Page 7 of Druid Dreams

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Right. Now I had my head back on straight, I needed to get ready. Maybe I’d primp a little more tonight and try to look like I wasn’t balancing on the cliff’s edge in a downward tailspin of emotional trauma. With a nod to myself I headed to my bathroom and jumped in the shower. I really didn’t want to wash my hair, so just a quick scrub to get the feeling of that slimy man's hands off me would do. If I stood under the hot water for too long I’d get lost in my thoughts again. I can’t let that happen.

An hour and a half later and I was feeling much better. Who am I kidding? What I meant to say was two and a half hours and I wanted to drink for the second night in a row, but it’s fine. I’m fine. Totally fine. I’d go to the club and get this night started and over with. I had more work to do when I got home, but after today, I may skip it and watch a gory movie or read some book porn. Fuck. Jack is right. I do need to get laid. I had a hunch that might make me feel better.

Get back to work, Sloane.

Right.

Work.

Club.

My father, Nathaniel, owns one of the most exclusive nightclubs on the eastern coast. The entry list was booked eight months in advance and never held cancellations. The crowd outside wrapped around the entire block every night that we were open, with the hope that they’d get in. There was red carpet on the shallow stairs, covered by a long black awning. Red velvet ropes blocked the door, attached to golden posts, manned by what most people called breathing steel. Almost literally. The bouncers outside were some of the largest males I’d ever seen, and they stood stoic in tailor made, solid black suits. That’s where I was headed tonight. To work. Insert sarcastic finger air quotes.

I jumped back in the SUV 30 minutes later. I tried on seven different outfits but none of them displayed my mood, until I found a dress that I hadn’t worn yet in the back of my closet. Now, I was in a tight black minidress with blood red stilettos that matched my lips. I could already tell that this dress was going to be one of my favorites. It had an upside-down triangle-shaped cut out under my breasts that was about four inches long and six inches wide, showing off some extra skin. It felt so comfortable that it seemed nearly as good as being naked in a warm room. It made me feel sexy and alluring, and that was all I really needed to get this job done.

I tried to ease my mind on the drive to the club. Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply and released the breath slowly. I peeked into my future. I didn’t much care for surprises, but I also knew better than to look too far, or too often, into my own future. It never ended well. Maybe one little peek would simply show me that it was going to be a boring and uneventful night. Then I could go home early and get back to all that important shit I had left to do.

What I See isn’t what I was hoping for though. It never worked like I wanted it to. I spotted a muscular man sitting next to me in my VIP booth. He had his head turned, and I couldn’t see his face, but his build seemed familiar to me. I’d seen him somewhere before. I knew I had. His shoulders and arm muscles were tense, his hand squeezed so tightly into a fist that his knuckles were turning colors. His jaw was clenched, and as I followed the direction that held his attention I saw a familiar face. Taylor Caplin would be in the club tonight, and he was watching me. Us.

Maybe tonight wouldn’t be the same boring routine of ignoring the people who wanted to sit with me in my permanently reserved booth just to say they’d been there. Maybe the mysterious male was someone who was genuinely interested in a conversation with me. And maybe Taylor would leave me the fuck alone.

It’s a long shot, I know. A bitch can dream though.

We pulled up outside the club while I was still lost in my Sight. Franklin patiently waited for me to tell him when I was ready to exit the SUV. The people waiting in line all stared and gossiped in hushed tones. They knew who I was, or so they thought. I could hear their whispers like they were speaking directly in front of me, not from fifteen feet away and through bullet proof, steel lined doors. I heard their thoughts too, and that happened to be what jerked me from my Sight. Every dark and dirty thing that crossed their minds was on display for me. It took me years to learn how to block other people’s thoughts and even more time to learn how to select which thoughts to hear. Tonight I didn’t want to hear any of their thoughts so I locked my mind down tighter than my dress.

