Shift Work (Carus #4) (9 page)

The gyrating throngs of humans bounced, undulated and rubbed against me as I weaved through the crowd. The farther in I got, the more the smells and sounds intensified.

The bar, illuminated by mirrors and black-lights, materialized like an oasis for drunks, and I sauntered up the two steps to enter the VIP lounge. The bouncer glanced at me and leaned in to cut me off. I slid my hand up his chest and smiled, letting my animal magnetism curl around him and overwhelm his norm senses. His eyes glazed a little, and he nodded before taking a step back.

Perfect.

This area of the club smelled and sounded better. Set up in lounge style and illuminated by neon-blue lighting, various people sat in black leather booths. They glanced up as I approached. The not-so famous arched their brows and gave snotty are-you-going-to-recognize-me glowers, while the men and women who probably were famous, continued on with their business. I didn’t care who they were.

The man at the bar with his back to me didn’t even move. His broad shoulders remained folded inward, and his head stayed bowed over what I presumed was a drink. I couldn’t see what he held, not with his ridiculous shoulders…

No.

It couldn’t be.

“Clint?” I asked. My voice drifted forward, and the man’s shoulders tensed. Then his back straightened.

“No fucking way.” I walked up and sat beside him.

With slicked hair the same deep sable as mine, Clint Behnsen had broad shoulders that made girls want to beg for a piggyback ride. Not me. I wanted to tackle and hog tie him for the market. Clint Behnsen might be a handsome man in his prime, but he was more likely to break the cow than buy one. He also happened to be the human servant to the previous Master Vampire of the Lower Mainland. He should have died with Lucien.

Should have.

When we’d first met, I’d torn his neck out with my mountain lion teeth on what I thought were SRD orders. Clint survived my attack, and a vicious sword stabbing later on by Tristan’s old master. He should’ve died those two times as well. Normally fastidious in his appearance, Clint looked rough. His hair disheveled, with random strands out of place, his shirt untucked and his trousers wrinkled.

The smell of alcohol wafted off his breath and out of his pores.

“How are you here?” I asked.

“Taxi.” He didn’t look up; instead, he kept his head bowed and stared into the amber fluid in front of him.

“How are you alive?”

Clint smirked and finally glanced up. His gaze was empty and unseeing. His eyes bloodshot, his lips flat. He looked like crap after a stampede.

I sucked in my breath.

“I take it you heard?” he asked.

“Allan phoned me with the news,” I said.

“You didn’t do it?” he asked, his voice hollow.

“The thought crossed my mind,” I said. “But, no. Not my credit to take.”

Clint smirked again, but in a sad way, like his lip couldn’t expend the necessary energy to scowl. He returned his gaze to his drink.

“How’d it happen?” I asked.

“Not sure, exactly. They chose a time when Lucien gave me a reprieve, and Allan was away on business. We returned to find his remains. The donors and other Vampires who’d been with him were also dead.”

“So, you were down the road banging as many bottle blondes as possible while Allan got off on torturing a few random people?”

“You shouldn’t judge others,
Carus.
”

I sighed and slouched a little. “Look, I’m sorry for your…loss. Lucien was…well, he was a dick. He treated me poorly and threatened those I lo…cared about. I don’t forgive easily. But what I can say is he treated those loyal to him well. Very well.”

Clint hesitated. “I think he sent me away on purpose. Like he knew what was to come.”

“Did he say anything to you before you left?”

Clint turned to me again. He leaned forward with pinched brows and a tense mouth. His lips parted to speak. He tensed. His gaze darted to the side, and we both turned to watch Stan stalk toward us. His shirt now sported a large dark patch on the chest. Stan flicked liquid off his hands.

“Why’s your shirt wet?” I asked.

“Fucking chicks. Like I’d hit on any of the hot messes in this place. Like I’d…” His voice cut off with a strangled noise. The glimmer in his gaze spoke of Loretta. My heart clenched and I wanted to reach out and comfort him, but he wouldn’t want me to. Not here. Stan met Clint’s piercing gaze and nodded before turning back to me. His eyes steeled over, and his body straightened. Back to police business. “I saw one of the known dealers in the area go to the back of the club near the stairs.”

“You want to follow him into the bathroom?” I’d seen the signs. “There’s less intrusive ways to discover whether he’s a lefty.”

