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I don’t know who they all are. But I know the matching rings aren’t coincidence. It means those men were connected, and organized: a club, or maybe a fraternity of some kind. And while I know Club Venom is its own thing, and doesn’t involve lion head rings, itisalso a secretive, clandestine club that attracts men with certain tastes and desires.
What I’m looking for is overlap. Connections.Anythingthat might lead me to members of Club Venom who perhaps also enjoy wearing lion rings and hurting young women against their will.
Marrying Dante Sartorre might be signing my soul over to the devil. But it might also give me access to clues—club registries, member details—that would allow me to track down the men who took my friend’s life, before mine runs out.
“Tempest?”
I blink as I pull my thoughts back to the present.
“Sorry, Taylor, my head’s all over the place today.” I exhale. “Look, I’d love you to come, but wouldn’t it be a conflict of interest, with Dante being your client?”
She frowns. “It wouldn’thaveto be.”
“Tay,” I sigh, smiling to cover the twinge of guilt I feel with semi-lying to her. “It’ll be a who’s-who of New York mafia. That’s not exactly a good look, is it?”
She snorts. “You do realize who half our clients are, yes?” Then she exhales. “Fine, if you don’t want me there?—”
“Taylor…”
She grins, reaching over to squeeze my arm. “I’mkidding, girl. You’re probably right. This is a family thing, and I’m not that.”
I roll my eyes. “The hell you aren’t.”
She chuckles. “All the same, I didn’t receive an invite. And in Dante Sartorre’s world, that means you’re not invited. Period.”
I scowl. “Is he always such a dick?”
“He’s…” Her brow furrows as she folds her arms across her suit jacket. I’m sure she just came from the office. “Efficient. Sometimes brutally so. He’s the type of man who doesn’t see any reason to use several words if one will do, if that makes sense.”
“So he’s a neanderthal.”
Taylor shakes her head, frowning. “All I will say is that if I’d ever had any suspicion that he was the type of man who’d try and marry a fucking eighteen-year-old, oryou, I’d have fired him as a client a long time ago.”
My mouth twists. “Thanks,” I mumble quietly.
“This whole thing…” She looks away angrily. “I’m so sorry this is?—”
“We don’t have to talk about it,” I murmur.
Taylor nods before walking over and giving me a much-needed hug. When she pulls back, we both wordlessly agree to exhale the Dante from our lungs.
“So…” She nods at the pile of clothes on my bed. “Do you know yet what you’re wearing?”
“Hell, yes.”
I pluck a few garments from the pile and lay them out: black ripped skinny jeans, a black Joy Division t-shirt, and heeled boots that go up to my knee.
Taylor makes a face.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, and I’m painting my nails, too. Black with skulls,” I laugh.
Taylor says nothing. I frown as I glance at her.
“Okay, what is it.”
“It’s just…” She sucks on her teeth. “You know how Gabriel is always saying to pick your battles?”
