Heartless (Crossbreed Series Book 9)

by Dannika Dark

  His odds of survival would be greater.

  “So… what should I do about my friend?” he prodded, a genuine look of concern on his face. Wyatt wasn’t trying to start a war; I could see he had my best interest in mind. “Maybe he needs a pet dog to keep him occupied.”

  “I think you should let them work it out,” I suggested. “Sometimes things aren’t always what they seem. You’re in a club where they do some seriously kinky stuff, especially upstairs. People might look at you sitting here and draw conclusions.” I leaned in close. “If only they knew that your version of Friday-night fun is doing mushrooms while playing Super Mario.”

  He lifted his mug to his lips. “Touché.”

  A woman sat next to Wyatt, and her leather top covered every inch of her torso except for her breasts. Wyatt almost spit out his beer when he noticed her.

  “Are you Mistress White? Someone told me this is where the naughty girls order their drinks.”

  Wyatt’s grin widened, and his olive-green eyes sparkled when he looked up at me. “What about naughty boys?”

  Ignoring him, I crooked my finger and leaned toward the woman. “Go see Simone and ask for the special. Come see me later.”

  She placed a twenty on the bar and fanned her long lashes. “Will do.”

  A blush covered Wyatt’s neck and upper torso as she walked away. “I’ve been going to the wrong places all these years for a drink.”

  I wiped down the bar with a clean rag. “Does that mean you’ll be staying for another beer?”

  “Afraid not, buttercup. I’m here for another reason. My partner is busy doing the rounds but wanted me to relay a message.”

  He meant Shepherd, and I glanced over at Simone to make sure she wasn’t within earshot. It wasn’t uncommon to strike up a conversation with customers, but I didn’t want to appear overly engaged.

  Wyatt guzzled his drink, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down with each gulp. When he finished, he set the empty mug on the wood top instead of the napkin. Annoyed, I put his dirty glass in the sink and wiped down the bar with his T-shirt before tossing it onto his lap.

  Wyatt licked the beer foam on his upper lip. “Your tip is under the napkin. See ya later, Mistress White.”

  Wyatt didn’t pay for his beer, and I almost called him back until I saw that he’d slipped a piece of paper under his napkin. I discretely tucked it inside my bra and went back to work.

  Just after midnight, I sent another customer Simone’s way to smooth things over between us, but they always swung back around to get a dose of verbal abuse from yours truly. I’m not sure what bothered me more: the fact that they liked it or that I was a pro at it.

  I’d broken up two fights, so a fifteen-minute break was in order. After sneaking a shot of tequila, I went into the staff room and ran a hand towel under the faucet to freshen up. While both male and female workers shared the same space, everyone minded their own business. Wiping the back of my neck, I waited patiently for two male servers to change into their street clothes. Once they left, I pulled the paper Wyatt had left me out of my bra.

  Three names were listed, one of them being Mr. John Crawford. This must have been Shepherd’s suspect list.

  The door opened, startling me. I quickly wadded up the paper in my hand.

  “Easy, female.” Claude shut the door behind him. His nostrils twitched, something Chitahs did when reading emotional scents.

  My heart pounded against my rib cage, but a deep breath slowed it down. I pitched the towel into the laundry basket and sat on the long counter. “How’s your night going?”

  “Is it empty in here?”

  “I checked the bathrooms. It’s clear.”

  He neared the sinks and wet a towel. “Let me add this to my long list of jobs I never want.”

  “Why?”

  “Whenever I walk through a crowd, they grab me from behind. There’s a ‘no touch’ policy, but when you move through a busy room, you can’t pinpoint the culprit in a sea of faces. I’m treated like a piece of meat.” Claude angrily washed his armpits. “At least you have a bar between you and them.”

  “Sorry.” I furrowed my brow. “What happened to your pit hair?”

