Chapter 12
CHAPTER
TWELVE
Mercer
In the service, my job hadn’t required stealth or deception—it was about speed, focus, and the ability to keep calm while the world blew up around me.
Sometimes literally. I’d been the guy with the pack full of gauze and morphine, kneeling in the dirt to keep blood in bodies long enough for evac to arrive.
My role was to patch holes, stop the screaming, and buy time.
It was honest work, even when it was messy, even when it failed.
There was no hiding in it. People either lived or they didn’t, and I did what I could in the space between.
Now, creeping up the steps toward Beck’s office, I felt none of that clarity.
This wasn’t about saving lives or protecting anyone.
This was sneaking, lying, and trespassing, and every softened footstep reminded me that I was out of my depth, trying to fade into shadows when I’d always wanted to be a light.
Upon arrival, my excuse to Colette had been weak, but she didn’t bat an eye. That made it worse. It meant she trusted me. They all did. To watch the door and their backs. And I repaid that faith by going behind them.
Guilt chewed through me as I reached the upper-level office and found it unlocked. Further evidence of the trust I was about to betray.
Antonella hadn’t said why she wanted the contract. She’d only implied she meant to destroy it. What that would accomplish, I couldn’t guess. But with demons and angels playing at real estate—something about a property on Fairmont Street—the consequences could be downright supernatural.
But that didn’t concern the Dollhouse. It didn’t concern the dolls, and they were my priority. I couldn’t pardon this behavior, but I could excuse it, at least long enough to complete my mission.
The club floor was deserted, leaving no witnesses to observe me slipping into the office and further darkness. The room was cool and pin-drop quiet, an inner sanctum I’d never had cause to visit before.
The Dollhouse was only two stories tall, so it lacked the gravitas of the Basilica, and the office window’s view of Las Vegas Boulevard was akin to seeing it at eye level. Like this place and the people in it were part of the city rather than so far removed from it.
The furnishings were polished and new, and the paint smelled fresh.
Beck wasn’t short on cash—anyone could see that—but his wealth expressed itself differently than Antonella’s.
While her penthouse sprawled across a full floor, ostentatious and aloof, his office was contained and cozy with a desk, a few chairs, and a bookcase.
The security monitors on the wall were powered off, but I assumed they were tied to the cameras scattered throughout the building.
There were a few homey touches as well. Personal things, the likes of which Antonella would never allow.
She seemed every bit the ice queen from a fairy tale, too cold and hard to allow for something as ordinary as sentiment.
Beck’s office had just enough personality to make it feel real, rather than a model or display.
A framed poster on the wall looked to be some kind of old timey circus memorabilia, and the glass jar of lollipops on the desk was oddly whimsical.
In the corner near the wide window, hung a teardrop-shaped fabric swing.
The thing had all the structure of a beanbag and looked like it belonged in a college dorm, not the office of a man who favored silk ties and tailored suits.
I couldn’t begin to imagine Beck climbing in or out of the slouchy thing.
I’d stood for a moment before realizing I hadn’t moved. Chalk it up to nerves or outright reluctance, or the knowing that every step ahead increased the risk of getting caught in the act.
Turning toward the glass interior wall, I parted the blinds with careful fingers. This room had a prime vantage point over the lower level and the stage, so I could watch for anyone approaching. Since I’d come at midday, I didn’t expect the dancers to be around, but my nerves demanded that I check.
There was someone out there. In the corner near the bar.
The bartender, Rush, stood behind the counter with his hands resting on the knees of the man who sat cross-legged on the bar top.
Short brown hair and peachy skin made him undoubtedly one of the twins.
Must have been Smolder given the twisted horns jutting out of his skull.
The two seemed close, more than just physically, talking while leaning in and touching in small, familiar ways. They were also clearly preoccupied, so not a concern for me.
I was ready to turn away when I heard a murmured, “Oh.”
The sound was not one of alarm. No, the panic belonged entirely to me as I spun to face the man standing behind me.
His gaze slid toward the now-closed blinds while I gawked at him as if he were the intruder.
My mind scrambled to piece him together from his crimson half-pony to his leggings and leather toe boots.
Cherry.
Stage names always came first since I heard them shouted over the speakers night after night, but his real name surfaced a second later. Zephyr. The aerialist and, if my observations were accurate, Beck’s boyfriend. Not that they made much effort to be discreet about it.
But the door hadn’t opened.
No one had entered.
Where had he come from?
In the corner of the room, the hanging swing swayed.
The sight made me grimace. Unlike Beck, it wasn’t hard at all to envision Zephyr balled up in the fabric nest. After watching the way his body bent and compressed during his performances, I was convinced the man could pack himself in a suitcase should the need arise.
Tearing his attention from the window, Zephyr assessed me. I braced for scrutiny or suspicion but got none. If anything, he looked apologetic as he frowned then said, “Sorry. Did I scare you?”
Beyond his connection to Beck, he was the least intimidating person I could have encountered.
Of the performers, Zephyr was the least obviously demonic.
He had no horns or tail, and he was also a bit like Darby in that he didn’t look like a typical man.
He was willowy and trim, and his features were soft with full lips and wide violet eyes that glowed dimly in the dark office.
Still, he had startled me, and I figured it didn’t hurt to admit it.
“A little bit,” I replied. “I didn’t realize anyone was in here.”
Yawning, he stretched an arm up then out, making his lean torso seem even longer. He tipped his head toward the swing that had gone still. “Best napping spot in the building. Especially since Darby claimed my old room for wardrobe.”
A nervous chuckle bubbled out of me. “He has a way of getting what he wants, doesn’t he?”
Zephyr shrugged. “I don’t mind. I live with Beck now.”
He seemed pleased by the fact, flashing a smile that revealed a double set of sharp canines. This was the first time I’d seen him so close, and I may have underestimated how demonic he actually was.
Still not intimidating, though.
“Were you looking for him?” he asked.
I had to backtrack to remember who we’d been discussing.
“Darby?”
Zephyr shook his head, and the fountain of his ponytail swished in sync. “Beck.”
“Oh.”
Time to think. Was there any plausible reason for me to be skulking around the boss’s office?
It came to me slowly, lies couched in the truth that trickled out. “I just… realized I never filled out payroll paperwork. Direct deposit stuff. I thought he might have left it out.”
Zephyr glanced at the desk. Besides the computer and candy jar, it was obviously bare.
“I don’t think so,” he said.
I sighed. “Yeah, me neither.”
“I can have him get it for you, though.”
The offer had me backpedaling. “You don’t need to. I’m sure—”
“I don’t mind.” He smiled, fangs denting his lower lip.
Protesting too much would only make things worse. If I pushed, I’d look guilty—probably because I was. Better to let Zephyr think he’d helped and get out while I still could.
“Thanks.” I did my best to sound appreciative. “That’d be great.”
His smile widened. Something about his behavior made him seem younger than he must have been. Innocent, endearing, and ignorant of the fact that he’d just cornered me with kindness.
Before he could offer further assistance, I shifted toward the door, swallowing while my pulse tapped persistently in my throat.
“Good luck tonight,” I told him, and immediately wondered if that was the best way to phrase it. I got the impression he’d take the advice to “break a leg” too literally.
It must have been good enough because he thanked me, and I left.
As I pulled the door shut behind me, I felt overheated and sheepish, like I’d been caught sneaking cookies instead of potentially blowing my cover.
It wasn’t just Zephyr. Darby had shown the same knack for slipping past my guard, all soft edges where I expected sharp ones. Demons weren’t supposed to be gentle and disarming, but the Dollhouse dolls kept proving that bias wrong. I wasn’t sure yet if that made things easier… or much harder.