My hands reach up, pulling his long locks free of its bun. I tug at the mass of golden locks, untangling myself from his hold and driving him back against the opposite wall.

  “Fuck, woman. You’re gonna kill me,” Lynch moans.

  Hearing his husky voice clears some of the lusty haze, and my eyes dart to the now-empty hallway where the man once stood.

  “Dammit,” I curse, stepping away from Lynch.

  Lynch tumbles forward, landing in a heap on the floor, and I bark out a laugh.

  “What the hell, Trouble?” Lynch grunts, looking up at me from the ground.

  “Shit,” I say, reaching a hand out to help him up once I’ve regained my composure. “I’m sorry, Scruffs.”

  I bend down, grabbing the discarded hair tie from the floor and hold it out to him.

  “I take it playtime is over?” He asks with a quirked brow.

  “It was never playtime,” I murmur, stepping closer and smoothing my hands over the front of his jacket. “I was trying to save us from being discovered,” I whisper against his ear before placing a soft kiss where his pulse pounds.

  Movement distracts me, and I look up in time to see a woman enter the hallway at the far end.

  I catch sight of the woman in silver that I noticed at the bar earlier. She appears oblivious to us as she rushes down the hall with a single-minded determination, but I keep half of my attention on her, noticing when she turns into a room. Rowdy laughter and smoke spill out after her. The noise is silenced as the door clicks shut, and I wonder if we’ll find our mystery man inside as well.

  I turn to find an amused Lynch watching me, his suit is once again pristine. No sign of our little tryst remains. Except for the bad case of lady blue balls I’m currently sporting.

  “What?” I grit out.

  “So, mauling me was just a cover, huh?” Lynch asks, a stern look on his face.

  I snort. “I own you now, Scruffs,” I say, wiggling my ring finger in his face. “I don’t need an excuse to kiss you. Or did you forget that I can kiss you whenever I want?”

  A gleam enters his eyes, and I gulp.

  “Don’t even think about it,” I warn. I back up, my hands held out in front of me. “We already lost our suspect. We need to see if he’s in there,” I say, motioning a thumb over my shoulder to the door the girl disappeared into.

  “Uh-huh, two can play that game.”

  A mischievous grin curls his lips, and he pounces. My brain short circuits the moment his hands touch my fevered skin. I climb him, desperate to get closer to him. My nipples pebble as my back is once again pressed into the cool metal of the wall.

  The wall gives way, and I gasp against Lynch’s frenzied mouth, but he doesn’t slow his assault. Instead, he pulls my dress down my shoulders, and my eyes fly open. Not a wall. A door. I barely notice the small room with bunk beds and a tiny sink as Lynch continues to flood my senses, backing me into the small space. A scream tears through me as Lynch takes my nipple into his mouth, his teeth raking over the sensitive nub just so.

  My hands fumble for his jacket, desperate to erase all the fabric between us, but he pushes my hands away. The protest dies on my lips as he sets me down on the sink, his hand sliding between us and into my wet panties.

  “Looks like maybe I wasn’t just a cover after all, Trouble,” he whispers before stepping away. A smirk crosses his lips, and he licks his fingers. Fire burns through me at the sight of him tasting me, but instead of continuing what he started, he wiggles his fingers before stepping out of the room.

  What the hell?!

  I hop down from the sink, pulling the straps of my dress up hurriedly before rushing to the door. I peek my head out in time to see Lynch’s back as he retreats down the hall.

  “Lynch Foster,” I hiss.

  He stops, glancing back at me just as he reaches the door the woman in the silvery gown disappeared through earlier.

  “Problem, Trouble?”

  “There’s about to be if you don’t get back in here and finish what you started,” I threaten.

  “Prince Everhard of the Netherlands sends his regards,” Lynch says, his laughter echoing off the metal walls and mocking me in stereo.

  My jaw falls open as he strolls into the room, leaving me hot and bothered.

  With quick movements, I straighten my dress and hair. Then I curse, slipping out into the deserted hallway and following after him, hell-bent on making him pay.

