Deep Dark Secret (Secret McQueen #3) 3

After Genevieve left, Keaty and I agreed the best course of action was to look into the jaguar king first before we started scouring the city for Lucy Renard. If Genevieve believed the king had a motive for kidnapping the girl, there was a solid chance he’d done it. When it came to crimes of jealousy, passion and rejection, the most obvious explanation was usually the right one.

Gregory Hamilton wasn’t a hard man to find.

Unlike Lucas, who tried to keep a low profile in spite of his riches, Gregory appeared to be the kind of man who liked to flaunt his wealth and power. A few phone calls to some friends in low places was all it took to find out he spent most of his evenings at a fae-run bar in the East Village called Caligula.

There was no way I was going to meet a potential kidnapper, who no doubt had an entourage of bodyguards, without a little protection of my own. I’d made the mistake of underestimating my opponents one too many times in the past. Just because Gregory was a shifter didn’t mean he was any less of a threat to me than a rogue vampire.

I’d seen what could happen when shifters went toe-to-toe, and it wasn’t pretty.

I already had my gun on me, but this wouldn’t be a regular crowd. In a fae-operated bar, patronized by shifter royalty, I was willing to bet my name preceded me. I also knew perfectly well that while a gun was ample protection, it lacked a certain wow factor.

I wanted Gregory Hamilton to know I meant business.

Stopping at my apartment before heading south, I grabbed the one weapon I had that was light enough to carry on a long walk but impressive enough to express my seriousness. The katana had been a purchase of homicidal necessity a few years back, and ever since it had become one of my favorite pieces. Guns were all well and good, but a big shiny sword made me look extra kick-ass.

Of course, the bouncer at Caligula only saw it as a threat.

He was a beefy wall of fae with arms as wide around as my waist and a face that had never cracked a smile.

“What do you want?” he grumbled.

“I’m here to speak to Gregory Hamilton.”

“Sure you are. What’s that you’ve got?”

The katana was slung over my back. Once upon a time I’d cleverly disguised it by using a bike messenger’s travel tube. Sadly, that tube was long gone, and I’d had to buy a real sling for the sword, making it pretty damned apparent what I was carrying.

No sense in pretending. “It’s a sword.”

The guard quirked his eyebrow. “And why do you need a sword to talk to Mr. Hamilton?”

“Why not?”

That seemed to stump him. I guess most would-be assassins were a lot stealthier about bringing weapons in. “Uhhh.”

“Look, it’s not silver. I’m not here to hurt him. You tell him I work for Genevieve Renard and I want to talk to him, that’s all.” I smiled, careful not to flash too much teeth. I didn’t want to come across as threatening, and I was sure this fae knew the signs of shifter aggression.

He also didn’t quite know what to make of me.

“If you just want to talk, why do you need a sword?”

“This is New York, Butch. A girl can never be too careful.”

“Leave the sword with me, and I’ll let you in.” He held out his enormous hand, as if I’d actually be stupid enough to simply give him my weapon. He was just as stupid as he looked.

Instead of passing him the sword, I put my hand in his, flattening my palm against his rough skin. He jerked with surprise but didn’t pull away.

“Look at me,” I instructed.

I hadn’t tried to enthrall someone since I’d leveled up in the Tribunal. Prior to that, I’d only been able to do it once before—to Nolan—and I wasn’t sure it would work again. But I was more powerful now, and my new power had to mean something. Trying my luck with a fae was a big risk, since some of them could fend off the thrall. In spite of appearances, though, I didn’t think Butch was a strong enough fae to repel being enthralled.

As anticipated, he met my eyes willingly, and a shiver of excitement rocketed through me. I needed to keep my cool long enough to gain access to the club.

“You’ve been expecting me,” I told him.

“I’ve been expecting you,” Butch repeated mechanically. I didn’t have the finesse with the thrall like Holden did. My victim sounded robotic. With Holden you’d never know he was behind the wheel, his control was just that seamless.

“I pose no threat to anyone here.”

His eyes were glassy, but he nodded his agreement.

Butch grunted something I didn’t understand and disappeared through the club’s entrance. A few minutes later he returned with an identical guard by his side.

“Mr. Hamilton says he’ll see you.”

“Well that’s mighty kind of him.”

