Chapter Four

Flex on My Ex

Texas

“Good news.” Charlotte whisks herself into the dining room, where me and Grandma Lou are already seated.

I bow and put my fist over my heart to acknowledge Charlotte, since she’s the new commander. When she was first promoted, I didn’t do it, but then Grandma Lou slapped the back of my neck and said, “Do you understand that she’s the first Black Commander of the American Slayer Society? You better show that woman some respect.”

Outside of yesterday, I haven’t seen much of Charlotte. She’s been busy with building the Tria Prima Academy and headquarters and getting comfortable in her new role since Paris died.

Charlotte shrugs off her heels and then catwalks toward me and Grandma Lou, with Anton trailing behind. We all settle on the sofas in the living room.

“We’ve got another lead on Dakota.”

I jump to my feet. “Oh, really?”

“Yes. It’s an underground blood-letting club.”

“Tell me it’s not El Diente.”

“No. It’s grittier.” Charlotte lets out a sigh and waves to Anton. “He has more details.”

“My informant tells me she allows others to feed on her. No deals or anything like that. Just for…fun.”

“Weird. Doesn’t she live with vampires?”

With Khamari? I try not to let my mind go there. But I wonder sometimes—okay, a lot of times—whether Dakota and Khamari are hooking up while they laugh behind my back.

“It’s fortuitous that this place is big on drama.” Charlotte crosses her arms. “You can go there in a hood, mask, whatever. No one will blink an eye if you completely cover your face.”

“That seems dangerous. What if I’m like an undercover journalist or something?”

Anton lifts his eyebrow. “If you breathe a negative word about the place, they’ll find you. Management is notorious, and they’ve employed hounds at the entryway, making it easy to find your scent.”

“H-hounds? Like hell hounds?”

“Werewolves,” Charlotte cheerfully supplies. “But don’t worry, we can alter our scent with the right tonics. I have someone from the Alchemist Order working on it.”

Anton looks at me. “We’ll go to the venue tonight. I’m told she’s been there every night this week.”

“Seems reckless. That doesn’t sound like her,” I mutter.

“You don’t really know her, do you?” Anton says, not unkindly, but it digs way underneath my skin.

“Right. I don’t know anyone.” Speaking of no one… “Is, um…has anyone seen others who could compromise our cover?”

“Khamari doesn’t go there, sweetie,” Charlotte quickly answers.

“I wasn’t referring to only Khamari. I mean, I attacked his entire clan or whatever. And besides that, since I’m the Maximus, someone can recognize me.”

“Keep on the mask and we’ll cover the scent. I…” Charlotte furrows her eyebrows. “I thought you wanted this. Are you having second thoughts about finding Dakota? Anton says you’re ready.”

Should I tell her about the voices?

I shake my head on the inside but nod for the others to see. “Of course. I’ll be there.”

“Good.” Charlotte let out her breath. “Get there around midnight. I’ve left something upstairs in the room for you to blend in.”

“Promise me it’s not leather.”

“Absolutely not. That’s tacky. It’s vegan leather. There’s a difference, trust me.” She smiles. “I’ve got to get going, but I wanted to drop off the suit.”

“Thanks, Charlotte.”

“No problem.” She turns to my grandmother. “Louisiana, can I chat with you about something? I’d love your advice.”

“Oh, of course, sugar.”

Grandma leaves with Charlotte.

Nathan comes in to offer me and Anton tea. We silently sip and stare at each other. Weirdly enough, we’ve never dined together or talked outside of training. The room is quiet. Anton sips his tea and then lowers it to the marble table between us. “Did you play the CD?”

“Yes.”

“Did it help?”

“Slept like a baby.” Until I woke up screaming like a baby.

“Good.” He nods his head in such a way that he knows that I both listened to the CD and woke up screaming.

“Since we’ll be out tonight, we can take it easy on training. Do a meditation and get some sleep, yes?”

“Yep.” I’ll never say no to naps.

