Page 7 of Demons in My Bed
Rihanna’s “Bitch Better Have My Money” started playing, and I danced my ass the whole way up to the special VIP lounge of Top Tier. I’d just put on a show, and now I was hoping there might be a little bunny up there who’d be interested in putting one on for me… and maybe my boys too.
Felix collapsed next to me, spreading his long legs wide as he removed his skeleton mask. “Fuckin’ hell, Ash. Way to start a party. Though I’m a little upset that my kitten time got cut short. I didn’t even get to feel their little claws.” He turned his dark brown eyes in my direction and pouted. A full-on, pretty baby pout, with his bottom lip jutting out and everything.
The tattoo that wrapped around his neck drew my attention, as it usually did. A feminine hand, squeezing the life out of him. It was an attention-getter, but that was Felix as a whole.
“Quit your bitching, brother. We have all night for you to find some pretty pussies to play with.” Talon grinned, jumping up on the low table at our knees. Considering he was built like a Scottish Highlander, the guy moved like a ballerina at times, which explained the tutu tonight. The vision of his leather chest harness, tutu, and gas mask was a whole ass vibe. Though I wasn’t sure if it was a high fashion type of vibe or that of a deranged dude who sneaks into your bedroom at night and makes weird breathing noises while he rifles through your underwear drawer.
Either way, a bold choice. One had to respect such flair.
The crowd of onlookers gasped and cheered as he launched himself at the pole rising out of the center of the clear table, neon lights glowing within.
“I haven’t seen him yet. No word from the team at the docks yet either,” Rhodes piped up, like we were already in the middle of discussing business as he lit up his signature cigar. Thankfully, I knew who he was referring to, and the corner of my mouth lifted with a smirk. The night really was just getting started.
Before I could respond to Rhodes, a server appeared through the mass of people, bringing our drinks of choice. Whiskey for me, an Old-Fashioned for Rhodes, a pint of beer and a shot of top-shelf vodka for Misha, an Irish Car Bomb for Felix, and an Appletini for Talon.
Of course, our drinks were all spiked heavily with Dragon’s Fireball from our realm. Despite being a fucking shithole, it was the only place that could make alcohol potent enough to fuck us up. We were lucky to still have some loyal friends on the inside who could source us a few necessities.
“Listen.” I leaned in, not wanting anyone to overhear us, even if it was highly unlikely given the volume of the music. “It’s going to work. Tonight, we’are going to catch us a rat.”
Felix dropped his shot into his glass of beer and whooped before throwing the whole thing back. The crowd who was watching from behind the roped-off area lost their minds as alcohol spilled from his mouth, dripping down his neck and chest. Slamming the glass down on the table, he glanced at me and Rhodes. “I certainly hope it works. Little Bobby didn’t deserve to go down like that, man. I gave him the best asshole tatt of my life.My life!Now my work is wasted.” Felix glanced over my shoulder as he trailed off, eyes glittering with interest. “Be right back.”
Misha grunted from the end of the sectional, his gigantic boots kicked up on the table, those watchful eyes taking in everything. He kind of reminded me of that eye that saw everything… What was the name of that fucking movie?Lord of the Things?The Eye of Salmon?But in this case, the eye was Misha, and right now, that eye was watching Talon spin around like a ribbon in the wind.
“He’s right. Asshole tattoo or not, Bob didn’t deserve that. None of our boys do. To know that one of our own is behind the deceit?” Rhodes’s upper lip curled, giving him that look of superiority he wore so gods damn well. Daddy. As. Fuck.
Suddenly, Misha stood, pulling a blade from one of the hundred places he had them on his body. Talon was hanging upside down, legs locked, his hands gripping the pole, allowing his back to arch. He froze as Misha reached out toward his abdomen, blade in hand. At the swift slicing motion of Misha’s left hand, I heard Talon suck in a sharp breath.
The big male smirked, tucking away his blade and retaking his seat on the sofa. Talon slid down the pole, placing both hands on the table, letting each leg fall gracefully one after the other to the floor before he whirled around on Misha. “What the fuck?!” Talon leaned down, getting in Misha’s face.
“Fight or fuck?” Rhodes directed at me as we looked on.
I took a sip of my whiskey. “Could go either way. I got five on fuck.”
“You’re on,” he replied, just as Misha lifted up a thin, black thread, about three inches long.
Talon’s gaze bounced from the thread to Misha’s face. “You cut a loose thread from my tutu? Oh my gods, please tell me it wasn’t hanging there the whole night?” Misha tossed the offensive thread off to the side, shaking his head before taking another drink. “Why’d you do that?” Talon pushed, leaning in further.
I swallowed my laugh when I saw Rhodes opening up his banking app on his phone.
“Pretty,” Misha growled, bringing his hand up and letting his fingers trail over the material of Talon’s leather skirt. A little tug had Talon tumbling onto the big man’s lap.
Then they were making out. My phone vibrated in my hand, and I saluted Rhodes when I saw the notification for the five thousand dollars that had just hit my account. Another notification came through before I could put the phone down, and I couldn’t stop the deep growl that left my chest as I scanned the message from Rooster, one of our guys down at the docks.
Rooster: Rats showed. 25. X’d em all.
Me: Get back to Haunt. Good work.
Slowly, I pocketed the phone and raised my glass to my lips. The burn of the alcohol as it slid down my throat stoked my fury to new levels. It wasn’t like this was unexpected. Over the last six months, shit had been happening. Money was missing, our rivals—The Scorpions—were thwarting our fucking plans, product was being destroyed, and members were disappearing or being taken out during ambushes when The Scorpions should’ve had no clue about our plans.
There was only one explanation. A fucking rat. In ten years, we’d never had this issue—yet we were, with a gods damned traitor in our gang. A brotherhood of rejects, the men and women society deemed unworthy, too fucked in the head, not safe for public consumption… We took them and built an empire. Gave them a family, a safe place to let their demons out to play without fear or judgment.
“I’m gonna fuckin’ kill him,” Felix snarled, rejoining us, phone in hand and lipstick smeared across his mouth and neck.
Talon shifted, crossing his legs and leaning against Misha’s chest. “Get in line, brother. I can already smell him. He’s close.”
I inhaled, taking in a mix of leather, alcohol, sweat, and sex. Just underneath, the scent I was searching for—too strong aftershave and olives. Fucking Frank. I was on my feet in a flash, cracking my neck when I was hit with it. Crisp air, like a fall morning. The decaying of leaves and damp earth mixed with a hint of… cherries?
I spotted her ears before I saw the rest of her as she strutted through the crowd, weaving through the writhing bodies and holding the hand of a small, pixie-like woman. The two darted through an opening, giving the five of us a direct view as they passed right by the ropes separating us.
