Chapter Two
Waverly Avenue wasn’t what I expected.
I stood on the southeastern corner of where it crossed with St. Charles and stared up at the Avalon, a hotel I’d avoided my whole life. This was where the medic said Channing had been shot. I’d always pictured this part of town as dismal, seedy, dangerous. And it had been…until I reached the crossroads.
There, the smell of the city had shifted from exhaust and grease to the florid citrus of the sweet olive bushes planted in oversize pots outside the hotel.
The hotel’s glazed white terra-cotta facade gleamed like a bright jewel in the ink-black night. Stone garlands draped the arched entrance. Gold carpet swathed its massive stone staircase, and half a dozen windows with gilt etchings glimmered on either side of it. I looked around for signs of the shooting, for some indication that I wasn’t hallucinating, but the street was eerily quiet. The silence crept across my skin, urging me toward the safety of the Avalon’s golden lights. But it was the anger still burning in my stomach, as hot as a yawning pit in hell, that spurred me toward the door.
My brother was lying wounded in a hospital bed, and this place had the nerve to look like the Ritz.
I’d made it to the top step, only feet from the entrance, when the rotating door spun and a tall, dark-haired man with a square jaw dusted with stubble stepped into the night air and looked directly at me.
Fear gripped my chest, and I froze. Shit. I’d at least hoped to make it inside before getting caught.
The man was dressed entirely in black, his jacket hooked over his shoulder with his index finger. He didn’t say anything—just polished a glossy red apple on his sleeve and studied me with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine.
I glimpsed a flash of white teeth as he took a bite. The apple’s flesh snapped with a crack that sent another thrill through me—a side effect of being in dangerous territory.
Or maybe it was the man himself, because I couldn’t tear my gaze away from his hooded eyes. From his mouth. The way he leaned ever so slightly in my direction. Was he a hotel guest? That was probably wishful thinking, given where I was. My heart fluttered like butterfly wings in my chest, waiting on what felt like the edge of a cliff for…something.
Say something.
But I couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. I was riveted to the spot.
The handsome stranger cocked his head as if he was waiting, too, giving me a better glimpse of high cheekbones as sharp as his brutal jawline and a pair of full, sculpted lips. Green eyes, the color of soft jade, raked down my body. His gaze, while still assessing, was so intimate that it felt like he was slowly stripping me of my white romper and sneakers.
I swallowed, shifting on my feet as he studied me. At least I’d changed out of my scrubs. But in my casual clothes, it was clear that I didn’t belong anywhere near what was obviously a five-star hotel.
When he took a step toward me, I spotted tattoos curling under his rolled-up sleeves. Broad shoulders that hinted at the muscled torso hidden under his shirt caught my attention next for an entirely different reason: the harness strapped over them. My throat knotted when I saw twin pistols holstered under his arms.
A guard. My stomach dropped to my toes. I’d walked right up to a guard—an armed guard.
“And who might you be?” His voice was deep and smooth, as though he was delivering a sinful invitation rather than a simple question.
I just stared at him, trying to decide if I should lie. Everything about this man screamed dangerous.
He arched a dark brow, drawing my attention back to those searching, wary eyes.
“Cate.” My name burst out of me like he’d ordered me to tell him instead of simply asking. “Cate Holloway.”
Why the hell was I telling this man my full name? He was armed, and I was in Gage territory. I supposed he’d know what to engrave on my tombstone.
“Are you lost, Cate Holloway?” His teeth clicked on my name, and I found myself biting my lower lip. Was it just second nature for him to ooze danger and sensuality, or was he trying to lower my defenses?
Lifting my chin, I looked directly into his sparkling eyes. “I’m looking for Lachlan Gage.”
“Really?” He blinked, and that grin flattened into a line. “About what?”
I swallowed. “A personal matter.”
“Personal?” His eyes lit with interest.
“Yes. As in, it’s none of your business.”
“In that case”—he took another suggestive bite of apple—“no.”
Irritation blazed through me, temporarily liberating me from my uneasiness. “I’m not leaving until I see Lachlan.”
He shrugged. “Then tell me why you wish to speak to him.”
It wasn’t like I could force my way around him, even if he wasn’t armed to his perfect white teeth. I took a deep breath. “My brother,” I said. “I need to talk to him about my brother.”