Stan glowered. “Do you have any better ideas?”

I bit back a snarky response. Stan didn’t deserve my sass. I held up a finger to Stan and turned to Clint. “Do you know anything about King’s Krank?”

“It’s a new street drug.”

Not the informative answer I’d hoped for. I pursed my lips and looked around. More than one girl showcased jiggling breasts in low cut tops while prancing around.

“Why did you come to this bar?”

“Closest place to drink where I’m left relatively alone.” His massive shoulders shrugged.

“Could drink at home.”

“That’s just sad and there’s no tits and ass to look at there.”

“Well, uh. See you later.” God that sounded lame. Did I even care if I talked to this douchebag again, ever, in my life? The man grated my nerves and had some serious perversions, namely breaking women as a hobby.

Clint smirked again and went back to contemplating life on the surface of his premium whiskey. Stan tugged on my arm, and I walked away from the sad, former human servant.

“What was that about?” Stan asked.

“Nothing. What’s the dealer’s name?” I asked Stan as we walked out of the VIP area and rounded the corner to the back of the club.

“Aahil.”

“East Indian?”

“I guess.” Stan shrugged and then peered over the side to view the landing. When he looked back his mouth twisted down. “What?”

“You’re a cop in
Vancouver
—one of the most multicultural cities in existence, or at least in Canada. How do you not know?”

Stan sighed. “Because we honestly don’t know. We have no background on this guy, and it’s not like he wears a sign around his fucking neck stating his ethnic background, or his affiliations. It
is
Vancouver. That means there’s so many options to choose from, and with only a street name and physical appearance to go on, it makes his ethnicity near impossible to determine. Besides, Aahil is a Muslim name, which doesn’t pinpoint a geographical area so much as his faith.”

I opened a mouth, but stopped when Stan held his hand out.

“And before you ask, no. He doesn’t hang with a certain crowd, and his English is fluent without accent. And even if we pinpointed his ethnicity, what the fuck would it matter? It doesn’t change his actions. God, you’re so annoying sometimes.” He glanced around, but we stood alone at the top of the stairs. The nearest couple appeared too busy dry humping to pay us any attention. “Let’s go.”

I nodded and followed him down the stairs. Sometimes, my best behaviour involved keeping my mouth shut. When we reached the landing, the place opened up to a small lounge with bench seats, a small bar and a hallway leading to the bathrooms, and what I assumed was the emergency exit.

One sniff of the air nearly had me whimpering on the ground. The smell of urine, fecal matter, and alcohol-laced vomit permeated the air, so strong I wanted to puke.

A group of men wearing more bling than the entire female population in the club turned at our approach. Black hair, dark brown eyes, various skin tones ranging from light cream to dark beige. They appeared almost like clones, all stood around six feet tall with massive necks, shoulders, and arms. Obviously, they never got the memo about skipping “Leg Day.”

One of the men stepped away from the group and squared off.

“Hey handsome,” I crooned. “Could I have a word?”

He started and then his gaze slid to Stan. “Got no time for cops.”

What a mistake bringing Stan!
I should’ve prepped him better for what was to come. With Stan’s inability to blend, I’d expected the dealer’s response. Only one way around it. Bluff.

“Who, this guy?” I jerked my thumb at Stan and snorted. “He’s not a cop! Runs security at the nearby shopping centre.” I walked a little closer and watched the man’s shoulders drop. The action so minute, I might’ve missed it. With all the muscle this guy packed, his relaxed stance almost mirrored his tense one.

“A mall cop?” The man squinted Stan.

“Yeah.”

Stan’s outrage rolled off him in waves of burnt cinnamon, but I didn’t care; at least he went along with it. With a room full of norms, they’d have no way to detect our lies with their noses.

Some cops were so snobby when it came to security guards. Never understood why. Half of them started in the profession before joining the force.

“Why’d you bring him?”

I shrugged and closed the distance. “I like ’em old and vanilla. More fun to break. But…”

“But?”

I trailed a finger along the dealer’s chest, and released the magnetism. “But if you’re offering something more…intriguing…”

The dealer peered down at me. The hardness of his eyes softened as my scent coiled around him and my animalistic mojo magic did its thing. His lips widened to show off his gold grill.

“Johnny!” One of the other dealers barked.

