Destiny (11 page)

I hit send and hoped he’d take the bait. His ego was certainly huge enough. My phone buzzed with his speedy reply.

Nice try, pet. I’ll keep my new toys. You keep drinking. See you soon.

Anger almost had me hurling my phone at the mirror behind the bar. “Shit.” Instead, I jammed it in my back pocket and stomped the last few steps to my spot.

Oh, hell no. Fin lounged on my couch with his two female groupies.

Ember, the sweeter one, nestled into Fin’s side, her slender fishnet-clad legs folded underneath her. She’d added a neon blue streak to her straight black hair since last we’d met at Banzai. It made her blue eyes pop.

She gave me a welcoming smile I acknowledged with a nod while Scarlet, the minion in need of an attitude adjustment, nailed me with a nasty scowl and slung her legs over Fin’s in a blatant display of ownership, flashing a fair amount of bare thigh between her too-short black skirt and her thigh high stockings.

Fin gave me a sultry, come hither smile. “Good evening, Princess. Join us.”

I bristled at his invitation. My club. My spot. “Get out.” I spoke low for his vampire ears only, but the hostile glare I delivered caused Ember’s face to cloud with worry.

Scarlet stroked Fin’s pale chest through his unbuttoned black shirt. “Make her go away, Fin,” she whined.

He ignored her. “Please, sit. Drinks on me.” He wet his lower lip and his power caressed my skin.

I smelled cherries and strawberries. I sidestepped the three tiny cocktail tables fronting the couch and stomped on his booted foot, making him jerk. “Can’t believe you tried to roofie me. Again.” I ignited my fire, let it coalesce into twin balls of doom in my palms for Mister Pretty and Pompous.

He leaned forward, dislodging his groupies as if inviting me to annihilate him. Ember turned her attention to the cocktail table and topped up the champagne flutes while Scarlet crossed her arms and pouted.

Ember lifted a glass in my direction. “Bubbly?”

The champagne saved Fin. It was the most expensive one on our menu and they had three bottles. He’d paid well for my space. My power quieted along with my temper.

Fin accepted a glass from Ember and sipped the costly bubbles while his gaze took a leisurely stroll up my body. His energy followed, caressing me like silk gliding across my naked flesh. Damn, that felt good, and damn my body for reacting.

I do not like pretty boys. I do not.
I kicked his shin, causing him to snort champagne and sputter and cough. Anger sparked in his dark eyes.

Good. I could use a good fight, work off some of my Dixon angst. “Bring it, pretty boy.”

But he smiled and raised his glass in salute, then looked over my shoulder. “Company, Princess.”

I pivoted smack into Gen. She hugged me against her dance-warmed body, a shiny vision in a silver bustier and matching hip hugger pants.

“About time you showed up,” she shouted over the music. Her whiskey-tinged breath tickled my nose. She cocked her head and gave Fin and his entourage a calculating stare. “Shall I bounce them? Or are you gonna get your flirt on with Fancy Fin?”

He arched a brow, expression amused and welcoming.

I shook my head. “Neither. Let’s dance.” I needed space from pretty Fin. I didn’t need yet another troublesome vampire right now. Dixon and Alexander proved more than enough.

Gen hopped over the railing separating my lounge spot from the dance floor. I followed suit and we danced our way to the stage, dodging happy, sweaty, shirtless men, and women in varying states of minimally dressed, from mini-dresses to tiny tops and skirts, and bustiers and jeans.

Ren stood in front of the stage’s stairs, his somber gaze surveying the crowd. His face split into a grin when we joined him.

I pulled his head down to mine and yelled in his ear, “Got here in ten. I win. The fancy sake is on you.”

He kissed my cheek and gave me a quick hug. “But you’ll share it with me, right?”

I gave him a thumbs up, patted his muscled shoulder, and skipped up the steps to the stage. Gen took my hand and twirled us around just as a new song hit the sound system. We grooved together for a bit, the beat luring me into its womb, melting some of my tension.

When the song hit the breakdown, I glanced at Claire, towering like a shiny giant on the DJ platform. Between the raised platform and the kickass tall pink vinyl boots she sported, she appeared truly larger than life. Psychedelic too, in her paisley go-go dancer dress.

