Page 35 of Clubs

Either way, I would only do that if I had to. Drinking their blood was one thing. Consuming the flesh was a whole other.

“You know what happens to people who snitch?” Oliver finally looked up on his own, brown eyes red with tears. “It’d be better if you did it than if they did.”

“I’m not a cop,” Brooke snapped. “That’s who you don’t snitch to, dip shit. I just want to know why this guy sent you to my god damned house. And since you’re not gonna answer that question, I don’t have another option but to go out and find him myself.”

Wrapping her fingers around the blade, she yanked it from his shoulder. He screamed again, but she paid him no mind. She rushed the blade back toward his chest.

But he screamed out, “Wait!” Just before the silver made impact. “Off the highway up north. I don’t know the address, but I can show you the route. A-and my memories of the place, if you need them. It’s quiet. Secluded. That’s where my dealer lives. Davey’s there a lot. We met a few times, but I don’t know where he lives. He could live there, with him, for all I know. But if you stay there long enough, you’ll find them. I swear you will.”

While I was unfamiliar with that area, evidently Brooke wasn’t. Because with a sigh, she straightened. Dropping the blade to the ground, she nodded my way. “You know if you’re lying to me, he can track you down.”

Swallowing, Oliver nodded.

“Alright then.” She leaned down and loosened the chains around his wrists and ankles. As she stood back up, she turned my way. “Should probably get a shower before he walks outta here, huh?”

“Not a bad idea.” I stood as well. “Want me to babysit?”

“You’re the best.” On her way past, she gave me a kiss on the cheek, then walked to the bathroom off the edge of the bedroom.

Once she was out of sight, I went to Oliver and helped him finish unwinding the chains.

“And here I was thinking you’d be the one to torture me,” he said.

“Yeah, well. We all have our strong suits, and those are hers.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Oliver

Cunt, Oliver thought. He still felt Declan’s eyes on his back as he tapped his cigarettes on his wrist. Didn’t turn back though, even when he lifted one from the pack and brought it to his lips.

Fishing around in his pocket for the lighter, he was just grateful to have made it out of there alive. Quite a few times while that was occurring, he was almost certain that he wouldn’t.

How could she justify something like that? Sure, Oliver was an intruder, but he hadn’t caused any real harm. All he had done was break a few pictures, flip some furniture, and knocked over her bookshelf.

Which didn’t matter all that much anyway. Because after she finished torturing him and got a shower, she made him clean it all up. Got him a dustpan and a garbage bag and everything. When he missed a spot, she made sure to tell him so.

Then, much to his surprise, she made him bathe. While she burned his clothes in the fireplace, Declan watched him from the toilet. He wasn’t exactly eager to do that job, Oliver could tell, but the fact remained. Afterward, she made him clean his own blood off her hardwoods.

While that sort of treatment was absurd, it topped his list of tortures. Because yes, Oliver had a list.

More than once, somebody tied him to a chair and poked and prodded until he gave them the information they were looking for. That was why he traveled so much. There were a thousand vampire nests and werewolf packs, even a few guardians and Fae, all around the world who had a vendetta against him.

But that… That was the strangest one. Usually, Oliver got the boot as soon as he gave up the information they wanted. Not a shower and an unpaid cleaning service.

Halfway down the block now, the bright sun shined in Oliver’s eyes. Warm, spring wind drifted over his skin, and yet, he was still cold. So cold.

So cold, in fact, that his hands and legs trembled. Rumbles sounded deep in his belly, and he was amazed he had made it through that torturing session without shitting himself. Probably should have asked to use the toilet before he left, but wasn’t exactly expecting kindness from his captors.

And now, he was cashless. So there was little hope of relieving that rumbly sensation and the restless legs. Normally, he would just rob somebody to get the cash he needed. But it was barely after sunrise. This wasn’t the time to break into anyone’s home.

Not to mention the fact that his daylight spell was wearing off. Within a month, he would need enough cash to pay a witch to rejuvenate its power.

That was how it worked for vampires. The sunlight burned like no other. It didn’t kill them, but the warm sun on his arms now would be intolerable by the time summer hit.

Realistically, all he needed to feed his habit was a twenty or two. That spell, however? At least five-hundred. No idea how he was going to come up with that. Especially after everyone heard what had just gone down with that Witch and Werewolf.

“You need a ride, man?” someone called from a car to his left.

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