The dealer straightened and took a step back. “Yeah?” he asked over his shoulders.

“What does she want?”

Johnny turned back to me. “What do you want?”

Not you.
Not this entire situation. And certainly not the sweaty ass these leather pants gave me. “I heard you’re the guys to speak to if I wanted something new and hot.”

Vaguely aware Stan shuffled up behind me, I kept my body loose and went for the seduction face I used on targets when I was an SRD assassin. When my energy coiled around the other dealer, though, the one who’d barked, his expression remained unfazed. Huh. Normally, my magnetism was enough to rope in the norms.

Another man, most likely the thug-on-call, stepped forward at my approach, but the Barker held his hand out to stop him. My gaze flicked briefly to Barker’s beefy arms. He had full tattoo sleeves with intricate line work. Below the Egyptian hieroglyph on the inside of his wrist, he wore a number of leather cuffs and bracelets. My eyes narrowed as I stepped in close, only a few feet from him. Wafts of vanilla and honey spiraled from his wrist.

Witch charm.

Well, fuck me sideways. This operation just got more difficult. I might be pretty, but no way could my looks seduce this man alone, not with Stan giving them all the stink eye behind my back. I should’ve left him upstairs.

The Barker narrowed his eyes at me. “It’s not going to work.”

“Excuse me?”

“I hadn’t realized the VPD had grown desperate enough to hire call girls for their dirty work. You’re not my type, lady.” His gaze flicked to my chest before he sneered. “Go back to the vamp bar and suck some dead wood.”

The beds of my fingernails stung as my nails shifted to claws. I clenched my jaw and squeezed my fists to hide the partial change. This guy had already pegged Stan and nothing I said or did would convince him otherwise. Worse, he knew my face now, so I couldn’t come back later.

“I think it’s time you and your stiff cop left.” The Barker’s face transformed as he flashed even, sparkling white teeth at me.

I could knock a few of those veneers out of his mouth.

Where would that get us?

“Your loss,” I said and stepped back. I didn’t like the expression on the guy’s face. It had changed from disgusted to thoughtful. Nope, never liked that look on the opposition.

“No sweetheart, it’s yours.” He snapped his fingers.

My eyes narrowed, and I sensed more than saw two more beefcake thugs move to block our exit up the stairs.

“I wanted to have a word with the VPD.” He turned to Stan. “Did you think I wouldn’t recognize you, Stevens? Your ugly mug’s been plastered on the front page for weeks now. First, to take on the…how’d you put it? The scum of Vancouver. And then because someone killed your pretty, li—”

Barker didn’t finish his words. A high-pitched wail emitted from Stan before he dove at the group of dealers, fists flying. One of the other meatheads stepped forward and attempted to intercept Stan, but the career cop had a few moves left in him. He stepped to the side like a professional rugby player and weaved around the other man. Stan threw a massive clobber fist at the back of the guy’s head and knocked him to the ground.

“Here’s fifty bucks. Get out of here.” The Barker stuffed a red bill down the centre of my cleavage and smacked my ass.

He still thought I was a call girl.

“See, you made one mistake,” I said, drawing the Barker’s attention away from the grunting men trying to take Stan down as the cop’s hammer-fists flew around and made contact.

The Barker’s eyes narrowed.

“You assumed I was unimportant.”

A slight tingling radiated through my eyes as they shifted to reflect the animals caged within.

The dealer’s dark brows arched. He barked out another order and one of the other thugs whipped out a gun and pointed it at my head.

“Should’ve taken the fifty bucks.” He plucked the bill out of my cleavage before I could stop him, and stuffed it in his back jean pocket. With a gun pointed at my head, I had to choose my next actions carefully. Fifty dollars and a boob grazing rated pretty low on the importance scale. Stan grunted behind me as the three muscle-heads managed to smack him to the ground.

“Should’ve taken my warning,” I said and pulled at the beast locked up inside, not enough to shift, but enough to gain some of her strength. I let her roar rip from my throat. The men around me yelled and stepped back. I ducked away from the gun holder’s arm, grabbed his wrist and yanked him down over my bent knee. When I pulled, his arm made a sickening crack, and he bellowed in pain. The gun dropped to the floor. Another dealer dove for it, but I stomped down on the dangerous metal and kicked it across the room where it slid into a grate.