“If you keep giving away the popsicles for free, no one’s going to want to buy the ice cream truck,” I told the three of them with a full-faced smile.
Their laughter cut off as cleanly as if I had used a cleaver on a slab of meat, but the rest of the line burst out laughing and clapping. I dipped my chin at them in proud acknowledgment.
“Mr. Gray will see you now,” the bouncer said hurriedly, unclipping the velvet rope. The gang of harlots quickly realized that not only had I embarrassed them, but that I really did have some kind of VIP connection.
I shot them a smirk. “See?” I took a step forward.
“Callie!” a seemingly familiar pair of voices shrieked from behind me. I spun reflexively, the sheer volume of their combined shouts enough to set my every sense on alert. The bouncer’s shoulders tightened, and his jaw clenched as we both looked across the street.
I relaxed somewhat upon seeing the Reds—two sister shifter dragons, named Sonia and Aria, who looked almost identical to each other with shimmering red hair—marching across the street, dressed to the nines in high heels and classily-revealing club clothes. I blinked once, twice, and then held out my hand to the bouncer. “I know them,” I murmured, before realizing the Reds were not alone. Othello—a hacker extraordinaire and friend of mine—who pretty much ran Nate Temple’s billion-dollar tech company—was also with them. Taking up the rear was a third woman I did not recognize—a very tall, blade-thin, red-haired stunner. Except, at the moment, her striking features were molded into an angry mask, reminding me of a Catholic after last call. I considered telling the bouncer I didn’t know her, but Othello was waving excitedly just as the Reds skidded up beside me, and I decided not to split hairs.
“Where have you been all my life, Muscles?” Sonia asked to the bouncer, lightly flicking his nipple where a barbell piercing could be seen poking from beneath his shirt.
He had been sniffing the air absently, likely sensing she was a dragon shifter, but her question caught him up short and he blinked incredulously. He burst out laughing. “Evening.”
“You can’t let them cut in line!” one of the girls in the crowd complained in a whining tone. “It’s not—”
“Can it, skankbitch, the women are talking,” Aria snarled.
I arched an eyebrow at her, ignoring the indignant squawks from the Kansas City socialites. “I’m pretty sure they’re older than you,” I offered, still wondering what the hell the Reds were doing here. They lived in St. Louis, after all, and hadn’t told me they would be visiting.
Sonia glanced past me at the still-whining woman, eyeing her pointedly from heel to hair. “You’re right,” she murmured. Then she cleared her throat. “I’m sorry for my sister’s rude comment. We were taught better than to disrespect our elders. But should someone your age really be going to places like this?” she asked, too sweetly. “And in your lingerie, no less?”
The woman shrieked, extending her fingers out like claws. Luckily—because Sonia and Aria were suddenly grinning in anticipation—the bouncer knew how to spot potential trainwrecks before they happened. “Now, now. No fighting. Since Callie is holding up the line, you and your friends can go on in,” he told them.
The woman sniffed disdainfully in our direction and gave the bouncer a cool look, as if he was merely doing as he should and not granting them a favor. Then they were walking past him before he could call them on their shitty attitudes.
“Be sure to give them the old-bird special!” Sonia called out, loud enough for everyone to hear, igniting an encore of laughter and claps from the crowd. The brunette socialite’s shoulders stiffened, but she jerkily made her way closer to the door.
“I think you mean the early bird special. For the senior citizens,” Aria corrected. Again, loud enough for all to hear.
The brunette socialite turned back with a snarl, and Othello suddenly latched onto the Reds’ shoulders with her hands. “Time to go! Callie, can we talk to you for a minute?”
“Is it important? Because I have a meeting inside,” I said, pointing my thumb at the club.
“No offense, but I’d rather not break up a girl-on-girl mosh pit,” the bouncer said meaningfully. “I hate seeing pretty things destroy each other.”
Sonia sniffed in disapproval. “You should try everything once, Muscles.”
