Blood Sacrifice by By Rick R. Reed Read Free Book Online

growing more obvious as the beer and whiskey emboldened him. There wasn’t enough alcohol in the bar, however, to provide Edward with enough courage to actually approach the man and initiate a conversation. Trolling for men, his method was always the same: watch and wait. If his pointed eye contact yielded no results, Edward would go home alone. Since the bar was dark and smoke-obscured, not allowing the casual observer to take in the allure of Edward’s emerald eyes, he often traveled back to his Horatio Street walkup by himself, accompanied only by the stench of stale beer and smoke on his clothes.
    But tonight, Edward wasn’t sure he would be making that walk alone. Even though it was impossible to tell what the man was thinking behind those odd, old-fashioned glasses, there was an almost palpable connection. Edward could feel it. The sensation was akin to the prickle he got when he knew someone was watching him, even if his back was turned. The stranger’s face was turned toward him, and Edward was positive their gazes were engaged, even if a shield of black glass prevented him from confirming it.
    Almost.
He was almost to the point where impatience and desire collided, at the point where he would disregard his own fear and let hunger usurp it. He was almost there: where he’d break his own rule and approach the man. What would he say? What would be clever enough to amuse this stranger?
    Unfortunately, Edward’s expressiveness was confined to canvas and oil paint. He sipped his whiskey and lit another Lucky. What was the point? As acute as his desire was, there was no arguing with his shyness. He would never have the courage to drop a line as simple as, “Hey there, what brings you out tonight?” Edward figured no matter what he said, it would come out sounding stupid. He could already feel the hot flush of shame on his face as he imagined the stranger looking at him with amusement and then distaste, his glance withering enough to send Edward away, stumbling, self-confidence knocked down another notch.
    “So what brings you out on this rainy night?”
    Edward swallowed and didn’t turn for a moment. He looked to the place where the stranger had been standing and saw it was vacant, which could lead to only one conclusion….
    Edward turned, and there he was, close enough to touch. Edward looked the man up and down, taking in the thin frame that seemed anything but frail: a coiled-up energy (again, the danger) seemed to pulse within him. His body had a steeliness not apparent from across the room. Edward took another sip of his whiskey and lit another cigarette, ploys to give him time to think.
    Fuck it, though, there was no clever answer to a question like what brought him out this night. The idea, Edward supposed, was not to act as a prelude to witty banter, but to initiate conversation so the two of them could meet.
God, Edward, you’re stupid. Just answer the man before he walks away, questioning his taste.
    “Just needed a little drink.” Edward smiled and raised his glass, which was empty. He felt a line of sweat trickle down his spine. “A little drink never hurt anyone, right?”
    The man edged closer. There was a faint, bitter aroma to his person, like old smoke, but not from cigarettes. It took a moment for Edward to place the smell: marijuana. He’d been to enough East Village parties to recognize the scent that made Edward think of the incense priests burned at Mass (his altar boy days from Summitville, Pennsylvania rushed back).
    “Oh, I don’t know about that.” The man smiled. “It depends on a little drink of what and who’s doing the drinking to determine if there’s harm, or at least the potential of it.”
    The guy was as strange as he looked. His voice had a mellow, deep timbre to it, drawing Edward further in, making the music in the background (was it Anita O’Day?) fade, along with the voices in the bar. What the hell was he talking about?
    Edward ran a hand through his hair.