Page 33 of Clubs

I held a finger over my lips, motioning for Brooke to stay silent. With a glare, she ducked beside me next to the doorframe. She tied her robe around her waist, a pretty red silk one. Under different circumstances, I would have complimented her on it.

Another bang sounded from in the house.

Living room, I believed. Living room or entryway. But as the thump of footsteps pounded closer, approaching the bedroom, I snuck a peek through the crack between the door and its frame. A man. A man roughly my size, which wasn’t all that common.

He wore jeans and a black hoodie. He sauntered into Ria’s room on the opposite side of the hall, his back to me. I couldn’t have made out his face. But it was the opportunity I needed.

Grabbing Brooke by her waist, I rushed her to the wall behind the door. She swatted at me. Put your hands on me again, Declan.

I rolled my eyes and went back to the other side of the room. You say that like I assaulted you.

You manhandled me, which isn’t all that different.

There’s a fucking intruder in your house. Who was now exiting Ria’s room and coming toward us. Short blond hair, strong jaw, thick beard. Somewhere between my age and thirty. And he’s coming this way. Follow my lead.

Yes, sir.

The sarcasm was palpable, even in thought form.

Footsteps heavy, now close enough that I could see his pinpricked pupils, I pulled in a deep breath and held it there. I didn’t let it go until he’d walked through the doorway.

Lunging behind him, I hooked an arm around his throat. He gasped, jammed me in the gut with his elbow, even tried stomping on my foot like women were taught to do with their high heels in self-defense classes. All of which accomplished nothing. We were the same size, but he wasn’t a Werewolf. His strength was no different than a human’s.

The smell of him suggested otherwise, however. Like a nursing home. That’s how he smelled. Not to say he smelled like shit, or like death, or like cleaning agents.

Old. He smelled older than dirt.

“Vamp, huh?” I asked at his ear, holding his throat closer when he squirmed. “Funny, I thought you guys were pretty strong too.”

He grunted, or maybe groaned, but I didn’t release my hold.

“Here’s how this is gonna go,” I said, still close to his ear, looking at Brooke out of the corner of my eye. “My girl, she’s gonna get some silver chains. We’re gonna tie you to that chair in the corner. And you’re gonna answer all our questions. You understand?”

It was stupid of me to expect some decency when I released my hold on his neck to let him answer. “Fuck you.”

Before I could say a word, Brooke appeared in front of us. She snatched his hands from his sides and wrapped a rope of metal around his wrists. He squealed, and I held his throat tight enough to cut off his ability to do just that.

“He’s weak because he’s doped out of his god damned mind,” Brooke said, winding the metal tighter and tighter around his wrists. “But there’s no way in hell this is a coincidence.” She snatched the arm chair from the corner of the room and set it in front of me. “Sit his ass down and keep him there. Let me find some more chains.”

* * *

Two hours.

She’d been torturing this man for two hours, and I was ready to beg for mercy. Also kind of aroused.

That wasn’t to say that I enjoyed watching people being tortured. A bit of a sadist, I may have been. Tying Brooke up and pulverizing her pussy while I slapped her ass until it was blood red, I liked. But that was a sexual, romantic release. It had more to do with the power and control in that one area of my life than it did with violence itself.

But seeing Brooke like this?

Her hands were drenched in blood. The poor guy had a hole carved into the center of his chest. He received that when Brooke asked him what his name was, and he refused to answer. Instead of stabbing him, she chiseled slowly in a circle just above his heart. When he screamed, when he begged her to stop, for her to not kill him, she simply said, “Tell me your name.”

Oliver. That was his name.

She filleted a piece of flesh of his arm. Like gutting a fish. It still hung there, flipped back like an extra sleeve that she’d rolled up. When it started to regrow, as Vampires did, she just sliced it again.

It was weird. I studied her closely as she did it. I could see it from the look on her face, she wasn’t enjoying it. She got no release from it.

But she didn’t stop either. She was ruthless, terrifying, and somehow fucking gorgeous at the same time.

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