  He tossed the towel into the open hamper. “Club policy. Servers can’t have excessive body hair. Just as well. I thought I’d never get the glitter off that first night. It looked like a glitter bomb exploded in my hotel bathroom. I’m sure the maid is wondering why, a week later, there’s still glitter in my sheets and towels.”

  I lowered my head to conceal my smile.

  “Don’t bother,” he said. “I can scent your amusement.”

  “The glitter was overkill, but you looked great.”

  Claude was sans glitter, but he still had a natural glow to his bronze skin.

  “Christian has a twisted sense of humor.” He sat on the sink to my left, neither of us dressed in more than our underwear. “Any leads?”

  “Wyatt gave me this.” I handed him the paper. “Suspects. Don’t let anyone see it.”

  After studying the names, he put the small paper into his mouth and ate it. “I’ll see if I can get close to any of them. I’ve met two.”

  “Same.” I leaned against him for support.

  “Someone might walk in,” he cautioned me.

  “Simone thinks I have a crush on you. Just go with it. If you start running off every time someone walks up, they’ll get suspicious. There’s no rule against dating coworkers.”

  Claude’s voice softened. “What troubles you?”

  “The possibility of working this job for the next four months.”

  It wasn’t just the separation from Christian, it was this particular assignment. It was seeing people in power play positions. Domination made more sense because of the power and control. But I’d suffered at the hands of a sadist, so I couldn’t comprehend why anyone would choose to be a willing victim.

  Or, as they called it, submissive.

  I leaned away from Claude. “Have you seen what they do in the rooms upstairs?”

  “I’ve heard, but Chitahs are discouraged from venturing up there. While I understand they have safe words and it’s all consensual, my instincts will kick in if I see a male degrading or chaining up a female.”

  “I saw a man tied to a rack while someone whipped him, and they were whipping him hard. Why the hell would anyone want to be abused like that?”

  Claude sighed. “You can’t judge someone else’s lifestyle based on your own experiences. Places like this are about control, whether it’s taking or giving it away. It’s also about trust in a safe place. I’m not a psychologist, but you’re asking a lot about the submissive roles. What about the dominants?”

  My legs rubbed against the sink when I slid off.

  “People share a lot of personal stuff at the salon,” he went on. “For some, it’s a fantasy. For others, they have too much control in life and want to give it to someone else. Abuse victims or those in imbalanced relationships go to these clubs to regain power. But you need to do it for the right reasons or else it becomes self-destructive.”

  “The right reasons?” I turned toward him, arms folded. “I don’t see how there’s a right reason to beat someone or—”

  “Degrade customers at the bar?” Claude stood up and rested his hands on my shoulders.

  I shrugged him off. “They’re the ones lining up for it. I’m not making anyone do anything they don’t want.”

  His golden eyes narrowed. “Yes, but what is it that you want? Are you treating them that way to fulfill their needs or yours? Think about that.”

  The door opened, and two women bustled in, their loud chatter filling the room.

  “I need a drink,” I said.

  “It was nice officially meeting you, Robin. Don’t be a stranger.”

  He gave the two women a flirtatious smile as he walked in those clunky combat boots toward the private restrooms.

  I stalked back to the bar with a fire in my belly. It had only
been a week, and this place was already getting under my thick skin. I hadn’t dreamed about Fletcher in a long time, and something about this job was giving me nightmares about the monster who made me. He was out there somewhere, probably in a place like this.

  When I reached the bar, I cleared the napkins and empty glasses from my station. Across the dimly lit room, over by the red and black furniture, a white-haired man locked eyes with me. My breath caught. It felt as if the entire universe had cracked wide open.

  Instead of provocative clothing, he had on faded jeans and a smart grey jacket with the collar up. Though he looked like a man in his early twenties, his regal features and demeanor set him apart. Arms spread over the back of the sofa, he stared at me as if no one else existed.

  I spun around and faced the bottles of liquor.

  Simone waved her hand in front of my face. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

  I had.

  And his name was Houdini.

