Free The Nightlife New York By Travis Luedke
Travis Luedke is a husband, father, and author of Urban Fantasy thriller, Paranormal Romance, Contemporary Fantasy, Young Adult Fiction, and Sci-fi. He is currently catching a 3rd degree sunburn in San Antonio, Texas, and loving every minute of it. His recent works include “The Nightlife New York”, “The Nightlife Las Vegas” and “BLOOD SLAVE” the first novels in the Nightlife Series. Find him online on his Blog, Website, Twitter, Facebook, Wattpad and Goodreads.
Vampires, strippers, escorts, night clubs, gangs, pimps and corrupt cops, the Nightlife of New York is never boring.
Is she a beautiful blond guardian angel as he imagined, or something else entirely? When Michelle saves Aaron’s life she shares the benefits of her blood (after getting him shot accidentally). He awakes a changed man, living in a purgatory of eternal night, never to see the sunrise again.
Michelle drags Aaron through a hardcore learning curve of vampiric slavery. Forced to adapt to servitude, Aaron is subject to her authority of compulsion. She orders him around like a puppet on a string, a dog on a very short leash. First things first, he must learn to feed properly without creating bloodslaves (humans addicted to the powerful drug-like effect of their venomous bite).
And then she puts him to work-a male escort in the sex trade-same as Michelle. Aaron walks a tightrope of strictly controlled feeding regiments and intensely erotic sexual adventures while catering to the neurotic control-freak tendencies of his new master. It’s do or die, Michelle vows to eliminate him if he proves too difficult to control. The real kicker-amidst all these shocking and degrading adjustments, Aaron finds he’s falling in love.
Can he maintain and keep a sliver of his humanity intact? Innocence is a luxury few can afford in the decadent nightlife of New York. In a world where sex, blood, and power over women is so readily accessible, Aaron struggles against the predatory instincts deeply rooted in his new psyche. He must find his way quickly, practicing rigid self-control, or risk the consequences of Michelle’s wrath.
Find Reviews Here
Buy on Amazon, Amazon UK, Barnes and Noble, Nook UK, Itunes, Smashwords, Kobo, Diesel, and Ebook Store.
Dead on his feet and ready to clock out, Aaron Pilan didn’t immediately react when Charlene groped a good handful of his ass. Burnt from a long hard shift of waiting tables, Aaron’s delayed reaction wasn’t anything charming or witty as his boss Bemichi would have preferred. Refilling Charlene’s merlot that he’d already refilled one too many times, he dead panned, “Is there anything else I can do for you?” He realized too late, his question could easily have been misinterpreted as an encouragement to her advances.
He definitely didn’t want to mislead or encourage Charlene. It’s not that she was unattractive, she had that “MILF” allure––Mother I’d Like to Fuck––of older more sophisticated women. The problem with Charlene came two-fold. She was both a regular customer, and of sufficient age to actually be his mother. She probably knew enough about sex to thoroughly corrupt his innocence, which, much to his chagrin, remained mostly intact.
The real reason he chose not to fraternize with customers was his ever-present fear of the wrath of Bemichi that could descend upon his shoulders like angels of judgment bearing fiery swords. His boss Antonio Bemichi who owned the restaurant for two decades wasn’t one to allow such indiscretions to pass without consequence. One of Aaron’s coworkers warned on his first day in training as a waiter whispering, “Hell hath no fury like an Italian restaurant proprietor scorned.”
Bemichi, like many Italians in New York, took great pride in his fine dining establishment and customer service. After-all the place was named after him, Bemichis Restaurant. Like many Italians, his fiery temper flared and screeched like a fountain fireworks display. Fortunately his tirades burned out just as quickly.
Bemichi was actually a decent guy, and his restaurant was a pleasant place to both work and dine. Aaron enjoyed his work … most of the time. The interior décor of Bemichis resembled a New York Italian version of the Olive Garden with comparable pricing. The kind of place to bring the whole family, devour all the fabulous Italian pastas they could slurp down, and then waddle home an hour later feeling wonderfully sated without having emptied their wallets.
In Charlene’s case Bemichis held the added allure of hitting on waiters half her age while being secure in the knowledge that they would grin and bear it for propriety’s sake. Aaron was a pretty good sport about it. He’d gotten used to her hands on his ass. He suspected she patronized the restaurant for the express purpose of fondling his behind when her liquid courage was sufficiently wetted. She seemed to go after him at around the third refill on the merlot. That should be her cutoff point, but then, he wasn’t entirely averse to being groped occasionally. He sure wasn’t getting any at home. She always left a hefty tip, a consolation prize for putting his wares at her fingertips.
