Vampire Debt - Supernatural Battle (Vampire Towers #2) - Kelly St. Clare Page 0,28

need a tax number.

We pay in cash.

“You followed me,” I rushed to say. “You listened to my conversation with Tommy in the bar after the interview.”

Kyros took a step forward.

“Don’t you dare,” I shot at him, drawing myself up. “You’ve been seducing me for my money and position? Putting on a show to get a hold of my assets—my network.” It was all a joke.

I felt sick. I tossed the blood bag in the rubbish, placing my bottle on the bench.

“What are you doing?”

“Leaving this shithole. The exact thing I would have done long ago if I’d realised you already knew my real name.”

Kyros blocked me. “You’re not leaving this tower.”

“Get out of my way,” I said in a dark voice I barely recognised.

“I can’t let you—”

I screamed, “You made me drink your blood because I’m wealthy? You just—” I blanched, thinking of what we’d just done. My stomach roiled. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I let you touch me like that.”

Use me like that.

My chest seized and a burning slammed into the backs of my eyes like never before. I felt violated. Dirty.

Humiliated.

He blurred before my eyes and I pressed my nails into my shaking palms, swallowing hard. “You did this for Ingenium.”

“I got close to you in the beginning because my father ordered it.”

His father ordered him to. The words echoed in my head.

Voice hoarse, I summoned up every ounce of hatred in my system—a lot as it turned out. “You’re a fucking monster.”

Darkness swelled between us, the connection between us twisting, decaying to shadows and loathing.

“Move.” I would tear down this entire tower if he didn’t.

Kyros stepped aside.

I strode past without looking at him, stopping only to pick up the décor pinecone to hurl it against the far wall.

It shattered, burlap and sequins flying everywhere.

I marched out of his lair down to his office and let the shock, abhorrence, and bitter, bitter regret wash over me. So many weeks feeling that I had to protect my grandmother and the estate. Time with her that I’d never get back.

Alone. Trapped.

I kept even steps down the hall and stepped into the elevator when the doors slid open.

I rode down to the ground floor.

And as Basilia Le Spyre, I walked out of Kyros Sky forever.

6

I saw the wooden stair a split second before my golf cart slammed into it.

My head whipped forward and the rear of the buggy lifted with impact. The cart bounced back on an angle, teetering on two wheels for a breath before toppling on its side and carrying me with it.

The air whooshed from my lungs. I thudded from the driver’s seat to the wooden floor, landing heavily on my side.

“Ouch,” I wheezed, untangling my legs from the wheel.

I blinked at my left hand and, smiling, lifted the intact tequila bottle in triumph. “Hey-oh!”

Didn’t spill a drop.

Resting my head on the cool ground, I opened my mouth and tried to pour more of the alcohol into my mouth sideways.

The bottle was plucked from my grip. “Miss Le Spyre, are you hurt?”

I squinted up at Fred. “You’re upside-down, Fred. Fuck, no wonder Grandmother hired you.”

His eyes scanned my body for injury. “Driving the golf cart through the halls under the influence again.”

“Sorry.” I sighed, closing my eyes.

There was a clink as he set the bottle down. He gripped me under the arms and slid me free of the upturned cart.

“Where’d we get a golf buggy from?” I mumbled, trying to hook the tequila bottle with my foot.

“You ordered it online three days ago, Miss Le Spyre. Another decision made under the influence.”

Arguably the best decisions were made with tequila.

Fred helped me to my feet, directing me away from the half-empty bottle when I glanced at it.

“Do you play golf?” I asked the butler, wobbling beside him.

“No, Miss Le Spyre. It’s too uneventful for me.”

He probably liked sports where he got to hit people. “I don’t play golf.”

“No, Miss Le Spyre. I’m aware.”

The butler gripped my upper arm as I stumbled up the wide mahogany stairs.

“I’m going to order an elevator online,” I told him as we reached the top. “Why don’t we have one again?”

I burped. My stomach wasn’t feeling so great.

A small smile graced his face. “Your grandmother said stairs built character. And that when she couldn’t walk up and down them, she was ready to be put down.”

Yep, that sounded like something Agatha Le Spyre would say.

I peered left to the mahogany panel doors at the far end of the long hall. Grandmother’s suite.