Chapter 44 Mulligan #2
Boot laces tied, I gave myself one more look in the mirror. Yep, I’d be invisible to a group of rich seraphim in town to party and fuck strippers.
“Let’s do this, then.”
* * *
Ravaric, I hated strip clubs. They attracted the worst kind of people—not the dancers, though. And not the lonely guys in search of a little bit of connection, either. They were usually fully cognizant of or deluded to the fact that these women were only being nice because it got them more tips.
Sad sacks, but typically harmless.
No, the people I hated were the assholes about to walk in at any moment. The kind of guys who treated the women as less than people. Like their money and family connections gave them the right to do whatever they wanted. And in Ignareth, it was usually—unfortunately—true.
Unless your friend hated your guts, that was.
I stationed myself by the door to the private room reserved for Fontaine’s group, letting my mind wander as I stared straight ahead.
Strippers had never been my thing even before I met Sage, but especially now, I couldn’t have been less interested.
And if I watched the crowd instead, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to hide the disgusted sneer from my face.
One of the waitresses walked by, her tray full of empty glasses she was taking back to get washed. “Can I get you anything?” she asked.
I shook my head, giving her a small smile. “No, I’m good. Thanks.”
She shrugged as she passed, and I widened my stance, preparing myself not just for tonight, but for Sage’s extraction.
Asmodiel had set the meeting for two days from now, so I focused my fires towards finally killing Victor. As long as he was alive, he would chase after Sage, and she deserved her freedom.
Even if it came at the cost of mine.
Tomorrow, I would head to the witch apothecary and find a glamour charm to make sure Victor wouldn’t spot me.
Vamps were the only Magik who could use their own powers to change their appearance, while the rest of us had to rely on witch-made charms and potions.
And now that I was thinking about it, meant witches had the power, too. Their magic just took a different route.
As I went over the roster of my dad’s best guys to bring in my head, a raucous roar of laughter—the kind that just screamed “I’m wearing boat shoes”—filled the club.
Fontaine was here.
I straightened up, nodding to the hostess in the baby doll lingerie who was leading them straight to me, and I wordlessly opened the door.
There were six in total—four alphas and two betas, one of whom was our bachelor. Their pristine wings were tucked tight behind their backs as they whistled at the girls and practically dragged my target inside.
“Come on guys, really? I said no strip clubs,” he whined, the sound nearly petulant.
One of the alphas grabbed his shoulders from behind, giving them a hard squeeze. “We’re in Ignareth, man, of course we’re going to a strip club! Gotta see them demon titties while you still can.”
I fought the urge to roll my eyes.
Assholes, indeed.
“And half of us are single, so deal with it. Can’t make this whole trip about you.”
“But it’s my bachelor party…”
The seraph had a point. He also seemed to have shitty friends, and I was starting to wonder if this plan was going to work. If he hadn’t even wanted to come here, he probably wasn’t the type of guy who was itching to hook up with a stripper.
But his friend was sure this was happening, so all I could do was wait and be ready.
After they filed in, I entered behind them, closing the door.
“What’s with the suit?” one of them asked.
“Security for the dancers,” the hostess replied, setting their drinks on the table. “Or would you rather we turn on the cameras?”
They looked at me, weighing their options. “Yeah, I guess we’ll take the suit.”
The camera would have been easier, but apparently, the friend insisted on photos. “The closer, the better.”
Whatever. Once tonight was over, so was this stupid set of trials.
The group settled into the black leather sofa, and the raised, lighted platform and pole were soon occupied by a demon woman dancing to some rock song that was older than I was.
The liquor flowed, and the guys hooted and hollered, throwing runics with wild abandon while propositioning her for lap dances. But the bachelor boy seemed… unimpressed. Bored, even.
He sipped his drink slowly, scrolling on his phone whenever he could.
The friend next to him smacked him on the arm. “Dude, check out that one.”
Fontaine looked up, and while he was distracted by what was objectively a pretty cool move on the pole by the dancer, the friend slipped something into his drink.
Pessil, probably. The drug of choice for creeps who wanted to “soften up” whoever they were talking to. It made you more pliable. Suggestible.
That was one way to help convince your friend to cheat on their fiancée. Wouldn’t say I was a fan of the method, but the drug couldn’t create feelings that didn’t exist.
And I strangely appreciated them moving this along. I had a raid at the Premier’s Mansion to plan, after all. At the rate Fontaine had been going, he would have been celebrating his fifth wedding anniversary before I got any pics.
Another thirty minutes went by, my phone burning a hole in my pocket as I waited to take it out, but Fontaine still wasn’t doing anything.
His eyes were glassy, a sign the pessil was doing its job, but he refused every personal dance, brushed off the girls’ touches, and just asked the group if they could leave.
He was tired.
He didn’t feel well.
He wasn’t having fun.
I wasn’t having fun, either. Where was the “piece of shit” due for some righteous retribution? The “piece of shit” who deserved to have his whole life blown up over a few compromising pictures?
Because so far, all I saw was a beta that, on closer inspection, was just playing some stupid online games while his friends took turns motorboating a very well-endowed werewolf.
The next dancer entered, and he finally looked up, his jaw dropping. A seraph omega, her wings pristine and white as her curly hair. She batted her long eyelashes, and Fontaine gasped. “Aniel?” he asked, his voice slurred. “Is that you?”
She nodded, making a beeline for his lap.
