walk away, undoubtedly talking about Fuentes and his really hot 'friend' that they would really like to 'get to know', if you know what I mean. Whatever. I glance at him. He's looking at me with a smile, but there is no mirth in the way his lips twist. This bastard is a predator, just like me. He just plays the game a little differently.
"Bold as always, Mr.Cole."
I snort. "You think I am bold, Fuentes?" I look around us to make my point. He only folds his hands, his elbows on the glass table. His dark grey suit does a bad job of concealing his gun and his bulk. I shake my head. "This had better be good, Fuentes. I've got an appointment at midnight and you disrupted my meal."
Fuentes laughs. "Of course it's good, Mr. Cole. If it wasn't, I wouldn't have called you." He reaches beneath the table, and I flash my fangs as warning. "Relax, Mr. Cole." His hand reappears clutching a cream colored folder with a clasp. My work papers. I detect a slight tremor in his hand as he slides it to me. Good. One lesson learned tonight. I take the folder and slip it under my coat, which is on my lap.
"All the information you need is in there. Do with it what you will. One million cold hard American currency. No headlines unless unavoidable."
I laugh, amused that Lorenzo would think that I couldn't pull off a hit without headlines. "There will be no headlines, Fuentes. You know better than that."
"Yes, but our mutual friend does not."
I shake my head. "Very well. Where will the money be?"
"He says that he will pay up front. He is that confident in your skills."
Good. That's the way I like it. I nod once and stand. Fuentes raises his hands.
"What? Are you not going to stay and sample the grand selection of drinks they offer here?"
The girls have returned, and the smile I give the death broker could freeze flame. "No."
"Why not?"
"I don't like the clientele." I look around for good measure. "Too thin blooded. Goodbye."
I walk away.


Once back in my Toyota Camry, I review the papers. What I see, I don't like. Not one bit.
Raul Juan Costas. Multi-billion dollar corporate scum. Makes his living destroying people's lives and livelihood with big, big, BIG company contracts and mergers. Annihilates both mom and pop businesses and huge corporations alike. And this little shit has it all, and more! Surely, he must have pissed off someone along the ladder of success and excess. My smile is cold as I look further into this bastard's file. The women, the money, the cars, high tech banks backing every move, the front corporations hiding all kinds of nasty shit . . . oh, man. This man is mine! This is going to be just fantastic! Hell, I'd off him for a Klondike Bar! I can taste this one! Yummy. . . I turn the key to the electronics setting and switch on the radio. Molly Hatchet is singing, 'Flirting with Disaster', and I laugh. Soon, very soon, this man is going to be finished. I slide everything back into the folder, set the folder down on the passenger seat, and turn the engine over.
Nothing.
Wait . . . what? I blink a couple of times. What now? I try again. The damned thing chugs and coughs, and I start sweet-talking. "C'mon, baby, you can do it, just start for me sweetheart, Just start for me . . ." The engine promptly dies. " . . . bitch."
I have got to get me a new car. I get out and slam the door harder that I wanted to, and the door falls off. I stand still for a moment, then I have a conniption.
"Fuckin' hell, you mother-fucking son of a bitchin' fuckin' piece of donkey fuckin' SHIT!" I begin to beat the holy shit out of my crummy $300 car. I'm too pissed off to notice people starting to stare. But what the fuck do I care? I now have no god damned transportation to any-fuckin'-where! I don't hear the honk behind me, but I do notice the sleek black 2009 Dodge Viper rumble up next to my punching bag. Now, who could this be?
Suddenly, I know. Oh, crap. My attention is caught as the door opens , revealing one silky, exquisitely olive tinted leg, the another. Then time stands still as the rest of her body follows. My eyes begin at the black lacquered toe nails, then move up the frail looking ankles; they travel up the legs, pausing to relish the red kimono dress with side slits up to the hips; I allow my blue-grey eyes to drink up the luscious curves of the torso and fully developed and oh-so-sexy breasts, fully covered by the taunt silk of the dress; then finally I behold the essence of beauty personified.
"Kikio-dono." I can hardly contain the huskiness of my voice. My loins are officially on fire. My blood is on fire. My nerves - ditto. This five foot ten inch Asian goddess is possibly the most dangerous of our kind. Ulp. It feels very odd to be in love, horny, and terrified simultaneously. The worst thing of all is that she can sense all of this. Double-ulp. Kikio Asumaki-Nikko laughs, and my brain and heart both melt. The tone of her voice are bells to my ears. But that laugh is usually the last thing that both mortals and vampires hear. That doesn't exactly make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
I just get even hornier.
Dylan Cole could possibly die right here, and the mere thought makes him horny. Wow, I am special.
"Dylan-san." This is said simply.
I now have my boys under control, if not my fear. "So, how are you tonight?"
"Good. I see you are having car problems." She flips a lock of that fantastic hair away from her face.
"What?" I look around, and then my brain starts to function. "Oh, yeah! Yeah. That I am. It is kinda dead, you see. It will not start." Now I just go crazy. "So, yeah. I need to get to my chiropractor appointment in about . . . " I consult my watch. It is about eleven. ". . . an hour. Could you be so kind as to give me a lift?"
What the hell am I doing!!! I can not believe that I just asked that! She cocks her head to the left, and one immaculate eyebrow raises. "You go to a chiropractor, Dylan?"
"Uh, yeah. I do. Well, my back is fucked up. I fell out of a window from five stories, so, you see . . . " I run out of words. She seems to weigh the options. I think she realizes I am trying to show her my guts. Well, those guts are now in my throat, quivering in fear. Not my libido, no, of course not. That's jumping up and down, screaming, 'Fuck me fuck me fuck me now!'
Shut up, libido.
After a minute or so, she nods. "Very well, Dylan. I'll give you a lift."
My brain does a back flip. " Let me get my shit out of my car."
"What about your car, Dylan?"
I wave it off. "It's crap anyway. I don't care. Whoever wants it can have it."