“You, me, and the witches three. I’m guessing he has something to discuss with you.”
I arched my brows with a look of skepticism. “I thought he didn’t want everyone to be seen together?”
“The only people who know we’re connected—aside from trusted friends—are dead anyhow. Viktor’s version of a party always involves business, and it sounds like he has a few ideas about what we’re going to do about Darius.”
I patted Christian’s shoulder. “Well, with that new cologne you’re wearing, if you go missing again, shouldn’t be a problem tracking you down.”
Chapter 19
Before leaving the cemetery, Christian placed Salvator in the stone coffin and closed the lid, certain that someone would discover him.
Eventually.
Christian had a dark sense of humor, but our dead jokes were clearly starting to penetrate his thick skin.
“You’re a morose bunch,” he finally said to Claude and me. “If the stench offends you, then we’re going back home so I can shower.”
“Everyone’s waiting for us, and we’re already late,” Claude argued, his voice low so the cabdriver wouldn’t hear. “It took an hour just to dump the car.”
I suggested a truck stop by the highway that I’d frequented a time or two—one with showers in the bathroom. It was only a few blocks away from the club, so we paid the cabbie and got out.
“You want me to strip naked and wet my body down… in there?” Christian asked, pointing at the dilapidated porch where five truck drivers were chowing down on burgers.
I patted his shoulder. “Welcome to my world. They also sell T-shirts, and if you’re lucky, you might find some pants. Have fun, and don’t drop the soap.”
Claude and I waited outside, laughing at the idea of a Vampire showering in a truck stop. Sometimes those doors didn’t come with locks, and they definitely didn’t have doors on the open showers.
When he returned all squeaky clean, it was hard to find something to tease him about. He’d groomed his hair back, and the grey V-neck T-shirt was a size too small, clinging to his wet body, and Christian didn’t have an ounce of fat on him. I was used to seeing his hair disheveled. The way it looked now, it made him look almost debonair, and I wasn’t sure how it was possible for hair to have that kind of power.
“Those aren’t your jeans,” I said, glancing down at the dark denims that fit his ass better than I should have noticed.
He gave me a dark smile. “I charmed a man who looked my size.”
“You stole another man’s pants?” I laughed, picking up stride. “You have no idea where those pants have been.”
“I’m sure wherever they’ve been, it’s a sight better than where mine spent the past twenty-four hours.”
A damp chill hung in the air, and while there wasn’t any fog, there were halos around the yellow lampposts along the street. We reached a Breed club called Flavors, and I glanced up at the sign. All the letters were green except for the L.
“I’ve never been here before.” I warily searched the crowd inside. There were too many unfamiliar faces.
Breed faces.
I didn’t spend a lot of time hanging out in Breed establishments unless I was looking for my next target or trying to hustle a meal. Humans didn’t put up with that kind of thing; you couldn’t just walk up to a table, sit down, and start up a conversation without them calling the manager. I preferred bars since they were open to the public, and that meant humans were allowed. Of course, in the Breed district the regulars always found a way to bully the humans out of there so they’d never return. Most clubs were exclusively Breed since they had the option to be a private establishment, and the doormen kept everyone out except for those on the guest list.
Only there was no guest list. It was just a legitimate reason to keep the humans standing in line.
Front and center was an oval-shaped bar, colorfully lit and busy with patrons. Music was playing, but not obnoxiously loud. Each side of the room had seating areas with boxy modern chairs that could fit two. They were arranged in groups of four surrounding a black table, and numerous pillars and short walls broke up the openness. The walls had colorful accent lights, and nothing about this place was uninteresting. I’d never been to Vegas, but this was how I’d imagined it.
Immortal roulette, anyone?
A crowd gathered near one of the bartenders, who tossed a bottle in the air and caught it behind his back. A few people erupted in applause, and he theatrically filled a row of shot glasses with a bright green liquid. We headed toward the rear of the club, and I made a quick scan of the place. The hall in the center appeared to lead to the restrooms, but Claude veered left through an open doorway that led to a game room.
I spotted a group of familiar faces near a dartboard on the far left wall.
“Someone looks spiffy,” Wyatt said with a snort, noticing Christian’s uncharacteristic attire. “All things considered.”