Page 17 of Fallen Court

“Now?” I checked my watch. It was a little early to be starting the evening. The club would be less busy at this hour—less potential for innocent people getting caught in the crossfire.

And likely a trap.

Durant continued. “He went up to the VIP floor with a brunette. In the back, up the staircase. He’s got a crew of vampires on.”

A brunette. Definitely a trap. Bain was dangling Cate like bait. Adrenaline coursed through me, gathering into a tight knot in my chest. “I owe you.”

“I’ll remember that.” Durant sounded pleased.

I hung up on his ominous promise and turned back to the bed.

“You can’t go after him alone.”

Of course Fiona had heard every word. She studied the cache before us and then plucked a semiautomatic from the pile. Turning it over in her hands, she sighed. “We should wait for Roark.”

“We?” Maybe she wasn’t a pacifist after all. Romy caught my gaze over her shoulder. She and I might not see eye to eye, but we could agree on this. “You aren’t getting mixed up in this.”

“I’m already mixed up in this.”

I shook my head, tucking a Beretta into my waistband before reaching for my regular double holster. “I’m going after an heir in his own court.”

“No.” She took a step forward like she might physically stop me. “Bain won’t invite you to the Infernal Court.”

But that wasn’t my plan. “I don’t need an invitation to enter London.”

“The second you step one foot into that city, you’re a dead man.”

“And I’m taking Bain down with me. If he goes, anyone who comes with me will find themselves marked for the Hunt, too. I can’t let that happen.”

“Why do you need all these weapons?” she demanded.

The weapons weren’t for me. At least not all of them. I shoved a grenade into my pocket along with a few more loaded magazines. “Fallout.”

Her eyebrows jumped. “Lach—”

“Keep them. Just in case.”

“You can’t honestly think that you’re going to survive,” she murmured.

I forced a smirk that felt as empty as the hole in my chest. “Bad pennies always turn up.”

“I can’t let you go alone.”

My gaze flicked to Romy, and she nodded ever so slightly as she began to whisper under her breath. I checked the clips on my 9-millimeters before sliding them into my holster. “I appreciate the sentiment, but this is my mess to clean up.”

“You think you can stop me?”

“No,” I admitted, stepping forward and kissing her forehead. “But she can.”

Romy’s chant grew louder, and Fiona tried to lunge but found herself frozen in place.

“At least wait for Roark,” she screamed at me between curses.

But I was already gone.

Stepping foot in London—into fae territory—was like triggering the countdown on a bomb. Even without nipping directly inside, the moment I appeared outside the nightclub poised over the entrance of the Infernal Court, the clock began.

It didn’t look like much from the street. A brick warehouse repurposed into a nightclub. It had been a factory the last time I’d bothered to visit Bain on his turf. A velvet rope stretched the length of the sidewalk, and a handful of overeager humans waited to get inside. I studied the building a moment longer, my eyes flickering to the sign over the double doors.