Vampire "Untitled" (Vampire "Untitled" Trilogy Book 1) by Lee McGeorge

Boy looked twelve, no more than fourteen. There was always the
chance that Big Man was the kid’s father, in which case the close hugging would
seem affectionate, especially as the kid looked mentally vacant.
    Big Man stroked his hand over Boy’s chest.
    He wasn’t the kid’s father. This was sexual and it
made Paul feel sick. The kid looked like a victim. Big Man was a predator. And
there wasn’t a damn thing he would do about it. He had to get back into the
apartment without causing trouble and that was difficult enough.
    Every tower block had four or five steps up to the
main entrance and Big Man was holding boy at the top of the stairs to the block
directly opposite Paul’s. No more than twenty feet from his front door. Here in
Noua, kids standing on the entranceway seemed the equivalent of British kids
hanging out in the streets. He’d noticed this just looking through the window,
but Big Man and Nealla weren’t kids; they shouldn’t be hanging around in the
streets. The thought occurred that they might be drug dealers which could
explain the weird behaviour he saw when they tried to hide something the
previous day; perhaps it was drugs. For someone as batshit crazy and violent as
Nealla, it was probably a fair career choice.
    “How do I get inside?”
    Just go for it. Walk straight and firm, get into the
building, don’t look over.
    No sooner he emerged from behind cover than Big Man
was turning his face towards him. Paul ignored the gaze but watched Big Man
raise his hand above his shoulder and rap his knuckles on the door behind him.
A moment later and that door opened for Nealla to step outside.
    Nealla saw him immediately and jauntily hopped down
the steps to approach.
    “Oh, fuck.”
    Paul’s jeans and shoes were soaking wet. He didn’t
want a confrontation, but he especially didn’t want one looking like he’d
fallen in a river. “Stick with the plan... stick with the plan... stick with,
oh fuck!”
    Nealla had sauntered across the road to intercept. Big
Man let go of Boy and ambled across the road with Nealla. They did it real cool
and casual, like bad actors making a theatrical gesture of casually walking
that was overly suspicious.
    There was no way to avoid them. Push past and get
inside, or turn, run, and go somewhere else? It was early, not even 9:00am.
Turn around perhaps, and get on the bus to Brasov, spend the day there wearing
soaking wet clothes.
    “Pizda Englezeasca!” Nealla called. There was a
mischievous joviality in his voice and he was wearing that same grinning smirk
as when he’d held him down and threatened with the razor.
    Paul blanked him and headed towards the door. The
decision was made invisibly, the commitment to go forward was made either by
accident or momentum. He would try to ignore them and get inside the block. His
heart was banging in his chest and he could feel his face flushing. Nealla was
already giving the victory strut; he seemed pleased with himself, happy to have
won the face-off before it began. Paul made a sudden dart forward heading for
the doorway. Nealla jumped to the side to block his way, throwing his arms wide
as a barrier. He jokingly said something in Romanian that Paul non-verbally
translated as ‘not so fast, Englishman’.
    Be ready to run.
    Make plans, quick, have a contingency.
    If he makes the slightest move, get back up the street
to the bus stand, there are people there, witnesses, protection.
    Paul stood still and allowed Nealla to come to him.
    “Tot aici esti, englezoiule?” Nealla asked. He pointed
a finger in Paul’s face and said a few sentences of threats that contained the
name Ildico. There was something in his eyes; cold grey eyes that contained a
fierceness that seemed like a volcano ready to erupt. Nealla really was angry
about something and he was barely keeping it under control. One look at his
face, twisted in anger told you everything. Something was eating away at him.
    Stay calm, Paul thought. Let him have his moment,