Two lilac-haired fae women writhed in his lap, one kissing his neck, the other moaning softly as Saint dropped little black pills onto her tongue. Two demon cocktail servers lounged beside them, thoroughly engaged with each other.
Saint’s mouth shone red with blood from a fresh feed, though I had no idea who’d offered up the vein this time. Fae blood was the most exquisite in terms of taste, but it didn’t sustain him. He needed regular infusions of human blood for that, and the supply was always an issue. We usually imported it for our vampire customers from a network of blood banks down in Mexico, but the human authorities were starting to crack down on our smugglers, squeezing the supply and pushing up our costs.
Live-feeding was the best alternative, but Saint didn’t allow humans in the club, and outside he kept a low profile, avoiding humans whenever possible. All of us did—most humans didn’t know the supernatural world existed, and we preferred to keep it that way. Exposure was bad for business and bad for our health.
I folded my arms across my chest and leaned against the massive pipes, all that remained of the cathedral’s original organ. Images of the woman—Haley—flickered through my mind.
After promising to meet Saint at his home in the Garden District the following afternoon, she’d said her goodbyes and headed back to her hotel, and he’d spent the rest of the evening making arrangements with our top advisors to keep the business running during his… unforeseen absence.
Direct quote.
Operational and profitable at all times—that was the deal. All part of the fucked-up agreement we’d made with the crooked Midnight fae who’d helped us escape. And in the two years we’d been smuggling drugs out of Midnight, we’d done everything in our power to keep things running smoothly, to keep bringing in the green for everyone involved, and—most importantly—to keep the entire hustle off Keradoc’s radar.
For all Saint’s bullshit, Haley was a complication I hadn’t seen coming.
What was her deal, anyway? Clearly, she and Saint had been in a relationship, but I couldn’t make sense of it. The woman was a little on the crazy side, sure. But she was smart. Confident. A fighter. Drop-dead beautiful.
What the hell had a witch like thateverseen in a grade-A fuckup like Saint?
He whispered something into the pill-popping fae’s ear, no doubt weaving some vampire-influenced fantasy she’d paid for, then finally met my gaze across the dim space. “Something I can do for you, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Demon?”
“No,” I ground out, and we both knew I wasn’t talking about whether he could do something for me.
“No?” he asked.
“Hellno. Would it help if I added a fuck? Fuck no. As a matter of fact, fucking hell no. Saint, you’re a crazy fuck, but this… this is next-level insanity, even for you.”
His silver eyes burned into me, even as his hand roamed down to the fae’s ass. He gave her a quick swat, then all four of his guests rose from the couch and exited the loft.
“You’ve got history with her,” I said once we were alone.
“Ancient, over, and not up for discussion.” He retrieved an envelope from his inside jacket pocket and tossed it to me.
I opened it up. Thumbed the thick stack of money inside. “Fuck is this?”
He rose from the couch and headed for the bar, pouring himself a bourbon. “Insane or not, Jax, I don’t have a choice.”
“Because you owe her?”
He didn’t respond.
“Haley’s calling in your debt,” I said, “so you’re calling in mine? That’s how this works?”
“I’m paying you. It’s not the same thing.”
“And you know I can’t take the money, which makes itexactlythe same thing.” I shoved the envelope against his chest. “Newsflash, asshole. I’m not interested in playing escort to some witch who used to suck your—”
He grabbed my wrist. Leaned in close. “Careful, hellspawn.”
His pupils were so dilated, they almost swallowed the silver in his eyes. The sickly-sweet scent of Devil’s Dream clung to his breath. I didn’t need to see his tongue to know it would be covered in the drug’s signature black whorls.
Apparently, the fae woman wasn’t the only one popping the pills of Midnight.
Fuck.
Back in The Black, they called it. Dancing with the Devil, visiting an old friend, tripping down memory lane. There were as many terms for the addiction as there were for the drug itself—Devil’s Dream, D2, Dizzy Devil, Sweet Dream, The Black, Dark Delight. It obliterated your inhibitions, erased your conscious awareness, and put you in a state of pure euphoria, leaving you wide open to the twin powers of imagination and suggestion. Combine that with vampire influence whispered in a willing ear, and you had the perfect recipe for crafting the ultimate fantasy… assuming you could pay the price.
Saint had always struggled with the stuff—in Midnight and New Orleans both. After nearly burning down the club in a drug-induced haze six months ago, he’d managed to stay clean, but an hour with his ex had sent him running right back into the Devil’s arms.
