Page 33 of Vengeful Mates

“It might have worked out in our favor,” I said, jerking my cut. “But it doesn’t absolve me of my goal to end Raine and restore safety to the club.”

Slade pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just promise me one thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t go down in a blaze of fucking glory, okay? Aaliyah will blame me.”

I chuckled and patted his shoulder. “She sure will.”

I didn’t have any intention of dying. Fate wasn’t up to me, though. That remained in the gods’ hands. At any time, I might no longer be useful to Osiris, and my career as his avatar over.

Exchanging a wicked grin, alet’s do this and maybe get out alive, we moved for the casino’s entrance.

At the front door, the bouncer folded his arms over his expansive chest. Ugly prick looked like he went a few rounds through a meat grinder. Fair few fights too, by the broken nose, scars, and deep-set lines marring his face.

“What’s your business?” security grunted.

Slade’s bond fired up, ready to attack. Heading inside was probably going to turn into a bloodbath, especially if our target wasn’t here.

I got in first and recited the code word Castor gave us for entry.

The security man shifted on his feet. “No idea what ya’ talking about.”

Men like that only shifted when they lied. Plenty of people lied to my face when I worked the beat, criminals and hardworking citizens.

With my magick, I didn’t need to recount the code when I could easily get in. It was making a scene on the cameras clearly pointed at the door alerting Colton and his men that I was more worried about. Greeted by guns inside. Customers evacuated. War ready to commence.

Slade slipped past me, grabbing the prick by the collar of his shirt, slamming him against the thick submarine door, which rattled on its hinges, blasting the air out of the security guy’s lungs. So much for the cameras. Dickhead just alerted security inside.

Shaking my head, I called out my phone, and dialed Castor. At his answer, I said, “The password’s changed. Get me the new one.”

“Security must be tight.” Castor chuckled, went quiet, then gave me another password.

I delivered the new version to the guard, and he went slack in Slade’s grasp. “All right. All right. I’ll let you in.”

Slade smoothed the wrinkles he created in the man’s shirt. “Now that’s cooperative, isn’t it?”

The bouncer cursed under his breath and unlocked the door with a passkey. It slid open, revealing a dingey looking pod, like the entrance of a dive bar. When he turned around, Slade punched him in the jaw, swiped his security pass, and dragged his limp body, depositing him inside.

“You couldn’t just smash his phone or pat him down?” I asked.

Provoking Raine would make things worse for us.

Slade grunted and dropped the dead weight. He grinned, flashing sharp, white teeth, ready to tear Colton Raine’s throat out. Asshole was itching to smack some dickhead out.

“Where’s the fun in that?” My president gestured for me to take the lead. “After you, Grandpa.”

Yep. On our way back to friends. Aaliyah would be pleased.

The door gave a thump as I swung it closed and the lock latched in place. I added Underworld magick to lock that down and not let anyone out.

We proceeded deeper inside, through a dark hall that opened up into a glitzy little number. Silver every fucking where, from the glass-like wall panels to the roof decorations and chandeliers. Leather booths, hookers walking around in cocktail dresses, waitresses carrying trays of drinks or blow. Place gave off that sleazy underground vibe.

Just as predicted, we were cornered by four men with weapons, safeties clicking off, barrels aimed. I killed the spring mechanisms in their guns and any within a thirty feet radius—my limit of magick.

One guard grabbed my cut and attempted to shove me up against the wall. “We don’t serve your kind here.”

Our kind.Bikers.

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