Samson's Lovely Mortal
Page 63
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Thomas had always been the jealous type. Having become a vampire hadn’t changed that. He’d realized his trait over a hundred years ago. Becoming a vampire didn’t change your character, it just amplified it. A bad man would be a bad vampire, and a good man would be a good vampire. It was as simple as that.
He didn’t regret the choice he’d made when he’d been confronted with it over a century ago, for it finally allowed him to live in an era where he didn’t have to hide his sexuality, and for that he was grateful. In the time in which he’d grown up, men whose homosexuality was discovered were flogged or even killed. Not that he didn’t enjoy a good flogging from time to time as long as it was followed by an even better fuck, but that was another matter altogether. Life was better in the twenty-first century.
He eyed his lover from the side. Milo’s features seemed delicate even though as a vampire he was nearly indestructible. There was no ounce of fat on his body, and despite his small size he was strong. And incredibly sexy. Glancing at his firm ass, Thomas’ leather pants tightened. Whenever he looked at Milo, he got horny.
“Let’s have a look at that jerk,” Samson’s voice boomed through the warehouse.
His coattails flying, Ricky by his side, Samson strode in and marched straight for the captive, planting himself squarely in front of him. The master had arrived, looking every inch the avenging dark angel he could turn into when provoked.
Samson planned on intimidating the thug. It would cut down on the time it took to get all pertinent information out of him. He rarely used torture and found that the suggestion of pain often worked better than pain itself.
“Recognize me?” he asked in a quiet but dangerous voice when he stood in front of the bound man.
A silent nod was the response. “Good. What’s your name?”
“Billy.”
“Good, Billy. Now that we’re on first name terms, let’s have a chat. I don’t take it lightly to being attacked, but, you know, that comes with the territory, and that’s something I can forgive. I can defend myself. But you know what really pisses me off?”
Samson looked at him, daring Billy to answer. The man was smart enough not to open his mouth at the rhetorical question.
“When my woman gets attacked, I have no mercy. Do you understand?” He bent down to Billy, his voice almost a growl. Frightened eyes looked at him. Billy’s body started trembling.
“You’ve put me in a difficult situation, Billy. A man has to protect those he loves no matter what. So, what am I going to do with you?” He tilted his head and flashed his fangs. Samson hadn’t bit anybody in years, but his fangs were nevertheless in pristine condition—floss and toothpaste went a long way when it came to dental hygiene for a vampire.
Billy shrieked. “I didn’t want to do it.”
This was far too easy. The man was clearly not quite the professional criminal Samson had thought him to be.
“But you did. And now you’re going to explain to me and my friends here why you were after my woman. This is a small town, but to be attacked by the same guy twice, that’s not a coincidence. We both know that.”
He let another snarl rip through his clenched jaw and moved his head closer to Billy. He could smell the scent of fear on him—a stench he abhorred.
“I was paid to do it.”
Samson straightened. “By whom?”
For a fraction of a second he wondered if Delilah had set all of it up herself. It could have been a ploy to gain his confidence, to sneak into his home and his heart. It would make sense. It would have given her a pretense to gain access to him, awaken his instinct as a protector and then seduce him thoroughly. God, she had seduced him alright, with everything she had: her voice, her body, her touch, her kisses … her laughter. He had to know the truth, as much as it would pain him to hear the answer.
“Who paid you?”
“My brother-in-law. He wanted her out of the way,” Billy suddenly blurted out.
Relief flooded through Samson. It hadn’t been her, thank God. “What’s his name?”
“John.”
Billy started shaking.
“I need a little bit more than that, if you don’t mind.”
“John Reardon.” The name had a familiar ring to it, but Samson couldn’t place it.
“And where does he live, this John Reardon?”
Billy gave an address in the Sunset district.
“Why does he want her out of the way?” Samson continued with his questioning. He noticed a sudden widening of Billy’s pupils.
He didn’t regret the choice he’d made when he’d been confronted with it over a century ago, for it finally allowed him to live in an era where he didn’t have to hide his sexuality, and for that he was grateful. In the time in which he’d grown up, men whose homosexuality was discovered were flogged or even killed. Not that he didn’t enjoy a good flogging from time to time as long as it was followed by an even better fuck, but that was another matter altogether. Life was better in the twenty-first century.
He eyed his lover from the side. Milo’s features seemed delicate even though as a vampire he was nearly indestructible. There was no ounce of fat on his body, and despite his small size he was strong. And incredibly sexy. Glancing at his firm ass, Thomas’ leather pants tightened. Whenever he looked at Milo, he got horny.
“Let’s have a look at that jerk,” Samson’s voice boomed through the warehouse.
His coattails flying, Ricky by his side, Samson strode in and marched straight for the captive, planting himself squarely in front of him. The master had arrived, looking every inch the avenging dark angel he could turn into when provoked.
Samson planned on intimidating the thug. It would cut down on the time it took to get all pertinent information out of him. He rarely used torture and found that the suggestion of pain often worked better than pain itself.
“Recognize me?” he asked in a quiet but dangerous voice when he stood in front of the bound man.
A silent nod was the response. “Good. What’s your name?”
“Billy.”
“Good, Billy. Now that we’re on first name terms, let’s have a chat. I don’t take it lightly to being attacked, but, you know, that comes with the territory, and that’s something I can forgive. I can defend myself. But you know what really pisses me off?”
Samson looked at him, daring Billy to answer. The man was smart enough not to open his mouth at the rhetorical question.
“When my woman gets attacked, I have no mercy. Do you understand?” He bent down to Billy, his voice almost a growl. Frightened eyes looked at him. Billy’s body started trembling.
“You’ve put me in a difficult situation, Billy. A man has to protect those he loves no matter what. So, what am I going to do with you?” He tilted his head and flashed his fangs. Samson hadn’t bit anybody in years, but his fangs were nevertheless in pristine condition—floss and toothpaste went a long way when it came to dental hygiene for a vampire.
Billy shrieked. “I didn’t want to do it.”
This was far too easy. The man was clearly not quite the professional criminal Samson had thought him to be.
“But you did. And now you’re going to explain to me and my friends here why you were after my woman. This is a small town, but to be attacked by the same guy twice, that’s not a coincidence. We both know that.”
He let another snarl rip through his clenched jaw and moved his head closer to Billy. He could smell the scent of fear on him—a stench he abhorred.
“I was paid to do it.”
Samson straightened. “By whom?”
For a fraction of a second he wondered if Delilah had set all of it up herself. It could have been a ploy to gain his confidence, to sneak into his home and his heart. It would make sense. It would have given her a pretense to gain access to him, awaken his instinct as a protector and then seduce him thoroughly. God, she had seduced him alright, with everything she had: her voice, her body, her touch, her kisses … her laughter. He had to know the truth, as much as it would pain him to hear the answer.
“Who paid you?”
“My brother-in-law. He wanted her out of the way,” Billy suddenly blurted out.
Relief flooded through Samson. It hadn’t been her, thank God. “What’s his name?”
“John.”
Billy started shaking.
“I need a little bit more than that, if you don’t mind.”
“John Reardon.” The name had a familiar ring to it, but Samson couldn’t place it.
“And where does he live, this John Reardon?”
Billy gave an address in the Sunset district.
“Why does he want her out of the way?” Samson continued with his questioning. He noticed a sudden widening of Billy’s pupils.
