Page 64 of Clubs

Tyler’s mouth dropped open, and he hurled his guts out. I wasn’t sure if it was intentional when his vomit wound up all over Emory’s jeans or not, but I didn’t have time to question.

I just stood there with my jaw on the floor. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“He’s right,” Brooke said. “Get the duct tape.”

“What? Are we gonna kill him too?” I asked, eyes shifting rapidly around the room.

Brooke shot me a look. “Well, we can’t let him run off with this. If he has evidence of our abilities, the Chambers are gonna kill him anyway.”

“And since when do we side with the god damned Chambers?” Lifting both hands to my head, I grabbed fistfuls of hair. “You’re gonna make this so much worse. Tying up a cop in the middle of my bar when his car’s outside is a really fucking bad idea.”

Ria frowned at me. “I’ll get the duct tape. Where is it?”

Brooke told her, and she scurried to the utility closet in the back.

Tyler was still puking. That was common enough for people who weren’t used to teleporting. It took some time to adjust to the sensation. It was like putting a child who had just eaten two funnel cakes and five corn dogs on a tilt-a-whirl. It sounded like a fun idea, and it never was.

“Who’s your informant?” Emory asked, forcefully holding Tyler into the chair. He didn’t seem to mind the vomit all over both of them. “Who’s your CI?”

Tyler just hurled in response. The smell of it was making me want to do the same.

“Jesus Christ,” I said, pressing both hands to my eyes. “This is bad. This is very, very bad.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Brooke said. “This is bigger than us. No matter what he says, we need to talk to somebody. Someone above us. The Chambers.”

“We’re not getting the Chambers involved,” I said. “I might hate this asshole, but I don’t want them to kill him.”

“Depending on who he shared that information with, killing him won’t make much of a difference anyway,” Brooke said. “Shit. Shit, shit, shit.”

“Who’s your CI?” Emory had Tyler’s face in his hands now, squeezing so tight that I swore I heard bones cracking. “Answer the fucking question.”

“How the hell is he going to answer you when you’re breaking his face, man?” I snapped.

Emory didn’t give me so much as a glance for that, but he did release Tyler’s face. “I’m gonna give you until the count of five, and if you don’t answer—”

“Mason Cooper,” Tyler said. Gradually, his face screwed up. Like he didn’t understand why he admitted that. Cops were never supposed to give up their CIs.

“That little fucker. I told you.” I wagged a finger at Emory. “I told you I didn’t want him in my god damned bar, and you said he was fine. You said he wouldn’t do anything to anybody. And look at this—”

“Can we argue about this later?” Still pinning Tyler to the chair, Emory shot me the filthiest look. “A little preoccupied at the moment.”

I grumbled a curse. He may not have been wrong, but he certainly wasn’t right.

They were friends in high school. Emory was a few years younger than me, and I didn’t know the guy personally. But Emory insisted that he was cool. I was fairly certain that it had very little to do with how cool Mason was, and a lot more to do with how good Mason was in the sack. We could argue about it later.

Ria returned with the duct tape, and Emory got straight to work tying Tyler up. But as soon as the duct tape made contact with his wrist, Tyler screamed, “Help! Somebody help—”

Suddenly, Brooke was beside Emory. Pressing her hand over Tyler’s mouth, she lowered her voice to an octave I’d only heard it reach once. Yesterday, when she was torturing poor Oliver, it deepened like it did now. “I really don’t want to kill you. Really, I don’t. I have seen enough bodies today. But give me a fucking reason, Detective, and I won’t have any choice. Is that what you want? Do you want me to kill you?”

With wide, unblinking eyes, Tyler sealed his lips shut. Deep breaths panted in and out of his nose instead, chest rising and falling at an impeccable speed. Cortisol wafted from him in clouds.

The man was terrified. As he should’ve been. If I were on the receiving end of Emory and Brooke’s ferocity, I’d be terrified too.

“Who knows about this?” Emory asked. “Who did you tell?”

“No one,” Tyler said. Again, confusion pinched his forehead. Damn, I did love Emory’s ability to make people tell the truth.

“Where’s the evidence of it?” Brooke asked.

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