“I’ll be in the study. Meet me downstairs tonight at eleven.”

…

Hidden Fang is just a few streets away from the busy Glenwood Avenue in East Atlanta. On the way to the club, Anton tells me the dungeon is nestled inside of a dive bar. The humans, well, most humans, are none the wiser. We find parking nearly a block away.

I bend over and squat as much as I can in my weaponized heels, trying to stretch the clothes to fit my muscular build. “Why do I have to dress like a cow’s worst nightmare?”

Anton’s eyes rove over me. “You don’t look like a cow,” he says in a tone so dry it could start a forest fire in the Everglades.

“Oh, no. Don’t give me any compliments. They might go to my head,” I reply in an equally dry tone.

“You look…fine.” His tone has a bit more enthusiasm.

“Thanks.” I pull the long-sleeve, fitted leather jacket over my outfit. With my eye mask, I look like cat woman. The hood attached to my trench coat adds an air of mystery. I must admit, I feel kinda hot. “Let’s go.”

I smooth my gloved hands over my straightened hair as we walk in silence on the sidewalk. But the neighborhood isn’t silent. There’s a mix of hip hop, rock, and EDM spilling on the streets that’s pumping so loud I feel it in my chest.

Even in the darkness, I appreciate the funky murals like a flying fox and a dragon…or is it a crocodile? Against an otherwise drab gray building. Murals and graffiti art would never fly back home in my small town in Texas.

“So, we haven’t discussed who I am and how we met yet. In case anyone asks, I’m Rachel, a freshman at Georgia State University and—”

“You’re a human, therefore you are my sustenance,” he says simply. “Your background won’t matter. Vincent won’t ask questions.”

“But—”

“We’re here to find Dakota. Nothing else matters.”

“I know that. But sometimes it’s best to have a backstory. When you hesitate to answer questions, people notice, and then they get nosey.”

He doesn’t reply, just stares at me. Instead of his usual blank face, there’s a bit of humor that flashes in those unusual eyes.

“We’re close,” I whisper. “Put on your mask and hood.”

“Fine.” He pulls down a deep green Mardi Gras–style mask that covers his face.

We turn the corner and enter what looks like a dive bar. At the front is a statue of a pink bunny, but on a closer look, the bunny has fangs.

I study the guy sitting at the front, checking IDs by a large wooden door. He seems laid back in a faded UGA T-shirt and backward ball cap, but he’s probably a werewolf, secretly sniffing my scent.

He stares at me and then quickly looks at Anton.

“Going downstairs,” Anton tells him.

Teen Wolf rolls his eyes. “Upstairs only. We’re renovating.”

“We’re going downstairs,” Anton repeats evenly. “Ask Vincent if you must.”

“He’s busy, and the bar is full. Stay upstairs or leave.” He crosses his arms.

I lean toward Anton and whisper, “Let’s just kick his ass.” I’m 99 percent sure I’m stronger than a werewolf. Otherwise, this gem stuck in my hand is useless.

Anton gives me a stern, school-principal look, then shifts his gaze to the guy at the door. “Tell him his Producer awaits him. And that he’s deeply disappointed in his establishment.”

“P-producer?” His eyes go wide. “Oh!” He scrambles from his seat. “He informed me you’ll be visiting tonight. S-sorry, your highness.”

Anton swats away his apologies like gnats.

Inwardly, I grin. Outwardly, I fake a yawn. Like this whole charade is so boring.

Teen Wolf guides us to the back stairwell.

“What’s a producer?” I whisper to Anton.

“I am his father, in a sense. I made Vincent a vampire.”

I stop walking, grabbing his arm. “What—?”

“Shh.” Anton cuts me off, then continues walking down the steps. I follow behind him, and we stop once he hit the ground level. There’s nothing but gray walls and a longer corridor that leads to a steel door.

Just around the corner, I hear the clickety-clacks on the scuffed hardwood floors. An older vampire with ruby red lips and platinum-blond hair rounds the corner.

