Vamp Lure: Vamp Empire, #1

By Dani Stowe

Here come the Bloody Billionaires...

Cassie Bawler loves Vamp Trash - books about love and vampires. But when Cassie finally gets to meet a vampire, a man she thought was destined to be her new boss, Cassie gets caught in a hot mess of corporate mayhem that challenges everything she ever thought was true about bloodsuckers, who want to do more than just sink their fangs into her.

This is Book 1 of Vamp Empire, a dark paranormal romance series.

This gothic tale includes explicit group encounters with an alpha vampire.

For mature readers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dani Stowe
• Release date: Aug 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223590972

Dani Stowe

Hi! I’m Dani and I’m the author of The Sea Men series. Everything you’d like to know about me can be found at DaniStowe.com. But if you want a quick run-down—I like coffee, chai, southern sweet tea, and pretty much anything that promotes sugar and caffeine in a rich candied combo while I’m reading. Just like you, I love to read! My favorite place in all the world is hanging in one of my hammocks. Check out my other hangouts and follow me here: Bookbub http://bit.ly/2qgT7Oz Facebook https://bit.ly/3Y0bwgG Instagram https://bit.ly/instadanistowe Newsletter https://bit.ly/stoweaways Tik Tok https://bit.ly/3YchD1i  Website https://bit.ly/authordanistowe

Book preview

Vamp Lure

A close-up of a red rose Description automatically generated

Vamp Empire

Book 1

Cain & Cassie

by

DANI STOWE

DaniStowe.com

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More Series by Dani Stowe

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Vamp Empire

Vamp Empire, Vamp Lure

***

WARNING: THIS BOOK contains material that may not be suitable for all readers due to its sexual content, graphic imagery, and some violence. It has been formatted to fit mature minds.

Edited by Kim Burger

All rights reserved © 2018 Babe Fuel Books, 1st ed. 2017 By Dani Stowe. This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, actual events or locales is purely coincidental.

This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the author. This eBook may also not be re-sold, transferred, or given to other people without written permission of the author.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Cassie

Chapter 2

Cassie

Chapter 3

Cain

Chapter 4

Cassie

Chapter 5

Cain

Chapter 6

Cassie

Chapter 7

Cain

Chapter 8

Cassie

Chapter 9

Cassie

Chapter 10

Cain

Chapter 11

Cain

Chapter 12

Cassie

Chapter 13

Cain

Chapter 14

Cassie

Chapter 15

Cain

Chapter 16

Cassie

Chapter 17

Cassie

Chapter 18

Cassie

Chapter 19

Cassie

Chapter 20

Cassie

Chapter 21

Cassie

Chapter 22

Cain

Chapter 23

Cassie

Chapter 24

Cain

Chapter 25

Cassie

Chapter 26

Cain

Chapter 27

Cassie

Chapter 28

Cain

Chapter 29

Cain

Chapter 30

Cassie

Chapter 31

Cain

Chapter 32

Cain

Chapter 1

Cassie

Fuck. Me. Where are my shoes? I can’t believe this. My apartment is half the size of that little circle at the center of a helipad and I can’t find my damned shoes.

I know Mr. Cain has a helipad on top of his building. I saw the pictures on the Internet. If I get this job, I hope I don’t have to go up there. I’m so afraid of heights, it’s ridiculous.

My shoes—I swear I just saw them earlier this week. If Mr. Cain could see me now, I’m sure he wouldn’t hire me. I heard he can be a monster of a boss, but I need this job. I need it bad.

Bella, I say to my Maine Coon cat. I know you took my shoes. What did you do with them?

Meow, Bella vocalizes while clawing at my wicker chair, which is nearly shredded to bits on one leg. The only thing I use it for is to hold a book or two—whatever Vamp Trash I’m reading at the time. I can’t sit in the chair because I’m sure it’ll cave in.