He made a growling sound, and I figured it was in my best interest to stop pushing my luck. That he was still under the thrall after being separated from me was enough of a miracle. I didn’t want to lose the advantage now. Butch jerked his head, indicating I should follow him, then made his way back into the bar, and I stayed hot on his trail, not willing to miss my window of opportunity.

Usually it was a lot easier to cross a packed dance floor when a huge man was parting the human seas for you. Unfortunately, it seemed I’d used up my luck getting past the front door. We were halfway to the VIP section when a bony hand latched onto my wrist, yanking me away from Butch, who continued walking, oblivious to my absence.

“What the—?”

I wrenched my arm free and spun around to face my assailant, but my words froze in my mouth. My heartbeat tripped, and I wanted to look away, but found myself unable to avert my gaze.

The fae woman was astonishing to behold. She had alabaster skin and snow-white hair that glimmered in the low light, radiating as if lit from within. Her eyes were wide and too round to be mistaken for human, and her bow-shaped lips curved down in a grimace. As I continued to stare at her I could have sworn the shape of wings appeared at her back.

I blinked, and the wings vanished.

“Where did you get that?” she demanded, her gaze looking beyond me, fixed on the weapon at my back.

Touching the sword to confirm it hadn’t been replaced with something more sinister, it was my turn to look concerned. “I bought it.”

“Impossible. No one would part with that for useless human coin. I will ask you again, where did you get it?”

Now she was irritating me. “I bought it.”

Moving faster than I was prepared for, she skirted around me and grabbed the sword. I was about to retaliate, when she let out a pained shriek and released the weapon, staring at her hands. I stepped backwards in case she planned to make another grab for it.

“What have you done?” she snarled.

I don’t care how beautiful some fae can be. When they’re angry, they are singlehandedly the scariest creatures on this plane or any other. Her shrill voice made goose bumps explode over my arms. I shuddered.

“You’ve soiled it,” she said.

“It’s a sword. If I didn’t get it a little dirty now and then, I wouldn’t be using it right.”

A tall, lean man with identical coloring to the wee fae woman appeared from the crowd and stood next to her, then told me, “You should go. Now.”

“What the hell is she talking about?”

He stared at the sword, placing a comforting arm around the woman’s shoulder. “You received a precious gift,” he said with a sigh, “and you have besmirched it.”

God, the fae were all whack jobs. I’d bought the sword from a tourist shop in Koreatown. There was nothing special about it.

Butch forced his way through the crowd and stood between the two fae and myself, blocking them from my view.

“This way,” he grumbled. We angled through the crowd on the dance floor, and when I looked over my shoulder to get a last look at the pair of fae, they had vanished. Frigging creepy.

I was led to a VIP room separated from the main floor by a crystal-beaded curtain. The lights in the lounge were darker than those of the club, which seemed impossible since the main dance floor was lit only by thin ropes of blue neon and a disco ball.

All the light I had to see by in here was a tea light in a purple glass vase. It cast an eerie and monstrous glow on the otherwise handsome face of one Gregory Hamilton. Figuring out who the big man in the room was didn’t take a genius. There were two chesty brunettes pressed against him, one writhing on his lap in a slow, sensuous lap dance while the other sipped from a martini glass before leaning in to kiss him and letting the alcohol dribble from her mouth into his.

Yeesh.

“Genevieve sent you?” he asked after swallowing the girl’s backwash.

“In a manner of speaking.”

In another time and place, I probably could have found the jaguar king attractive. He had a lean build and cunning green eyes that seemed to glow independently of the poor light in the room. The feline aspects that had translated into his human form did not give him the same feminine quality as they did Genevieve. I wasn’t sure why I assumed all the cats would be girly, but Gregory was about as womanly as a Siberian tiger with its teeth bared.

This kitty had claws.

He also looked none too pleased by my evasive answer. Shoving the girl off his lap and shooing the other away, he crossed his ankle over his knee and lit a cigarette with the clipped precision of a long-time smoker.

A cloud of purple-hued smoke floated across the room and chased the two half-naked girls out through the curtain.

“And what does her majesty have to say to me?” He exhaled another breath, and this one soared right up my nostrils. I wrinkled my nose and choked back the urge to cough.

“Where’s the girl?” I demanded, skipping the foreplay and getting right to the hot and heavy.

“What girl?” he asked, his lips curling in a sly smile. “I have so many.”

A chuckle that was more cruel than good-humored escaped my mouth. “I bet. One night is probably more than enough for even the dumbest bedwarmer to figure out you’re a scumbag.”