“Anton,” Vincent says on a deep bow just behind his jittery doorman. “Welcome to the Hidden Fang. It has been too long, my friend.”

Anton shoots the nervous werewolf beside him with a piercing look. “Glad someone can display this infamous Southern hospitality I can never seem to find.”

“Forgive Timothy. He’s just a cub, only a few years old. It’s nice to see you again and so soon.”

Again? Soon?

The older vampire tosses his shoulder-length hair over his shoulder. He sniffs, then licks his lips. “I thought you were exclusively on the bag, but I see you’ve brought your food. Regardless, I’m happy to show you our menu. We have live feeders and bagged blood, served at room temperature, of course.”

I grab Anton’s pale hand, twist, and squeeze. Like, is he really slurping down humans between our spars and meditation sessions?

When he gently squeezes my hand back, I loosen my grip.

“We’d like a room—a private room, please,” Anton says.

“Of course.” Vincent bows, exposing the back of his pale neck, then straightens. “Please follow me.” He waves at both of us.

His platform heels click against the hardwoods as we follow him down the hallway. Once we reach the door, he enters a code on a metal door that must be at least eight feet tall. “We have a custom security code for each member.”

Then he opens the door and leads us down a narrow corridor. “There are showers, community and individual. Just in case things get a bit…messy.”

“As I’ve said before, I have no desire to become a member,” Anton calmly replies.

I know that’s right!

“All rooms have limited privacy options. Guests often reserve our four individual rooms. So, for every five minutes you enjoy the room, the blinds retract, and anyone can view for up to a minute. We call it the tease effect.”

“Sharing is caring,” I mutter.

“Indeed,” Vincent snaps. Probably mad that I dared to speak in his presence.

“Also, house rules: pets and feeders must adhere to the dress code. You are fine as you are, Anton.” He waves at his black silk shirt and dark pants. “But I do not know about your guest.”

“Fine.” I unzip my trench coat, revealing a leather bustier and tight black pants. “Will this do?” I sling the coat over my shoulder and pose (okay, dammit, I try) like one of those Savage X Fenty models, disinterested pout and all.

“Put your jacket back on, please.” Anton’s stern voice leaves no room for argument.

We’re not here to play games, or even pretend to. We’re here for Dakota.

I give him a tense, my-bad smile and shrug my jacket back on.

Vincent breaks the silence. “While we do not have human members, we would be more than happy for you to return. My members are always looking for pretty pets.”

Before I can reach out and snap Vincent’s neck, Anton grabs my elbow and tucks me to his side. Towering over the vampire who’s a few inches shorter than me, Anton releases a low growl. His fangs start lengthening.

My gaze bounces between Producer to progeny. Anton, unflappable, irritatingly cool, is not like this.

He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. “Forgive me, Vincent,” he says with a slight lisp as his fangs retract. “I’m behind on my feeding schedule.”

“Nothing to forgive.” Vincent’s face flushes chili-pepper red.

“I want a room, and I want privacy,” Anton says. “One hour and none of that epicurean viewership.”

“I’m so sorry, but the blinds retract automatically.”

Anton gives Vincent a look so cold it’s a wonder he doesn’t shiver. “Then turn it off.”

Vincent swallows hard. “My engineer isn’t in just yet. I don’t know how it operates.”

“Then show me a room far away from the entrance.”

“Right this way.” Vincent guides us to another room, enters a code revealing a dark, red-bricked room. In the center is a window covered by a black retractable blind.

Vincent clears his throat. “You have all your typical accouterments.”

I take in the accouterments , and between the steel gurney in the middle of the room, a host of goth-looking pillows, and a sink for…for God knows what, this honestly feels like I’m on the set of Saw 30 or whatever version it’s on.

And I’m the heroine that everyone is screaming at from the other side of the screen to run away.

I mouth WTF to Anton.

“We don’t need a rundown,” Anton says, staring at me. “I have everything I need.”