  Suddenly, I’ve got a whole lot more aggression to work out on our suspect, and thanks to Scruffs, I’ve got the perfect idea for how to get him alone. I just need to find him.

  My senses are assaulted the moment I step through the door. The dim red lighting provides just enough light for guests to navigate the room. A large dancefloor dominates the space, and smoke writhes around the room as couples dance to the heady beat. My eyes search out the band, and I frown when I see only the bar at the front of the room. The music must be magically broadcast in here, I realize.

  I continue my perusal, taking note of the red velvet seating and black leather couches that seem to call shadows to them around the outskirts of the room. My eyes snag on Lynch seated at the bar, the two doormen from earlier flanking him as he sips a blue drink. I ignore him, continuing my search for my suspect, but can’t help overhearing their conversation. Or maybe I do it on purpose. Whatever.

  “Any chance your boss is looking to take on an intern?” Lynch asks.

  Bronx chuckles, nudging Lynch with his red-clad shoulder. “Why?” he asks. “You fancy yourself an amateur party planner, man?”

  Lynch shoots a look of outrage at him before waving to the bartender for another drink. Her long wavy locks are dyed white on one side and black on the other, her pale skin and dark makeup adding to the striking look. She nods, turning back to the coffin-shaped liquor cabinets and grabbing the items needed to prepare him a refill.

  “I’m no amateur,” Lynch says, turning his attention back to the bouncers. “Perhaps you’ve heard of my legendary Actually Alpha party? I mean, not to toot my own horn, but I’m pretty sure it was to blame for my alpha accepting his mate.”

  Lex looks at him with a mixture of amusement and interest. “Well, that is kinda what The Monster Ball is all about,” he says, and I grin at the way Scruff’s eyes light up.

  “Really?” he asks animatedly before clearing his throat. “I mean, that’s cool. You can find my reviews on Yelp. You know, just in case.”

  I roll my eyes. Leave it to Lynch to walk away from The Monster Ball with an internship.

  My attention slides past him to a dark figure on the other end of the bar, and my pulse races. It’s him. The stranger from the hallway. In the dim lighting, I can’t be certain he’s the man from A’s photo, but my intuition is screaming at me to find out.

  I stride past Lynch, ignoring the way his amused eyes trail after me, only stopping when I reach the man’s side. He’s talking to a bartender who looks eerily similar to him. His muscular form is clad in leather and covered in ink just like my suspect, but that’s where the similarities stop. Where A’s possible mystery man is all dark hair and fiery eyes, the bartender is blond with striking baby blues. And though they both have impressive power signatures, they feel almost opposite. One fiery, the other frigid.

  I step closer, crowding into the dark-haired stranger’s space, taking note of the empty holster that hangs at his side, and make my move.

  “That’s a mighty large holster you have there,” I say throatily. “Smith & Wesson .500?”

  The man turns, a look of suspicion on his face that quickly dissolves to stunned amusement as he looks me over. His arm moves as he turns, knocking one of the bartenders’ signature blue drinks down the front of my dress.

  “Fuck, that’s cold,” I screech, pulling the wet fabric away from my skin.

  “My apologies,” he rumbles. “Anders, got a towel back there?”

  The bartender turns, his eyes widening at the sight of my ruined dress. “I don’t think a towel’s going to be much help,” he says.

  I bite back the string of curses that threaten to ruin my entire objective.

  The bartender looks mildly concerned at the murderous expression I’m wearing–hey, a girl can only be expected to have so much self-control with wet silk tits.

  “Bro, I think you owe her a fix,” the bartender says to the man beside me.

  He frowns like this whole thing is somehow my fault and way too inconvenient.

  “I suppose it would be the gentlemanly thing to do,” he says at last. I bare my teeth at him, earning a laugh that, for whatever reason, seems to relax him.

  “All right, beautiful. Come along. We’ll get you fixed up.”

  “Come along?” I repeat, making sure not to show my eagerness.

  “Trust me, my gift isn’t for public viewing.” The man winks.

  A growl sounds from the direction I last saw Lynch, and I grin. Serves the mutt right.