He grinned before Othello jerked them back across the street. With a regretful sigh, I shot the bouncer an apologetic look. “I didn’t know they were coming here, but I’ll take care of them.”
He nodded. “You are welcome to come back, but as much fun as those two are, they look too young, and hotheads cause problems when the alcohol flows.”
“Thanks,” I said, turning to jog after Othello, who was pigeon-walking the Reds back across the street. The red-headed stranger looked annoyed, leaning back against the brick wall with the flat of one boot propped against it so her knee was bent out ahead of her.
“I’m goin’ to need a fuckin’ drink soon if I’m goin’ to chase away me hangover,” she said in an Irish brogue thick enough for me to chew on, by way of introduction.
“There are drinks right there,” Sonia pointed back at the club.
I shook my head. “Not a chance. Bouncer shut us down.”
I studied the unknown red-headed woman, who had arched a brow at Othello. “Can ye explain to me why we aren’t in Vegas already?” she asked. “Ye know I don’t like bein’ this close to St. Louis.”
I frowned at that—as did the Reds—but Othello seemed to dismiss both the comment and the woman as she turned to me. “It’s their twenty-first birthday,” she explained, pointing a thumb at the Reds. The two dragons were bouncing on their toes, nodding their heads.
“We want to go get drunk,” Sonia said eagerly.
“Really drunk,” Aria clarified.
“Jesus. Was I ever that young?” the redhead muttered, staring up at the sky as if she were actually talking to God.
Othello noticed my frown. “Oh, this is Quinn. She works in the antiquities business in Boston.”
Quinn snorted. “That’s a fancy way to put it.” She met my eyes. “I’m an arms dealer.”
I nodded as if that made perfect sense.
“Don’t worry. Her face doesn’t always look like that,” Sonia said, studying Quinn. “She said it gets more pleasant with alcohol.”
Quinn shrugged, but nodded. “Doesn’t everyone’s?”
“Vegas,” I breathed, thinking. My appointment with Dorian wasn’t particularly important, more of a catch-up and hang out than anything. However, if I skipped our meeting he was liable to show up at my apartment in the middle of the night to ask why I had stood him up, ignoring my demands about how he had broken in, why he was naked, or why he had brought two lovers with him. Dorian was unashamed about any deviant act he chose to participate in, so I could wake up to find him napping next to me naked—all because he hadn’t wanted to wait to call me about it in the morning. So, if I did skip my meeting with him, I really did need to get out of town.
“Fine. I’ll just wear this.”
The Reds clapped eagerly.
“To Vegas?” Quinn asked, looking me up and down. “Whatever does it for ye, I guess.”
Thus began the most bizarre night of my life. I waited for a few seconds, but no one moved.
Finally, Othello turned to me. “Um… could you make us a Gateway to the Bellagio? I used the last of Nate’s tiny balls to get us here.” I smirked at the nickname for the magic traveling devices he had created—able to transport you from one place to another across the globe with a single step. Great for those non-wizards who couldn’t use magic to make their own Gateways.
“Nate’s what?” Quinn asked, thrown by the reference to Nate's genitalia.
Othello waved that away. “So, how about it?” she asked me.
“Alright,” I said, realizing I had no way to get out of it. They wouldn’t leave me alone until I agreed. This way I could hold onto at least a sliver of my dignity.
Chapter 3 — Quinn MacKenna, Vegas
My hangover had gone from bad to abysmal the instant we left my apartment. Maybe it was something about traveling via Gateway, but I was quickly learning that defying the laws of physics by traveling from place-to-place instantaneously came with some serious physical repercussions. Or maybe I was just that hungover. Either way, I hadn’t exactly been up for easy-going banter with Othello, or able to handle the manic energy the Reds exuded at all times. If anything, I felt like I enjoyed the company of our newest member—Callie Penrose—best of all.
And by that I meant we’d hardly exchanged more than a few words since we met. She'd guided us to a church where she said she could make a Gateway undetected. Something about a guy in the club being the kind of person who might track her down if she used magic too close to where we had met her.
