Adduné - the Vampire's Game (73 page)

“
Are you suggesting that he killed my father?”

“
Quite the opposite. I
know
he didn’t. That was why I had to see for myself. If he had killed him, he would have turned him into a vampire, or mutilated him so he wouldn’t. Neither is true. Excuse my bluntness, but your father is decaying. He is dead and where he should be. You asked me to speculate, Mademoiselle, so how is this for a scenario? Peter Adduné looks for who has desecrated his residence. He finally finds out it is Arthur Perry. Only there is one tiny problem – Arthur Perry is dead. He has died in a car crash, so do you think the rage he feels will end? No, it will not and so it passes onto you, Mademoiselle!”

“
But why me? I have a brother … and a mother! Why not them?’

“
Because they are not like Arthur Perry, you are! You are so like your father that you could be twins. Are you not the most like your father in terms of will and tenacity and determination? And it is you who have taken over the business. That is why you, but it will not stop with you. You need to be stripped bare. Hurt in all conceivable ways. Removed from your alliances and friends and family. Do you not see that? Have there been no hints? No signs? Everyone you know is intact and well?”

“
Not everyone.”

“
As I thought! Who?”

“
A caretaker and shipper. I met one and not the other.”

“
It is a start, but not what I’m talking about, Mademoiselle. I mean people close to you – family, friends … perhaps a lover. Someone you are on intimate terms with perhaps?”

Jake! Miranda thought of Jake, but remained silent. She would not feed into this fantasy.

“
No, and I’m afraid you need to leave, Mr. Stroker. I appreciate the concern, but …”

Stroker stood pushing the heavy iron chair back with such force that it tipped over. He bent down and picked it up as he spoke to Miranda as if she were a child.

“…
but you refuse to do anything to prevent the attack! You will wait until all your loved ones die! You are telling me that their lives don’t count and you value no one?

“
No, I’m not! And I am asking you again to leave!”

“
Mademoiselle, you are driving me crazy! You and your obstinance! It is the same attribute of your father, is it not? And you ask me why you? Anyone would know that except the person that cannot even see the nose on their face. Good day, and please, Mademoiselle, do not lose my card. I assure you that you will be needing it – soon!”

He brushed angrily past Tiffany who had returned. She was holding the bag containing the fresh croissants. Stroker swept by stopping only to tip his hat and say he’d let himself out.

“
What got into him?” she said placing the bag down on the table.

“
Vampires,” was the terse reply.

CHAPTER 37

Miranda stayed at Tiffany’s for another cup of coffee, a second croissant, the sharing of the pain of losing Jake, and a little chat about Stroker. Tiffany admitted she recognized him by the length of that nail on his left pinky. She’d taken the occasion to take a jab at Miranda by saying that she had at least listened to what Miranda had said. It jogged something in Miranda about cutting Tiffany off, but not enough to remember the entire incident. It did have something to do with Stroker. He had been somehow involved. How she didn’t know. It was lost in that tangled web called her memory …

She took her leave by breezily telling Tiffany she was off to watch the video. Tiffany didn’t take the remark so lightly – she did her best to warn her against viewing it. She’d said that imagining it was one thing, but seeing it was something else again.

When she’d arrived at her modest apartment, all her shopping bags in hand, the comfort she felt was stupendous. She immediately felt safe. There was a sanctity afforded by the thick walls and Jimmy sitting downstairs. She’d spent time putting all her new purchases away. She loved organization and insisted on it in her residences. She made herself a cup of tea ready to see the damage.

She sat at her desk and watched the video. The feeling of security was removed as soon as her panties were. It had been no problem at all to find since it was posted on at least thirty different websites – not counting the links available on hundreds more. If it were possible to attach neon arrows pointing to it on the internet, that most likely would have been done also. Miranda had again brushed away her friend’s advice – and once again been wrong. She’d watched herself playing slap and tickle with the worthless gigolo. Now there would be no getting the images out of her head. Miranda’s more contentious side had countered that that was entirely the point. She wanted to rub her nose into what she’d done. She deserved to know the full extent of what a ludicrous position she’d placed herself in. She swore she would never again give someone that much power over her. The video was worse than she imagined – she looked like a complete fool. Like a dog on a leash that delighted in being beaten and merely hanging its head compliantly down. Wagging its tail whilst begging for more. She wanted to slap the girl she saw on the film. Slap her across her stupid, gaping face until she attained some sense. A good self-inflicted beating would do her a world of good. It was a shame that self-flagellation had gone out of style.

When it finished, she put her head down on her arm. She felt like crying, but couldn’t dredge up that much emotion. Jake deserved her tears – he had been a blameless, innocent victim. She had just been stupid – a moronic jerk – there was a huge difference. No, she deserved no sympathy and no tears. It would be a life lesson and she would grow from it and be stronger. She hit the replay button determined to watch it again.

There was a faint knock on her door. At first she thought she imagined it, or that it was directed at her neighbor’s apartment located across the hall, but it repeated. She got up and walked to the double-locked door.

“
Who is it?” she called out looking through the peephole.

“
Me,” came the smarmy reply from the arrogant, self-satisfied looking man on the other side of the door.

