Soul Resurrected (Sons of Wrath, #2) (28 page)

The guard swung around and gave a stiff salute. “’Sup boss?”

Logan closed the distance between them. Despite the bass from the dance floor pounding through his skull, he spoke low in the guard’s ear. “Few days ago, Fatman came to visit Gavin. I need you to find the security tapes.”

Mack gave a sharp nod. “Got it.”

“Let me know when you find them.” Logan stepped past him as the guard two-wayed the security office.

Like always, the club was packed. So many scantily clad females to choose from.

Logan’s eyes scanned the crowd for blondes. Not many. Sanctuary wasn’t the kind of place that drew a whole lot of wholesome Barbie doll types. Most of the chicks donned the Goth look like a bunch of Marilyn Manson groupies.

Battling a haze that’d begun to settle over him, Logan made his way to the dance floor. Bosses didn’t commonly mingle with the patrons, but fuck, it was an off night.

Why not?

Women swarmed him, grinding on him as he made his way through the throng of gyrating bodies. A tap on his back and Logan spun around. Blondie from the elevator walked past, her friend nowhere in sight. She threw a demure smile over her shoulder, setting the game into motion.

Taking the bait, he followed her.

She stopped once they reached a hallway, her back to Logan.

He reached out, grabbed a handful of her long blonde locks and held it to his nose.
Ugh
. He drew away and cringed. Patchouli, or something spicy, singed his nostrils.

Not the citrus scent that made his mouth water.

Still, he walked right up on the woman, her back flush to his chest.

“Take me somewhere private.” Like honey, her voice oozed seduction, distracting him from her smell.

Logan swiped her hand and led her down a short stretch of stairs to the lower level, where small booths made up what club goers called the ‘Redlight District.’ Black curtains hid whatever freaky shit took place inside each of the booths.

“Mmm,” she said from behind. “You smell so good I just want to eat you up. What kind of cologne is that?”

He remained silent, his dick still reeling from the sexually charged exchange with Calla earlier in the night. They walked past the booths, where couples were busy groping, kissing and basically getting a nut on until they, at last, approached a red curtain. The bouncer gave Logan a nod, letting him through.

“Ooh. Red curtain district. You’ve got connections, huh?”

Logan glanced back. “Yeah.”

“You know the guys who own this place?”

“I’m one of them.”

Blondie’s eyes lit up and she bit her lip. “One of the Brothers?”

“Yeah.”

She did one of those quirky female hops and squeezed his hand. “What are the odds?” A giggle escaped her. “Shit, I can’t believe I told you I was
unavailable
. One of the Brothers.” She shook her head. “Amanda’s gonna
kill
me when she finds out.”

Thanks to Zeke, mostly, and Gavin for the cockstar reputation among the ladies.

Logan held back a black curtain and let her into a much smaller, more intimate booth, lit only by candlelight. The small table gave plenty of room to move around inside. She slid onto the seat and Logan slipped in beside her, peeked out of the curtain, and signaled two drinks to the waiter. He snapped the curtain closed and eased back into the seat, resting his arms across the rear of the booth.

The woman licked her lips.

They seized Logan’s focus, all glossy and thick, almost sticky, like he’d get stuck if he tried to kiss her.

Calla’s were natural, soft and pouty.

“So …” She entwined her fingers and her crossed leg began to bounce. Black stilettos tapped against Logan’s leg and glistened in the candlelight. “Which brother are you?”

“Logan.” He watched her legs move up and down, fleshier compared to Calla’s tight, toned thighs. The stockings she wore had the stripe up the back.

Logan edged closer.

“The youngest.” Her teeth, large and white, glowed in the dark. “I like them young.”

“I don’t want to talk.” Damn his voice that’d turned husky.

“Okay,” she said, uncrossing her legs. The dark path between her knees beckoned his hands. “What do you want to do?”

Blondie leaned in, lips puckered.

Please let me feel something.

He needed to know the whole touch thing wasn’t just about Calla.

Her hand stroked his face—only the dull sensation of movement against his cheek chasing her fingers.

No.

Lips met his.

He watched as her eyes fluttered shut, her tongue flicking against his. Nothing special about her kiss. No taste. No shiver of excitement. Maybe his drink had him feeling numb to everything.

He pulled away and shook his head.

Blondie smiled. “That good, huh?”

Not even.

This time he leaned in to her, seizing her lips at the same time he snaked his hand up her bare skin toward her thighs, up that shadowed path inside her dress.

She let out a soft moan.

Damn
.

Logan glanced down to be sure his hands were still on her leg instead of the leather seat.

There was no scent to drown his senses, aside from the Patchouli that, if truth be told, actually had his stomach turning.

She grabbed his face and pulled him with her as she fell back onto the seat. Her knees widened to accommodate his body, a tiny thong peeking from her black dress. The sight should’ve excited him—should’ve had him anxious to pull that thin fabric to the side and bury himself inside of her.

Instead, he pulled back.

“Is everything okay?” She sat up on her elbows, knees still spread like an offering.

Logan gave her a non-telling stare. He told himself the numbness had to do with his preoccupation with Zeke because
no way
in hell one single female could leave him as aroused as Calla had back in the library.

“Would you …” She rolled onto her hands and knees, her ass up in the air. “… prefer to have me this way?”

Maybe.

Perhaps if he didn’t see her face, he could go with the flow, except that her hair had a platinum cast to it, as if she’d dyed it recently. In the glow of candlelight, it almost cast an odd green shine.