  “I’m already giving a hell of a show,” I say, gesturing to the way the fabric clings to my modest curves. “So I appreciate it,” I tell him. “Though, it’s the least you can do. After all, you are the one who poured the drink on me, and all I was trying to do was compliment the size of your weapons.”

  “Are you sure that’s all you were trying to do?” he asks.

  “No. I was trying to kidnap you and torture you for information,” I say with a snort.

  The man’s eyes narrow.

  “Whatever,” I say, turning my back to him and eying the bartender with what I can only hope is a seductive smile. Or hopefully not psychotic at least. “Maybe the bartender is up for a little fun. I could use some help getting this wet fabric off my bare skin.”

  The bartender’s eyes light up almost immediately. “Rowen, I’m taking a break,” he calls and is around the bar and by my side inhumanly fast. “I’m Anders. Nice to meet you.”

  “Pleasure.” With a final smirk at the stranger, I let the bartender lead us toward the door I came in.

  I count my steps as I walk away, doing my best to mimic the swagger that Romy uses on Kash. One. Two. Th–

  My train of thought slips away, and my arm slips from Anders’s as I bump into a woman wearing a killer red dress.

  “Shit. I’m sorry,” I say, reaching a hand out to steady her.

  “No, really. It was my fault. I was a bit distracted.” she says, her green eyes darting back to the dance floor.

  I follow her gaze, laughing when I see some kind of dance battle happening between a ghost and a man whose hair is almost the same shade of red as the woman. She watches him with a look of longing and sadness, and I watch as the blond-haired cutie she’s with rubs a soothing circle on her back.

  She’s so engrossed in whatever Riverdance is happening that I don’t bother to say goodbye. Instead, I slip around her. My hand slides back into the crook of Anders’s arm, and I take another step toward the door, my mind once again focused on reeling in my prey.

  “Wait,” my suspect calls, his hand reaching out to stop me from leaving. I grin, knowing I’ve got him before turning around to face him. “The least I can do is make sure that your dress is fixed and you make it back here safely.”

  “And they say chivalry is dead,” I deadpan.

  I loop my free hand through his arm and detach my other from where I’d looped it through Anders’s. “Sorry, sexy, looks like you’ve been replaced.”

  “Damn, never fails,” he mutters and shoots the stranger a cursory look before marching back to the bar.

  Tightening my grip on tall, dark, and suspicious, I shoot one last look at Lynch, reveling in the way his eyes narrow at me, before walking out of the room with the dark-haired piece of man-candy beside me.

  CHAPTER 7

  The music and noise fade as the main door shuts behind us. The moment we’re alone in the hall, I make my move. Wet tits be damned.

  Throwing my body weight into the motion, I send my knee into the stranger’s groin. He groans, doubling over, and I know I hit a bull’s eye. Luckily, man parts are universal, no matter what kind of supernatural you are.

  Eyeing the sconce I noticed earlier, I rip it from the wall and clock him in his perfectly sculpted jaw.

  Before he can recover, and possibly kill me, depending on what sort of monster he really is, I drop my makeshift weapon, open the closest cabin door, and pull him inside. I turn my back to the door and take in my surroundings, instincts and senses on high alert.

  The man groans and staggers to his feet, recovering faster than I’d like.

  Next, I go for the only thing within reach.

  Snatching the tablecloth runner out from under the bowl of faux fruit, I scoop it into my hand and duck as artificial apples go flying.

  “What the fuck–” The man jumps clear but not before taking an orange to the chin.

  The tablecloth is thin and mostly decorative with its lace trim, but it’ll have to do. Swooping my arms in a figure eight, I wrap it around his throat then down and around his arms, twisting it–and him–until he’s restrained with his hands behind his back. Then, I shove him until his cheek hits the wall.

  “Who the hell are you?” I demand.

  “Holy shit, lady. Calm your tits.”

  “I would, but they’re currently soaked, thanks to your clumsy ass.”

  “Do you assault every clumsy man you meet?”

  “Only the ones I’m hired to find.”

