Page 49 of Outlaw Witch

It’s hot as hell and I can feel my cheeks flushing as I take the room in. Glancing up, I can see that there are another couple of floors that look very similar. It kind of has an industrial vibe with its concrete walls and impossibly high ceiling. Although, unlike the warehouse, this place doesn’t look like it’s actively crumbling.

“Have you noticed the cages yet?” Roscoe shouts into my ear, giving me a smirk when I shoot him a confused look.

He gently grips my chin between his finger and thumb and twists my head until I’m looking at a line of giant bird cages, hanging from beams ten feet in the air. Inside the cages, there are people writhing around in various states of undress, gripping the bars of the cages. Some of them are dancing provocatively, grinding up against each other. Others are straight up fucking with zero concern about the room of people below them.

My gaze then scans to the cozy booths I’d noticed when we first came in.

What Ihadn’tnoticed was how the people in them seem to be all over each other. There’s a lot of tongue action and a fair bit of hand action going on as well.

Fuck, I hope they clean those seats thoroughly. Or that they’re easy to wipe-clean.

“Did you bring me to a sex club?” I ask Roscoe, whose grin widens.

“First time?” He smirks at me and my cheeks flush even deeper.

I’m notembarrassed, I don’tgetembarrassed. Especially not about shit like this.

It’s not like I’m a prude. I just happen to be experiencing a hot flush. It’shotin here and my brain is overstimulated. There’s a lot going on and I’m struggling to take it all in.

Honestly, I’ve been to a sex club before—for a job. Surprise, surprise.

It’s not really my scene, although it’s not like I’ve ever had much time or space to find out exactlywhatmy scene is, beyond shitty hookups when I have an itch to scratch and my vibrator can’t quite cut it. There’s always something vaguely hollow about them and I wind up feeling shitty about myself afterwards.

Which is not a feeling I let myself dwell on. There are plenty of other people in this world who try to make me feel bad about myself. I’m not going to join them.

“What about the vamps?” I ask Roscoe.

“This place is owned by one, so it’s bound to be crawling with them,” he says.

“I thought all the businesses around here were owned by your people,” I reply.

The Nightshades and the Hawksheads, Fabian and Roscoe’s families. They’re the big guns around here, and I was sure that this entire district came under their control.

Roscoe shrugs and it’s an indolent, rich boy gesture. Like it doesn’t matter that his family are some of the head honchos, ruling over an entire district.

“This particular vamp owns it, and we control it. It’s a bit of a sore point, so I wouldn’t bring it up when we meet with him.”

“What about the fact you went to that nest and beat up a bunch of vamps earlier tonight? Should we bring that up?” I respond drily.

Roscoe doesn’t seem to hear the sarcasm in my voice as he rubs the back of his head. “Nah, I think that wouldn’t get them on our side, either.”

“Why did you beat them up, anyway?” I ask, realizing that it’s a question I should have asked way before we got here.

He glances down at me and then links our hands together again, like it’s a normal, natural thing for the two of us to do. Leading me through the gyrating crowd, we skirt the edges of the room until we’re in another room to the club. This one is a little quieter, with yet more booths situated around the edges of the room. Although there are heavy drapes drawn around some of them, providing some level of privacy.

That doesn’t save me from having to hear the moans and groans coming from the other side of those drapes, though. I stiffen and shoot him an exasperated eye roll.

“And Zeph was worried aboutmegetting distracted,” Roscoe teases.

“You’re the one that thought it was a good idea to bring me to a sex club without giving any warning.” I smack him on the shoulder. Roscoe just grips my free hand tighter and twists our fingers together again, and I stare down at our hands.

For a stranger, he sure does like touching me.

My eyes catch on the torn and bruised knuckles, reminding me he still hasn’t answered my question as to why he and Zeph thought tonight was a good night to beat up some vamps.

“You asked why we beat them up,” he says, his voice a lot softer now that we’ve left the thumping bass of the other room behind. “You remember what Fabian told you about what happened to him, right?”

“How he wound up with the curse, you mean?”

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