Pretty When She Dies (Pretty When She Dies #1)(70)

“Just let me go,” she screamed again, and kicked as hard as she could.

The car veered to one side and her head slammed into the side of the trunk. This had happened several times and she was sure the driver was doing it on purpose.

She could not believe her luck. Just when things looked like they were going to get better, Cian ditched her in San Antonio, and she got picked up by gangster vampires.

Her body smacked into the side of the trunk again, then the car came to a hard stop, and she slammed into the rear of the backseat.

“That f*cking hurts!”

“Not like it's gonna hurt, bitch,” a muffled voice answered her.

The back seat of the car was pulled down to reveal a small opening and the large vampire pulled her through into the interior of the car.

It was obvious they did it to knock her around as much as they could.

She was yanked out of the vehicle and the big guy accidentally dropped her on her face.

Wiggling around, she managed to flip onto her back as the biggest guy, bald and massive in a goldenrod yellow shirt, stood guard while the smaller guy got her bag.



She reared her legs back and tried to kick him. Without even glancing her way, the large man caught her booted feet in one massive hand.

Flipping her back onto her stomach, he leaned down and grabbed the waistband of her jeans and hoisted her up off the ground. Carrying her like she was a bag, he walked up a narrow driveway to an enormous house nestled into the side of a hill.

We must be on the Northwest side of San Antonio, she thought.

Latin music filled the air and an assortment of Mexican-American women of all sizes, skin and hair color, all clad in sexy outfits, stood on a patio off to the side of the house sipping drinks and laughing. They barely glanced her way as she was dragged up the front steps and into the Spanish-style house. Carried over tiled floors, Amaliya tried wrenching free, but to no avail.

The big man carried her through the house and finally up a stairway that ended in a massive room. A fireplace dominated the room on one end, which made no sense since San Antonio never had weather that needed one. Hoisted over the back of a leather couch, she was dropped onto it.

Several of the girls from outside wandered in to look at her. Speaking in Spanish, they leaned over and studied her. A few looked disappointed and one said, “Vampiro.” She realized they had been hoping for a nice meal. Two of the girls were quite fair and she figured they had a lot of European blood. The third looked like a pure indigenous Mexican. She was very tiny, with coal black hair, and strong features. From the way she carried herself, it was obvious she was the one in charge.

“Look, I am just passing through, ”Amaliya said firmly. “I didn't mean to break any rules.”



The woman leaned over her, her long black hair brushing over Amaliya's skin. It smelled of cinnamon and vanilla. “Mistakes happen. Unfortunately, Santos doesn't like excuses,” the woman said in a husky voice.

Just then a man in black slacks and a white shirt entered the room.

He was not very tall, but he carried himself as though he were a man of great power and influence. His hair was dark brown and curly, while his eyes were brown flecked with amber. His skin was dark, yet had a pale undertone. She wondered how old he was. It was obvious he had not been in the sun in a very long time. Waving a hand, he dismissed the women before taking a seat across from her. She assumed this was Santos.

“Habla Espanol?”

Struggling to sit up, she shook her head. “No. Sorry.”

“What kind of name is Amaliya?” He tossed her driver's license onto the coffee table.

“Russian. But my Mother messed with the spelling a little.”

“You Mexican?”

“Part. My grandmother.”

“And you don't speak Spanish?”

She felt a little defensive and finally managed to get upright. “I was raised in East Texas with my Polish family. My Mom was half German, so we weren't, you know, straight up anything.”

“I see.” His expression was cold and odd.

She was hunched over lopsided, but he didn't seem to care.

“And why are you in my city?”

“I got ditched here,” she answered. “I was on the way out of town when your guys nabbed me.”



“Who ditched you?” He was eerily calm and cold.

Amaliya felt hesitant to say Cian's name even though he had her removed from his city. “I'm not sure.”

Santos moved so fast, she didn't even see him coming at her.

Suddenly, she was on the floor and her jaw felt broken. Slowly, calmly, Santos leaned down next to her as she spit blood on his tiled floor.

“Who sent you?” The Master of San Antonio pulled a kerchief from his pocket and began wiping up her blood in a nonchalant manner.

“No one,” she gasped. “No one sent me.”

This time she saw the blow coming and tried to duck away. He was far faster than she was. He hit her so hard her head smacked into the tiles and the world spun around. Blood began to slide into her eyes as she gripped the floor with her tied hands, and tried to steady herself.

The pain was excruciating and she could not concentrate on anything other than it ripping through her.

Numbly, she realized that Santos was still speaking to her. He struck her again before she could determine what he was saying. This time she felt her cheekbone crack and blood bubbled out of her mouth as she gagged.