Read Online Vampire Miami by Philip Tucker - Free Book Online Page A

in a fresh bout of panic,
searched for a new place to hide, to bolt to. What had happened?
Before she could formulate a plan, they’d reached her and stood
towering over her chair, blocking out the rest of the room.
    The Hispanic guy held out his hand. “Give it
over.”
    “Give what?”
    “Whatever you’re using to connect. Don’t make us
take it.”
    Her Omni? She hesitated and pulled it out. It
was still recording. He snatched it out of her hands. Examined it,
and then expertly turned it off. Not just off, but powered it all
the way down. Slipped it into his pocket, and then nodded to the
bouncer who leaned down and grabbed her by the wrist and hauled her
roughly out of the seat.
    “Hey!” she yelled, yanking back on her arm. “Get
off me!”
    People were staring. Frightened, eyes wide,
their sultry moods shattered by the sudden violence, their latent
and ever-present fear rising to gleam in their eyes. The Hispanic
guy was already marching back to the door. The bouncer gave her a
shove, nearly knocked her sprawling, and forced her to follow.
Selah did so, rubbing her wrist, heart beating like a runaway train
again. Oh god, she thought. Oh god .
    They led her brusquely through the lounge, back
into the nexus. Selah entertained the wild idea of making a break
for the entrance, a sudden dash in the hopes of finding and then
hiding behind Maria Elena who would explain it all, but the
bouncer’s hand never strayed far from her shoulder—and in truth,
she was too scared. What if she only got in more trouble?
She let them lead her through a narrow door she hadn’t noticed
before into a cramped corridor beyond.
    The music was immediately reduced to a muffled
bass beat and Selah wrinkled her nose at the acrid stench of
cigarettes and the tang of wet, rusting iron. The Hispanic guy led
her past a couple of doors and into a cramped room that was little
more than a drain in the floor and cinderblock walls. A mop rested
inside a bucket in one corner, but that was it. The bouncer shoved
Selah inside, and she stumbled in and caught herself on the far
wall. Turning quickly, she pressed her back against the rough
concrete and stared wildly at them both. She half expected them to
simply lock the door and turn out the lights, but instead the
Hispanic man crossed his arms and studied her, eyes as cold as
those of a dead dog.
    Selah met his gaze and stared right back. He was
wearing a form-flattering black suit, which made him look compact
and trim, and his goatee and moustache were manicured with what
looked like obsessive care. Selah welcomed the pang of contempt she
felt for how much effort he’d put in to keeping that thin little
thing looking good. But his eyes were hard and his manner was hard.
No sympathy there.
    It hit her then. She couldn’t call the cops.
There were no cops. She couldn’t get help. There was nobody
who could come. Mama B was miles away behind a locked iron door,
and Maria Elena had no idea that she was back here. Whatever was
going to come, she would have to deal with it alone.
    “What’s your name? Where’s your ID?”
    “I don’t have an ID,” she said, his tone
arousing her old anger.
    “No ID? Then what? Who are you?”
    “My name’s Selah Brown. I just arrived today. I
was deported from …” It felt weird to say. “From the States. The
US.”
    “Deported, huh?” The man was scanning her.
Clearly didn’t believe a word she was saying. “You got anything on
you then? Passport? Papers that show your entry date?”
    No. She’d left those with Mama B. She shook her
head.
    “How convenient.” There was a knock on the door,
and a skinny white guy stuck his head in. His face looked like a
weasel that was forcing itself in through too small a hole. “Here,”
said the Hispanic guy. “Take a look at this. See what you can
pull.” He handed the other guy her Omni.
    Selah stepped forward. “Hey! That’s mine!”
Without any emotion, the Hispanic guy shoved her back hard enough
to send