A Dark Kiss of Rapture (3 page)

“So how are you going to find Mrs.
Baron?”

“I’m emailing you his prints.” Sitting back,
he ran a hand over his shaven head. “It’s probably a long shot to
hope they registered when they mated, but it won’t hurt to check.
I’m also sending you a video. They recorded the killing that
brought me here. I found it on a jump drive bracelet Baron was
wearing. The recording shows a blond woman doing the deed, but I
can’t be sure that’s legit because they sent a doctored version to
Adrian that shows me as the killer. That’s what brought him to
Chicago.”

Vash whistled. “They set you up.”

“My guess is Adrian was leverage. Baron was
under the impression that Syre will do just about anything to stay
in Adrian’s good graces, including throwing me under the bus. I
think his plan was to offer me a mate and sanctuary from the
Sentinels after Syre washed his hands of me.”

“You got all that in the few minutes you let
him breathe?”

“He wouldn’t shut up. One of those assholes
who likes to listen to himself talk.”

“All right. I’ll have Torque look at the
prints and video, see what he can dig up. You gonna hang around
Chicago for a while?”

He nodded. The data search was in good hands
with Torque, Syre’s son. No one dug up intel better or faster. The
rest would be up to Raze. “I’ll wait to hear back from Torque and
spend some time on the streets. Maybe they’ll come to me.”

“Watch your back.” Crossing her long legs on
the couch, she leaned toward the screen. “And don’t trust Adrian.
He’ll throw you under the bus, too.”

Touching a finger to his brow in salute, he
acknowledged the warning and signed off.

CHAPTER 3

When he was asked later what drew him to the
small jazz club in an upscale part of Chicago, Raze didn’t have an
answer. The place wasn’t his style with its small round tables,
live singer, and elegant patrons. But he’d been drawn to it and the
sultry voice of the female entertainer that floated into the street
on the night breeze. Maybe because it was so different from the
hard-edged clubs Torque helmed that gave fledglings a safe place to
find blood and sex, and—most importantly—register their name and
sire for the records. Raze thought maybe what he needed was a
palate cleanser. Something different.

Damn it. He was restless and unsettled. He
could barely stand to be in his hotel room. Even with the
television on and the internet at his fingertips, he felt isolated
and stifled. He was beginning to wonder if Baron’s bullet had been
tainted in some way. It wasn’t like him to... brood. As endless as
his life was, he still didn’t have time to waste being a pain in
his own ass.

He paid the club’s cover charge and went
inside, discovering a small open space with rust colored walls
adorned with massive impressionist canvases. Pendant lights offered
intimate illumination, except for at the bar, where the blue glass
shelves were lit with bright white light. The floor was covered in
multicolored mosaic tiles and patrons danced freely wherever they
found an open space, giving the whole establishment a comfortable
bohemian feel.

Sliding onto a barstool, he noted the
bartender. The lovely blonde on point looked like she just might be
what he needed with her sleeves of tattoos, low-slung leather
pants, and curvy body. Her hair hung in dreadlocks to her waist and
was held back from her delicate face with a black bandana. She
glanced at him, looked away, then immediately glanced back. She
licked her pierced lower lip and made her interest known with a
heated glance.

When she’d finished serving her customer,
she came over. “What’s your poison?”

“Shiraz.”

Her brows rose. “Really? Wouldn’t have
pegged you for a wine drinker.”

“No?”

“No. Jameson, maybe. Or Glennfiddich.” She
poured expertly and set the glass in front of him. “In the mood for
something else?”

His fingertips slid lightly up and down the
stem of his glass. “Suggestions?”

“I’m off at midnight.”

“I’m free at midnight.”

Her mouth curved in a sexy smile and she
extended her hand. “Sam.”

He stroked her palm. “Raze.”

He watched her saunter off, admiring the way
black leather hugged her lush ass, then he picked up his glass and
stared into it. Still fucking brooding, goddamnit.

He smelled the woman who stole his interest
from Sam before he heard her.

“
She’s not what you want.”