“Very well. When the door shuts and locks, the clock will start.”

Anton growls. “See that you know how to fix it next time.”

“Yes, of course, my prickly yet wonderful Producer.” Vincent bows and scurries away, shutting the door behind him.

Anton traces his finger over his lips that are turned down in a frown.

I crack a smile because I know the reason for the frown. Vincent smells of blood and baby powder. And his nosy ass still lingers outside the door. We stare at each other, holding our silence. Finally, the click clack of Vincent’s platform shoes fades down the hallway.

“It’s been one minute. I’ve got a plan.” I push off the brick wall. “We passed by a bar in the main area. There are a lot of humans. I can drink, chat it up—”

“You know how to engage in small talk?”

I talked to Rose. Well…she talked at me. Charlotte mostly carries the conversation. Whatever. I know how to speak to people.

“Yes, and pot, meet kettle, by the way.”

“You keep to yourself.” He maintains his argument.

I give him a tight smile. “I can converse when I’m properly motivated.” And the thought of getting my revenge on the girl who betrayed me? Yeah, that’s more than enough incentive.

“Anyway, it’s been a minute and thirty seconds, Dr. Feelings.” I roll my eyes. “And when the blinds go up and you’re not biting a plug out of my neck, vamps will talk. We don’t need that.”

“Indeed. Yes, go socialize, but do not drink.”

“Naturally. I’m on the clock.” I wink.

“See if you can find someone who Dakota would connect with.”

“And how would I know that?”

“You lived in the same quarters, no? So you at least know something about her habits.”

“Yeah, but everything she did was a lie.” She told me about her friends dying. Her times overseas volunteering for the Salvation Army or whatever, and the fact like she felt like an outcast, a loner, just like me. Dakota pretended to be this scared little mouse when the entire time she was a wolf. Well, a powerful witch/slayer.

“As someone who’s had to lie to many people about my…nature, I can tell you that lies are simply small deviations from the truth.”

I snort. “Really? Such as?”

“When a human comments on my lack of aging, I simply say it’s in the genes.”

“And not the fact that your dad is an immortal murderous asshole.”

Amusement flickers across Anton’s face. “Exactly. Now, it’s been two minutes. We have a plan.”

“ I do.” I nod my head toward him. “But what will you do?”

“I’ll seek my progeny and critique his facilities.”

“Right…you have…vampire children.”

“One. Vincent needed a second chance. I gave it to him.”

“Right. And now he’s letting vampires gorge off humans here.”

“He hosts a space where vampires can safely feed on humans who have knowledge of our existence. He allows allies, such as us, to break his code and possibly smear his reputation to investigate a mole.” His glare feels like icicles. “Remember that nothing is ever black and white. We need friends and allies at all levels and locations.”

“Sometimes evil is just evil. Stop trying to humanize everything.”

“Yes. And sometimes evil is made. Humanity knows this best,” Anton parries back.

“But—”

“Three minutes. We do not have time to spare, nor time to spar.”

“Fine.” I grab the knob and yank the door open. “See you in an hour…or so.”

“Yes. We meet here, during the off time for the blinds. Check your watch.”

I shut the door and storm down the hall. When I remember the mission— Project shank the mole (whatever, she can heal herself)—I take a deep breath and slow down.

Right now, I’m a human pet in a shady version of the Red Cross. Humans who are here like this shit. They aren’t afraid of death and blood and disease.

On that thought, I stretch my lips into a dopey smile, what I imagine someone looks like who wants to be here, and glide down the hallway.

Following the curves of the hallway, I try to recall the way we came in, and the strands of my memory remind me to hang a double left, then a right until I find the center of the hub.

The bar looks like a lounge in an old R&B video. There’s a fuzzy gray rug that encompasses the center of the room. Sitting atop it is all-white leather furniture and a white table that I’m sure is expensive, but it looks straight out of Ikea. Interspersed around the room are small gray-and-white tables that, at first glance, look like bean bags but are really just swanky tables to place glasses. I squint and notice a mirror with powdered white lines.