Bella is a small cat so it’s really her chair, which she sleeps on. Every once in a while, I’ll find my book on the floor, like now; that furry bitch has pushed my book off again. I’m waiting for the day she gets up on the chair and the leg at which she’s been clawing finally gives way and she falls over. I really hope I’m there to see it happen, too.

I pick up the book and put it back on the seat realizing I have one last chapter of the latest vampire series left to finish. I pray to God Celeste tells her vampire boyfriend that she loves him and then he bites her and turns her. She already screwed him. I would’ve screwed him ten times by now.

God, I love vampires.

I wish I could’ve watched that vampire show everyone’s been talking about—the one with all the sex scenes and B-rated porn. Not being able to afford TV sucks bad, but between two jobs, I don’t have time for television and there’s no way I could afford a DVR.

Bella is clawing at the chair leg again like she’s cluing me in to feed her, but I already...

Oh my god! Did I forget to feed you this morning?! I ask her.

I can’t find my shoes and I didn’t feed the cat. I’m going to be so fucking late and I’m never late for anything!

Maybe this is a sign. Maybe I should just not go to the interview.

Just thinking about Mr. Cain makes me nervous anyway. How could I ever do a good job as an assistant if I’m too nervous to remember to feed my own cat like I do every other morning?

Yes, it’s a sign...and now the phone is ringing. As if I need another problem.

Should I answer it? I know it’s Mom. I keep saying I’ll assign her her own ringtone, but between two jobs, that’s the one thing I do keep forgetting.

It could be the company calling to push the interview time back later. It happened to me once before but I doubt it. I look at the phone screen and, sure enough, it’s Mom.

Picking it up, What? I blurt.

I just wanted to say good luck and don’t forget to call me when it’s over.

Mom, I know. You said the same exact thing last night. I have to go. I’m supposed to leave in five minutes and I can’t find my shoes.

You put them in a box under your bed, so Bella wouldn’t get to them. Remember?

Ah, darn. She’s right. I crouch down to peek under the bed and there they are. I got it.

See. Aren’t you glad I called? I don’t think you’re ready for a job like this, Cassie. You should’ve never left home. But don’t forget to call me afterward anyway.

Yes, I know, Mom. For the billionth time, I’ll call you when it’s over.

And no red lipstick. I know which one you’re planning to wear. Wear the bronze.

What?! But the red looks better with my outfit.

No, honey, the red makes you look like a hooker. Wear the bronze.

Oh geez, Mom.

Love you.

I love you, too.

I open the shoebox and there are—the gray suede heels that match my long skirted gray suit that my mother had to buy for me. The outfit, as a whole, including the purse, cost over four hundred dollars. If I do get this job, Mr. Cain will fire me by day two because he’ll realize I’ll be wearing the same suit every single day—at least until my first paycheck. Maybe the fact I can’t afford the right attire is another sign. Maybe the temp agency didn’t read my résumé thoroughly and made a mistake.

Bella starts to claw at the chair again.

I know!

I feed my brat of a cat, smooth my blonde hair in the mirror one more time, put on the red lipstick that makes me look like a hooker—according to my mother, and head out the door.

Coming down the stairwell, old Mrs. Miller is blocking the way. She’s tall and wide and...slow. She’s doing this crap on purpose. She’s an attention seeker and I should’ve never told her I had an interview this morning.

Good morning, Cassie, she says and starts to hack as if she’s hoping to force up a lung so I’ll stay with her. Would you mind helping me back down the stairs? I thought I’d try getting some exercise, but it looks like I’m not going to make it up a whole flight and I’m too afraid to turn around by myself.

Mrs. Miller, I’d love to help you, but I have to go. I have an interview this morning, remember? I try to squeeze by her, but her obese round belly and big boobs trap me in the small staircase and she grabs my forearm.

You’re such a dear, she says and now I’m stuck helping the old lady.

I look at my watch. I’ve left three minutes earlier than I had planned, so I guess I’m making good time. I pull Mrs. Miller’s hand off of me and put my arm under hers to give her support. I pray to God I don’t end up smelling like her. She smells like moth balls rolled in sweaty, aged body odor.