The clipped, no-nonsense female voice
stirred something inside him, as did her scent. He savored both a
moment before he looked at her, appreciating both her directness
and the fragrance she wore, which was light and sweetly floral, a
perfect accompaniment to the natural female scent of her skin.

Raze glanced aside at the woman who made
herself comfortable in the space next to him. She wasn’t his type.
Too refined and complicated for his tastes, but there was no
denying she was beautiful. Willowy body with modest curves. Creamy
skin contrasted by dark hair. Vivid green eyes framed by thick,
black lashes. She was an altogether stunning package. “She
isn’t?”

“No.” She hooked one nude stiletto heel on
the bar’s foot rail and set elegant hands on the carved wooden lip
of the bar top. No rings, which he found surprising. She was the
sort of prime choice female that didn’t remain on the market
long.

Raze canted his body toward her. High-class,
he thought, noting the Rolex on her wrist and the hefty diamond
studs shooting multi-hued fire from her earlobes. In a quick
survey, he registered slim gray dress slacks, a sleeveless black
silk top, and dark as ink curls piled high and balanced on a long,
slender neck.

An image of her came to his mind... sprawled
naked and prone across a red velvet bedspread, her graceful spine
arching as he slid his parted lips along its curve. Decadent.
That’s what she was, and decadence was what she needed from the man
she took to her bed. A long, slow, deep seduction. He didn’t have
that patience in him tonight. He’d had blood dripping from every
inch of his skin just twenty-four hours ago and he had a cold knot
in his gut that ached.

Lifting his glass, he wet his lips, absently
noting the building heat in his blood. Not his type, but he wanted
her. “
I’m
not what
you
want. Not tonight.”

She reached for his glass and he gave it up.
Blood was the only thing he could ingest, but he’d learned to
tolerate a drop or two of red wine.

Her dark green eyes stared into his over the
lip of the glass. She swallowed and made his dick hard.
“Shiraz.”

“Well done,” he murmured, his eyes following
the perfect arches of her brows and the sculptured beauty of her
cheekbones. With a slow and deep breath, Raze realized every other
female in the room had faded into insignificance.

“I have good taste.” The intimacy of her
smile included him in that statement, while the determination in
her eyes dismissed his assertion that they weren’t meant to be
lovers.

He ran a hand over his head and debated what
to do. He was no longer interested in Sam the bartender, but he
wanted sex and he needed blood. And the only person he wanted
either from was the one standing in front of him—the kind of woman
a guy didn’t take casually. “You could have any guy in this room.
Any guy you want.”

“Perhaps.” She shrugged and settled on the
seat beside him. “But I need you. I’m Kim, by the way.”

She extended her hand. They shook in
greeting and he gave her his name.

“Interesting.” Her eyes sparkled. “Suits
you.”

Raze inclined his head in acknowledgment,
maintaining his hold on her for a moment longer than necessary
because he got a charge out of it. He’d chosen the name himself
after shedding his angelic one. All of the Fallen had recreated
themselves and most minions followed suit—a new name for a new
life. “Odd place to hunt for a rough ride.”

Her lush mouth curved on one side. “You’re
not rough.”

His brows lifted in silent challenge.

“You’re not,” she insisted with a smile.
“You’re fierce and in a dark mood, but not rough. And I wasn’t
trolling for any kind of ride. I came in here for a drink with
friends and had every intention of leaving here all by myself.”

She pointed across the room to where three
of the small tables had been shoved together to make a grouping for
a party of a half-dozen people. The men offered toasts to Raze,
lifting their beers high. The women giggled and bent their heads
together, speaking intimately. Their good-humored nervous response
to him almost made him smile.

“Am I a bet, then?” he asked. “What do you
win for having the courage to hit on me?”

“Hopefully, a night with you.” Kim took
another drink, taking the time to absorb the taste of the wine
before swallowing. No liquid courage for her. “I was sitting over
there, minding my own business, having a reasonably good time. Then
I felt a tingle on the back of my neck. I turned around and there
you were. I was just going to admire you from afar, but then I saw
you were trolling and figured why not me? Plus, I really needed to
admire you up close.”

“You’re out of my league.” But he was
beginning to think that wouldn’t be enough to stop him.

