KC Lumi Rose

Part 2

I knew driving into the CCP District wasn't going to be an easy cleanup. I was, however, determined to get in and get out without an incident. I had a sweet pair of tits and bourbon neat on ice waiting for me in my district when I was done. I didn't plan to keep either waiting.

Now the CCP District, if you didn't know the horrors that festered behind the doors of these homes you almost think it's 2017 again. The lights are on in the neighborhood streets, people are walking around without fear. There are children playing in yards, teenagers huddled in groups on their parents' porches staring at phones, and parents sipping the finest scotch on European leather couches in their living rooms. All driving the most expensive cars money can buy wearing clothes you can't buy in the states any longer. It's more Beverly Hills Vampire than the world went to shit vampire. These vamps know no loss.

The only way I knew was when I pulled around the corner in my supped-up black Dodge Demon with neon pink roses dripping blood from the stems painted on the sides with my window rolled down. Dawning my half-pink half-blonde slicked pin-straight shoulder-length bob, cat eyeliner, and pussy pop pink lip gloss. Adored in my black leather pants and bustier top, the fangs automatically sprang at the sight of me. I just let the Demon growl around the corner slowly, watching each eye keeping one half-leathered gloved hand on the steering wheel and one on my limited addition Rick Grimes Colt Python on my hip. They know if they make one fucking move, I'll be sending a crew to clean their fucking heads off the pavement.

I normally don't go to these gigs alone; I have a partner. Wrangler. She's one bad bitch. Wrangler and I go way back, before the pandemic. For some reason, Cye Bian asked that I come alone this evening. The Demon roared onto Oak Street to what many used to know as the Nelsen Atkins Museum of Art. Cye Bian took it over and made it into his vamp lair. The security was amped up, cameras, roof walkers' lawn walkers, and I hadn't even parked. Cye Bian had to have something really special if he was able to take the Nelsen over. Passing the last fountain of blood, I turn onto the driveway of the Nelsen to have my car inspected. The fangs try to intimidate me but instantly back off I notice. Obviously with the order coming directly from someone in their ears. I just smirk a fuck you while driving into a parking place.

Park. Time to check my equipment. Colt Python, this baby is a must. Nothing makes me happier than blowing a hole through the head of a blood fucker. Throwing stars, two MK 3 knives, two hot pink Desert Eagle .50 cal strapped to my legs, and as always tucked between my blossoms a syringe of M99. Checklist complete.

Closing the door of the Demon I take my last inhale of the night air, letting the lock chirp I feel a thousand eyes on me as I walk up to the doors of Cye Bian's lair. Music playing in the speakers outside only gets louder as I approach the entrance. Two men guard the doors that open for me. As the doors open a wave of Indian temple incense immediately hits my skin. I watch the smoke circle around me as if it's dancing to the ritual-like music blaring through the speakers. Two women approach me with nothing on but black leather panties and black crosses on their nipples. Their bright red lipstick freshly applied like they had just eaten fresh strawberries made my pussy quiver. They knew it too. Cye Bian knew it, that's why he sent them first. Jokes on him, I can control myself at times. 

I've never seen Cye, I've only heard the rumors in the districts'. His looks, his scent his demeanor. I'll be the fucking judge, I haven't run across one of these blood fuckers I couldn't resist. The blood whores escorted me into what was once the Frida Kahlo room, now the Mercy Brown room. Frida was moved upstairs; family always came first to these vamps and Mercy Brown was the queen.

When the blood whores moved out of my way, I saw her. Mercy Brown's statue is in the middle of the room. More importantly, the woman that laid impaled on the statue. Her arms and legs lay lifeless floating behind her as the blood dripped from her limbs. Her hair was drenched with sweat and blood, some stuck to her forehead and the rest stuck to her naked breast. The mascara she once wore was smeared around her lifeless dilated eyes; you could see your reflection in them. She never had a fucking chance. I walked slowly around the girl taking the site. I could feel the rage building in my chest, I had to close my eyes and tap my Python thinking back to what my father always told me. Make the plan, work the plan. I came here tonight with a plan, to clean up this shit fest mess. Nothing more.