Page 16

By the time I get to Velvet Shadows, the line is long, but when I climb out of the cab and head for the door, I’ve already added my alias to their list. The security guard takes one look at me, eyes full of appreciation, and lets me in without much fanfare or looking too closely at my ID.

Tsk. Tsk. I’ll have to make sure to give Ilya a few pointers on his security practices. They’re slacking.

The club is loud, bouncing, and dripping in sinful luxury and dark desires. People bump and grind on the dance floor, and groups congregate along the edges of it all around tables, in booths, and at the large bar. But my target won’t be down here. He’s going to make sure he has a good view of his next victim pool. I head up the curving stairs after showing my ID to the guard at the second level. It’s a bit quieter, but it’s still crowded.

Perfect.

I squeeze through, scanning to find Noah. He’s talking to a group of young college-aged women who are fawning over him. Two touch his arms, one stands close, and the final one twirls her long blonde hair around her finger.

Yeah, sorry, sugar, but he won’t be going after you. His type is the two touching him.

I make sure to stay out of eyeshot of him, and get a drink at the bar. I have no plan on drinking it, but it means I can stand and move around without anyone getting suspicious.

I clock the hidden security moving inconspicuously while watching and listening for any trouble. Seems Ilya doesn’t take any chances inside. Too bad they’re so obvious. Sure, to the drunk people who are paying to be up here, they probably don’t notice or give a damn, but to anyone else who might not want to be noticed, they might as well be wearing flashing neon signs.

It’s another couple of hours before Noah decides to call it a night and leave with no one on his arm. I narrow my eyes, not moving from my spot. He always leaves with his victim. What the hell is going on? I don’t let my irritation distract me as I pull out my phone. I see the message he sends back to his friend.

Noah: I’m going home. Ilya Romanov is around, and I don’t want the attention. Dad’ll kill me.

Looks like he has some smarts after all. I’ll have to change my plans, but I’m nothing if not adaptable.

I leave my place near the wall and make my way through the crowd, but then I see him out of the corner of my eyes, walking behind a curtain that hangs at the back of the room. No guards stand outside it, but they’re at the edges to make sure no one notices or tries to follow.

He’s not alone.

Following him must be the escort he hired for the evening. I only get a quick glimpse of her, but it’s enough for me to hate her on sight and for the jealousy to burn hot in my belly. The woman is slim, with barely there curves, long blonde hair worn in soft bouncing curls down her back, and a red sparkling dress. The kind meant to gain attention. Nothing like me, also everything I’m sure Ilya wants in a woman.

So why do I want to prove him wrong?

I glance back, and Noah’s disappearing down the stairs. I pull my phone up, waiting and watching as he calls for a car to take him home. Then I see the messages to his father.

Noah: Ilya Romanov is in town.

Father: Then you better stay fucking low and out of sight.

Noah: Heading home and staying in tonight. I’ll party tomorrow.

He won’t be happy he can’t hunt tonight, but he won’t defy his father. My job just got a hell of a lot easier. I should follow him, get the job out of the way, and get the hell out of this city.

I glance back at the curtain, a delicious plan forming in my mind.

It’s been far too long since I’ve had any fun, and I can’t help but want to needle this man. He makes it too easy.

He’s been looking for me ever since our last encounter, and isn’t it titillating to know I’ve been here, under his nose, for hours, and he’s yet to realize it?

And it’s my lucky night. Instead of having to create one, the distraction I need provides itself.

7

LANE

Two men start to shout and shove at each other, with one woman getting knocked into, which makes one man incensed and start throwing punches. Within seconds, it’s utter chaos as people rush to get the hell out the way, and security moves in to take care of it—including the ones watching the curtain.

Perfect.

I rush forward, careful to keep along the wall until I reach the edge of the curtain and slip behind it. The door is unlocked, so I step inside. The hallway is dark, dimly lit, and empty. A single door sits at the end, and I press a button on my phone that will scramble any cameras. Anticipation burns as I walk down the hall, keeping my steps light so my heels don’t click and alert him I’m coming.

Why spoil the surprise?