40. Harlow #2
“Well, you know what you have to do,” she says. “You have to take that man at the bar upstairs and find out what he knows.”
“I don’t have my necklace.” I rarely take it off, but I didn’t want to detract from the scandalous neckline of this dress. “Plus, I never do work here. That’s one of our rules.”
Bea crosses her arms. “Are you not forever bending rules when it serves you?”
“Last time I bent the rules, I kissed my husband.”
She grins. “And look how well that turned out.”
I cock my head and glare at her.
“Hear me out,” Bea chides. “You’ve hit so many other bars and boarding houses that at some point it will become suspicious if it doesn’t happen here at least once. Plus, you don’t have to kill him. You can just pump him for information.”
I groan and smooth my hair. “Fine. Ruin my night off.” I nod to the board of hooks that hold keys to the rooms upstairs. “Give me number three.”
Bea tosses me the key and holds out my coat.
“I won’t be needing that,” I say with a grin as I slip through the curtain and into the bar.
I feel the man’s eyes on me as soon as I step into the light.
Normally, I would try to be charming and flirtatious and wait until he suggests going upstairs, but my time is limited.
Henry is probably back at Carrenwell House already.
If I keep him waiting too long, he’ll come looking for me. I’m going to need to be more direct.
I step up beside the man. His blond hair is tied in a bun at the nape of his neck and his pale blue eyes hold a hazy, drunken sheen.
I lean in close. “I heard you’re one of them. That you work with—” I glance around the noisy bar and lower my voice. “Rochelli.”
He smirks, leans back, and holds a finger up to his smiling lips to indicate a need to be quieter. “I’m Shane. And what’s your name?”
“Gwen,” I say, leaning forward so my dress gaps. “I have to say. I was particularly disturbed by the part about the tithe. As a young woman, one can never be too careful when walking alone at night.”
His eyes slide down my body, pausing on my chest for a long moment before sliding lower.
“You need to be very careful. These new, evolved Drained ones would love you. They say the beasts aren’t content with just blood anymore.
They want flesh, too. The Carrenwells are all too happy to stave them off with women like yourself.
A couple of working women is a small price to pay for them. ”
I run my fingers down the embroidery on his button-down. “I have a room upstairs. I thought maybe we could discuss the details. Privately . For safety, of course.”
His eyes light up. “It would be my honor to help protect a beautiful woman like yourself, assuming, of course, we can come to a mutually agreeable price.”
“Meet me in room three in two minutes and we can talk terms.” I draw back, letting my fingernails scrape down his shirt as I walk away.
I cut through the bar, down the hallway in the back, and up the stairs to the second floor.
The number three on the third door on the right of the dim hallway hangs slightly askew.
I unlock the door and let myself into the simple room.
There’s a single bed to the right of the door.
On the far wall, a wooden chair sits next to a matching table in front of a fireplace.
Bea must have sent Josie up to start a fire, because it’s already bright and the room is warmer than I was expecting.
I check my appearance in the mirror hanging on the wall by the door. The bright red stain on my lips is still perfect. I pinch my cheeks to give the illusion of a flush.
A knock sounds at the door, and I rush to answer it.
As soon as I crack it open, he’s on me. Shane grabs my arm and tugs me toward the bed. Stupid of me to let my guard down just because he’s drunk.
I twist and break his hold. “I was thinking you could sit in that chair there while I slip out of my dress.”
“I thought I could have it however I like. I’m good for it. I want you to sit on my face,” he says.
His words are slurred. He’s drunker than I thought.
“Actually, you’re right about the chair. I want to look in those violet eyes while you ride my cock,” he says.
Shane stumbles toward the chair, fumbling and almost missing the seat. I crack my elbow against his temple, and he instantly slumps over to the side. I search the room for something to hold him in place in case he tries to get handsy again .
The only option is the cords holding the curtains open.
“Sorry, Bea,” I say as I remove them from the curtains and use them to bind each of the man’s wrists to the wooden arms of the chair.
I stand back and look him over. His chin is tucked down, his mouth open and drooling on his shirt. I hit him harder than I meant to.
This might take a while.
Instead of sitting there staring at him, I slip out of the room and back downstairs to enjoy Bea’s fine wines while I wait to begin my interrogation.