The game of ass-grab had grown old months ago. It was no longer surprising. At this late hour Aaron just wanted his shift to be over––like now. He watched the time tick by. The hands on the clock seemed to advance in exaggerated slow motion, mocking him with their lazy movements. Twelve o’clock midnight arrived not a moment too soon. He moved so fast making his escape out the door that he ignored the first call on his cell phone from his roommate Kyle. When Kyle called back seconds later he figured he better answer, it must be important.
“Hey Kyle, what’s up? I’m trying to get outta here.”
“Hey guy, I gotta warn you. Delia’s here with some friends, she just showed up a few minutes ago.” Kyle spoke over the top of techno music and laughter in the background. Aaron could almost make out the telltale snort of Delia’s laughter that usually took place at his expense.
“Did she say anything about me?” Aaron asked.
Aaron’s first serious girlfriend, Delia had turned his simple existence upside down with the infamous words spoken in her usual flippant manner, “I think we should see other people.” This wonderful news was followed up by the even more infamous relationship killer, “But we can still be friends!” It had been a very long and humbling week since her mercilessly delivered one-two combo knocked him for a loop.
Kyle paused for a second. Aaron knew he was probably trying to figure out how to console him. He’d been riding Aaron for the last week to broaden his horizons and do exactly as Delia suggested––see other people. Kyle made his opinions crystal clear. He told Aaron repeatedly he’d be better off with someone else. Kyle didn’t care much for Delia’s manipulations.
“Nope-not a word, nada.” Kyle got a kick out of throwing in random words of Spanish. He took two years of it in high school. “She’s playing like everything’s totally cool, she acts like she’s happy to be single. Look, don’t sweat it, there’s plenty of fish in the sea.” Kyle spoke as though it was no big deal, but Aaron didn’t believe it was really that simple to catch either fish or women.
“The best way to handle her is to hook up with her friends. If that doesn’t drive her crazy, then she doesn’t deserve you”, sage advice from philosopher Kyle.
“Do you think she told anyone we broke up?” Aaron was almost too afraid of hearing the answer to ask the question.
“You mean that she kicked you to the curb? Yeah, the word’s out and the rumor mill is crankin overtime. That boat has sailed, there ain’t no stopping it. That’s why you gotta get your game face on and strike back. You remember that girl Delia’s always hangin with, the sexy one with black hair, Amber?”
“Ahh … yeah, I think so.”
“She’s here right now, so hurry up, her tight little ass is ripe. And hey … um … can you pick up some beer on the way home? You know how it goes. You get a few drinks in em’ and the pants fall right off.”
Only if you’re Kyle. Aaron had never experienced the good fortune of having women’s pants fall off. His limited intimate encounters taught him there was considerable effort and occasional begging involved in the removal of women’s clothing.
“Yeah, I caught some decent tips tonight. Will a twelve pack do it?” He already knew the answer, but to ask was habitual, an endless game he and Kyle played. Kyle never wanted less beer. Kyle always pushed for more, and he always had a plausible reason, “Better make it a case, I think we’re in for an all-nighter.”
“Alright, I guess I’ll get a case, just in case we need a case.” The cheesy punch line had ceased being funny months ago. But like most aspects of Aaron’s life, it was a habit, a groove he’d fallen into that he couldn’t get out of. He hung up and headed out the front door of Bemichis into the New York streets to do the same thing he did night after night.
Kyle called for the beer. The moral support play wasn’t his thing. In fact, Kyle was probably making moves on Amber at that very moment. He didn’t mind too much. There were some redeeming qualities worth mentioning to Kyle’s benefit. Loyalty, yes loyalty would be one, and a never ending supply of unfailing optimism. The proverbial glass was always half full with Kyle-half full of beer.
Aaron didn’t make it home this night. He never made it to the corner drug store for beer. The moment he exited Bemichis, fate conspired to place two opposing and dangerous forces in his pathway; the timing so impeccably perfect one could argue divine intervention.
The first party was a vision so remarkable, so drop dead gorgeous, she seemed surreal against the backdrop of grainy darkness and gloom of the concrete-asphalt streets. Aaron’s world blurred out of focus. This sparkling gem of a five–foot blond–bomb package complete with cliché black cocktail dress and fuck me pumps was the only thing to remain distinct in his vision. As she locked gazes with him, nothing else existed in Aaron’s universe. Nothing else mattered beyond this fabulously attractive woman gliding towards him with supreme grace and poise.