Drugs.

Oh yeah. Anton’s kid is a bleeping saint.

All in all, the décor is pretty silly considering how easily it would show bloodstains. Oddly enough, I don’t see any vampires necking humans, just humans—from my age to the late sixties—hanging out. The music blasting from somewhere above me skips from The Weeknd to Smokey Robinson, Grandma Lou’s fave.

I move to the front of the room near the gleaming bar and wave down the bartender.

The music is loud, so loud it would be near impossible to ask about a curly-haired backstabbing witch without looking suspect. So I play it cool and order a cran and vodka. When I try to pay, the bartender frowns and waves me off. I shrug, leaning my hip against the counter, and people-watch.

Just as I pretend to swallow my drink, the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention.

At some point during my people-watching, someone started watching me back. Turning on the heels of my feet, I raise my finger and ask for another drink. In my periphery, I notice a broad back and shoulders, and covering them is a neatly tailored black suit.

I know that’s not who I think it is.

My feet are moving before my brain catches up. I sprint toward the hallway.

I power walk down the maze of hallways, and a few minutes later, I’m spinning on my heels, spitting mad at the time I’ve wasted.

A door behind me opens. Someone yanks my wrist and jerks me inside the room.

I spin and jab the heel of my hand toward my attacker. I stop centimeters away from his perfect nose.

Khamari.

When my suspicions are confirmed, I frown and ask, “What the hell are you doing here?”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Khamari repeats back to me, like me answering his question is way more important than him answering mine.

He shuts the door behind me. I cross my arms and walk to the furthest wall away from him.

The room is small—painfully small—compared to the big pulsing energy between us.

Not energy. Anger.

It heats the inside of my stomach, boiling and burning, and I just…I just want to slap the crap out of him. But you know, we live in a civilized society and all of that.

I close my eyes. “I’ll repeat my question again… What are you doing here, in this tacky-ass place?”

“As the Ankh king, I’ve got to put up appearances.”

“You don’t have to pretend to be a fuckboy. You’ve got that part covered.”

“Raven—”

“No!” I suck in a breath and lower my voice. “No. That’s not who I am. You lied to Raven. You left Raven. You betrayed Raven and erased her memories.”

But they came back, and now Texas is furious.

“I’m not here to argue with you,” he says.

Neither am I. And I know Anton will be disappointed that I’m wasting precious minutes fighting with my ex. But when I look at him, it’s like my brain is yelling, “Release the Kraken!” And I just want to drown him in the dark, watery depths of my anger. So yeah. Today I’m choosing violence.

“You were agitated, determined to yell your theories from the rooftops, so I had no choice but to do it.” His voice is calm and even, which makes me even angrier.

I clench my fist, my jaw, my freaking sphincter.

How dare he? How dare he stand there all calm and cool and collected when he shattered me just weeks ago?

“The night of the car accident, I knew what I saw, and I just couldn’t figure out the missing pieces. The shattered memories I had, I just wanted…to confirm that I wasn’t imagining things!”

“You wouldn’t have let me go.” His eyes are soft, molten, remorseful.

Boo hoo.

“Not without a fight,” Khamari continues. “I know you’re mad, but I did it to protect you. And I would do it over again if it meant I could save you.”

“But it didn’t help.” I point out the sad truth. “It was just a delay. In my memories, and for my powers.”

Now it all makes sense for everything that happened back then, in high school. My sudden increase in strength, sight, sound. I couldn’t make heads or tails of it. Khamari only slowed things down. But after hours and days and weeks of agonizing and reliving every single detail of that horrific night, I realized I was always meant to be a slayer.

“You took the good memories, too,” I say, and my stupid voice is shaking.

“Queen,” Khamari whispers. His eyes and his voice are soft and so damn tender that my heart hops up my throat. Finally, the emotionless mask slips and crumbles. His chin tucks to his chest and his shoulders slump forward, like the Rock of Gibraltar sits on his shoulders.

