The Pledge (10 page)

This was it, I knew. The door I’d been searching for.

My fingers fumbled for the knob. I tested it, and it turned easily, the latch releasing with a click that I felt rather than heard from above the music behind me.

Just as I was about to lean into it, a hand gripped my shoulder, squeezing tightly. My heart slammed in my chest, hammering a reckless rhythm.

I whirled, crashing into a solid wall of muscles, and immediately thought of the bouncer from the door. My dulled mind raced as I willed it to clear, to think faster.

“May I help you?” A man’s voice asked. I knew immediately that it wasn’t the bouncer—I’d have recognized his sleazy tone. But for once, I couldn’t read the intention in it. Curiosity? Disbelief? Something worse . . . threat?

“I—I—” I struggled to find the right explanation for what I was doing. “I—I just got lost,” I finally stammered.

I saw him reach for the wall beside him. Then there was a soft click. I was bathed in the glow of a bare red bulb that was mounted on the ceiling above us, and I found myself staring, wide-eyed, at a man with a suspicious scowl. His dark hair fell
loosely around his shoulders, and his scruffy jaw hadn’t seen a razor in days, maybe weeks. But it was his eyes—catlike and predatory—that held me as they reflected the red light back at me.

“You shouldn’t be back here,” he stated flatly. “It’s not safe.”

Unconsciously, I rubbed at the back of my hand, the skin itchy, stinging. “I needed some air,” I gasped. My heart beat faster, and I swayed slightly.

His hand snaked out to grab my wrist, steadying me, as he asked, “Do you need to sit?”

I nodded, blinking. “Yes,” I rasped, scratching at the hand stamp. “Sitting would be good.” The world felt as if it were tilting beneath my feet, and the blood drained from my face.

He slipped his arm around my waist, surely afraid I would topple right there in the corridor, as he led me not back into the club, but to the first door in the hallway—the locked door. He pulled a key from his pocket and opened it before I could find the words to object.

And within seconds I found myself collapsing onto a green velvet sofa that smelled of smoke, from both drugs that were legal and those that were not, as I leaned my head back and closed my eyes.

I had never seen a private club room before. In some clubs, they were said to be luxurious box suites perched high above the bars and dance floors, where the elite—those who paid a steep price to the club’s proprietors—were treated like royalty for the night. Others were said to be dens of iniquity,
where one’s every wicked desire could be fulfilled . . . for a price.

This appeared to be something else altogether, something both less sinister and less opulent.

I glanced at the man in the chair across from me. He leaned forward, his elbows balanced on his knees as he surveyed me closely. I wasn’t sure I should be here, in this room with him. I wondered where he’d been coming from when he’d run into me.

“Is this your club?” I asked, my voice hoarse.

His eyebrows drew together in a deep scowl and I saw the scar there, running from just above his brow all the way down to the edge of his angular jaw. It was pale and faded—an old wound—but when he frowned like that, the silvery edges puckered. “No, it’s not my club. But the people who run it let me do business here.”

Something about the way he said the word “business” made it sound illicit.

The constant strobe of lights pulsed from the club, finding their way into the room through a huge window that made up an entire wall. They flickered over his face, casting it in an ever-changing rainbow of hues. On the other side of the window, I could see the threesome, the two men and the black-haired woman, still kissing and caressing one another, and I remembered the mirror they’d been standing in front of.

I got up from the sofa, weaving around the mismatched furnishings to stand before the glass wall. With my fingertip, I traced the outline of their single form, seemingly fused together. “They can’t see us?” I was awed. I’d never heard of such a thing.

He was beside me then, an enigmatic presence. “No. The other side is mirrored; it only works one way.”

“Strange,” I whispered.

I was still dizzy, and having a difficult time concentrating. Everything moved in slow motion, my throat felt dry and tight, and my eyelids were weighted. I couldn’t stop scratching my hand.

He followed my gaze as I peered down at the welt.

“May I?” he asked, his hand reaching for mine. White scars zigzagged across his knuckles.

I stared at him, at the scar barely concealed by his long hair, at his strange silver-flecked eyes. I stared for too long as I tried to make up my mind. Beneath his whiskered jaw, his skin was weathered and his face was hard, but his expression was earnest as he waited for me, so patiently, that I wondered what possible harm it could do to let him take a look.

I allowed him to take my hand in his.

His skin was cool and dry as one of his calloused fingertips followed the swollen ridge of the star. And then he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small black container. Inside there was a salve that smelled like an odd combination of pungent earth and crisp citrus, yet wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

He didn’t ask this time, he just smoothed it over the burning skin, massaging it with his thumb.

I wasn’t sure what to make of that. A part of me insisted that this was a bad idea, that I was allowing a man I didn’t know—a man I wasn’t even sure I trusted—to rub some kind of ointment onto my skin. Who knew what it contained?

But there was that other part of me, the part that just
watched silently, curious at myself, at how easily I’d succumbed to his intense gaze.

“There,” he said, closing the container and pressing it into my palm. “You’ll feel better soon.”

He was wrong, though. It was already happening. The skin on the back of my hand had already stopped tingling, and my head had stopped spinning. Already my thoughts were clearer.

“Who are you?” I finally asked.

He cocked his head, smiling. “My name is Xander. And you”—he raised his eyebrows—“are Charlie.”

I jerked forward, suddenly wary. How did he know my name?

He chuckled, explaining, “I’ve seen you around the clubs. You and your pretty friend.”

Of course he meant Brooklynn. Everyone noticed Brooklynn.

It was hard to imagine that I’d never noticed him before. He was hard to miss.