“Tonight?” He waved a hand around, giving me a view of another tattoo, this one covering his forearm to his knuckles. I’d never seen anything like it. Symbols and words in a language foreign to me. “It’s hardly business hours. Make an appointment.”
I doubted Lachlan Gage offered those.
I crossed my arms, trying to look impatient. “This can’t wait.”
“Can’t wait?” he repeated in a bemused voice.
My brother was lying in a hospital bed while this asshole acted like tonight was completely normal. Had he been here during the shooting? Did he even care that people had been hurt? He had to know. Fury blazed in my chest. “That’s why I’m here. It’s a matter of life and death that we come to an understanding.”
“I see.” He thought for a moment as he stretched his neck. Then he moved closer, and my breath hitched. Would he grab me? Throw me back into the street? Or maybe drag me inside?
He smirked as if he’d heard my thoughts, then tossed the apple in a nearby waste bin.
This man was thoroughly aware that he was messing with me.
He turned toward the door. “Follow me and don’t wander off.”
I scrambled after him before he changed his mind—or I lost my nerve. This might be my only shot to save my brother. He paused as the door started to spin, waiting for me. My heart stuttered, but my brain knew better than to trust that gentlemanly gesture. He worked for Gage. He was no gentleman.
I didn’t dare to look at him as he pressed into the compartment behind me, but in the tight space I was acutely aware of him, of the guns under his muscled arms, of the cedar-and-spice scent that surrounded him. I stumbled out, and he strode behind, unrolling his sleeves one at a time and refastening his cufflinks. Men like this didn’t exist. The kind of men that walked through the world like they owned it. I kept sneaking glimpses of him like he might actually be a figment of my imagination.
He paused to slip on his jacket. “After you.”
I mumbled a quick “thank you,” stepped into the foyer, and stopped.
Seeing the hotel from the outside hadn’t prepared me for how big it was inside. White marble floors so glossy that I could see my reflection stretched before us. Columns held up a ceiling that had to be at least thirty feet tall, and at the center of the cavernous foyer, a staircase curved to an upper level. Guests milled about, crossing to a bank of brass elevators or disappearing down corridors. Diamonds and pearls glittered everywhere I looked. Past the wealthy guests, beautiful paintings hung in gilded frames. Everything was elegant and timeless, far from the sleazy front for illegal activities I’d imagined.
“It’s like a palace,” I whispered.
He snorted, obviously amused at my assessment, but didn’t say anything.
A server in a white jacket drifted toward us, extending a silver platter with a gloved hand. “Canapé?”
My stomach rumbled, reminding me that I’d been too busy to eat a damn thing all night, but I didn’t trust anything here—not even the food. Before I could shake my head, my companion shooed the server away. He paused to face me. Looking deeply into my eyes, he warned me, “Don’t eat or drink anything here.”
I almost laughed before I realized he wasn’t joking.
“Why?” I planted a hand on my hip and tipped my chin. “Because I don’t belong at your fancy party?”
“Just…don’t. This way,” he murmured, pointing toward the elevator. “Stick close.”
“I’m not going to run off.”
“You would if you were smart,” he said, his eyes flashing for a moment, “but we do stupid things for our blood, don’t we?”
I shook my head. “He’s my foster brother.”
There I went again, giving him too much information. What was it about this guy?
“Foster brother?”
“He’s family to me.” I didn’t say anything else this time. Let him make what he wanted of desperate orphan Cate Holloway and her troublemaker foster brother.
“I see,” he repeated as if compiling mental notes on me. He pressed the down button. “Then I hope you make a strong case for him.”
I held my breath as the doors slid open, half hoping he wouldn’t join me in another enclosed space.
He did.
I trained my eyes on the elevator panel, watching the lights illuminate as we descended to the hotel’s lowest floor, increasingly aware of my pounding heart. I was actually going to do this. I was going to go toe to toe with Lachlan Gage and save my brother.
Or die trying.
The doors opened, but he didn’t step out. Instead, he held an arm across the threshold to keep them from closing.
I stared at the open doors, at his tattooed forearm, at the gold ring he wore, at the ink-black stone in its center, and my confidence flickered. I hadn’t thought I would get this far. I’d been going purely on adrenaline and resolve.