“What are you doing here? And why—why are you wearing that? Guys!” he called, pulling the seraph into his chest. “Don’t look at her!”
Okay, this was getting weird. Especially since the seraph sitting on his lap wasn’t a seraph at all, but a merfolk wearing a glamour charm.
“I can’t wait til next weekend, baby” Fontaine purred, rubbing his nose along the column of her pale neck. “You’re gonna be my wife.”
I froze.
Fuck.
This wasn’t just a setup, this was a trick. Fontaine wasn’t a scumbag cheating on his fiancée. He thought this was his fiancée.
“Give her a kiss, Ram!” jeered the friend who’d slipped him the pessil, and the rest of the group snickered, watching as their “friend” ran his hands down the sides of the imposter, and she leaned down to draw him into a kiss.
He eagerly complied, sloppy and hungry and happy to be with the woman he loved.
This was… this was wrong.
His eyes closed as he blissed out, and the glamour disappeared, revealing to the rest of us who she really was, and what he was really doing.
Making out with a stripper.
Fuck, fuck!
I took out my phone and pretended to take a few photos as I thought about how I could get out of this one. It wasn’t a simple matter of just paying the blackmail myself. There needed to be proof for the friend who’d hired us, too.
The glamour reappeared, and the woman jumped up, kissing Fontaine on the nose before she skipped to the back room.
“Guys, did you see that? Aniel came!”
Pupils blown, his expression reminded me of a lovesick puppy. A winged golden retriever, blonde hair and all.
Shit. Maybe he was an asshole in some other way, but to me, he really just looked like a man who loved his partner. And as someone who’d mooned over his own mate, I could relate.
His friends snickered some more, all complicit in this trap. The only real assholes as far as I could tell.
Another hour later, and Fontaine was passed out, a dopey smile on his face, while the others continued to drink and debauch.
At last, the room reservation ended, and they got up to leave. A few of the guys picked up Fontaine, while one of the alphas hung back. “Just gonna see if I can get Saffron’s number,” he called, giving me a nod of recognition.
“Dude, she was so into you!”
“Right?” he laughed. Once the door shut, his smile disappeared. “You got the pictures?”
I took out my phone, going through a couple of apps before I pulled up my photo album. “Sure thing. What did this guy do, anyway?” I asked, taking my time.
He scoffed. “Look, I don’t gotta explain myself to some Oniguro goon.”
I paused, lifting an eyebrow. The friend was an alpha, but I was still bigger than him, and he was in my territory. Even if he thought I was just a goon, I had all the power. “Wanna say that again?”
Smoke curled out of my nose, and he swallowed nervously.
“Aniel. I’ve liked her for years, and was going to ask her out until she met Ramiel.
Ugh, the guy acts like he’s so fucking perfect, it makes me sick.
But once Aniel sees these pictures, she’ll fall right into my arms. Where she always belonged.
Omegas like her need alphas like me. Not weak-ass betas. ”
Deep breaths.
I wanted to strangle him.
But I couldn’t.
“Doesn’t sound like something Solasia would approve of…”
“Well, we’re not in Halcyon, are we? I doubt Ravaric would give a shit.”
He was probably right about that.
I finally showed him my screen. “Oh, shit. I should have adjusted my settings or turned the flash on or something.”
I had about twenty pictures of dark blurs, nothing in focus. Nothing distinctive visible. If you squinted, you might have seen the wings, but otherwise, they were all useless.
“You fucking idiot!” the friend roared. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been planning this? I’m not going to get another chance! The wedding is next weekend, and Ramiel is too fucking goody-two-shoes to…”
“To what? Actually cheat?”
“Exactly!”
“And you aren’t?”
His eyes narrowed. “Mind your business, demon. You need to fix this. Now.”
Head swiveling, he looked around the room. “You sure there’s no cameras in here? Or maybe you could possess him…”
I turned the volume up on my phone.
“… but once Aniel sees these pictures, she’ll fall right into my arms.”
He whipped around, his face paling. “What was that?”
“… do you have any idea how long I’ve been planning this?”
I gave him a shrug. “I came here to blackmail someone. It didn’t have to be the bachelor boy.”
His wings opened fully, his eyes turning white with anger. “Who do you think you are? I made a deal with the Oniguros to—”
“I’m sorry,” I chuckled, a small flame winding through my fingers like a snake. “Have I not introduced myself?”
I took a step towards the raging seraph, grabbing him by the shirt as I lowered my lips to his ear. “I’m Ronan Oniguro. You made a deal with me, asshole.”
I let him go, relishing the tremble that ran unbidden through his body. Fuck, I missed this. Maybe bounty hunting wasn’t a perfect system, but there really was no greater feeling than having a disgusting worm wriggling on your hook.
It was a much better high than anything I’d ever felt with bruum.
“And as an alpha who’s recently found his mate, I gotta say—tricking a man to betray the woman he loves just doesn’t sit right with me. But we were promised some serious runics for this job, and I will collect. How much was I supposed to ask Fontaine for, again?”
The seraph mumbled under his breath.
“Louder, son.”
“Two hundred thousand.”
I whistled. “A nice chunk of change. Now, either I see those zeroes in our bank account by morning, or this?” I lifted my phone, shaking it in the air. “Gets sent to Fontaine and his blushing bride. Got it?”
His hands curled into shaking fists at his sides, but he did not meet my gaze. “Got it.”
I patted him sharply against his cheek.
“Good boy. Now, get the fuck outta my club.”