To be honest, I still wasn’t sure what to make of Callie. I’d picked at her a little every so often, trying to get under her skin, but with little result. It wasn’t personal, not really. But there was something about her, something dangerous and calculating, which simultaneously attracted and repelled me. Her long snow-white hair was as silky and thick as fresh powder on a mountain. Then again, maybe it was her getup; who wears jeans and a tank top to go out in Vegas, for Christ’s sakes? Only someone that gorgeous with that much cleavage, I decided.
Cocky bitch.
“Now what?” I asked, almost the instant we stepped through the Gateway into an abandoned stairwell. I spun in a slow circle. “This is not a bar. Ye promised me a bar,” I said, arching an eyebrow at Othello.
“You can’t go around creating Gateways in public places,” Othello said, as if that were obvious.
“The Bellagio is through there,” Callie said, pointing towards a sign that said exactly that, indicating we would find a door two floors down. Now that I thought about it, I could make out the whirr and chimes which could only have represented one thing: a casino floor. And, where there are gamblers, there are drinks; it’s easier to lose a shit ton of money if you’re too drunk to care.
“I could kiss ye,” I said, smirking.
Now it was Callie’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “I would rather you didn’t.”
“Ooh, cat fight,” Aria teased.
“Knock it off you two,” Othello interjected.
I considered ignoring her, wondering if this was my chance to test the white-haired woman’s patience. Sure, she looked dangerous enough, but she was also some type of wizard—at least that’s what the Gateway suggested. And wizards, in my experience, were a bunch of pansy-asses who relied entirely too much on their magic. Callie looked plenty fit, but it’s hard to tell how much of her muscle was for function and how much for show. Ultimately, though, a fight wouldn’t be in my favor; I’d gone with a pair of black suede pants, stylish black leather boots, and a black bustier that left my chest and arms bare. It was a ridiculously severe, monochrome look, but I’d dressed in a hurry with the Reds literally breathing down my neck. On the other hand, in jeans and a tank top, Callie could wrestle me to her heart’s content without screwing up her outfit.
Which meant I needed a different approach.
“D’ye have a problem with me?” I asked, planting both hands on my hips and squaring off my body. I watched Callie slide her foot back, centering herself in case things got aggressive. So, a fighter. Good.
“I don’t know you,” Callie replied calmly.
I grinned. She’d taken the bait. “Well, where I come from there’s only one way to fix that.” I turned my body slightly and adjusted my feet, letting her see that she wasn’t the only one who knew how to size up an opponent.
The Reds, I noticed, licked their lips in anticipation at almost the exact same moment. “Hold up! This is going on Instagram!” Aria grinned, snapping a picture of the two of us with her phone before I could slap it from her hands. I sighed, wondering what batshit crazy hashtag she’d throw on the description. Regardless, it was obvious the Reds were eager to have some entertainment on their birthday. I hoped not to disappoint. Callie’s eyes were no longer cool and rational. In fact, something lurked behind them, something that had nothing to do with reason or fear. Something predatory. “And what’s that?” she asked in a too cool tone.
I grinned, turned, and began descending the stairs. “We drink, ye daft t’ing! Bet ye can’t stay upright longer than I can, Callie Penrose.” I glanced up at them all from a few steps down. Othello looked appropriately mortified, although a little relieved, as well. The Reds seemed to waver between disappointment and excitement; they were going to get a show alright, just not the one they’d anticipated. Callie, on the other hand, seemed entirely sure of herself. She approached the rail and leaned forward, chest on display.
“You’re on, Quinn MacKenna.” And her eyes glittered like an impending avalanche.
Chapter 4 — Callie Penrose, Vegas
My phone began ringing, so I slowed my walk to bring up the rear of our ragtag crew. “Hello?” I asked without looking, focused instead on my companions because between the massive crowd in the lobby of the hotel and Quinn’s brisk pace, I couldn’t afford to lose them. Especially not with all the wealthy men nearby taking far too much interest in me now that I was lagging behind. My pale hair drew looks wherever I went, but their attention was even more pronounced now that I trailed behind the three redheads and stunning brunette who looked suspiciously like one of those kindergarten teachers who may or may not strip on the side.
