Immortality Is the Suck

Immortality is the Suck

A. M. Riley

Immortality is the Suck

Copyright © August 2009 by A. M. Riley

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ISBN 978-1-59632-999-7

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Editor: Irene D. Williams

Cover Artist: Croco Designs

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About this Title

Genre:
LGBT Vampire Paranormal

Related Title:
What to Buy for the Vamp Who Has Everything

Adam's an undercover vice cop dealing with a dark past. He's no stranger

to bad nights; in fact, he's lived a lot of them. But he won't survive this one.

First, a drug deal he's working goes south. Then his partner and sometimes-

fuck-buddy Peter has to watch him bleed to death. But the kicker: he's not

sure what's worse. Watching Peter cry over him or waking up undead.

Peter's a good cop in love with a bad man. Or a bad vampire, now.

Watching Adam die was the worst thing he could imagine. Until he woke up.

Now their relationship's in crisis. Adam's in the middle of a vampire enclave at

the center of Los Angeles motorcycle clubs and Peter just can't hack it.

Adam thinks he's fine with that. He's a commitment-phobe. But he's

about to discover, immortality is seriously the suck.

Publisher's Note:
This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic

language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable: Anal

play/intercourse, male/male sexual practices, violence.

“Life is a moment between two eternities.”

—Blaise Pascal

Chapter One

“Adam! Adam! Stay with me here, man.”

Peter's nuts
. The pain was so bad I couldn't breathe and all I wanted to do

was pass out.
Just wake me when the morphine drip arrives.

“Adam!”

The son of a bitch shook me. I opened my mouth to tell him to fuck off

and liquid clogged my throat. I felt it spill over my chin.
That can't be good
.

Peter's face was a blob of fear in front of me, a little slice of the warehouse door

behind it. The lights of the Marina beyond all that.

“There's a bus on the way,” said Peter.

The pain ebbed and then flowed away like the tide. I was aware of Peter's

hand on my face, the cold, wet concrete beneath my skull. The smell of diesel. I

heard sirens.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry. God, Adam, it's going to be all right. We'll get you

through this. All you have to do is hang on.”

I don't remember exactly what just went down. I came here to meet

someone, but the wrong person stepped out of the shadows, and then there

was shouting. Peter suddenly appeared, which didn't make sense. And then,

I'm pretty sure, I fell in the proverbial hail of bullets. Just like I always knew I

would. Just like I deserve. And was Peter
crying?

“Adam, you son of a bitch, don't you die on me.”

Poor Peter. Sucks to be you, man. Me, I'm just gonna bleed out all over

this nice filthy floor here. Finally. It's done.

Good-bye.

2

A. M. Riley

Chapter Two

Except I woke up. I opened my eyes to darkness, wondering where I was.

Not a new experience. I've come to in plenty of strange places, under plenty of

strange circumstances. And then I remembered that I had died. Or, at least, I

thought I had.

Excuse me if I indulged in a moment of disappointment.

I've died before. In the Marines I took a hit, and they tell me my heart

stopped during surgery. When I woke, though, I felt like shit. There were

needles in my arm and the sound of machinery around me. I knew I was in a

hospital. When I finally could make sense of the faces leaning over me and the

words they spoke, I understood that I was a hero. What a fucking joke.

God, don't let that happen again.

This time, though, I felt fine. Numb, maybe, but not in the lovely morphine

drip way. The pain in my leg, which had been my constant companion since

the service, was gone. A respite that only happened when I was stoned off my

ass or dreaming. So, maybe there was some wishful thinking mixed in, but I

figured there were still odds that I might be really, truly, dead.

So now my thoughts went something like this:

1) Fuck, there is an afterlife,

2) And it's cold,

3) And dark.

4) This must be Hell.

Immortality is the Suck

3

Which is what I'd always expected, but still it was a sobering thought. I

hadn't paid much attention those maybe five times I sat in a church, so I

needed a little reconnaissance.

I cracked my eyes open and tried to see around myself. Hell was pitch

black. I could hear a
drip, drip
of something and my imagination conjured

bottomless pits full of icy cold water. The dark gradually yielded shapes,

though, and I could make out a form next to me, looked like a sheet. No, wait,

it was a body on a table under a sheet, proverbial toe with tag sticking out.

Crap, I wasn't in Hell. I was in a morgue.

I almost fell from wherever I lay, trying to get away from that thought. And

that's when I realized that I was on some kind of table too. Stainless steel, by

the feel of it. The sheet covering me fell to the floor and I looked down and there

was
my
toe with a tag on it.

I kid you not. They thought I was dead. Hey, so did I. I pinched myself to

make sure. Ouch.

It occurred to me that this might be some kind of trick. Some kind of

Hellish mind game trick. But my head hurt too much to do that Rubik's Cube,

and I just worked on getting the tag off my toe and my feet on the floor. Then,

with my sheet wrapped around me, I walked around, trying to get my bearings.

I knew this place; it was the Los Angeles County Morgue. I'd been a cop

for twenty years, and in Homicide for six of those, before the Vice Department

decided I was more their type. Christ, did they hit that nail on the proverbial

head. So, anyway, I knew this morgue.

I knew the sights and the sounds and the smells. The smell was what had

usually gotten to me. The formaldehyde, mixed in with the smell of human

flesh rotting, creates an odor the human body seems wired to reject. And then

the ammonia they used to try to keep everything sterile just punched the other

smells home and pretty soon big tough former marines were spewing into a

trash can in the hallway.

4

A. M. Riley

So, I could smell that smell but it didn't bother me as much. And the room

was now kind of blueish, even though there was nothing but a couple of power

strip lights glowing for illumination. So the whole lying alone in darkness thing,

which had always given me the gibbering freak ever since I'd been buried under

that house in Afghanistan, was lessened a little.

This particular room was empty and dark, but in my experience, the place

was usually a zoo. They must be busily cutting up someone in another room.

I checked out the guy laid out on the table next to mine. He was a helluva

lot cleaner than he had been the last time I saw him, but I was pretty sure it

was that dude Starz. The one that I had gone to meet in the Marina. There were

two good-sized bullet holes in his chest. One of them looked like it had gone

right through the heart. So, he was dead too, I guessed. Careful not to assume

here, seeing as I had thought I was dead also.

There was another guy lying over there, without a sheet, on the table with

the molded-in gutters along the sides and the drains. He was whiter than white