I tapped the shoulder of Franklin’s seat to get his attention. He hopped out of the driver's side door and opened mine with haste. I gave him a polite “thank you” and strutted towards the bouncers. Sarge is working tonight. He was one of my favorite brooding beasts. He was smaller than the other bouncers, but twice as deadly. He never cracked a smile, and he absolutely hated when I joked at his expense. He was good at his job though. He kept a tight leash on the security team. The patrons very rarely stepped out of line with him here.

He moved away from the ropes, handing the clipboard to the male I’d nicknamed Hulk, and extended his hand to help me up the stairs. “Are you always such a gentleman or do you just really like me?” I teased him with a saccharine smile while mentally reprimanding myself. Or maybe it’s in his job description, you thirsty bitch.

He grunted his reply as he ushered me through the ropes and glared at the people who dared to complain about me walking straight in. He tugged me through the club, the crowd parting as he neared. He didn’t stop until he escorted me right up to the VIP section where he passed me off to Jack, my personal VIP security, and also my very gay best friend.

The inside of the club was filled with warm light and comfortable white leather sofas, but I didn't pay any attention to it. I was ready to sit down and attempt to crack some jokes to ease my tension while Jack tried to keep a straight face at his post near my table. He handed me a wine list and winked at me before saying, “Wine or tequila tonight, you filthy skank, or maybe some water to rehydrate yourself after all the shots you had last night?” Then he really looked at me, you know, the way someone does when they know you too well. “You look like you’ve had a long fucking day,” he acknowledged.

“You have no idea, Jack,” I admitted to him. “Tell Courtney to bring me a bottle of the best tequila they’ve got in-house tonight, on ice, with a shot glass and a plate of sliced pineapple, please.”

I didn’t need to look at the menu. I already knew what I wanted. It was not going to be found on a list of expensive wines that I’d never been able to enjoy, much less taste the “smokey grapes” they claimed to use when making it.

I want to forget.

And enough tequila would do that for anyone.

Jack reached along his collar to hit a button attached to his ear piece while he whispered silently into it. Normally I’d tell him to stop ignoring me while he flipped through his porn playlist, because porn wasn’t fun to listen to. He’d shoot back with “no, it’s only fun to participate in.” We’d giggle about it, though in reality, Jack wasn’t joking. He wouldn’t watch porn. He only enjoyed making it.

But all I could think about was the short premonition I had on the way here. I wondered, briefly, if I should tell Jack about Taylor Caplin being a potentially new stalker. He did sit outside of CBP property until I left, and then he followed us halfway home before Franklin decided it was a good time to lose him. Franklin knew better than to mention the issue while I was on the phone with my Dad. Charles would’ve sent for Taylor’s head.

Jack saw me staring off into space and raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow at me. He was waiting for me to be snarky, and he knew his eyebrows really pissed me off. They were always so fucking perfect. I rolled my eyes at myself, or him. I’m not even sure which of us is annoying me more. We could both see that I wasn’t in the mood tonight. I decided to gloss over the Caplin issue for now, but I did have to tell him that I was expecting a visitor at some point tonight.

Jack was a horse shifter, sort of. Well, kind of. We called him a horse shifter anyway. He looked every bit of it by his size too. He was bulky in his human form. All tanned muscle and dark hair with nearly black irises that always looked like he was whispering “fuck me” to anyone he was looking at.

His shifted form was a beautiful, solid black stead, darker than pitch. His flame colored eyes and the hellfire trailing in his wake let everyone know that he was all demon if they ever saw him. Most didn’t live to tell anyone what they witnessed. He was a demon myth, and we liked to keep it that way.

I’d ridden Jack bareback a few times. He refused to let me put a saddle on him though. I pouted every single time. Riding bareback made my thighs sweaty, and I hated it. Uhm, not ridden in a dirty way, though I suppose that point is moot.

I guess I should’ve revised the way I talked about trying to get over my phobia of horses. The animals were beautiful but they used to terrify me. Jack stood at a brag-worthy 20 hands or so and thought he could help. Whatever that meant. He didn’t help. I didn’t enjoy lessons with Jack but I did enjoy Jack’s company when he was not an ass, err, horse. You know what I mean. When he’s not an ass or a horse.