Page 2 of Bleed

“Yeah, well,” I mutter, kicking off my boots and nudging them into the corner. “Something’s better than nothing. At least now I’ll make rent this month.”

His gaze drops immediately, his hand dragging over his jaw. “Yeah, about that…”

“Dev,” I snap, a frown pulling at my mouth. “It’s due tomorrow.”

He winces as he looks up at me. “Think you can text Ted and ask him for another week?”

Of course.

Ted’s our landlord. I made the mistake of sleeping with him once, and he’s made it clear he’s eager for another round. He’s not getting it, but the false hope comes in handy when rent’s late. Which is often.

“Again?” I groan, scrubbing a hand over my face.

I hate how this always becomes my fucking problem to handle.

Devin makes decent money as a tattoo artist when he actually shows up to work. The problem is, most of it goes straight up his nose. If he kicked his drug habit, he’d never be behind on rent and could probably afford to live in a place a hell of a lot nicer than this one, but… priorities.

He shrugs, unbothered. “Bookings were light this past month.”

“Maybe Alaia should get a job, then,” I shoot back, gesturing toward her. “Help out like the rest of us.”

“She has a job,” Dev drawls, pulling her in closer. “She’s my muse.”

I roll my eyes so hard I damn near glimpse the back of my skull.

Alaia smiles up at him dreamily, then turns back to me, shrugging. “Sorry, girl. You know I’m not good with schedules.”

“What about gig work?” I ask, already digging a hand into my back pocket. My fingers close around the thick, matte black business card I tucked in there earlier and I pull it free, flicking it toward her.

“What’s this?” she asks as the card lands in her lap, picking it up. The red foiled lettering catches the light as she tilts it, one word stamped dead center: bite.

“Got it from another model on set this morning,” I reply, crossing my arms. “She said it’s a high-end agency that caters to vamps. Live feeds for quick cash.”

The temperature in the room drops instantly. Devin stiffens, Alaia’s grip on the card tightening a fraction. Not surprising. The mention of vampires tends to have that effect on most people.

Vamps went public over sixty years ago, but that doesn’t mean anyone’s fully comfortable with them. They mostly keep to themselves– their own rules, their own lifestyle, their own quiet hierarchy that humans don’t get to touch. Except when it comes to food, since humans are food to them.

“Isn’t that, like, illegal?” Devin asks, his brows drawing in.

“Technically,” I say with a shrug.

Feeding from a live source was outlawed decades ago; part of the deal that lets humans and vampires coexist without open panic. Blood banks keep things clean, controlled, and compensated. But where there’s a rule, there’s always someone figuring out how to bend it.

“She said this place runs clean,” I add. “White-glove service, private drivers, top-tier clients. Total anonymity.”

Devin reaches over and plucks the card from Alaia’s fingers, flipping it in his palm. His thumb drags slowly over the embossed numbers on the back like he’s already doing the math. “How much we talking?”

“Three hundred per bite.”

His head snaps up. “No shit?”

I nod, a slow grin spreading across my face. I had almost the exact same reaction when that model handed over the business card this morning and gave me the rundown.

Alaia leans forward, interest sparking bright in her eyes. “Just for one bite?”

“That’s base rate,” I say. “You can make a lot more depending on what you’re willing to do.”

“Like what?” she asks, curiosity threading through her tone.