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“What did you call us?” Harlem burst, angry and offended.
“Not you, idiot. Didn’t you hear Nosta’s words? We’re talking about baggies, not people. Dear gods…”
“Harlem, sit,” Nosta ordered softly. “I think this meeting is over.”
Razai continued, though. “We found your packaging on club grounds. At one of the… special events. If you understand what I mean.”
The men froze, and even I nearly paused.
Razai found a bag of their drugs at one of the victim’s attack scenes? Or was he just bluffing?
He continued, “Your business name is whispered in the halls. I’m wondering. Do you have even one iota of self-preservation? Or will you just wait until that white fucking knight of a president catches wind of your presence and sends the entire ‘club’ into lockdown, leaving hundreds of gloriously stupid angels without an easy buzz. Your income will dry up. It’s mostly your problem. All it would take is one little chat with the president…”
“What do you want?” Nosta gritted out.
Razai reached around and stroked my bare thighs, teasing me. “Fuck, it’s like they’re not even listening, love.”
“Hm?” I responded, making sure to sound pleading and in a happy sort of pain. I ran my hands up my body, caressing my curves and acting completely, blissfully in the rapture of desire.
Yet unease filled me. Razai was bluffing, wasn’t he? He didn’t actually want to team up with these assholes. He couldn’t.
Nosta argued, “That’s impossible.”
My intuition sizzled, tugging toward the men every time Nosta spoke. I turned my head and whispered, “Keep going.”
His hands tightened over my hips. “Fuck. Then leave. Say goodbye to your rich little Divine clients. I don’t have any more patience for this boring conversation.”
He slid his hands over my thighs again, dipping beneath the lace now. “Besides, I think I’ve just developed plans. For the rest of the night. I’ll meet with the president tomorrow morning.”
Lips brushed my shoulder, and the gasp that came from my chest was anything but fake.
Nosta broke. “Fine. Gods. Maybe we have been supplying…”
Razai scoffed, “Useless information. I already know this. Now get out.”
“Our distributor was… fucking hell.”
Razai paused. “Go on. No need to be shy now.”
“The president’s son. His son was our contact.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Logic shattered on the floor like crystal.
Benjamin Castile had been selling drugs on campus?
“Explain,” Razai said, sounding way too calm for this kind of information bomb.
Nosta forced the words out. “We sold him product. He’s distributed since last spring. He’s been… good for business. To say the least.”
“Continue.”
I reached for the champagne bottle. Were dancers even expected to drink? Was I breaking some professional rule by feigning drunkenness? Damn, I should have asked before. Darby had been as sober as a concrete block. Fingers crossed that my sloppy slurps weren’t out of place.
The air crackled with the pressure of magic. Nosta clipped out, “That’s everything I know of the situation. I don’t think I have to explain what will happen if you share this with anyone—”
“I said, continue,” Razai snarled. “You can’t touch me, Nosta.”