I tugged on Gen’s arm and we bopped our way to the DJ setup. Claire gave control to Milo and joined us on stage. Milo acknowledged me with a nod then swung the music back into the land of pounding beats. The crowd screamed its pleasure.

Claire leaned down and put her mouth close to my ear. “Dance floor is out of control. Let’s work it up here.”

Gen curved her arm around mine, Claire mimicked her on my other side, and off we went toward center stage.

“Make a hole, people! DJ Claire and Rina are in the house,” Gen bellowed, her voice carrying much farther than I would expect given the music volume.

The stage dancers nearest us shrieked in delight and parted. Claire and Gen held my hands and we danced through the parallel lines of partiers. Mark awaited us center stage. He made a show of glancing at his watch then nailed me with a nod of approval. I shot him a quick smile, then closed my eyes and let the music carry me away from my worries. Maybe this break from the drama would improve my problem-solving ability.

I could only hope.

The beat drummed its primal call, demanding my response. I reached upward, my body swaying. Mark gripped my hips, and we flew with the rhythm, soaring high. Another body fronted mine. Claire. I grasped her waist and the three of us continued our tribal communion until the music shifted and broke us apart, carrying us all onto other paths.

Ren strolled up to us just as a new track took over and a diva’s voice layered “kiss me, kiss me” over the booming bass. Gen danced into him and planted a sloppy kiss on his lips. Ren, always ready to flirt, returned her embrace with gusto.

Claire grinned. “That’s my cue to play tag with Milo.” She bopped off to the DJ platform, leaving me with Mark.

He cocked a questioning brow, swaying in place to the music. A track Faith loved merged into the mix and her somber face—from the picture Dixon emailed me—swam in my mind, ending my brief respite from worry.

Dixon has Faith and Kai. He might kill them no matter what I do. I have to drink that damn blood in secret like some junkie and keep on lying to my family and friends while I try to figure out a way out of this mess. I need to take down that undead bastard.

I started to beat a hasty retreat to our VIP lounge, Heaven, but Mark stopped me. “They need me in the Tower. You coming?”

His request sounded more like a demand, but I followed him backstage where we could take the elevator to our security control room. Perhaps whatever drama was unfolding up there would momentarily wipe out that image of my friends haunting my head—Faith’s somber brown eyes boring into me. And Kai’s battered face, anger flashing in his dark eyes.

My stride faltered as we passed the baby grand piano stored backstage. Despite every self-preservation nerve in my body screaming for me to keep moving, I ground to a halt and let my foolish, sappy brain remember my first conversation with Alexander. He was playing a jazz tune when I’d sauntered up to him and asked the stupidest questions ever, babbling like a nervous, awkward teenage girl flustered by the hot, popular guy. He answered my questions while his fingers caressed the keys, and oh, how I’d wanted those hands on me.

I ran my hand over the piano’s slick, quilted nylon cover. I missed him, and despite his recent odd behavior, I wanted him here, right now, playing some cool jazz or a classical tune, or, more importantly, playing my body like an instrument only he possessed the ability to manipulate. Heat speared me low but sadness shot the lust to bits. If I failed to defeat Dixon before Tessa allowed Alexander to return to me, I might be dead, or undead and Dixon’s sex slave.

Nausea gnawed at my gut. Cold sweat dotted my forehead while the room took a slow, merry-go-round spin, and my legs debated whether they could keep me upright. I yanked out the piano bench and sank onto it. Dixon’s voice taunted me.
Carina Tranquilli. By my blood, you are marked. Soon, I’ll own you, my pet.

I hauled in deep breaths, one after the other, fighting the PTSD threatening to overwhelm me.
Shut down the panic and get a grip, damn it. Dixon can’t win.

Awareness skittered across my neck. Mark watched me from inside the elevator. He pointed up. I shook my head, shooting him a fake smile. Could he see my chin tremble?

He gave me a long, hard look, tapped his earpiece, and spoke to someone. Seconds later,
Ren appeared at my side and leaned against the piano, arms crossed over his large chest. He quirked a brow.

I’m fine
, I mouthed up at him.

No, you’re not
, he mouthed back. He nodded to his brother as the elevator doors slid shut on Mark’s scowling, suspicious face. Lovely. They were far too suspicious, threatening my secrets.

Gen’s sweaty, heated body plopped down next to me and almost sent me sliding off the bench onto the floor. She slapped a sweaty arm around my shoulders and squeezed. “Hey, no pity party allowed on my watch. Come dance that rat of a boyfriend out of your head.”

