Page 81 of Outlaw Witch

24

Vampire-run sex clubsare truly something to behold in the harsh light of day.

The building looks remarkably mundane from the outside. I didn’t notice too much about it last time I was here, since it was dark and I didn’t know where the hell Roscoe was taking me. It’s a red brick building that doesn’t have any actual windows, kind of similar to the warehouse. The sign outside is so subtle, I would have missed it if I wasn’t hunting for a way inside.

Because the other thing about vampire-run sex clubs? They’re not open during daylight hours.

And I’m an idiot for not realizing that sooner. I bet Dante isn’t even up yet. He’s probably deep in slumberland inside a coffin or something. Maybe hanging upside down from the ceiling like a bat.

Like I said before, I don’t know too many vampires. I’ve certainly never seen where any of them sleep.

I’m an idiot who once again has jumped in feet first without thinking things through, but it’s a small marvel I found this place at all, so I’m not heading back now.

I waste twenty minutes peering around the place, looking for a window I can jimmy open, or a back door. After scaling a chain-link fence that’s connected to an alleyway, which is where all the trash seems to be kept, I find a back entrance that’s unlocked. Pushing through the door, I find myself in a commercial-grade kitchen.

I don’t know why the hell a place like this evenhasa kitchen. I don’t remember anyone eating the other night.

Or... at least they weren’t eating food. Pussy and cock and various bodily fluids? Sure. Sandwiches? Nah.

And now I’ve turned my own stomach. Great.

There’s no one around, so I push right on through until I reach the main rooms of the club. It’s lit only by emergency lighting and the place is deserted, kind of eerie. It smells faintly of cleaning fluid, which is a lot nicer than the kinds of fluid I was expecting.

I only get turned around a couple of times before I retrace my steps from the other night and find my way up to Dante’s office.

It’s empty. Naturally. I plop myself down at his desk and settle myself in for a wait. I figure I’ll spend the time going through the impressive collection of books he has on the walls. The guy has eclectic taste, that’s for sure. He has titles ranging from what look like cookbooks, to ancient journals dating from centuries ago. I even spot a couple of action thriller novels tucked in amongst them.

It’s not long before my stomach starts to complain that I never had breakfast and it’s now past lunchtime. My plan is to hang around a little while longer and then go and raid the refrigerator in that massive kitchen. Partly because I’m hungry and partly because I’m curious as hell to see what’s inside. Will it be all vodka, blood bags, and chocolates shaped like dicks, or will there be proper food in there too?

“Of course.” Dante’s tone is less than pleased when he steps into the office a couple of minutes later. He’s more disheveled than when I last saw him. His hair is wavy on one side and he’s still buttoning his shirt cuffs, suggesting he’s just got up.

If it were me, I’d schlep it downstairs in my pajamas and fluffy slippers. But Dante doesn’t seem like a pjs and slippers kind of guy. Instead, he’s a full suit at all times guy. And I can’t say it isn’t sexy.

“Of course, when I’m woken up well before I want to be with news of a break-in at my club, I find you here.”

“Hi Dante.” I smile at him winningly. But he doesn’t seem all that won over by me or my smile. “I didn’t mean to wake you up. And I didn’t exactly break in since the door was open. Plus, I wasn’t sure what hours you might keep, and I kinda forgot all about the sleeping during the day thing. My bad, sorry.”

“Late ones. Just to clarify for future reference, I keep very late hours.” He makes a show of looking around the office before propping himself up against the wall. “Are any of your boy toys hanging around? Am I going to stumble across one of them taking a shower in my bathroom and another making a sandwich in my kitchen?”

“First, this is not an episode of Scooby Doo, so no one’s currently buried in your fridge to make a sandwich,” I reply. “Second, do you actually have stuff to make a sandwich, or, uh, anything? I am pretty hungry since I missed breakfast—” I eye the clock on the wall behind him. “—and lunch, I guess. Do you keep food in this place? Do you eat food?”

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