“You just made it,” he murmured. “He’s only taking requests for the next hour.”
“Requests?” I frowned. What the hell was he talking about?
“You aren’t here because of the Equinox?” he asked slowly, adding, “Mabon?”
Now he was just talking in riddles. “I’m here because my brother is lying in a hospital bed with a gunshot wound he got in front of your fancy fucking hotel a few hours ago.”
He went utterly still.
“And you already mopped up the blood.”
A muscle worked in his jaw. “That was a regrettable situation but a misunderstanding.”
“Was it?” My anger sparked back to life, and I grabbed hold of it before the ember faded. “I doubt it. But since I’m sure you’re concerned, the other man that was brought in is in the morgue.”
“Unfortunate.” He glanced out the open doors. “A word of advice? Consider what you’re willing to offer in exchange for your brother’s life. My kind doesn’t deal in mercy.”
His…kind? Criminals. I swallowed and stepped out of the elevator. “What do you deal in?”
He swept one final look over me, and his lip curled ever so slightly before he answered, “Desire.”
The word was dangerous on his lips. But as seductive as it sounded, warning prickled across my skin. I didn’t have to ask what he meant by that, and he didn’t bother to clarify. He strode out of the elevator. For a moment, I hesitated. I could get back in and push the button to the lobby. I could run. From here. From him. From everything that one word implied.
But I’d walked through hell before. I could practically be a tour guide. Clenching my hands at my sides, I followed him into the very depths of it.
Neon sconces illuminated the black walls, casting the armed guards lining the perimeter in garish light. He lifted a hand, and for a moment the room seemed to shimmer—likely the result of the smoke that curled from the many lit cigars, choking the air with a sweet, heavy scent. The room pulsed with an intoxicating energy from the mass of bodies crowded around tables and bars. Glasses clinked, and cards rustled. Cages hung from the ceilings, and dancers wearing nothing but strings of pearls danced to the low, sensual music that crept under it all, although no one seemed to notice.
I kept close to him as we wove our way through the crowd. Eyes followed us, a few patrons even opening their mouths to speak but falling silent at his stern face. Each step made my pulse and my thoughts race faster. My ring couldn’t be worth much to a man who lived like this. I didn’t have anything else. I doubted he wanted my shitty car, and I could barely pay the rent with my salary. I couldn’t even afford to fix my broken air conditioner. But maybe the guard was right and Gage wasn’t after money. Why would he need money when he had this?
But desire?
I tried not to think about what that meant.
We walked to the back of the room toward a heavy oak door. Two men, also dressed entirely in black, straightened as we approached. The shorter of the two was a redhead; the taller had silver hair shorn close to the scalp on one side, long on the other. He was about the same height as the man accompanying me, with an equally impressive build, even more tattoos, and a lip ring that matched his hair.
“I was wondering where you went.” Lip Ring ran a hand through his hair, his eyes straying to me. He raised a brow but didn’t ask.
“What are you doing here, Shaw?” my companion asked the red-haired man.
“Same thing you are.” Shaw grinned at him. “It’s—”
But he didn’t so much as smile. “Get the fuck out of here. You were supposed to stay clear tonight.”
Shaw squared his shoulders, his face twisting with a retort, but he didn’t speak before he stalked away. When he was gone, the silver-haired guard held up his hands.
My guide barked at the other man, “Roark, I told you to keep him away tonight.”
Roark shrugged. “He’s not a kid anymore.”
He didn’t look pleased at that, but he tilted his head toward the closed door. “Are they in there?”
Roark looked at me one more time before he answered, “Yeah. The client is here.”
Finally, he nodded at me. “Check her bag.”
I gripped my purse tightly. “No fucking way.”
He looked at me, a smile ghosting across his face before vanishing. “I can take you back upstairs, if you prefer.” We stared at each other before he inclined his head toward my purse.
I held it out, pinning a glare on Roark as he rifled through it. “Nothing,” he pronounced and handed it back to me. “Should she be—”
“She asked for an audience. I can’t refuse.” He seemed annoyed about this, like I’d tricked him into bringing me down here.
“Now is not a great time,” Roark warned him.
But he gripped my elbow and steered me toward the door. “Sounds like the perfect time.”
There was no turning back now.