I pushed off the bench and stood on unsteady legs. “No thanks. I’m going upstairs to my office.”

Stella was there and likely Adrian too, but at this point I didn’t care. Ren seemed ready to toss me over his shoulder and take me somewhere for a heart-to-heart I didn’t want to have. I needed to escape.

Gen surveyed the stubborn set of my jaw and shrugged. “Okay, fine.” She grasped Ren by a hand. “Come on, big boy, you’re mine for the night.”

Ren resisted her pull for a moment, but I shooed him away. He gave me a parting scowl then grinned at bouncy Gen as she herded him to the dance floor. I headed to the elevator before either of them changed their mind.

I punched the elevator button. The doors swished open to reveal Mark. I frowned. Tricky rat. He knew I’d ditch Ren and Gen.

I stepped in and pressed the office penthouse button. “I’m fine, Mark. And safe. What do you think is going to happen to me in our
secure
elevator?”

He quirked a brow. “Enemy vamps, shifter assassins, magic attack—”

“Okay, okay,” I interrupted. “I get it.”

The panel hiding the ID scanner slid open. I planted my palm against it until it beeped then punched the access code into the keypad below it. We rode in silence, Mark on alert for any sign of trouble.

As for me, I prepped for the next act in Rina’s Theater of Lies.

The double doors to my office, usually locked, stood wide open in welcome. I schooled my features as best I could, given my lack of poker face, and strode into the room, shoulders back, chin high.

Across the expansive studio space, Adrian sat at the sleek, kidney-shaped walnut table we used as a desk. Stella and Jonas stood on either side of him, attention on Adrian’s laptop. Behind them, six flat panel, video screens on the wall displayed various locations in and out of the club, at the moment tuned on mute to various club hot spots. The main lounge where Fin’s entourage partied in my spot. Our empty, upper level, VIP lounge, Heaven. The packed main dance floor. The DJ platform where Claire and Milo continued their tag team action. The long line of patrons waiting out front, and lastly, the inside of the elevator.

The lack of a cheery greeting from Adrian puzzled me. As did the relative silence. The only sound in the office issued from his laptop—the murmur of voices mingled with the blips and beeps and ethereal strains of ambient music. Sounded like a party, but not ours. Their serious expressions made it seem as if they watched a funeral.

God, I didn’t need more bad news right now. Didn’t I have enough on my plate already?

I stalked past the brown leather loveseat and larger matching couch to the bar and kitchenette across from our desk. Several bottles littered the bar top—beer, wine, water, and blood. I selected a bottle of water and downed half its contents then poured myself a glass of blood. I ran my tongue over my aching gums then sipped the coppery goodness, hoping to ease my discomfort, but the throbbing increased.

Adrian cleared his throat and muted his computer. “Hey, babe. How’s it going?”

My gaze snapped to his. His voice sounded strained. Under my scrutiny, he ran a hand through his stick straight, blond hair, a nervous gesture if ever I saw one. Jonas, his attention on the laptop screen, snagged Adrian’s hand to stop his movement.

Whatever they watched with such rapt and grim attention had my usual buoyant best friend more upset than I’d seen him in a long time. It hurt to see him so miserable. My protective nature kicked into gear. I rushed to our desk in hyper speed, my focus on my unhappy friend. “What’s wrong?”

Adrian’s gaze darted to the laptop, and his blue eyes flashed with anger. He opened his mouth to speak but Jonas squeezed his hand, effectively silencing him.

My mentor’s snakelike gaze locked with mine. “Nothing of import.”

Stella snorted.

I rounded the desk to peer at the screen over Stella’s shoulder, but Jonas snapped the lid shut.

My stomach flipped, churning the water and blood in my belly. Did they know about the vials? About Dixon’s scheme? Had he sent them a video? I planted my glass on the table and reached for the laptop.

Adrian’s free hand slid over mine. “It’s nothing, babe. Don’t worry about it.”

“Liar.” Oh that was rich, me calling
him
one. Pot, meet the damn kettle.

I stroked Adrian’s hair, tucking it behind his ear. “It takes a lot to make you angry. Let me help.”

“Aw, hell.” He slumped in our office chair and shot me sad, puppy eyes. “Babe, I— Fuck.”