  Chapter 10

  When I turned back around, Houdini had vanished. Had I just imagined him? Had I drunk too much tequila? Maybe the lights were playing tricks on me. Then again, Houdini wasn’t a stranger to clubs. We’d first met in a bar, and after a night of heavy drinking and sharing deep thoughts, he gave me his immortal blood.

  Right before abandoning me.

  Houdini had assured me it was not done maliciously, and as I’d come to know him better in the past year, I believed him. He didn’t commit heinous acts against people. Even when I was his captive, he treated me with respect. Fed me, clothed me, and even protected me from harming myself. But it didn’t excuse the fact that he made younglings and sold them on the black market. He justified his actions with such genuine belief that it made me wonder if either he was clinically insane, or I resented him so much that I refused to see the truth. It might have been better if he had won the auction instead of Christian. I wouldn’t have the necklace, but I’d have his money, and Lenore wouldn’t have walked away with a big chunk of Christian’s life savings.

  I knocked back a shot of tequila and carried on with my duties, but I couldn’t stop scanning the room. People stood in puddles of blue and gold, but not every corner was lit. The influx of customers should have been enough to distract me, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Houdini. When I turned around, I bumped into Simone and dropped a glass on the floor.

  “Dammit. I’m sorry.” I grabbed a dustpan, knelt, and swept up the broken pieces.

  “That’s coming out of your paycheck, not mine.” She stepped around me, avoiding the shards. “And if you keep sneaking drinks, you won’t have much of a check left.”

  I dumped the glass into a trash can. “What drinks?”

  She tilted her head and arched her eyebrows to show she wasn’t playing around. “I do the inventory.”

  “Fine.”

  Simone offered me her outstretched hand. “Maybe you should go home.”

  “And miss out on all the fun?” I took her hand and stood.

  Claude approached the bar and rested an arm on it. “I have a table requesting twenty Red Apples.”

  Simone looked at him in disbelief. “Which table? Are you sure it was twenty and not two?”

  Claude gestured behind him. “That group in the corner by the stairs. And they want twenty.”

  She put her hand around the neck of a red bottle and gave them a long appraisal. “Do they have a tab open?”

  Claude nodded. “Under Abernathy.”

  “What have they ordered so far? Any spiked alcohol?”

  “A pitcher of beer.”

  “What’s the head count?”

  “Ten.”

  She tapped her fingernails against the glass. “Flynn!”

  A few seconds later, Flynn waltzed up next to Claude and mirrored his position. “Yes, my queen?”

  “I’m sending over ten Red Apples to the group at table five. They tried ordering double shots, but I recognize one of them, and he knows better. I want you and Clyde to keep an eye on them. Robin, pull out the shot glasses.”

  This sounded interesting. I followed her command. “What’s a Red Apple?”

  “Not a trip to New York.” Flynn threw Claude a smoldering look. “Ever been to New York?”

  “Once or twice,” Claude replied.

  I lined up the glasses while Simone poured.

  “If a customer ever asks for a Red Apple, come see me first,” she said. “Don’t have Rena do it. She’s not allowed after the last incident.” Once Simone finished pouring the drinks, she conjured up Sensor magic until her fingertips glowed red. Then she carefully dipped her finger into each glass for the same length of time. “A Red Apple is named after the Garden of Eden story. It’s a highly potent drink that only a few of us can make. It unlocks desires that people have suppressed—sometimes desires they didn’t know they had. This is a premium drink. One hundred dollars per shot.”

  My jaw dropped. “You’re kidding me.”

  “Clyde, as soon as they’re done, clear the table and wipe it down. Wash your hands after handling the glasses, and no more drinks. When a customer orders a Red Apple, we close their tab and cut them off. No exceptions. It’s risky mixing sensory experiences with Red Apple.” She set the glasses on a tray. “Spread the word. Tell the other servers to put their faces to memory. They know the drill. Don’t let anyone at that table order a sensory drink on the sly or accept a drink from someone else. I can’t see everyone from here, so I won’t be able to keep track. They’re your special project for the rest of the night.”

