The Guily Ones

Monroe

We walked down a long corridor. It turned out that they had, in fact, been holding me captive in the underground parking garage of some skyscraper  building. But once we stepped inside the structure via the fire escape, it felt as if we had entered the grand foyer of a Russian diplomat's residence. The floors were draped in lavish blood-red carpets, and the walls were lined with cream-colored wallpaper adorned with gold ornaments and expansive oil paintings.

A receptionist stood behind a desk, her jet-black hair styled in an elaborate updo, her makeup flawless, and more gold jewelry hanging around her neck, ears, and wrists than I could have lifted. She greeted us with a wide, indulgent smile.
"James, there you are again," she cooed, batting her lashes, which seemed to weigh at least two pounds each. James winked at her. "I told you I wouldn't be long. Snagging the girl was a stroke of genius. Well done, Tina," he praised. 

Tina, as she was apparently named, flushed with pride and waved his compliment away, though clearly pleased. She strutted around her desk on heels that looked lethal and walked toward a heavy metal door, which I realized was silver as we got closer. With purpose, she drew a key from her cleavage and unlocked the door, swinging it open for us. A vampire-proof door.

James pulled Tina to him in a swift motion, planting a deep kiss on her. She melted into him while I fought to keep my last meal down. "Thanks, sweetheart."

Tina fanned herself, utterly dazed by James. "Anytime, honey." But then she seemed to remember they weren't alone and turned her gaze to me.

"You're not getting one of those from me, honey" I said dryly as her eyes lingered on me. That did the trick—Tina huffed and stalked away in a flurry of indignation.
James chuckled. "Well, look who found her snark again," he teased, sighing dramatically. "Are you sure you don't want to give Tina a try? I'd love to watch."

I could already feel the nausea rising, and I decided that if I did throw up, it would be on James' shoes, which looked like expensive suede. The next room they dragged me into was a stark contrast to the corridor. The ceiling was tall and elaborately decorated with ornate plasterwork, and the floors were covered in pale marble tiles. Every frame on the walls was a massive, gilded monstrosity. Everything about this space was meant to intimidate.

At the far end of the room sat a man, immaculately dressed, likely in his thirties. His hair was raven-black, his eyes piercing blue. Even from what must have been at least 50 feet distance, I could tell with my human eyes that he was beautiful. 

Beautiful, dangerous, and arrogant.

We moved closer, James making it a point to shove me forward every few steps, his hand often lingering inappropriately on my lower back inbetween. I had a pretty good idea what motivated that particular move. When we were about five 10 feet from the massive, gaudy, gold-trimmed desk, the man finally looked up properly. His blue eyes lit up when they fell on me, though it was far from a friendly light.

"Ashley Johannson," he purred. "At last."

He spoke as if we were old friends, but I was certain I had never seen this man in my life.I instinctively tried to take a step back, but James was right behind me. In one fluid motion, the man stood and crossed the space between us until he was less than a foot away. A vampire, then. Not surprising. What was surprising, however, was the inappropriate and revolting kiss he suddenly forced on me. His cold slimy tongue invaded my mouth, similar to eating a snail I imagined, making my body break out in hives.

Reflexively, I bit him. I tasted his blood. The man—Monroe, I gathered—leaned back, laughing, a drop of blood sliding from the corner of his mouth. Then he slapped me. Heat rushed down my spine, and I fell into a defensive stance.