Logan frowned.

Not like Calla’s, whose long blonde locks boasted a natural honey gold—the kind you just wanted to tangle a fist into and breathe.

The waiter arrived with the drinks and set them down, clearing his throat. Blondie turned to sit, confusion slackening her face.

“I don’t understand … in the elevator you … what do you want from me, then?”

Logan didn’t want anything—not from her.

Only one female had him crunked, and his body burned for her. Needed
her
touch. Craved it like a drug running through his blood that wouldn’t be sated until his hands were on her.

Virgin or not, Logan needed a fix. He’d had enough addictions in his life to know the sensation wouldn’t go away on its own—it’d get worse.

Leaving his drink and blondie at the table, he got up and walked out.

CHAPTER 23

Leaning against the bar, Gavin tipped back the half full glass of green absinthe and slammed the glass on the bar top.

Fuck
.

He rubbed a hand down his face and kept his eyes covered behind his palms as his mind refused to let go of the idea that Zeke lay somewhere half mutilated.

“Bad night?” a female’s voice said beside him.

Letting out a forced huff, Gavin dropped his hands from his face. A curvy brunette sipped merlot, her eyes selling sensuality as she peered at him over the wine glass. He scanned her sexy black evening dress with an asymmetrical neckline that showed off her toned arms and defined collarbone. A slit up the side allowed her thigh to peek through the long gown.

“Did I pass?” She ran her finger over the rim of her glass.

“Pass?”

“The eye-fucking. I thought there might be something to it.”

Gavin shook his head and signaled Pat for another drink. “My apologies.”

“No need to apologize. It’s not every day a woman gets eyed by man distinguished enough to be drinking absinthe. I’ll take it as a compliment.”

A grin tugged at Gavin’s mouth. “It’s not every day a beautiful woman asks me about my night.”

“You never answered the question.”

“Surely, you didn’t come to a bar to listen to a miserable bastard lament about his day.”

Her face turned serious as she sipped her drink and swallowed, keeping her gaze from him. “Apparently, I came here to watch my husband grope every other woman in the place.” She swirled the wine and downed the last of it. “No doubt, he’ll be fucking the female beside him at the high roller table some time tonight.”

Gavin lifted his glass of absinthe and paused. “Your husband’s a foolish man. Personally, I wouldn’t let you out of my sight in a dress like that.”

She let out a chuckle. “And personally, I don’t think I’d wander from your side, seeking out miserable bastards to ask about their day.” She leaned forward against the bar. “I bet a girl feels real special around you. Like a priceless gem. Even the plain ones.”

“I can assure you, there’s nothing plain about you.” Gavin pushed her wine glass to the edge and Pat swiped it up quickly. “Reserve Merlot, Pat.”

“You talk like you own the place.”

Gavin smiled. “I do.”

“Really?” She shifted on the chair.

Pat slid the wine glass toward her. She lifted it to her nose and inhaled deeply. “Mmmm. …”— She sipped the wine. “Delicious.”

Gavin watched her lick her lips, enthralled by the glisten of her berry stain.

“You’re doing it again.” She set the glass down, a grin spreading across her face. “Eye-fucking.” She turned in her seat to face him, her hand gliding up his thigh until she reached the juncture between his legs. “You’re allowed to do more than look.”

Gavin stiffened at her touch.

“Sorry.” She slid back into her seat. “One of those nights, you know?” She sighed and sipped her wine. “He hates this dress. Says it lessens my worth. A
lady
doesn’t show half her thigh,” she mocked and shook her head, angling her face as if trying to hide the hurt from Gavin. “Bastard. I didn’t mean to come on strong. Just …” Her conversation trailed off as she stared into her drink. “I’m kind of embarrassed.”

Don’t do it.

The voice of logic that guided most of Gavin’s decisions damn near screamed inside his head.

A married woman.

But what kind of dipshit says that? Gavin couldn’t fathom telling a woman she was less than anything.

Don’t do it
, the voice chimed again.

“What’s a girl gotta do to get a tour of your office?” she asked, without turning.

Done.

Yeah, she was married. She could’ve been lying about her husband. A million reasons told him that he shouldn’t take her to his office. “Grab your drink.” Gavin snatched his off the bar.

Call it post-traumatic stress, but between his impending enslavement to a succubus and the prospect of losing his brother, he could give a shit about morals at that very moment.

He needed release or risk exploding.

Once inside the elevator, Gavin pressed the button to the fifth floor.

Her hand slipped inside his shirt.

He paused the elevator, leaving flames dancing around the number five in idle mode, grabbed her drink and set both glasses down on a small ledge along the back wall. He cornered her toward the back of the elevator and buried his face in her neck.

“My God, you smell so good,” she breathed.

Gavin assaulted her throat with kisses and worked his hand inside the slit of her dress. Only a small patch of fabric separated his fingers from her sex and its dampness suggested he wouldn’t need much to get her ready for him.

“You’re wet,” he whispered in her ear.

“Only since I saw you sitting at the bar.”

He tugged the fabric aside and slid two fingers across her bare flesh.

Her mouth fell open, eyes rolled back as she tipped her head against the elevator wall and let out a soft moan.

“Tell me what you want.”

She bit her lip, squirming against his unforgiving fingers. “Inside of me. Now.”

“Not good enough. Tell me what you want or I’ll stop.”

“I want you to fuck me.”

Gavin pulled his hand from beneath her dress, turned and pushed the button. The elevator jerked into motion again and stopped on the fifth floor.