Page 36 of Rogue Witch

I push through the crowd to the bar set up along the far left wall where Barry will be keeping a watch for me. At the bar, I notice Barry at the edge of the dancefloor, back against the wall as if he’s people watching. I snag the bartender’s attention and order a vodka straight up. I down the drink, then order another. Once I have the second drink in hand, I turn and survey the room. Now all I have to do is find the dozen or so Zidruhin who are sure to be here and hope…hope what? That one of them will unburden themselves?

I spot a tall redhead at the far end of the bar wearing a Paco Rabanne silver sequin dress. The dress goes for at least three thousand dollars. The Zidruhin don’t believe in denying themselves the better things in life. Especially when they’re as beautiful as High Priestess Hazel Surral. I’m not certain whether or not she’s worth my time. As high priestess, she’ll know a great deal about the Zidruhin’s plans. But she will also be far more skilled at keeping her secrets. I had hoped to find one of the younger members, someone under fifty years of age who hadn’t yet reached the upper echelon but might be privy to enough information to hint at Damien’s plans.

In truth, we don’t know how much Damien tells his priests and priestesses. They are fanatical followers, but the same can be said of half a dozen other religions, yet their gods remain silent.

Hazel spots me and brazenly rakes her gaze down my body, then returns her attention to my face. Yes, she likes what she sees. My Brunello Cucinelli leather jacket will make me a top catch of the night. She has to be sure I can entertain her in the style to which she is accustomed. She pushes through the people that separate us and heads my way. I focus on my drink and swirl the liquid in the glass.

Despite the heat in the room, a moment later, I sense her warmth behind me. A sultry, deep voice whispers in my ear, “Would you like to buy me a drink?” She steps up to the bar so that I can see her and locks eyes with me.

I signal the bartender to give us both another drink, then shift so that I face her. Her expression makes me half wonder if she wants me to drag her into the men’s restroom and fuck her against a stall door.

The bartender delivers another vodka, and a martini for Hazel. She takes a healthy swig, then sets the drink back on the bar. The music segues from one fast club beat to another and she grabs my coat lapels and backs up while pulling me onto the dancefloor. We nearly fall into the crush of dancers and half dance and are half thrown against each other by the other dancers.

By the time the song blends into the next song, she’s pressed against me and bumping and gyrating against my hardened cock —I am a man, after all—and, I imagine, she’s halfway to what probably isn’t her first orgasm of the night. The high priestess is getting a great deal more out of our dance than I am.

Someone bumps me from behind. Not the typical bumping I’ve experienced since being dragged onto the dancefloor. This is personal—and very male. Hazel’s eyes shift past my shoulder and recognition flashes across her face. Another Zidruhin member?

I twist and look over my shoulder to find a man my height with short, dark, tousled GQ-style hair. He’s dressed in skin tight leather pants that leave nothing to the imagination and a white, fish net tank top.

Hazel grasps my face and forces me to look at her. In her four-inch heels, we’re eye to eye. She kisses me while the guy gyrates against my arse. I force some interest into the kiss. She throws an arm around my neck and plasters herself against my body as she traces my mouth with her tongue. I thrust my tongue inside her mouth and her moan tells me I made the right move. Hazel reaches between us and cups my erection.

I’ll be taking care of that beast tonight when I reach my apartment—alone. But to keep up the charade, I growl into her mouth. She gives a throaty laugh, breaks the kiss, then whirls and shakes her arse against my cock. The dancers close even tighter around us and the man dancing against my back grabs my waist and yanks me against his body.

The song segues into another with almost the same beat and I pull Hazel’s back against my chest and say in a loud voice, “You want to get a drink?”

She faces me, grasps my hand, and tugs. The large hands around my waist reluctantly release me. We reach the bar with a few jabs to the ribs and stomach and a couple arse squeezes. Hazel orders two more drinks, then turns, her back to the counter and pulls me close.

“Want to get these to go?” she asks.

“Sure thing,” I say.

She smiles. The woman is beautiful and as dangerous as they come.

Our drinks arrive. She drinks hers in one long, beautiful gulp. I do the same, then she grasps my hand and pushes through the crowd to a chair at the end of the bar where a knee length mink coat hangs over the back. She hands me the coat, then turns.

I help her don the coat and say into her ear, “I see you like to live dangerously.”

She faces me, brow lifted.

“Someone could have walked off with your coat,” I say in a loud voice I’m not sure she can hear over the music.

A smile touches her full mouth. “People are inherently good.”

I wish I could agree—despite knowing she’s lying. I laugh, then take her hand and elbow us through the crowd. We reach the door and exit into the cold night air. I clear my lungs of the smoke and sweat.

Hazel slips an arm in the crook of my arm. “How about my place?”

I smile. “I can’t think of anything better.”

“Did you drive?” she asks.

“In this neighborhood?” I shake my head. “I’ll grab a taxi.”

“No need,” she says.

We walk past people lined up to get inside the club and continue to where a dozen cabs wait at the curb. My driver is parked one car length ahead of the cab at the head of the line. Arm linked with mine, Hazel hurries across the street to a Porsche 911 Targa 4S. She pulls a key fob from her coat pocket and presses the unlock button. A high pitched chirp sounds and the car’s lights flash. I follow Hazel to the driver’s side and open the door. She casts me a sultry look from beneath her lashes, then slides into the seat and I close the door. Barry’s going to have a fit when he discovers I didn’t take the assigned cab.

The car purrs to life. I take my time in walking around the car and cast a final glance at my cab driver, who’s looking in my direction. I glance at the building’s front entrance, but no sign of Barry. Well, this is a fin cock-up. The cabbie starts rolling down his window. I quickly get into the car and the car jets forward.