Possession (Fallen Angels #5)(40)
Author: J.R. Ward

But come on, it wasn’t like she was actually going to go down to the Iron Mask and meet him. Not possible. Not ever—especially considering what she’d been through earlier … because that would be like having a fire in your living room, and deciding, after the men with the trucks and hoses had left, that maybe you should arson up the rest of your house just so things matched.

If you come over after my shift, I’ll tell you anything you want to know about me. And then I’ll show you the more important things.

And what would they be.

You’ll find out. If you think you can handle it.

Cait rolled away from the clock, hoping that if she didn’t look at those numbers, she’d forget that she had enough time, provided she left now, to get dressed and make it downtown right when he’d told her to be there.

Live now, a voice said. It’s the only chance you have.

Punching at her pillow to fatten it up, she threw her head back down on it and deflated the thing. This was just so crazy. Except if Heaven didn’t exist, and all you got was a dirt nap at the end of your life, how stupid would she feel if she stayed in this cold bed alone … when there was something hot and powerful waiting for her across town?

Safe sex worked if you did it right. All it took was a condom put on correctly.

Besides, the born-again-virgin routine she’d been rocking since college was getting depressing…

“No. Absolutely no.”

More pillow fluffing. And cursing.

It was two forty-six when she exploded out of bed. Put jeans on that she rarely wore. Chose the only lace bra she owned. Pulled on a turtleneck that could be trampled underfoot.

Behind the wheel of her SUV, heading out of her neighborhood, she did not look back. Didn’t think, either. The decision made, she wasn’t going to dwell on it or the fact that there was a high probability she was still in shock from what had happened earlier. There would be time tomorrow morning for doubts and recriminations—right here and now? There was only her destination.

Her phone went off just as she was getting on the Northway. Without thinking, she snagged it and checked who it was.

Teresa. No doubt calling because the interminable insomniac hadn’t gotten an update as promised.

Cait let the call go to voice mail. She didn’t want anyone else’s opinion on this bright idea, and didn’t trust herself to keep things on the DL. Besides, her old roommate was half in love with G.B., in that way people got hooked on TV or movie stars. Knowing how Teresa was hardwired, she was likely to get offended on the singer’s behalf.

Cait was too practiced at being guilty not to spot that trap.

Not when this collision she was about to cause was only an exit ramp and a couple of traffic lights away.

And she had no interest in saving herself.

“Don’t ask me to clear your head for you,” Duke growled. “Because I’m going to use that bathroom stall you’re hiding in to do it.”

Every night around two a.m., the Iron Mask’s entrance line got shut down, and that meant that he had a good hour to deal with a dwindling number of ever more intoxicated and compromised brilliant thinkers—like this wiry guy who’d decided he was going to be cool and do coke out in the open on one of the tables. Confronted, he’d dodge-balled around the security staff and locked himself in here.

The sound of a giant inhale through a deviated septum suggested that Einstein with the powder fixation was going for some more nose courage.

Maybe he’d do another line and end up levitating right up and out.

Of course, it could be worse. At least Fleet-foot hadn’t picked one of the private bathrooms—because then Duke would have had to hard-shoulder through a locked door in front of the patrons. As it was, the guy had gunned for a public facility, and picked the middle of the three bays that were opposite the urinals.

Out of the corner of his eye, Duke caught sight of his reflection in the mirrors over the lineup of sinks. Jacked forward on his hips, he was unaware of having curled up a pair of fists, but there they were.

“On the count of three,” he barked. “You come out, or I’m coming in after you. One—”

“Duke.”

The sound of his boss’s voice cut through his aggression. Slightly.

Twisting on his hips, he looked over his shoulder at Alex Hess. “I’m handling this.”

“No, you’re not.” She jerked a thumb at the door she’d come through. “Out.”

“I got this.” He turned back around. “Give me—”

Alex materialized in front of him, moving impossibly fast, and the force of her presence was like getting popped in the face with a crowbar. In a quiet voice, she hissed, “Here’s the deal. You’ve been walking that line tonight, and if you go any further with this? You’re going to hurt him.” As he opened his mouth, she put her palm up. “My turf, my rules. Don’t make me escort you the f**k out of here, because I will. If you kill someone on this job? I’ve got the CPD so far up my ass, I’m stirring my coffee with their badges.”

In all her buck-stops-here anger, her gray eyes seemed to glow, and it wasn’t like he doubted that she’d physically relocate him if she had to. The boss lady was usually right and always in control—of herself, and of others.

But come on.

Duke shook his head. “This is no different than any other night.”

“And the fact that you don’t recognize where you’re at proves my point. Now back off.”

Abruptly, the room became preternaturally clear, everything from the bright shine of the black tile on the walls, to the white veins in the black marble floor, to the sound of the wheezing coming from that middle stall.

“You’re going to kill someone,” Alex said roughly. “I can see it in your eyes. And you’ve got to trust me on this before you do something both of us are going to regret.”

“Fucking hell,” he muttered.

When she just cocked an eyebrow, he peeled off, stalked to the door, and punched his way through—

Hello, peanut gallery of meatheads.

Immediately outside the loo, a crowd of security staff had gathered, the bunch of them standing in a half-moon orientation, like they were ready to catch the fallout of either him or the blowhead or the boss coming out of the enclosed space.

Cursing under his breath, Duke ignored them all, and marched to the back of the club, shoving through the staff-only door and then pacing up and down the empty corridor between the offices and the locker room.