  He stiffens, and the fact that he reacts at all is a red flag. Maybe he’s the guy after all.

  “What’s your name?” I ask. Not that it matters. A already said he could change his appearance, so I’m sure a name will mean nothing.

  “I’m not telling you shit,” he says in a low voice.

  “Look, asshole, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. It’s up to you.”

  The door opens behind me, nearly making me lose my grip on the table runner. Lynch walks in, eyes wide as he takes in the scene. The stranger uses the distraction to shove against me, and we both go reeling backward.

  I manage to keep just enough of a grip on the table runner so when he tries to leap for the door, he’s yanked back as if clotheslined and falls on his back. The tension on the runner catches me off guard, and I grunt as I’m pulled forward.

  Lynch’s ankle tangles with the suspect’s, and the three of us go down in a dogpile on the thin carpet.

  “Motherfucker,” the suspect groans.

  I can’t blame the guy, considering he’s on the bottom.

  Lynch doesn’t even try to get up. He cranes his neck around to look at me and just grins. “Woman, if you wanted a three-way, all you had to do was ask.”

  The stranger struggles but it’s no use. Not with Lynch’s dead weight on top of him.

  I wriggle my way free, which only makes Lynch more excited, judging from the gleam in his eye. “I will cut you,” I say, standing.

  When Lynch sees the wet stain on my cleavage, his teasing smile vanishes, and he glares. “Don’t tell me you started the party without me.”

  “Not me,” I say, “Him.”

  Lynch’s furious glare turns to the suspect.

  Shit. I know all too well what that look means.

  I step back, unwilling to get in the middle of this mess.

  Lynch stands and grabs the man’s shirt, yanking him to his feet and slamming him against the wall. With one hand pressed around the suspect’s throat, Lynch growls at him.

  “No one wets my woman’s tits but me, you animal.”

  “I didn’t–”

  “Oh my God, Lynch, he spilled a drink on me. Calm down,” I hiss.

  “What the hell were you doing drinking alone with him?”

  I roll my eyes.

  The testosterone has clearly melted his brain.

  “I brought him in here for questioning, you lunatic.”

  “Oh.” Lynch blinks, and some of the madness clears.

  I exhale.

  Lynch looks back at the man, newly calculating. “And what kind of answers did he give you? Is this our guy?”

  “I don’t know. You interrupted before I could find out.”

  Lynch frowns. “Who are you?”

  I try to stay calm, but it’s hard.

  Biting my tongue, I wait. Eventually, the stranger sighs as if finally giving in to the inevitable. “You can call me Vulcan.”

  “What’s your real name?” Lynch demands.

  “I have many names. This is the one they call me now.”

  Lynch and I exchange a look.

  “What are you?” I ask. “What kind of creature?”

  Lynch shoots me an incredulous look. “Uh, Babe, it’s kind of rude to just ask a supe what kind of creature they are.”

  “We’ve just assaulted him,” I say. “Twice. I think we’re past rude, Scruffs.”

  “Hmm. Good point.” He turns back to Vulcan. “Answer the question.”

  “I’m a reaper like the bartender you met earlier.”

  I think back to the blond-haired bartender who looked strangely similar to our suspect.

  “A reaper? Like the guys who come to collect the dead?” Lynch’s eyes narrow. “Prove it.”

  “Gladly.” Vulcan’s eyes gleam, and I realize too late we’ve just invited a trap.

  He snaps his fingers on his still tied hands, and the room erupts into a ball of flames.

  “Lynch!” I dive forward, grabbing my man’s shoulders and hauling him back before the flames eat him alive. Then, we race for the open cabin door.

  We barely make it into the hallway before something explodes at our backs. We turn just in time to see the cabin engulfed in a fiery inferno. Nothing else is visible through the red-hot wall of fire, and for a panicked second, I imagine the entire ship burning down and sinking.

  Again.

  Shit.

  I cannot be responsible for the second sinking of the Titanic.

  “This is all your fault,” I say, just in case it needs to go on record that Talia DuPont Foster did not arson an entire national treasure–even a ghostly one.

 

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