They Rise at Dusk (Book #1) ✔️

Chapter 5: Lies We Tell

Thick fog settled over Bronx, spreading from the frozen ground to tops of buildings, enveloping the closed shops, hiding graffiti. The sky turned dirty orange. The clock ticked one of those forgotten hours, when all the honest, hardworking people twisted and turned in their beds and only those with bad intentions roamed the streets.

The 3AMs were my biggest temptation.

So many lost souls stumbling through the city – people no one checked up on, no one waited for at home. All it took was one desperate, angry vampire who hasn't had anything substantial to eat in months to drag them into the darkness, into the shadows.

People knew better than to engage with each other at this time of night, though, and most kept to their side of the street as I moved silently towards my destination.

I pulled the hood over my head and clutched the bag tight to my body. There was only three hundred dollars inside, but if I lost it, I'd have nothing to eat for the rest of the month. My body curled in on itself, my instincts wanting to keep me as invisible as possible.

Some of the passer-byes glanced at me with curiosity, almost like they couldn't quite believe I was out here alone at this hour, but I paid no mind to them.

I turned the corner into a dark, abandoned alley, ignoring the groups gathering by the entrance to The Hangout. They pulled their hoods over their heads as well, their sleeves falling over their hands, hiding whatever they were doing. Curious eyes skittered over my body, lingering for a moment on my bag, then on my boobs.

I approached the steel door and knocked.

This had been way easier when I was still part of my family.

No.

This hadn't existed when I was still part of my family.

The security grate slid to the side, revealing a pair of male chocolate brown eyes with bloody whites, surrounded by sunken dark circles. He said nothing, closed the grate and opened the door, inviting me inside.

The guys around the entrance murmured something under their breath, but I purposely didn't hear them. The insinuation was clear enough. A beautiful woman entering a place like this? A whore.

I'd rather they thought I was a whore than know what I was really doing here.

The Hangout was a dark, seedy place. Heavy smoke lingered in the air, just high enough to hide the faces sitting in the corner booths, staring in my direction. Rap music blasted from the speakers, drowning out secret conversations with impeccable success. I tried not to look over the wooden booths or the round tables in the middle of the bar, and instead searched for the neon purple jacket.

Jasmine sat on the counter, nursing a gin and tonic, and holding a slim cigarette between her thin fingers, tapping it every now and then with her razor-sharp metallic nails. Her thick red lips closed around the small filter, leaving a trail. Her scalp-tight fish braids were dyed white by the roots and purple towards the ends, looking extremely chick against her dark skin.

She wore fishnet stockings and a black tulle skirt, paired with a neon purple jacket, and Doc Martens on her feet. Rectangular metallic earrings hung from her ears, the dim lighting reflecting off their surface. Overall, she looked like someone spat out steam punk and shaped it into a person, but she pulled it of.

She had one of those exotic faces, a sort of acquired beauty. Her huge brown eyes and her plump lips were a bit too big for her small, heart-shaped face. Still, she wasn't exactly cute. There was an edge to her features, something that allowed her to sit in this bar like she belonged here, like she deserved to be here. The vampirism edge.