“I don’t think it is either, babe.” He rubs at his forehead. “But let’s not talk about this here. Your sister owns Second Star. She could very well have ears in the elevator.”
I clap my hand to my mouth. “Shit. And we’ve been telling all these people who I am. If any of them rat me out?—”
“Then I’ll protect you.” He wraps his arms around me. “Anyone who wants a shot at you will have to get through me first, Bianca.”
I look up at him. “Back at MINOS, when you called me your girlfriend, was that just part of the story you were telling those people, or do you actually think of me that way?”
He smiles. “Two things can be true at once.”
My heart floods with joy at his words.
But we have such bigger fish to fry right now. My sister is making people disappear—possibly worse—at an alarming rate. I have no idea how deep this rabbit hole goes, but we’re halfway down it now. There’s no clawing our way back up. The only way out is through.
“That woman Zeb was talking about. Dishari. Her story sounded a lot like Alissa and Maddox’s.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Harrison replies. “She got in some kind of tiff with Rouge. I wonder if… Oh, shit.”
“What?”
“I had a phone call with a woman who was at the club the last time Alissa was there. She told me that she got in a fight with her.”
I raise an eyebrow. “She did? I mean, I don’t really know Alissa, but she doesn’t seem the type at all.”
“She isn’t. But apparently Rouge was nearby, and the woman I talked to said being in Rouge’s presence seemed to aggravate her.”
“She beat up a woman because Rouge was nearby?”
“No, I doubt that. She probably had some reason to start the fight. I think she and Maddox were looking for something and the fight was a distraction. But the woman I talked to—Pia’s her name—told me she could sense some beef between Alissa and Rouge.”
I inhale. “Dishari was arguing with Rouge over the waitstaff’s pay. Maybe Alissa dug up some dirt about the club and confronted Rouge about it in a similar way.”
“Maybe.” Harrison crosses his arms. “But again, let’s not discuss it in here.”
“Right. Good move.” I dart my gaze around the elevator. No cameras as far as I can tell, but my sister is very intelligent. If she’s keeping tabs on someone, she’d keep the recording devices hidden. Hell, she’d probably build them herself from scratch. She’s a damned genius. There’s very little she can’t do.
As far as I could ever tell, the only thing beyond her grasp is the ability to feel genuine empathy.
She’s good at faking it to get her way, but inside? She’s cold as hell.
“Where to next?” Harrison asks.
“There’s only one more club—at least that I know of—that Rouge owns. And it’s her biggest one besides Aces. The Jade Sanctum.”
The Jade Sanctum was the first club Rouge bought when she started expanding beyond Aces Underground, and it’s easy to tell. The layout is very similar, with four distinct sections—one for each cardinal direction—each housing a different bar. The North section glows with purple lights, outfitted with velvet curtains in a regal shade of amethyst. Behind the bar stands a broad-shouldered and silver-haired woman in front of taps offering various stouts, lagers, and porters. To her left is the East section, lit in cool blues. The light is clean, crystalline, almost waterlike. Behind the bar stand gleaming bottles of clear liquor—vodka, gin, silver tequila. The man behind it—thin, gaunt, with a pair of large round glasses covering half his face, fidgets with his cuffs as he prepares drink orders.
Turning again I find myself facing the South section, which is dominated by burning reds. Scarlet light casts across plush booths and ruby chandeliers. The woman at the bar is tall and statuesque with strawberry-blond hair. Behind her are bottles of red and white wine from France, Italy, Argentina, California, and everywhere in between. The loop finishes out with the West section, where the glow from the lights is a muted yellow. The bar shelves are stacked with amber liquors—whiskey, dark rum, brandy. The man overseeing this section is nighttime personified. His dark clothes swallow the meager amount of light, and his face seems carved in half by shadow no matter where he stands. He has dark circles under his eyes and his hair is unkempt, but he’s objectively good-looking in a sullen sort of way.
But the pièce de résistance is the structure at the heart of the space from which the club gets its name. A DJ booth, rising like an altar. It isn’t some slick piece of modern machinery—it’s a block of solid jade, polished so smooth it glows under the lights. Scripted in glowing green cursive across the front are the words “The Whiz.” The DJ’s stage name, and he really lives up to it. His hands are flicking across dials, headphones cocked to one ear. He’s not too hard on the eyes either. Huge chest and a granite jawline framed by an impressive full beard trimmed to a short length, and wavy neck-length dark-blond hair. He’s wearing a dazzling emerald blazer lined with sequins over a white button-down that is fully open, showing off a sliver of an eight-pack and just the right amount of chest hair. If I weren’t on the arm of the handsomest man walking, I’d be tempted to flirt with him.
But I won’t. And even if I weren’t with Harrison, I wouldn’t. Because this is the man we need to talk to tonight. Austin Waverly, Aus for short, who in addition to being the club’s DJ is also Rouge’s delegate when she’s not around. I’ve met him once or twice, and he’s always taken my breath away. Now he looks like chopped liver next to Harrison, but I won’t tell him that.
Gotta turn the charm back on, right?
A small curtain separates Aus from the rest of the dance floor, which is blanketed with shimmering green tiles in a shade of bright lime, where the club’s patrons, drinks in hand, are grooving to his set. I walk over to it and pull it back. Aus, without missing a beat, looks over his shoulder and raises an eyebrow. “Bianca Montrose! How the hell are you?”
I cup my hands around my mouth so he can hear me over the loud music. “Aus. Great to see you. Do you have a second to speak?”
“I’m in the middle of my set. Done in five minutes. Why don’t you grab a drink and I’ll come find you?”