Instead of going straight for the bar, I turn the other way at the bottom of the stairs and head down the back hallway that leads to a cleaning supply closet.
I duck inside and cross the small, cluttered space.
The shelf on the back wall is almost too high for me to reach, but I brush my fingers over the top edge until they brush cool metal.
I grasp the key and push aside a cleaning smock hooked beside the shelf to reveal a keyhole.
I unlock the door and push, and it creaks open, revealing Bea’s fine wine collection.
She should never have told me it was here if she didn’t want me to drink it.
Running my fingers over the dusty bottles, I choose an old favorite, then step back into the closet, close the secret door, and lock it. I return the key to its spot, reach into the smock pocket where I tucked a corkscrew a while back, and use it to uncork the bottle.
I step out of the closet and sneak out the back door with my pilfered wine in hand.
The courtyard behind the bar is quiet, and the cold air feels good after wrestling with the man upstairs.
I lift my hair away from my neck and sigh, taking a sip of the wine. It’s as good as I remembered—smooth and rich and perfect for a winter night.
Shane better wake up soon. When Henry gets back to Carrenwell House, he’ll realize I’m not in my room and he’ll tell Gaven, and then I’ll have to deal with both of them.
I stare up at the night sky and sip my wine, listening to the ruckus inside. I could just stay out here and take a night off from spying. Guilt twists through me at the thought and I knock back a few gulps of wine.
It takes a good fifteen minutes or so for the feeling to dissipate, but once it does, I feel more grounded, even with the pleasant buzz of alcohol flowing through my veins.
Hopefully, I’ve given Shane enough time to wake up. I’ll just bring this bottle to the bar since it’s one of Bea’s favorites and I feel bad only drinking a little bit of it. If the man isn’t awake by the time I’m done, I’ll find a way to wake him.
When I step back into the bar, it’s even louder and more crowded than before.
Bea spots me and frowns as I push my way toward her.
“That was fast,” she says, pouring something from a nondescript bottle and handing it to me. She glances over my shoulder toward the stairwell.
“My friend got a little excited and I had to settle him down,” I say. “I may have settled him a little harder than I meant to. I figured I’d have a drink while I wait.”
Her brow wrinkles. She looks toward the hallway again. “Did you see—” She holds up a hand and shakes her head. “Never mind. I’m not here to judge whatever games you get up to.”
I’m about to ask what she means, but I take a slow sip of the reddish liquid and almost groan. It’s the smoothest whiskey I’ve ever tasted, with a hint of something fruity at the very end.
“What is this?”
Bea preens in satisfaction. “ This is why the crowd is so big tonight. Word got out that I was sampling my new Dark Star Festival brew for one night only. I can’t imagine how that happened when I was keeping it under wraps.” Her voice is laced with sarcasm.
Bea is so good at spreading rumors and hyping up her rare distillations. She has an uncanny ability to create a frenzy by sharing information with just the right patrons to ensure that it spreads through the whole city within one evening.
A thought sears through my mind. The only other person who can create such persuasive havoc is Rochelli.
I watch Bea as she wipes up a spill in front of a man sitting a few seats down at the bar.
She couldn’t possibly be the leader of the rebellion.
But my mind immediately starts fitting pieces together.
She is incredibly well-informed—a fact I’d written off because of the sheer volume of people she speaks to every night.
But she also hates my family, she has no magic, and she has testified vehemently at town meetings against the second blood tithe.
I shake the thought away and take another sip of the drink. It’s unimaginable that I was so blinded by my affection for her that I would have missed that. Besides, she rarely ever leaves Guardian’s Crossing except to get ingredients for her creations. How could she run a revolution and a business?
After handing an ale to a man at the end of the bar, she walks back toward me, leans over, and smirks.
“Low, I’ve been trying to work up the nerve to say something.
I don’t know what kind of kinky game you and your new husband are playing, but I have to ask why you’re still down here when he went upstairs so long ago. ”
I frown. “What are you talking about?”
Bea holds up her hand in mock surrender.
“I don’t know if you’re just trying to make me jealous by doing it here, and I’m not one to judge whatever weird roleplay thing you’re doing, but I’m surprised you’re making him wait so long.
He popped in and asked where you were right after you went off with your rebel. He went up a while ago.”
I don’t wait to answer her. I shove through the crowd and sprint up the stairs, praying my informant isn’t already dead.