My conscience continually brought Arys to mind. I didn't want to do anything to hurt him, but I had to focus on my needs, too. This wasn't all about me, but I wasn't on a leash, and God forbid that I should ever act like I was.
The back door to the club opened before I'd laid a hand on it. The dim lighting inside illuminated Harley, and I sucked in my breath. I deserved everything I got once I walked inside. I knew it undoubtedly. Yet, when he stepped back to allow me entry, I went for it.
“Look, I appreciate that you're willing to speak with me, but this is all business. I just want to make sure that's clear.” My tone was sharp, leaving no room for confusion.
Harley looked at me as if I were a child playing grownup. He actually laughed as he ushered me along down the long hall. “Always a pleasure to see you, Alexa. Obviously you're having second thoughts about being here.”
The music booming in the front of the club could be heard through the walls. I imagined the many willing and not so willing victims out there, mingling with vampires as if it were the norm. My skin crawled at the thought. It was something I wanted to put a stop to. That clearly wasn't going to happen any time soon.
“Don't worry about my thoughts, Harley. They are hardly any concern of yours. I'm not alone, so don't get any ideas either.”
“You still don't get it,” he said, and I looked at him in surprise. “You don't need backup. If anything, your backup needs you.”
Unwilling to be seen in the hall with him by anyone that would talk to Arys, I quickened my pace. “Let's just get on with it. I have places to be.”
I pretended not to hear his low chuckle. I prayed that he had no idea how it made my insides quiver. The scent of fresh blood wafted from his luxury suite, and I came to an abrupt halt outside the door. He swept passed me, entered the room and turned back to me with a question in his eyes.
From the doorway, I could see the wet crimson drops on the cream-colored duvet adorning the large bed. I half expected to find a body but if there'd been one, it was gone.
“What's with the fresh kill smell?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest. I eyed Harley suspiciously. “I'm not up for tag teaming.”
His jovial laugh had me glaring hard. It was useless. Rather than address my question, he studied me until I grew uncomfortable. “Your first mistake is neglecting your needs. Whether it be food, sex, blood or the rush of the kill, your needs define you.
If you'd fed your own bloodlust, you wouldn't be reacting so strongly to the scent of blood in this room. Now, come in here.”
I didn't budge. I suddenly felt uncertain. The aroma of human blood on the air turned my stomach even as it encouraged my hunger. I ignored Harley's impatient gesture and took a hesitant step inside. I purposely did not close the door, and I did not intend to allow him to shut it either.
“Did I come during meal time, Harley? I'd hate to interrupt.” I surveyed the room, but other than the spilled blood, nothing seemed amiss.
“Don't be ridiculous. Just a little fun and games while I awaited your arrival.”
“Look,” I said, direct and more than a little forceful. “I don't trust you, and I don't have any reason to. Let's just get down to business. I'm limited on time.”
“Are you ever going to tell Arys that you've been coming here?” He smirked and took a seat at the small table. Crossing his legs casually, he simply watched me.
I scowled, refusing the chair he offered. “That's none of your business. I am not here to talk about him. Got it?”
“As you like.” Harley seemed far too amused by my irritation. That only enhanced it.
“So, should we start with your short temper? It seems to me that will be the first place you go wrong.”
Something occurred to me then, something about the way he said that. I raised an eyebrow, staring right back at him. “Why are you really willing to help me? Is it because you're trying to screw me over or is it something else? Because I'm sure it can't just be the promise of my blood.”
He gave me a sadistic smile that instilled a sinking sensation within me. I so did not want to hear his response. I was rife with discomfort, and he loved it.
“Well,” he clapped his hands together and shifted in his seat. “Since you mentioned it, there is something else. I'd like to alter the terms of our little arrangement, if I may.”
I sighed dramatically and huffed. “Go on.”
“I want an exchange of service. Mine for yours. I help you and you in turn, help me.”
“I'm not killing for you.”
“Why is that the first thing that you assume?”
“What else would you want from me? I'm not really in the service industry, you know.”
The smirk he wore never wavered. I was dying to slap it off his face.
“Aren't you? As far as I know, you get paid to kill your own kind.” His tone was flippant, and I knew an insult when I heard one.