CHAPTER FOURTEEN
TY
W hile my mind was initially flooded with the endless options of where Rena might go, I settled on the most likely. She’s social. She needs people. Since she can’t go home to those she wants most, she’ll head to the friends she recently made.
I’m banking on it.
So, here I stand, inside Eternal Night. It’s crowded, far more than it was yesterday. It’s ’80s-themed tonight. A cover band is belting out “Pour Some Sugar on Me.” While it’s not my favorite genre of music, Rena would be completely in her element.
After scouring the crazed dancing and singing crowd to no avail, I move to the bar. This place, with everyone concealed behind fucking masks, is making me seriously untethered.
A goddamn security nightmare.
Once I find Rena, she will not be returning here.
I wave two fingers for the bartender. The one with face makeup resembling Gene Simmons from Kiss stops before me .
“Hey, man. What can I—” He pauses abruptly and cocks his head. “You’re Little Moon’s guy. I saw you carry her out of here last night.”
My jaw locks at his use of my nickname for her. “Yep. Don’t call her that.”
He casts a disconcerted scowl at me, but before he can make some smart-ass comment that’s going to get his teeth knocked out, I go on.
“Have you seen her?”
A crooked smile tips one side of his mouth. “The pink-haired cutie formerly known as Little Moon? Yeah, I’ve seen her.” His eyes flick toward the entrance to the gothic room.
I’m surprised she’d hang in there when this music seems right up her alley. I kick my chin up to him, ready to head over there, but he freezes me with another tidbit.
“You aren’t the only one looking for her.” He leans forward, bracing himself with his bent arms on the bar top as the rest of the staff scurries hurriedly behind him to fill orders. “You’re kind of a dick, but I bet you’re good to her, and I like your girl.”
“I don’t need approval,” I grit out, like the dick he labeled me to
be, but I don’t have time for this bullshit. “Give me whatever information you have. Now.”
He’s not a complete dipshit because he gets on with it. “She’s here somewhere—or she was not too long ago. She mentioned she was trying to dodge some jerks. Vic told her to stay put at the bar, but she was shaken and took off when we were serving customers. We saw her head to the gothic room.”
That only enhances the venom that has seeped into my bones, urging me to strike.
“Any idea who they were?” I ask.
“She said something about it being the group that came after her a couple of nights ago, but Vic and I never saw them. One of the bouncers might know.” He pushes off the bar and moves to a lady waggling her credit card at him. “That’s all I got, man. ”
That’s enough. I’m guessing the motherfuckers I killed have friends who are searching for them. And somehow, those friends know about the interest that bastard Enzo Sanford took in my girl. These are also probably the guys that Enzo was going to let gang-rape her.
My teeth chomp down on the inside of my cheek so hard that the coppery taste of the wound fills my mouth. I dart for the gothic room. It’s packed. Strobe lights whirl over the shoulder-to-shoulder horde of patrons. Most are more committed to the costume requirement. In the Rock Through the Ages room, the majority only had masks. This is like a Halloween party, full of primarily vampires.
I bet that’s why Rena disappeared inside this room. She was a sitting duck at the bar. Open. If she managed to scrounge up a disguise, she’ll be nearly impossible to find in here.
She’s always impressed me, but more with her witty comebacks and carefree air than with her prowess. I underestimated her for sure because everything she’s done since the moment that she dropped those piercings on the delivery truck has been clever and calculated.
As I slither through the sandwiched undead clientele, I’m hit with how proud I’d be of her if I wasn’t so irate that she’s endangering herself. She’s so fucking smart. But after being attacked the other night, this was a dumbass move to get back at me. Or to get my attention. Whatever her motivation was.
I try texting and calling again, like I did on the way here, but she doesn’t answer. She’s either ignoring me or she can’t hear it.
Or they already found her.
Crunch. Squeak. Blood. One minute too late.
No. I can’t drown in the worst yet.
The music is deafening, the bass reverberating through my muscles and bones and skyrocketing my anxiety. Whereas the other room sits beneath the sex club, this one occupies both stories. The black industrial ceiling is a good twenty-five feet high. So, the noise carries and echoes throughout the vast space.
I’m glad she was cunning enough to hide out here, but I’m also realizing how unlikely it is that I’ll unmask her. It’s going to require some sort of disturbance to halt the commotion. One that keeps her in the safety of the building though because a mass exodus would only create a more conducive opportunity for her to be snatched.
As I’m pondering what tactic to utilize for that, I catch a blur of motion out of the corner of my eye. High up on one of the walls, a few feet below the ceiling, something is moving. With the flashing lights, it takes a beat for my eyes to adjust to the outline of what turns out to be—if I’m not losing my goddamn mind and hallucinating—my Little Fucking Moon, dressed in black, head to toe, and hanging from a ledge. The only discernable feature is her willowy frame with the bulge of her backpack, but I’d know that figure anywhere.
What the hell is she doing?
Her body sways side to side slightly before she crawls up the wall like a spider monkey, boosts herself higher, using another ledge, and swings onto a high beam in some sort of acrobatic flip. She immediately flattens her body over the top of it and shimmies forward.
She’s going to give me a fucking heart attack.
I’m at a loss. Absolutely baffled as to how I should proceed. With her. And with the assholes who inspired her to escape up the side of a two-story wall.
But even those who harbor demons are met with heavenly gifts occasionally. This is one of those instances.
A group of about seven men brush by me, and I overhear an intriguing sentence.
“I swear to fuck she came in here.”
Since that alone isn’t proof enough to drag them out back and slaughter them, I shoulder past and swipe one of their wallets. I’ll retrieve Rena and worry about hunting the motherfuckers down later.
When I return my focus to the sexy cat burglar in question, our gazes crash. Her eyes aren’t exactly visible to me—only a glimmer from them—but I can feel them searing into mine. I don’t know what the hell that is, but she always seems to sense me. A warmth surges through my chest, siphoning the air from my lungs. The thought of those eyes being anywhere else is suffocating. I hoped to save her from the fucked-up life she’d have with me, but that ship has sailed.
Rena Noire will never be free of me.
Mine.
She glances from me to an air duct on the outer wall and back with an exaggerated sweep of her head so that I register what she’s explaining. The sight makes me dizzy. As a sniper, I’m used to being perched high in the sky, but her up there is fucking reckless. I’m not thrilled with the idea of her climbing into duct work twenty-some feet off the ground, but there isn’t an abundance of options to get her down. Certainly not safe ones. At least it’s in the back corner of the room, so she’ll be primarily hidden from view when she reaches it. And clueing me in on her scheme means she’s grasped that running from me is unwise.
I’m not sure that’s accurate anymore with how enraged I feel at her antics, but I won’t be broadcasting that to her. She’ll figure that out for herself soon enough.
After I ensure that the cocksuckers looking for her are otherwise engaged, I motion toward the door so that she knows I’ll meet her outside. Which means I’m about to climb up the side of a nightclub to get my girl. Maybe I’m not the one who poses peril in this relationship.
When she begins to slither toward the outer wall, I know she comprehended my message.
On my way outside, I flip open the wallet I stole. The name on the ID has me seeing red. Maxim Sanford. No doubt a relation to Enzo and out for blood.
Well, I’m about to be Maxim’s fairy fucking godfather. If he wants to find Enzo, I know precisely where to send him.