Bomber lifted his head from Anilia’s slender neck. She shuddered, and snuggled closer into his arms, tucking herself against his chest. She made a small mewling sound, and Bomber smiled, knowing that meant she was happy.
She kissed the base of Bomber’s neck between his leather biker vest. “My real name isn’t Anilia.”
He looked at her. “What?”
She lifted her head and focused on him. “My name was Nahemma Al-Busiri. I was an exchange student from Libya.”
He shifted her so that they could look at each other. “Libya? What did you study?”
“Organic Chemistry.”
“Did you finish?”
“I’m working on my Ph.D.” She looked directly at him. “Is that all right?”
“Of course that’s all right. Don’t tell me Jacmes didn’t want you to finish.”
“He wanted me to stay here.”
“Bah. I’ll even help.”
She shook her head. “I’ve saved enough for this semester.”
He rubbed her arm. “Why did he call you Anilia?”
“It means ‘servant’.”
Bomber growled. “The more I hear about what he did to you…”
She caressed Bomber’s face to try and calm him. “Bomber, we like doing this.”
“If he comes back, I’m not going to give this place up that easily.” He never thought he’d hear himself say that.
Anilia smiled, and kissed him, pressing herself against him. “Can I?”
“You’re just as insatiable as Lor,” he laughed. “I need to get my knife.”
She moved her body so she straddled him and somehow tucked her hand into his jacket and pulled out his small knife. She undid it. He was a little uneasy, but she slashed at the side of his neck, and then licked the thick blood welling up from the wound. She made that mewling sound again and leaned into him, trying to suck the blood from the small wound. He forced the blood to run faster out of the wound. She latched onto him, moaning while drinking.
Finally, he pulled himself away. She kept trying to follow, but he put up his hand against her forehead, holding her back. She lifted the knife. His other hand grabbed her hand and closed his hand around hers. “Don’t.”
Her tongue licked her lips, and Bomber willed his wound to close. Blood still stained his neck. He let her lean down to lick the remains, while he forced open her other hand and the knife fell to the leather couch. She bit at his neck.
“Anilia.” He picked her up from his lap and set her down to the side of him. “Enough.”
She looked down. “I’m sorry.”
He got up. “It’s all right, I understand. I’m going to check the bar.” He leaned down, caressed her bare breast and picked up his knife at the same time. “Why don’t you have some fun tonight? I’ll be the manager.”
She smiled up at him. “I will.”
When he saw her next, Anilia was out on the dance floor, dancing with a couple of men – not Bitten, just customers. She wore another all-lace outfit with thigh-high boots. He wondered if she’d bring her to a balcony, or the VIP lounge.
“Mr. Bombardier?”
Bomber turned and looked down at a girl with pink, purple, and blue pony tails that expanded from the back of her head like rocket trails. She wore a t-shirt under a corset, chains, barbed wire wrapped around her neck. She carried a Bitten tattoo. Bomber knew her name. She looked scared and worried.
“Sonja. What’s wrong?” He bent down so she didn’t have to yell at him over the music.
“Can I talk to you?”
“Upstairs?”
“Or over there.” She pointed to a booth.
He followed her into a booth and sat close to her. “What’s wrong?”
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