She looked down at his hand.
“The world can’t know about supernaturals. There would be chaos. War. You see how humans fight each other now—because of different beliefs, different races, different religions. What do you think would happen if they knew there were real monsters roaming the streets? It would be fucking Armageddon.”
“I think all humans aren’t evil. I think some people truly do have good inside of them.” Her smile was sad. “Just as I think some monsters do, too.” She pulled away and walked slowly for the door. But her steps stopped and she said, “He didn’t kill her.”
Aidan was staring down at his clenched hands. But at her words, he glanced up.
She wasn’t looking at him. “The vampire could have killed Mary, but he didn’t.”
“He attacked her, Jane.”
“But he left her alive.”
“It doesn’t mean anything.”
“I think it does.” She pushed open the door. “Maybe it means he isn’t as completely evil as you think.” She left him.
Jane…no, he fucking is.
But Jane was gone, and he knew she didn’t want him going after her. Not then.
Hell.
Chapter Eight
Travis Maller loved a good party. He’d finished his big chemical engineering test, scored a B on that fucker, and he was more than ready to let off steam.
He pushed through the crowd at the bar. There were always crowds in New Orleans. That was why he loved the place so much. He’d grown up in freaking Wharo, Mississippi, a speck on the map with all of eight hundred people in the city limits. He’d hated the small town. Hated everyone always knowing everyone else’s business.
In New Orleans, no one cared what you did. You could get lost in the crowd. You could party your ass off all night on Bourbon Street.
No one cared.
Thatch had loved this city just as much as I did.
When he thought of Thatch, pain knifed through Travis. He and Thatch had been at this same club just the night before. And now his wingman was dead. Shit, shit, shit.
Travis motioned to the bartender. “Give me the hardest shit you’ve got.”
The bartender, a big guy with piercings in his ears, lifted his brows. “Celebrating?” He started to mix the drink.
“Celebrating and mourning. Both are going to take me to oblivion.” And that was just where he needed to be. He grabbed the drink when the bartender shoved the glass toward him. Travis tipped it up, angling the glass toward the packed dance floor. “Here’s to you, Thatch. One night you’re in Hell, and the next…buddy, I sure as shit hope you’re in heaven.”
He downed the drink in one gulp then slammed the glass on the bar. “Another.”
The bartender started pouring.
“Keep them coming.” Gonna miss you, Thatch. Coming back to this place had seemed fitting. Paying a final respect. Missing the hell out of his wingman. Thatch had been the one to choose Hell’s Gate as their party spot the night before. He’d been the one to push to get inside.
And now he’s gone…Travis tilted back his head as he drained the second glass. And as he gulped down that alcohol, his gaze shifted to the second floor of the club. An area that was off-limits. A big, dangerous looking SOB stood at the top of the stairs. He had dark hair and his arms were crossed over his chest as he stared down at the crowd.
No, not at the crowd. At me. The guy was looking straight at Travis.
And then…the guy lifted his hand and pointed.
“He wants you to come upstairs,” the bartender said.
“Who the hell is he?”
The bartender gave a long, slow sigh. “You’re gonna wish you didn’t even have to find out…”
***
Aidan stared at the human who sat across from him. Travis Maller. The guy held a drink in one hand and his slightly unfocused gaze told Aidan that the human was already well on his way to being smashed.
“Thanks, Saul,” Aidan said to the werewolf who’d brought the guy up to him.
Saul gave a little nod then turned to head back to his bartending duties.
Aidan tapped his fingers onto the desk as he stared at Travis.
“So…what?” Travis asked nervously. “You’re the BFD here or something?”
Big Fucking Deal. “Or something,” Aidan allowed. His gaze swept over the man. Yes, this was the fellow he’d seen on his security footage. Paris had made sure to show him this guy’s face. “You were here last night.”
Travis’s expression darkened. “With my boy. But he’s fucking dead.” He lifted his glass, as if saluting the dead man. “Heard today. Thatch was mugged or some shit on the way home.”
Or some shit. Yes, that had happened. “Why was he trying to get into my office?”
“What?” Travis blinked. “No, no, he was here to party. Why the fuck would he want to get in this place?” He glanced around, seemingly confused.
Why, indeed. “Why did you come to this bar?”