I don’t think you really want to go to the interview, says Mrs. Miller.

Now, I’m really irritated.  What makes you say that? I ask.

I’ve been by that building where you’re going. That’s too fancy a building for you, Cassie. You don’t want to work there.

Oh my god, this old lady! She irritates me so bad. I’m fucking helping her down the stairs and she’s freakin’ demeaning me.

She’s old. I know. I bite my lip to keep myself from bitching at her. She used to be a beauty queen a long time ago, so she thinks she’s entitled to speak her opinions freely and I want to remind her the steps are not a stage and there are certainly no microphones around.

The time it takes to get her down six individual steps feels like an eternity and in that time, she’s nearly fallen twice. Or at least, she’s acting like she’s almost fallen. My lip is sore when we finally get to the bottom. I’ve bit it so hard when she almost slipped the last time that I can now taste a tiny bit of blood on the tip of my tongue.

I look at my watch and the time it’s taken Mrs. Miller to get to the bottom of the stairs has put me behind schedule. The last nine minutes with Mrs. Miller, which might cost me the highest paying job I’ve ever had the opportunity to apply for and need, I’ve spent learning about her affair with a fancy gentlemen, who would’ve married her if it wasn’t for his overambitious behavior in both business and coition.

"He made me do all kinds of things—sexually, she points out. Sometimes, it was painful, perhaps even on the verge of torture, but I’d do it all again if I could. You’re not that kind of girl, Cassie. You’re too sweet to get involved with fancy folks. They look fancy on the outside, but on the inside? They’re manipulative, high-rolling devils. I think nowadays they call them ballers."

I still giggle at her use of the terminology.

Laugh all you want, she said. I may be old, but I know why they use that word. My fancy gentleman used to love to fit his sacks into my mouth as I licked. You have a small mouth; it’s best you stay away from those uptowners. I did believe I’d eventually get something out of it—money or jewelry, even love, but all I got was sex. Although, I won’t lie. Looking back, I think I enjoyed it.

The whole thing is weird, but I’m intrigued. The idea of Mrs. Miller, currently 275 pounds and at least seventy-years old, having a man’s genitalia wedged behind her teeth (although I’m sure they’re dentures now) to the back of her throat should make me nauseous, but I’ve been in her apartment and she was quite a looker in her day. Her boobs make up most of her body weight, bulging from her chest in every direction. They reach to her chin when she’s in her recliner and they pop out at the sides making it difficult for her to reach for things. I’m sure there wasn’t a baller in her day that didn’t stop to ogle her. Any man would’ve found himself lucky to have her, especially in bed. More so, since I know now she was a freak.

As I try to pull away, she grabs me by the arm once more. Darling, why don’t you skip that interview and stay at the university deli? I’m sure you’ll land a nice, young, nerdy-type there. The type that likes to read books like you do.

The deli doesn’t pay the bills, Mrs. Miller. I’m not sure I’ll make rent this month.

What about your mother? she asks. Can’t she help you?

She’s helped me plenty, but after two college degrees, it’s about time I learn to fend for myself.

Hmm, she replies. Well, give me a hug.

I give Mrs. Miller a hug and I feel like a giant-sized, warm, smelly panda is embracing me. It’s her boobs. I don’t have boobs like that. Mom nearly does, but I wasn’t lucky enough to get those genes. Mine are rather small. I have to boost them with padding. The padding is obvious through my white chiffon ruffled top, and it makes me a bit self-conscious, especially after bouncing off of Mrs. Miller’s pillows imposing out of her chest. But no one is going to see the padding under my blazer, so I figure I’m good.

Chapter 2

Cassie

Ifinally get out of the building and realize how ridiculous my morning has been. My mother and Mrs. Miller both forced me to leave later than I wanted. I hop on the subway and everyone is staring. I know in this outfit I look too expensive to be down here. I bet Mr. Cain has never been down here.

