The prompt Avery picked for this story is “Get on with it.” What you are about to read is the second installment of Bad Blood. If you recall from last time, we learned that Victor (a vampire) had been arrested for killing several sorority girls. Judd is mortified and not sure what to make of the news, given the awesome time he had with Victor. Chapter 2 gives us insight into Victor’s current situation.
by Avery Dawes
Victor paced the confines of his small cell. The Paranormal Police Force had quickly discovered they couldn’t house vampires in human jails without retrofitting them for beings that had superior strength and senses. Giving into his frustration, Victor lashed out at the cement wall, which did nothing more than break some bones in his hand and scrape his knuckles. Before long, though, they would be back to normal. He cursed at the camera mounted in the far corner of the room before flipping off whoever kept watch over him. The bastards had turned the multitude of lights up to their highest setting, which caused a throbbing sensation behind his eyes. He turned his back to the camera before massaging his temples. Victor didn’t want to give the arrogant Detective Finan the satisfaction of knowing his tactics caused Victor distress. Although, the squirrely detective was probably hard at work – practicing his creative writing skills as he prepared the charges against Victor. Cause there’s no way he can have proof I killed those girls!
As a nearly 248 year old vampire, Victor had impeccable control of his thirst. Unlike the young vamps in the main holding area of the jail. That thought caused him to chuckle; one of the newbie vamps tried to get the best of Victor. When the “old fart” ignored the newbie’s taunts – “how much gel did it take to spike your hair” or “you really need to dress your age”, the guy tried some martial arts spinning move – much to his own detriment, of course. Now, Victor just wished for a shower to wash the young vamp’s blood out of his designer jeans. Sad to say, his punishment meant a transfer to the solitary confinement wing.
Equally depressing was the thought he wouldn’t be taking advantage of Judd or his luxurious shower anytime soon. Damn Paranormal Police! I can think of lots of things I’d like to do with and to Judd in that shower.
That thought led to all the vigorous “activities” they had participated in last night. When was the last time I enjoyed sex so much? When was I ever so sated after a round of fucking? He thought for a minute. And then two. And failed to come up with anything. The lawn boy was a good lay, but I just couldn’t deal with the grass smell and the dirt under his fingernails. Victor mock shivered. He tended to be obsessive-compulsive about personal hygiene. But the pool boy, ah . . . all that tanned skin and golden blonde hair . . . he, too, was good in bed but his brain was as empty as a new filter fresh out of the box. Being alive for so long, Victor had been with his share of men, but in the last fifty years or so, no one had really gotten under his skin. At least not like Judd had last night. The man’s lithe body, full lips, and the sounds he made when he came – incomparable. Throw in the added bonus of the taste of his blood and Victor was in heaven. If he wasn’t careful, though, the wanna-be-bad-boy Detective Finan would know his mind drifted from his current predicament to the sexy man with wavy brown hair and expressive hazel eyes.
A built-in monitor flared to life. A picture of the ruddy-faced detective filled the screen. “Oh look, it’s the crooked cop, who’s lying with every finger as he types.” Victor crossed his arms and waited for a response.
Of all the nerve: the man just smirked. Then he finally said, “You wish.”
Victor sighed and rolled his eyes. “Get on with it.”
“Anxious to hear how you’re going to be spending quality time in here?” Detective Finan leaned in closer to the camera and then said, “No, I know. You’re wondering what method of torture I’m going to use to extract a confession from you.”
“Keep talking, Finan. You’re really brave, broadcasting your threats from another room. Come down here and tell me in person.” Victor made sure to smile wide enough so that his fangs showed.
Gotcha. The detective flinched before recovering and pasting a haughty smile on his face. “I like that Miranda Rights don’t apply to you or that you’re considered guilty until proven innocent. Maybe I’ll just keep you in that cell until you die of starvation. No blood for you!”
Victor threw up his hands, exasperated. “I’m shaking in my Ferragamo’s as you can see. What do you want?”
It was the detective’s turn to sigh. “Your attorney is on his way here. As much as I would like to deny him access to you . . . well, I can’t. The interrogation will start once he arrives – not that he’ll be in the room with you. I do have that much power.”
Victor waved at the screen. “Good-bye, detective. I’ll see you soon.” He really needed to know what kind of proof the man had, but the detective was apparently too smart to reveal that just yet. Their little chat was Finan’s pathetic attempt at mind games.
When the monitor cut-off, Victor resumed his pacing. His attorney was well-known and respected; his connections should be enough to free Victor from this cell and the trumped up murder charges. Forcing his brain into action, Victor plopped down on the metal bench and began making a mental list of those vampires who could have set him up. He had a fair number of enemies, but the ones who wanted to see him dead and chopped into little pieces were still in Europe. Since he’d been in the U.S., he’d kept a low profile. Well, at least he thought he had. Victor pinched the bridge of his nose: he did have an alibi and a witness who could vouch for him. The only question was did he want to make Judd a target?
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