He couldn’t have picked a better time as the images of that video were embedded in her mind stoking her and provoking her towards an all-out fight. She swung the door open and looked at the person hanging back in the corner. God, did she hate him!

“
What do you want?” she lashed out – fury coursing through her veins more so than blood. She wanted to kill him and would have if she could have gotten away with it.

“
To talk to you – obviously.”

His hubris was disquieting. He didn’t even have the decency to act as if he gave a shit. It further antagonized her. She took a step out into the hall deliberately encroaching on his territory. He didn’t budge an inch, looking mildly amused by her show of aggression.

“
The only thing obvious is your lack of integrity, your arrogance, and your complete lack of anything resembling morals!”

“
Begging for more are we?” he said bending down and licking the side of her face.

“
You bastard!” she screamed as she hit him with full force – flush on the side of his face. She hoped it was the same spot that Tiffany had struck the night before – and that it was still sore.

His eyes glowered as he touched his cheek where the blow had landed.

“
That will do nothing to get you out of the situation you’re in. In fact, it will only ratchet up what will happen as there will be one more thing for you to pay dearly for.”

Miranda leaned into him, her chest touching his. She spat into his face.

“
Then add that to your laundry list, you filthy coward! If my father were here he would kill you!”

Peter pulled out a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and dabbed casually at the spittle sticking to his eyebrows and lashes. “You father is here, Miranda.”

Miranda was rocked by the comment. It was vulgar to suggest to someone that the dead was amongst the living. He was just doing it to get to her. Using psychology again. She’d been right about that at least. He was well-studied in the art of it, only he probably called it warfare. “I will not let you get to me. You’ll find out the hard way that I’m not to be trifled with.”

“
An ineffectual, little nothing like you? I doubt it,” he sniffed, arranging the handkerchief back in its place. He smoothed the lace peeking out from the pocket. He tugged at it, as if offering it to her.

“
Unless you want to use this before I put it away?”

“
Conceited buffoon! You have quite a future in the porn industry. Oh, but then they show their faces! Why didn’t you? Hiding from someone, Mr. Adduné?”

She could see a touch of anger arise in face. The twinge of a muscle tensing told her that he was not as impenetrable and in control as he thought he was. It felt good to be on the offense.

“
What? No facile, superficial answer, Mr. Adduné?”

He took a step forward. Their bodies were touching – neither one backing down.

“
Afraid of inviting me in?” he said changing subjects and tactics. He was back on the offensive and Miranda was not happy about it.

She had landed a blow, but so had he. He was bringing up that subject again – the one she didn’t want to talk about. He was forcing her to discuss just that and in discussing it, it entered into her thinking. As much as she dismissed the concept, there was that primal fear in her about the paranormal. The idea of vampires was so dramatically, chillingly frightening. On the inside was a loathing of them – of the entire suggestion that they could exist. From the center of that fear came the realization that she didn’t want him in her residence. It was shouting at her to bar it from him and exclude him from entering her domain. However, if she faced her fear, it would mean doing the opposite. It would mean inviting him in.

Her mind flipped it over and came up with a plan. If he had switched topics, so could she.

“
And why should I be afraid? Do you think I would fall for another sexual escapade with you so easily? Especially since the first one was so remarkably unsatisfying for me.”

His full lips turned up at the corners. There was the merest hint of his white teeth through them as he spoke. He was not deterred and wouldn’t relinquish his hold on the subject.

“
You know what I’m talking about. I’ve left enough clues to tell you what is going on. At least one of your simpleton acquaintances must have warned you by now, but not Jake since he was … an unfortunate victim of this game.”

Did he mention Jake? His death? Was he accepting some responsibility for that or implicating himself? Was it a murder?

He was directly challenging her and Miranda would not back down. He was using psychology, the same as Reginald the day he told her that ghost story at Weatherly. Anyone could see Miranda was uncomfortable with the supernatural. It didn’t take someone psychic to discover it. Peter had seen her reluctance and uneasiness in dealing with the subject. That was it, and her reluctance needed to end here and now. She needed to get over whatever was causing her discomfort. In other words, she needed to grow up. She was still being a child and wanting her parents to sweep her bedroom – look under her bed and tell her there was no monster. She was grown and could do that for herself. There was no such thing as vampires and she certainly wasn’t afraid of inviting a man into her abode.

“
How did you get up here? Oh, I forgot! You flew! Well, if you went to that much trouble … come in,” she replied calmly as she stepped to the side of the entrance, “please.”

Peter nodded and gracefully moved past her and into her home. It was her home and he was defiling it, but it was the only way she could show him that she had no fear of him and the subject at hand. The chill that ran through her told her she’d made a mistake.

Peter walked to the computer still replaying the video.

“
Can’t get enough of it, can you? How many times have you watched? Twenty? More?” he taunted as he sauntered into her living room. He spread his arms and presented himself, “Well, here I am in person, Miranda. Do as you wish! I am yours for the taking!”

He lowered himself onto the overstuffed cushions of Miranda’s sectional sofa. He crossed his legs and raised his arms up onto the back, looking like a murderous black crow.

“
As if anyone would want anything so pathetic,” Miranda shot back planting herself across from him. She crossed her legs and placed her hands on the wooden arm rests. She dug her nails into the ends using it as a makeshift scratching post.