I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care.

For the past six weeks, I’ve swallowed my emotions whole, keeping myself so tight that if anyone plucked a strand of my hair, I’d unravel.

Go, go, go.

Never stopping—punching, kicking, flipping, falling.

Hurting.

So yeah, I like the fact that he hurts, but I want more. I want to rake my nails over his face, his neck, his back, and watch him bleed. I want to cover the wounds in salt, let it infect and go putrid. And now I’ll deliver the final blow before I take my final bow and exit stage left.

“So, congratulations,” I say. “You erased my memories, but you couldn’t erase what was inside my heart.”

Khamari rushes across the room and pulls me close. And for just one second, I relax and let him hold me.

Then I don’t. I can’t. I won’t.

Slamming my hands against his chest, I push him clear across the room.

“I’m not over you,” I seethe, “but I’m going to try like hell to be.”

He pushes himself up from the wall and straightens his disheveled tie. “I understand. But I still want to help. Please let me help.”

“Are you kidding me? I can never, ever trust you.”

He flinches as if I slapped him. “You’re here for Dakota, right?”

The hackles on my neck rise. I back away, creating more distance from his soon-to-be-delivered lies. “Let me guess. You’re going to set it up so that I can catch her.”

“Yes.”

“Out of the goodness of your black heart?”

Something that looks like guilt skitters across his face. “For a trade.”

I look at the ceiling and laugh. An empty, soulless laugh. God, he’s the worst. “What’s the trade?”

“Save Khaven.”

“What?” I snap my head down and stare at him.

“My brother has a rare blood disease that’s killing him. I’d like for you to cure him.”

“Like I cured your grandfather?” I put my hands on my hips, daring him to say something.

His face shuts down. “Julius deserved his fate. Khaven doesn’t deserve to be poked and prodded.”

“Why would someone poke and prod him?” Alexander didn’t strike me as a delayed gratification dude.

Khamari hesitates and narrows his eyes like he’s figuring out if I’m worthy of the truth that dances between us. “Alexander likes to play with his prey.”

“Like how?”

Another pause, but he relaxes his narrowed-eyed focus and looks distant. “He prefers his children obedient. If you cross him, he wants to punish you or anyone else who dared to think the same thoughts, let alone do the same thing.”

Obedience? “Well, I’m sure you and him get along well.”

“Texas—”

“I’ll think about it.”

“What’s there to think about?” Heat creeps into his voice.

“I don’t know. Maybe this is all just a setup to steal the stone from me?”

“It’s not. I would never harm you. Not on purpose.”

“Need I remind you of that starry night in France?”

Khamari exhales like a centuries-old dragon. “I let my guard down and Julius read my thoughts. I figured out where you were, but I never intended on selling you out.”

“Tell you what…deliver Dakota to me and I’ll think about saving your brother.”

“Raven—”

My eyes shoot daggers at him.

He lifts his hands in the air. “ Texas . Have it your way, but she’s not here tonight. I don’t know when—”

“Then figure it out. Those are my terms, vampire. Guess you’ll just have to trust me this time.” Then I grab the doorknob.

“Rav…Texas.” He sighs, shaking his head. “Got it. I’ll figure out Dakota’s schedule,” he vows.

I yank the door open. “Sure you will.”

“Texas?”

“What?”

“Happy early birthday. I wish I could get you a gift.”

“Give me Dakota wrapped in a pretty red bow.” I slam the door shut behind me and lean against it.

“Ah. He is the one you hate. The one you love,” a soul from the stone, the only clear voice I recognize, whispers. She sounds husky and not at all comforting.

Tension pinches my neck . “Not right now, lady. I’m in the middle of a mission.”

I feel her energy retreat. Something like relief massages away the tension in my neck. She’s gone…for now. But she…they…want something from me. And they’re getting more and more persistent about it.