Chapter 5 - The Mess We Make

  ***Clean up Crew POV***

  The tiny dim lights buzzed harshly against the cracked ceiling tiles as the scent of industrial cleaner barely masked the familiar stench of sweat, liquor, and blood. It was 4 AM, and the Vampire Den was officially closed for the night.

  Outside, the streets were empty except for a few stumbling drunks, but inside, a different crew was just getting started.

  “Man, I swear to God, if I have to mop up another puddle of jizz, I’m quitting,” Mikey grumbled, rolling up the sleeves of his already-stained uniform. He stepped over a broken glass bottle, his work boots crunching against dried blood splatter.

  “Like hell you are,” Travis snorted, tossing a mop bucket against the bar counter with a dull clang. “You’re the only asshole dumb enough to keep taking night shifts. They’d probably have to shut this place down if you left.”

  Mikey scoffed, yanking a mop from the supply closet. “Yeah, well, maybe they should. Every damn night it’s the same shit—blood, broken furniture, and some poor bastard’s half-dead body slumped in a booth.” He wrinkled his nose. “And don’t even get me started on the other fluids.”

  Travis smirked, grabbing a trash bag. “C’mon, man, it’s not all bad. At least we get free drinks sometimes.”

  Mikey shot him a glare. “Oh, yeah? You enjoy sippin a martini next to a half-eaten hooka?”

  Travis chuckled, dragging his mop across the sticky floor. “Touché.”

  They worked in silence for a few minutes, scrubbing away the remnants of yet another vampire-fueled night of excess.

  Then, Mikey spotted it.

  “Ah, hell,” he muttered, stopping short.

  Travis followed his gaze, rolling his eyes the second he saw what had caught Mikey’s attention.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Another dead girl.

  She was sprawled on the floor of a private VIP booth, long red hair matted with dried blood. Her skin had gone pale—not unusual, considering the amount of blood these parasites drained from their snacks. The two familiar puncture wounds on her neck oozed something darker than blood, a sickly green sludge.

  Travis whistled low. “Sixth one this month.”

  Mikey smirked. “Guess vamps got a type.”

  Travis crouched beside her, nudging her shoulder with the tip of his gloved hand. “Damn, she’s cold.”

  “No shit, genius. She’s dead.” Mikey prodded her ribs with his boot. “Think they’ll even bother reporting her? Or just dump her in the alley with the others?”

  Travis snickered. “Oh, they’ll report it. Just not to the cops.” His fingers drifted down her collarbone, cupping her breast in his rough stained hand. “Shame, though. She was a hot one.”

  Mikey smirked. “Dude, you’re fuckin' nasty.”

  Travis shrugged, his other grubby hand lingering on her exposed thigh. “What? Ain’t like she’s gonna complain.”

  Then, she twitched.

  Both men jerked back.

  “Did—did she just fucking move?” Mikey asked, voice barely above a whisper.

  Travis’ breath hitched as Ivy’s fingers curled against the floor. Her body spasmed once—twice—before going still again.

  “Shit, man.” Travis swallowed hard. “I think she’s alive.”

  Mikey took a cautious step forward, snapping his fingers near her face. “Hey, uh… you good?”

  Ivy’s lips parted. A deep, rattling breath escaped her throat, as if her lungs were still learning how to work again.

  Then, her body jerked—a violent, unnatural movement that sent her upright in an instant.

  Both men staggered back.

  Her once flawless skin had turned ashen, stretched taut over sharp bones. The whites of her eyes were completely milky, void of recognition, void of life. The two puncture wounds in her neck continued to seep green sludge, dripping down her collarbone like infected tears.

  And then she screeched.

  It was inhuman, guttural, a sound that sent every hair on their bodies standing on end.

  Travis bolted first, slipping on the sticky floor as he scrambled for the door. “What the fuck!?”

  Mikey was right behind him, but he wasn’t fast enough.

  Ivy lunged, her decayed fingers sinking into his jacket as she yanked him backward. He let out a strangled yell, trying to twist free, but she was stronger than she should have been.

  Her mouth unhinged, and in a horrifying, jerking motion, she ripped into his throat.

  Mikey’s screams turned into a wet gurgle as blood sprayed across the floor, his body convulsing in her grip as she dug her gel manicured nails into his stomach flesh.

  Travis barely made it three steps before something cold clawed and slammed into his back, knocking him to the ground.

  His last thought before Ivy tore into him, before his own blood joined the filth of the club floor, was a single, bitter realization.

  The vampires weren’t the biggest problem anymore.

  Something worse had just been born.

  And it was hungry.