As a whole, we were figuratively snapping necks of any hungry male within eyesight. But it was likely any one of us drifting from the group would earn more male attention than we’d bargained for. Which meant I had to speak loudly into the phone, using it as a shield whenever a guy got too close. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you foreplay without climax is pure torture?” a man’s voice asked.
I found myself rolling my eyes and smiling. “You’re welcome, Dorian.”
He sighed. “You pick a fight outside the club and then leave? You could have at least finished it and started a girl fight inside,” Dorian complained.
I shook my head. “Sorry. I had a last-minute emergency.”
“Where? I’ll meet you. This place is a bore. There are hardly any naked people here.”
I snorted. “I can’t. I’m actually in Vegas.”
“Oh, really?” Dorian replied, sounding suddenly very interested, as if he was leaning over his phone and drooling. “Do tell.”
“Last minute birthday party for a few friends.”
There was a pregnant pause. “Friends… but you only just now learned it was their birthday?” he said doubtfully.
“Maybe close acquaintances would be more accurate,” I admitted. Sensing he wasn’t buying it, I pressed on. “Twenty-first birthday.”
“Ahhhh…” Dorian replied. “Those are sacred events for the virginal.”
I spotted the Reds dancing past a section of slot machines and towards what looked like a bar on the opposite side of the casino. I ignored the glazed looks from those unfortunate souls who lived and breathed the casino atmosphere. It wasn’t my cup of tea. The dichotomy of the uber rich and those desperately hoping and praying for a big score to pay back their debts always rubbed me the wrong way.
“Hello?” Dorian asked, sensing my distraction. I’d been too focused on making sure all four of my party were in fact heading in the same general direction, in pursuit of the giggling, skipping, hand-holding weredragons. Their boobs were going to be on full display at some point, I just knew it. There was simply no way around it the way they frolicked around like drunk puppies.
“Yes. Sorry, Dorian. I need to go. You know how new drinkers can get. Like herding cats.”
“Because you are such a seasoned drinker…” Dorian said dryly.
“Hey! I know how to drink!” I argued. “It’s just not a major hobby of mine.”
“You won’t get better without practice. Where are you anyway?”
“The Bellagio,�
� I said, before I could consider lying. Shit. I didn’t want Dorian Gray showing up to this soirée. That had been the entire point of making my Gateway far away from the club. “Promise you won’t coincidentally appear at the same bar as us. It’s a girls’ night.”
He sighed. “But I love girls’ nights,” he said in a pouty voice.
“I’m sure you’ll manage. But you still haven’t promised.”
He let out an impatient sigh. “Fine. I promise. We will reschedule our meeting, party pooper. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” he teased.
“That’s a very short list, Dorian.” I could hear him chuckling in agreement. “I need to go before I lose them.”
“One more thing,” he said. “Consider it very friendly fashion advice from Dorian Gray. Leather is a girl’s best friend.” He hung up before I could reply with a response. I glared down at my phone before slipping it into my coat pocket. The bastard.
I saw Othello glancing back at me, having slowed down enough to make sure I didn’t lose them. She matched my stride, pointing towards the bar. Quinn was right behind the Reds, far ahead of us, and I saw them enter the bar on the other side of the casino floor.
Othello noticed my attention on Quinn. “She really is a nice girl,” she said.
“God save us from nice girls,” I murmured, studying the tall redhead. With a face and legs like hers, I secretly hoped to catch her stumbling around like a baby deer, but so far, no such luck.
“Fine. She’s an ice-cold bitch. But I like her, so play nice,” Othello said firmly.
I met her eyes and finally let out a breath, nodding apologetically. “I’ll try.” Othello seemed pleased enough with my response, because she gave me a warm smile as we continued on.
Last Call: A TempleVerse Anthology Book 1 (TempleVerse Anthologies) Page 2