She grinned, which belied her hands-off
appearance and made her sweetly approachable. “So earn me. I won’t
mind the effort, I assure you.”

“The effort I expend will likely leave you
hobbled in the morning,” he said harshly. “You have no idea what I
need to get through tonight.”

Kim studied him for a long moment, taking a
deep breath and then another. Something swept over her delicately
beautiful features, something warm that briefly touched the chill
in his gut. “I’m not into pain. If that’s what you need, then
you’re right, I’m not your girl. But I don’t think that’s what
you’re warning me about. You don’t want to hurt me; you just don’t
want to hold back. And that’s what I need, Raze—a man who doesn’t
hold back. That’s what kind of mood
I’m
in.”

Now it was his turn to study her. “Why?”

“Does it matter?”

“No.” Raze dug in his back pocket for his
wallet and laid out a hundred dollar bill for Sam. “Let’s go.”

“I have to say goodbye to the team. Got a
preference for a hotel? I’ll meet you there.”

Smart girl, he thought. He wrote his room
number on a napkin and slid it over to her. “The Drake.”

“You already had a room? I admire your
optimism.”

“I’m just passing through.”

Laughing, she bumped shoulders with him.
“I’m just playing with you, rough guy. Besides, twenty minutes in
the bar and you’ve already got two women willing to go to bed with
you, I’d say a little optimism is justified.”

Christ. He wanted her. His blood was
thrumming through his veins, burning with an excitement he hadn’t
felt in... well, a long-assed time. Impatient expectation wasn’t in
his nature. Or so he’d thought.

“Should I bring anything?” she asked,
meeting his gaze.

“An overnight bag.”

She slid off the barstool and grabbed his
wine to take it back to her table. “See you in an hour, Raze.”

He grabbed her elbow, squeezed gently. “Make
it thirty minutes.”

Again, she searched his face. Again, she saw
something that settled her. “Forty-five. I’ll hurry.”

“Hurry faster.”

* * *

“Are you
insane
?”

Kim looked at her best friend and shrugged.
“Maybe a little.”

“Your dad is a cop,” Delia reminded,
twisting her martini glass back and forth. “Your brother is a cop.
You know better than to go home with strange men you pick up in a
bar. He could be a serial killer or a sexual sadist or...
anything!”

“It’s because I’ve grown up with cops that I
know what I’m doing with him.” She’d watched the way he walked into
the bar. The confident stride, the coolly observant eyes that took
in everything, the way he carried his powerful body with limber
agility. A hunter. She’d bet money he was undercover vice. Just as
she’d bet money that something about his job was eating at him now
and he wanted to put it away for a night, take some solace from
someone who wouldn’t be around long enough to remind him he’d lost
his edge for a few brief hours.

Looking back over her shoulder, she
remembered watching Raze take a seat at the bar, remembered the way
he’d looked into his glass as if the answer he was looking for
could be found in it. Wasn’t she here for the same reason? To seek
oblivion in the company of others. So they’d narrow it down to the
two of them, and toss in orgasms and physical exhaustion. There
were worse ways to spend the night. Like lying in bed alone,
drenched in clammy sweat and shaking with fear.

Delia frowned, her dark eyes filled with
worry behind her chic electric blue eyeglass frames. “This sort of
reckless behavior isn’t like you. You don’t want to admit it, but
you’re still reeling from what happened to Janelle. You’re not in
the right frame of mind.”

Janelle. God. Kim polished off the last of
the shiraz. Even though she’d moved into a different apartment in a
different building in a different part of town, she couldn’t get
the memory of coming home to her roommate’s murder out of her head.
The crazy ex Janelle had been running from for years had finally
tracked her down and taken her life, then turned the gun on
himself. Kim couldn’t close her eyes without seeing it all over
again—blood everywhere, splattered over everything, pooling on the
floor in a viscous crimson lake. The sharp metallic smell of fresh
death had seared her nostrils, indelibly etching a nightmare on her
mind.

“I have to go.” She dug her business card
out of her purse and wrote Raze’s name and room number on the back.
“If I turn up missing, here’s the last place I was.”