“I’m sorry. It was nice meeting you, Xander, but I really need to find my friend now.” And it was true. With my head clear, I realized the position I was in: that no one knew where I was, or who I was with.

For a moment I thought he might argue, or try to convince me to stay. He was standing between me and the exit, and there was a long, tense pause. I held my breath, trying to calm my heart.

But then the moment passed, and he stepped out of my way. Again I was struck by that sense that there was something predatory about him, in the grace with which he moved and the way his silver eyes remained trained—focused—on me.
But I squeezed the container of salve in my palm, reminding myself that he’d done nothing wrong.

“Right this way.”

He led me back into the darkened hallway, and to the club beyond. He stayed with me, keeping his hand on my elbow, whether to steady me or to keep me within arm’s reach, I didn’t know.

We stood there for a moment, silently surveying the crowd. “There she is.” His voice was so low and deep that it very nearly blended into the bass of the music.

There was a sudden burst of activity near the entrance, and everyone seemed to turn at once, straining to see what was happening. Xander’s fingers tightened on my arm. I was certain it was unintentional. I doubted he even realized he’d done it. Beside me, he’d gone completely rigid, anxious and alert within the span of a breath.

As we watched, bodies shifted and the crowds parted. Even without seeing who’d just arrived, their appearance charged the air like static electricity.

And then three men emerged from the mass of people crowding the entryway, and as they came closer, I recognized him—Max—immediately. My breath caught in the back of my throat.

That was when I noticed it, the same thing I had when I’d first met him: Max didn’t belong here.

Not in the way someone like Xander did. Not like I did.

I was scarcely aware of his companions, watching only him as his assessing gaze moved around the club. I couldn’t help wondering if—even hoping that—it was me he searched for.

I remained still as his eyes paused on Xander, flashing darkly. But his hesitation was so slight, so fleeting, that I could have easily convinced myself I’d only imagined it.

Then that same self-assured gaze stopped on me, staking me to the ground as I stared back at him, unblinking, unwavering. I held my breath as I waited for something to happen, as I hoped to see some glimmer of recognition from him. And I thought there
was
something, an almost imperceptible narrowing of his eyes and the slight lift at the corners of his mouth. But it was over so quickly I could barely process it, and his long stride never faltered.

Disappointment surged through me as Max and his companions continued through the crowds. I felt foolish for coming here to see him, for stitching this dress while dreaming of him, for hoping he might notice me.

“Who are they?” I finally managed to ask Xander, meaning more than just their names.

But when I turned my head, Xander was gone.

I glanced down at the back of my hand, just to make certain I hadn’t been dreaming . . . that Xander really had been there in the first place.

My skin no longer burned, and the mark—the six-pointed star—had all but disappeared. I opened my fist and touched the container of salve I still held.

Xander was real, all right.

And suddenly I was sure he had the answers I wanted.

xander

“So, X? Was it her?”

Eden moved like a living, breathing hurricane, energy brewing just beneath her skin at all times. She sat in the chair across from him, leaning her elbows on his desk, meeting his gaze head-on.

Irritated to be interrupted, Xander shoved the crumbling photograph beneath the papers in front of him, and then traced his thumb along the ragged line of his scar, an old habit. But Eden was one of the few people who could get away with disturbing him. “I don’t know yet. I think she might be.” Then he amended his words. “I’m almost certain of it.”

Overhead, music from the club still pounded a vicious rhythm, hammering the ceiling above them. It would continue like that until dawn.

Eden pondered his statements, running her hand through her spiky hair. Then she asked the other questions, the ones he’d been considering all night. “What about the guards, did they see her? Do
they
know who she is?”

He didn’t have a good answer for her, so he shrugged. “I don’t know. They definitely saw her, and I think they knew she was with me, even if they didn’t know why. But I have no idea if they’ve guessed who she is.” He waited, wondering if he should even ask his next question. He trusted Eden—with his life—but he could see she was already anxious, and he didn’t want to add to her troubles.

She stood and paced the dark space below the club, one of their latest installations. But they wouldn’t be able to stay there any longer. He didn’t know if he’d been followed, and he couldn’t take the chance. The clubs were a good place to hide, a good place to move information, but they could never get too comfortable in one place for long. If they did, they could be raided, and their secrets would be discovered, their plans exposed.

They would have to be out of there by daybreak.

Eden checked the small arms cache they kept on hand, using the key that only she and Xander had access to.

Finally he asked, “Did you see who was with them tonight?”

Her gaze shot back to him, and at first he thought she wasn’t going to answer. Her black eyes were filled with worry, fear, alarm. She picked up a handheld grenade launcher, cradling it like a baby.

“It was Max, wasn’t it?”

max

He approached his queen in the same manner he always did, with suspicion and great care.

The room was warm, overly so, as it always was now that the queen had grown old and her body was increasingly frail. But it wasn’t her body he worried about. Her mind was still sharp, her moods turbulent.

She was not a woman to underestimate.

“Your Majesty,”
he purred, speaking in the language of the royals and hearing his two companions repeat his words as they all three bowed to the ground before her.

They waited milliseconds before she snapped at them, her intolerance apparent.
“Get up! I don’t have time for your nonsense. Just get to it.”
She leveled her gaze on the dark-skinned man in front of her.
“What’s your report?”

Since she wasn’t addressing him, Max stepped aside, clasping his hands behind his back, waiting until he was spoken to directly.

“We believe we’ve found their latest command center, Your Majesty. Another club in the city. We’re checking intel now, and once we have confirmation, we’ll go in.”