When I get back up to the street, I still have time. I walk a few blocks and I’m slower than usual; I’m not used to these stupid high heels. They’re hurting me. Whoever said women had to wear these to look professional needs a good smack in the face. I really don’t see the point other than the idea that it makes us look taller or longer...or sexier.

Okay, I admit I do feel sexy in the heels, but there’s no way I’d be able to make this trek every day wearing these. I’m going to have to do what a lot of the other people around me are doing—wear tennis shoes and put my heels on before I get to work.

Gosh, I really hope I get this job.

Rounding the corner, I see the building—the Arcain Enterprises building. It sits front and center between the other city buildings on the block, only it beams, reflecting sunlight off every panel of its mirror-tinted windows.

I look at my watch. I’m early. Forty-five minutes early to be exact.

Ha! Mom and Mrs. Miller and Bella—they all thought they’d be able to slow me down, but I put in extra time just for them.

I can totally do this job.

Cassie! calls a voice. It’s Dougie, my neighbor, well sort-of. He lives in the building across the street.

Wow, he says as he finishes wrapping a customer’s breakfast ham sandwich and hands it to his customer in exchange for a couple of bucks.

I blush and bat my eyes.

You look fancy, he continues with his classic Manhattan accent. I never seen you lookin’ so dressed up. You clean up good. What’s our little southern girl doin’ on this side of the city? You get a new job?

I hope so. I’m headed to an interview, I reply.

Oh yeah? Wit who? he asks as he pours a cup of coffee for another customer.

I’ve never seen Dougie at work before. I’ve seen him unloading his deli cart a few times, but I’ve never seen him at work. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve been to this side of town during usual business hours.

Arcain Enterprises, I say cheerfully and Dougie drops the next sandwich he’s been working on onto the cutting board.

Arcain? he asks. I don’t think a girl like you belongs with dat company, he says shaking his head.

Hey! says the man waiting on his sandwich. You gonna finish that or what?

Dougie quickly wraps the sandwich and hands it to the man who tosses the money at Dougie, pissing him off.

Son of bitch! yells Dougie. Don’t come back here tomorrow! Ya hear! Dougie takes a big breath and yells to his other customers, Sorry, folks I gotta take a quick break. He reaches into a cabinet and pulls out a sign that says: Back in 5.

I watch as Dougie’s customers roll their eyes, but they all decide to stay in line and wait. And they’re also watching us.

Dougie walks over to me and pulls me on the side. You can’t work for Arcain, he tells me.

I’m confused as hell and I know he can see the confusion as he wraps his arm around me.

There’s somethin’ wrong with dat company, says Dougie as he turns his back to the building, yet points his thumb towards it.

I don’t know why he’s behaving so sneaky.  Dougie, what are you talking about?

Look, I’ve been on dis street corner a long time. I see a lotta da same people come and go. I also see a lotta girls like you go in for interviews and a few even get da job, but then after a few months— Dougie pauses, takes a big breath, then shakes his head, swinging his fingers a few times to fan his throat.

My head jerks as I’m taken aback by what he’s implying because it looks like he literally means employees get put on the chopping block to get their throats slit rather than simply getting fired.

Is this a joke? I ask. You’re kidding, right?

No! whines Dougie. Shh! He pulls me in closer and it makes me uncomfortable. I can smell the sour leftovers of chewing tobacco on his breath, which makes me a little queasy and I roll my eyes.

Don’t roll your eyes at me, Cassie. I’m tellin’ you. There is somethin’ very wrong with dat company and da people inside. Every day, I come to set-up shop at 4:30 a.m. And every day at 4:45, Mr. Cain and two of his associates walk by me into da building. But there’s something wrong with dem.

Like what? I ask. I’m getting so frustrated. Dougie has never acted like this before. I even love his Manhattan accent. But not today. The plump, fiftyish man has always seemed so kind and generous. Maybe too generous considering his thirty-year old son still lives at home with him because his son can’t keep