Free Bloodrush by Bryan Smith Page B

was a sound of ripping flesh and soon bright red blood was flowing all across the white floor tiles. He watched her slurp blood from the twitching Mexican for a moment, feeling the hunger grow inside him again.
    Then something caught his eye.
    He grinned.
    The waitress.
    He’d almost forgotten about her in the wake of the fat woman’s assault, but now he was pleased to see she was still in play. A bullet had winged her in the shoulder— nice aim, you stupid dead cow —but she was still alive. And still possessed of enough fighting spirit to make another go at escaping. That also pleased him. It would make things more fun. He remembered the feel of her hand caressing his crotch through his jeans and decided he’d make her finish what she’d started. Then he’d kill her. Maybe he’d kill her first and then violate her. He grew even more excited at the thought, thrilled by how wickedly decadent and powerfully evil it made him feel. There was no reason he couldn’t do that. He wasn’t human. He was beyond morals. He could do anything at all and it wouldn’t matter one fucking bit.
    She was crawling across the floor, making slow but steady progress and leaving a trail of blood behind her. She was nearly to the counter. Poor thing. He imagined the tentative beginnings of hope she must be feeling now, how it must be burgeoning inside her, becoming more real with each passing second, with each hard-gained inch of ground. Her likely escape route wasn’t difficult to deduce. She would stay on the floor once she got behind the counter, then make her way into the kitchen and flee via a rear exit. She might even have made it if she’d been just a little bit faster while he was distracted. He trailed after her, treading quietly, not wanting to draw her attention just yet. He wanted that hope to grow inside her just a little more, until it was a fire consuming her—right up to the moment when she was certain freedom was in her grasp. He tingled with anticipation at the thought of crushing that hope.
    He kept hanging back, watching as she reached the counter and began to drag herself behind it. In a moment only the cheap black pumps on her feet were visible. David winked at the two piles of greasy blubber masquerading as men still ensconced atop their stools at the counter. They were nearly indistinguishable, with their grimy blue collar clothes and blunted physical characteristics that marked them as products of the same tainted gene pool. They differed in only one significant way. Both were clearly terrified, but one’s scowling expression indicated a deep loathing for David. His contempt was obvious in the defiant gleam in his eyes and the sneering twist of his lips. David frowned. It was irksome.
    He decided to stop fucking around. He stepped behind the counter and stopped the waitress’s progress with a foot planted solidly in the small of her back. She squealed in frustrated terror and clawed at the floor tiles, shredding her nails in the process. Her escape attempt effectively interrupted, David shifted his attention to the sneering fat man.
    “What’s your problem, fatty?”
    A corner of the man’s mouth twitched. “I ain’t got shit to say to you, scumbag.”
    David’s annoyance deepened. “Scumbag? Do you really think you’re better than me? You’re a giant bag of lard. You’re not fit to judge a turd-throwing contest, much less your betters.”
    “You and that whore of yours ain’t my betters, asshole.”
    David glared at the man, willing him to wilt beneath the supernatural fierceness of his stare. It was a thing Narcisa would have done with ease. With barely any effort at all, really. But, as with so many other aspects of vampirism, David just didn’t have her level of ability, at least not yet. The scowling big man barely flinched.
    David seethed.
    You fat motherfucker. I’ll show you .
    David surged toward the counter, reaching for the big man’s accusing eyes, intending to claw them from their