  “It’s under control, female,” Claude assured her. He collected the tray and sauntered off.

  Flynn looked over his shoulder and gave Claude a long, admiring glance. “I haven’t decided if he looks better coming or going.”

  “Going,” Simone answered while screwing the cap on the bottle.

  “What makes you say that?”

  She set the bottle back on the shelf and adjusted her breasts in her bra. “Because no man ever looks good coming.”

  He gave a boisterous laugh and held up an invisible glass. “Cheers.”

  A phone rang underneath the bar. One of those old-fashioned phones with a curly cord attached to the receiver.

  Without missing a beat, Simone answered. “Yes, sir?”

  Flynn grimaced and headed toward Claude’s table. He stopped by a pillar and stood guard while Claude set the drinks down.

  “Right away, sir. Is there anything else?” Simone nodded and then hung up the phone.

  I reached for two beer mugs.

  “I got this.” She took my glasses away. “The boss wants to see you.”

  “Why?”

  Her eyes widened as she filled the glasses. “I don’t know, but the last girl who went to his office never came back.”

  Hopefully that wouldn’t be an issue with me since I wasn’t technically here to serve beer. “Is he an asshole?”

  She set the beer in front of two men and collected their money. “Never met him.”

  “You’ve never met the boss?”

  “Not the head honcho. All management issues are handled by Karen. You’ve never had a real job, have you? Do you think the president of a company has time for the little people?” She turned toward me and shook her head as if this was our last exchange. “His office is the red door near the exit. Good luck.”

  Fucking hell. I don’t have time for this.

  On my way to the back, I glimpsed my reflection in a mirror. That messy bun had turned into a waterfall of hair, so I shook it all out and turned on my heel. I nearly jumped out of my boots when I noticed two women engaged in oral sex. As I neared, I realized one of them was wearing a strap-on, and it was all simulated.

  “Wanna play?” A butch, leather-clad guy puffed out his chest and gave me a lascivious smile. “I’m a Sensor, and I give it away for free. Third floor, room two.”

  I flashed my tattoo like a badge.

  A rolling chuckle settled deep in his throat, an
d he arched an eyebrow as if he still wanted an answer.

  I shoved past him and kept going. When I reached the red door, I rapped my knuckles against it.

  “Enter,” a muffled voice said.

  I stepped into what looked more like a surveillance room than an office. Numerous screens covered the wall behind the desk, each with clear images of different areas of the building. I saw the activities going on upstairs in private rooms, bartenders serving customers, the front door, and even the employee break room, which made my cheeks heat.

  The man had his chair turned facing the wall.

  “That’s an invasion of privacy,” I pointed out. “The employee break room isn’t part of the show.”

  “Yes, but I have to know what my people are up to.”

  The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. When the chair slowly turned, Houdini greeted me with an impish smile.

  Once again, destiny screws me over.

  He looked the same. Still wore the black ear studs, still whitened his hair and styled it into chunky spikes. The coat I’d just seen him in was hanging on a wall hook, and his light grey shirt with long sleeves fit him like a glove.

  Houdini played with one of his studded earlobes as he dragged his eyes up and down the length of my underdressed body. I hadn’t felt self-conscious until that moment, and I folded my arms, only to lower them when the spikes on my bra pricked my skin.

  “I almost didn’t recognize you with the mask around your eyes. Is that a brown contact lens?” He chuckled softly. “Have a seat, Raven. Would you like my jacket? I keep it a bit chilly in here.”

  I strutted over to the leather chair, sat down, and crossed my legs. “You’re the owner?”

  Houdini kept his hands on his lap. “I do love a good plot twist, don’t you?”

  “I thought you were busy selling bloodslaves on the black market.”

  “It was a lucrative business venture, but then Keystone came along, and we all know how that went. You’ve made a new man of me. I retired from that life and started anew.”