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Although I suspected it was lost on Ray with how she bounced along in front of me as though we were about to take a tour of a chocolate factory.
At times like these, I tried to keep my limp to a minimum, not keen to show weakness. But it was difficult, especially following the stiffness in my legs from sitting on the pavement for so long.
When we reached the club, he moved swiftly in front of us, holding the door open and shooing us inside. The light from the sun was quenched immediately as he closed the heavy door with a thud, and the dim neon lighting added to the foreboding atmosphere of the place.
A nightclub in the daytime wasn’t a sexy place.
What the fuck was I thinking coming here armed with only a tiny knife?
When I moved to ascend the stairs, he grabbed my shoulder. My immediate response was to whirl around and take on a defensive stance. He didn’t flinch but did look mildly surprised.
“Hold your arms out.”
“What?”
“I’m going to pat you down.” His tone left no room for argument, and gritting my teeth against the world of responses filling my mind, I held my arms out and spread my legs slightly. He was all business, and I was thankful for that, at least. He didn’t linger, not paying more than necessary attention to my chest, focusing more on my torso and thighs.
When he reached my pocket, I stiffened as he slid his hand inside, pausing and eyeing me before continuing and removing the silver knife. Surely, he wouldn’t be offended by such a small weapon? But he studied it with interest, casting me a look I couldn’t interpret before pocketing it himself.
I wanted to ask for it back since I was running out of the fucking things.
Ray couldn’t wipe the grin from her face when he patted her down, and she moaned and writhed as he moved his hands over her body. I knew she was messing with him, but it still made me grind my teeth in irritation. When she looked at me with that smirk, I cringed, knowing exactly what she was doing, trying to get a rise out of me and to spark a hint of jealousy.
Dammit, it was working too.
“Upstairs, ladies,” he said as though he were inviting us somewhere fun and exclusive and not to meet some underground crime lord.
Pressing my lips together in what I hoped passed for a smile, I moved up the stairs, Ray following close behind me.
RAY
Ilsa hated this, hated every second we were in this club. I thought this is what she wanted, to investigate and follow through. Perhaps it was being disarmed by the bouncer, though I’m not sure what good that knife would’ve done her anyway. There were bound to be more guards upstairs.
When we reached the top of the stairwell, the door opened into a curved balcony overlooking the dance floor. Guess I finally got to see what was so special about the VIP area.
It was something special, all right.
Like recognizes like, and I knew another celestial being when I saw one.
No wonder the bouncer had taken such interest in Ilsa’s choice of silver for a weapon.
Our crime boss sat in a velvety red chair, and although there was another single chair and an empty couch, all the other men in the room stood around him. There was something off about the room’s décor like it was chosen by someone trying too hard to show their financial status. It didn’t match the man sitting in the chair, and my immediate instinct was he had taken ownership by force. Two bouncers flanked each side of him, another two stood in front of the door behind where he sat, and the one behind us closed the door to our exit with a click.
Seven, plus the man in the chair.
If we needed to, it might not be as easy to get out of here in a hurry as I had hoped.
I wondered if his men knew he wasn’t human.
Should I tell Ilsa? She was already weary of me. Would that just set her off further?
Ilsa stood with her arms crossed over her chest. She still radiated authority, and it was exciting to witness. I considered mimicking her pose but realized if we came in here posing like some sort of boyband, it would only appear comical, and I doubted we looked threatening as it was. So I settled for dropping one hip and placing my hands on my waist. Ilsa’s expression—a permanently arched brow—expressedtheywere somehow wastinghertime. I was digging it.
“Who are you?” the man in the chair asked. There was no doubting the authority in his voice—deep and dark without having to raise the volume—it filled the space between us before filtering into our bodies. He wasn’t shouting, he didn’t need to. I bet you could hear that voice even when the club was in full swing, every word he said would pour right into your soul. I hated that I couldn’t see his eyes. Who wore sunglasses inside anyway? What was he hiding?
Something I was sure of—there was power behind those glasses, centuries of power, and a darkness I wasn’t sure even I’d mess with.
Although, that hadn’t stopped me before.
