the club in the reassuring pool of light of a street-lamp, I was glad I’d taken the time to change. Staring up at the garish neon sign flickering over the entrance, in one of the two pairs of black leather pants I owned, with a white button-down shirt that flared at the wrists and waist, topped with a black wool peacoat to keep warm, I shoved my hands into my pockets and shivered against more than the biting winds coming in off the river.
The line was long. I guess I wasn’t the only one hoping for a peek at the owner of the club tonight. My feet were already hurting, too. The heels on my boots were a little higher than I normally cared for, but I wasn’t planning on dancing. Much. This was work, after all.
Muttering under my breath, I withdrew a slightly trembling hand from my pocket to clutch my jacket collar closed around my throat before resignedly clomping across the street and past the leather and PVC-clad crowd chattering behind a length of black velvet rope. How cute, someone had chained little handcuffs to the support poles for the rope since the last time I was here. I also picked up the scent of some smoke on the air that smelled suspiciously unlike cigarettes.
Yup, it was the same old club scene I knew and loved. There wasn’t much difference between the vamp-run establishments and the human-run ones, honestly. These days, the pedigree of the owner was all it took to make the difference between what was cool and what was not. Were-run bars and restaurants weren’t as common, but they also seemed to get more business than those run by us poor humans.
Oh well. Bruno, the blond bouncer on the left, who was built like a truck and probably hit with those ham-sized fists like a ton of bricks, gave me a once-over when I brashly stepped around the front of the line to greet him. He cracked a Hollywood smile, all gleaming rows of pearly whites, when I held out a hand to shake. I was holding the requisite bills in my palm to bribe my way past the two-block-long line of complaining would-be patrons, who’d probably been standing in the cold waiting for entrance for at least a couple of hours already.
“Hey, Red, lookin’ good tonight.” Waving off the other three guys working security and unclasping the velvet rope for me to step through, he engulfed my hand in one of his. It looked like a shake, but he was really just palming the cash. I couldn’t stop from shuddering when he ran his thick, calloused thumb over my wrist. I wondered briefly if he could feel the staccato beat of my pulse before quickly drawing my hand back and shoving it back into my pocket.
“You gonna take me up on my offer yet?”
I laughed, though it was a little forced. Ugh, I’d tried so hard to forget that “offer” he’d made me last time I was here.
“Not yet, Blondie. Maybe next time.”
One of the other bouncers, new from the look of him, was holding the door for me. I didn’t keep him waiting and hightailed it inside to the sounds of catcalls and pissed-off complaints. Maybe I shouldn’t have worn the leather.
Walking into the entrance was always a little intimidating. It was a short, pitch-black hallway, occasionally lit by the hint of a strobe light creeping under the thick metal door at the end. I could already feel my bones vibrating from the bass of the music inside. Taking a breath, I slid my hand into one of the pockets of my leather pants and drew out a silver chain with a matching silver cross. Not much in the way of protection, but at least it should prevent Royce from getting any ideas.
Once I’d settled the necklace around my throat, the cross prominent against my breastbone, I pushed my way past the door and dropped off my coat with the checker, a heavily tattooed boy with a blue Mohawk and more piercings than I could count.
The first bar was far too crowded, so I brushed past the first hurdle of bodies crushed against each other and worked my way toward the dance floor in the next room. The place had four floors. There were three dance floors, one with a stage, and a number of quieter rooms with plush couches and sideshows and whatnot for those who wanted a break from dancing or just wanted to get their rocks off watching the exhibitionists that came out of the woodwork for the sideshows. The rumored “private” show rooms and employee’s offices were all upstairs as far as I knew. Never been in them, never planned on being in or even near them, thank you.
I’d made nice with one of the bartenders a while back. James often helped me find my marks and made for good conversation when said marks were no-shows. Unfortunately, he was completely inundated when I made my way to the second floor, barely having enough time to return my wave of greeting. There went my bright idea of asking him where to find Royce.
Looking around with distaste, I figured I might as well work off some of my jittery energy on the dance floor for a few minutes until some space cleared up at the bar. If I didn’t calm my nerves, I’d probably end up looking and sounding like an idiot once I finally found the vamp anyway.
I headed to the one that was playing the least obnoxious remix, relieved to see that the third, smallest, dance floor was also the least crowded, as was the bar. Glory hallelujah!
After two songs without a partner to dance with, I was bored out of my skull. There were only a handful of other people dancing here, and there was plenty of room for us all to leave a good deal of personal space between one another.
Weaving past the gyrating bodies on the dance floor to get to the tiny bar, I waited just a couple of minutes to get the attention of the bartender and shout an order for a bottle of water. Much as I would’ve liked something with a little more kick to it to steady my nerves and give me a shot of much-needed liquid courage, I didn’t think it would be a good idea for me to interview a vamp while toasted.
One of the men who had been leaning indolently against the wall watching the dancers walked over to me, and I had to fight back a sigh and an eye roll. He was taller than me, though still average in height. He was dressed much like the other Goth posers on the floor, albeit without the heavy white makeup, dark eyeliner, or multiple piercings. At a guess, judging by his smooth, slightly dark-toned skin, he was in his late twenties, early thirties, tops.
I braced myself for what I was sure would be a cheesy pickup line, but the guy surprised me with a much more subtle opening.
“Alone, are we? You don’t seem like one of the usual crowd. What brings you here tonight?”
The directness of his question was what caught me. I took a quick sip of my water to hide my indecision. Well, I didn’t think it would hurt too much to tell him the truth. It’d probably work to make him move on to greener pastures.
“I was hoping to catch the club owner for a few minutes. I would’ve asked one of my friends who works here, but he was busy. Just killing some time until some of the bodies clear out.”
On closer inspection, I saw he had thick dark hair that hung down to his shoulders and partially obscured equally dark eyes, though in the dim lighting I couldn’t tell if it they were pure black or simply a dark brown. His features were strong, as were those well-defined shoulders and taut, flat stomach I could see through the netted black shirt he wore. Those leather pants seemed painted on, showing equally muscular and painfully well-defined legs. He was, dare I say, devilishly handsome?
He arched a brow at my answer, his gaze shifting from mine to the cross. It was a brief glance, not lecherous, simply speculative. I flushed a little anyway. Come on, the guy looked at my (albeit small) chest. Also, knowing I was coming to speak to a vamp with the cross on was pretty much blatantly stating that I was either a White Hat or the closest thing to it. Very cliché, and, depending on who you asked, very rude.
I didn’t mind committing the social faux pas as long as it meant Royce would keep his fangs to himself.
He surprised
