Page 12 of Born Reckless
He's alone. He sitting in a space between buildings and between his legs, he beats on a simple bucket. He’s sitting on another one, performing for the crowd, but no one is paying attention to him.
My feet pick up the pace. I'm barely containing myself, all I want to do is all-out sprint, but I know that I would run so fast that I might collide into someone, and possibly obliterate them in the process. Somewhere in the recesses of my brain, I process the impossible strength this new body possesses.
Ten steps away. Five steps away. One step away.
I grab the man by the front of his shirt, and I don't even hesitate one second at the added weight of his body. He gets one yelp out before I pin him against a building, hidden in the dark shadows, and my growing fangs sink into his neck.
His blood is just as good as the woman's. It's the best thing I've ever tasted. The most satisfying thing I've ever drank. I pull more and more and more.
Somewhere in the recesses of my consciousness, I recognize the fact that Elena is standing in front of me and the man, her back turned to us. She's blocking any line of sight someone might have between us.
She isn’t shocked by what I'm doing. She isn’t horrified.
And as I pull the last drops from the man, I remember the last sight I had of her before the world went dark. Blood dripping down her chin. Her biting into someone's neck, coming away with a chunk of flesh. I remember her brilliant red eyes and the black veins sprouting from them.
I let go of the man, his body hitting the ground instantly.
Whatever Elena is, I think I'm that now, too.
“What the hell?” I gasp in horror. “Elena, did you…did you turn me into this?”
"Let's go," my best friend says as she once more reaches for me and drags me back out into the open sidewalk.
“No.”
“Come on. We have to get out of here.”
She pulls a tissue from her bag and hands it to me. With horror, I realize I’m walking around the streets of Las Vegas with blood dripping down my face.
Elena hails a taxi, and we climb inside. "The airport, please."
Chapter Three
Elena is always sosure of herself. She is a businesswoman, through and through. And despite everything that just happened in the last five minutes, it’s still clearly obvious. Her voice is calm and even and commanding.
The taxi driver simply gives a nod and pulls back out into the traffic.
Questions are burning my mouth. They are rising up out of me so fast, I feel like I could vomit. But I can't ask them now. Not with someone else trapped inside this small space with us.
So, I hold it all in. I begin building a mental checklist in my head, a list of all of the questions that I need answered the very second we’re alone.
The drive to the airport feels like an eternity, despite the fact that my brain is ticking down the seconds. In reality, it only takes us ten minutes to reach it. But there is so much riding on this, I'm so confused, that it all feels like it takes ten thousand times longer than it actually does.
Finally, we climb out of the taxi, and Elena pays the driver. But she doesn't head to the main doors. She walks up to an attendant window and speaks in a low voice to the man there. He nods toward a black car waiting at the curb.
We climb inside and just four minutes later, it stops. I look around to see that we’re in a far corner of an airport. There are dozens of smaller planes around here.
"Come on," Elena says. She opens the door, and we both climb out.
There is a pilot waiting. A set of stairs extends down from the beautiful aircraft. The man doesn't look shocked or surprised when he sees the state of us. "Ms. Godfrey," he says simply with the nod of his head.
"St. Louis," Elena says simply. "We need twenty-four hours there. And then we will return home. Mason is just a few minutes behind us."
"Of course," he says. Such a good, obedient employee.
I take a deep breath as we walk up the stairs and pass him. His heart still beats, but he doesn't smell the same as everyone else out there in the streets. He isn’t human. Whatever the hell I am, whatever the hell Elena is, the pilot is the same.
The interior of the jet is… luxurious. There are eight seats inside of it, each of them upholstered in plush, white leather. The space is clean, and every bit of it screams money.