He could still see her face as she pleaded with him to keep his silence, to play along with her where Elliott Bentley-Squire was concerned. It shouldn’t have mattered to him, but it did. What she had with the other Breed male was a fucking farce that burned Nathan almost as much as the fact that he still craved her with a fierceness he could hardly reconcile.
She had made it pretty clear that she intended to keep to her own, even if she had to do it unhappily. So now Jordana was back at her place with a male who didn’t deserve her, and Nathan was hoofing it into Cassian Gray’s seedy club with a raging hard-on and a deadly bad attitude.
He found Rafe down in the empty arena of the old neo-Gothic church, questioning a trio of humans employed as blood Hosts to serve the club’s vampire clientele. As Nathan strode in, the blond warrior lifted his chin in acknowledgment and dismissed the group with a low command.
“Got the place swept out, except for the fighters and some of the staff,” Rafe informed him. “Nobody’s giving up anything on Cass, though. We’ve questioned everyone. They’re all telling the same story—no one’s seen hide or hair of the son of a bitch for the past several days.”
Nathan grunted, his voice gravel in his throat for the way his blood was still pounding in his veins. “Maybe the disruption of tonight’s revenue stream will get his attention.”
Rafe arched a tawny brow. “Right now, that’s all we’ve got. Where the hell did you go? I looked for you an hour ago, but you were gone. When I saw Carys with Rune a few minutes ago, she said she thought you left with Jordana Gates.”
Nathan bit back the ripe curse on his tongue. Barely. “She was in no shape for driving, so I brought her home. Took longer than planned.”
His friend and teammate studied him, then blew out the curse that Nathan strived to contain. “You and Jordana. Jesus, Nathan. Do you really think that’s a good idea?”
“No, I don’t,” he replied, not interested in explaining himself, nor in reliving what had gone on between Jordana and him tonight. “I think it’s one bad fucking idea. And after tonight, it’s not happening, so feel free to drop the subject and tell me what you and the rest of the squad have been doing while I was gone.”
As Rafe gave him a quick rundown, one of the club’s other service workers came out of the back corridor that led to the BDSM dens. Dressed in a few straps of black leather held together by silver metal rings, the brunette female sashayed into the arena in a pair of tall, glossy boots with sky-high heels.
She’d taken care of him once or twice at the club, one of the many nameless partners who had long been his preference. The sex worker spotted him now and her hips took on a more languid, inviting sway as she headed to the bar a few feet away from him.
“We cleared the sim lounge and dance club upstairs,” Rafe said. “Eli and Jax are giving Cass’s office and private apartment another once-over. I came down here to see if I could squeeze anything useful out of the service staff, since Syn and Rune and the other fighters are less than cooperative.”
Although he was listening to the report, Nathan couldn’t help but notice how the woman leaned over the bar to reach for a bottle of liquor, giving him a good long look at her ass and the leather thong wedged between her cheeks. His body was still fevered from want of Jordana, and it responded to the obvious invitation from this other woman the same way his fingers would reach to scratch an itch.
And she worked hard to get his attention. Grabbing a bottle of whiskey from the bar, she poured herself a shot and checked to make sure he was watching. As she tilted her head back and downed the amber liquor in one long, open-throated gulp, Nathan saw another delicate neck in his mind.
In a hard, heated instant, he relived the sight of Jordana’s pale, pretty throat, bared to him as he’d tugged her head back, the silky platinum rope of her hair wound around his fist.
Hunger drew his fangs out, and he wondered how long it had been since he fed. About as long as it had been since he satisfied the other craving that was gnawing at him, both made worse after the way his encounter with Jordana had left him feeling.
The sharp, nagging edge of his twin needs aggravated him, but even more disturbing was the fact that everything male and primal in him demanded he head right back to her place and slake the need she stirred in him—even if he had to tear through Elliott Bentley-Squire to have her.
Dangerous thoughts.
And a craving he could not permit himself to act on, no matter how tempting.
The leather-clad female plopped her shot glass back on the bar and sauntered past him, an inviting look in her eyes as she slinked back to the corridor leading to the BDSM dens.
Rafe stared after her too and let out a low, approving whistle. “Maybe I should do a more in-depth interrogation of some of the backroom staff. Wouldn’t want to leave any stone unturned.”
Nathan slanted him a dark look. “There’s nothing more for us to do here tonight. Go tell Jax and Eli to wrap things up. I’ll be right behind you.”
Rafe shrugged, then took off to carry out his captain’s order.
Once he was gone back up to the club at street level, Nathan crossed the arena floor on a direct course for the VIP rooms in back.
The brunette was waiting for him, already arranged for his pleasure on a red leather settee with her legs spread wide and her hair gathered off to the side to give him open access to her carotid. “How can I serve you tonight, sir?”
Nathan stepped inside the room. A pair of buckled restraints hung from a hook on the wall near the door. He took them down, then kicked the door closed behind him with the heel of his combat boot.
“What do you mean, you walked out on Elliott?” Carys’s voice sounded incredulous on the other end of the line. “What happened? Does this have something to do with you and Nathan? I saw you leave the club with him. Did something happen between you? Is Nathan with you right now?”
“No. He’s gone.” After the way she’d acted, probably gone for good.
Jordana hated the way things had ended tonight. She’d been a coward and a fool, and she owed him an apology at the very least. She hoped he would accept it, if she ever saw him again.
If she was being honest with herself, she hoped for far more than that.