“All the better to hide the shady stuff with,” Fallow says and then giggles. “Did you know that aardvarks have long, sticky tongues that can reach about twelve inches long? Do you know what someone could do with a tongue like that?”
“What the fuck does that have to do with finding Bane?” I grumble.
“Nothing. Just thought you’d like to know.”
We follow Fallow around a corner, and that’s when I see it. A door guarded by two men, just like the security out front. Fallow steps ahead and manages to get us in rather easily.
“See,” he says, looking smug. “No one had to die to get in. A win-win.”
Casey chuckles, but I’m not amused. I just let my eyes wander around the club we just emerged into. Low lights, just like in the hallway, and deep thumping music. A stage sits in front, featuring pole dancers, and a bar lines the back.
“Where are the rooms?” Kit yells, and Jax nudges him again.
For an assassin, he’s very indiscreet. He’s really not all that good, and yet, I still keep him around.
“Follow me,” Fallow says, the words drowned out by the music, so I only know what he said from the movement of his mouth. But it’s enough. We are getting closer. I can almost feel him here.
His distress, his discomfort.
But before we can make any headway, someone stops us—a scantily clad woman, her hair pulled up in a ponytail, her eyelids slightly hooded.
She says something to Casey, who bites his bottom lip and seamlessly flirts back. He apparently has nothing better to do, has all the time to waste. I, however, have none.
They took what’s mine.
My patience is dissipating quickly.
My blood pressure starts rising and my teeth grind together. I am not happy about the movement of this rescue mission. The only one who seems to understand my growing frustration is Kit, who is eyeing me warily. Everyone else is chatting happily.
But things could be derailed so quickly.
I need to find him. I need to know where he is. I need to touch him, to make sure he’s all right. To comfort him, to tell him I’m going to rip them all apart for hurting him, for causing him any kind of distress.
No more waiting. No more.
My patience evaporates.
I push forward, knocking into the woman flirting with Casey and causing her to stumble, but I don’t care. I just make my way toward the back of the club, to where the rooms should be.
Where he’s most likely tied up and being tortured, forced to relive what he suffered as a child.
I love you.
Blyat. I should have said it back, should have admitted it before he fell asleep, but I was afraid.
And now it may be too late to let him hear it.
That makes my vision go red, thinking of him crying, of him upset, hurting. Of not knowing how I truly feel. So when I arrive at that guarded door, I don’t even hesitate.
My hand whips out, holding the syringe I concealed in my pocket, and I stab it into the man in front of the door. My thumb plunges the poison into his system with ease, killing him instantly.
He never stood a chance.
He slumps to the floor with a muted gasp as I step over his seizing, foaming face and into the recesses of the club.
As I move forward, everything quiets.
No sound escapes those rooms. Fallow was right. They’re soundproof. All sorts of evils could happen in this space, and no one would know. No wonder they lie about the cameras.
