“Come back to the club,” Carys told her. “From the sounds of it, the Order has the place pretty well shut down, but I’m still here with Rune. We can both crash in his quarters overnight and sort everything out tomorrow.”
“Oh, Carys. I don’t know—”
“You’re not far from the train. It’ll get you here in less than ten minutes. I’ll be waiting for you. Come around back and I’ll let you in through the staff entrance.”
“Carys—”
“Let me take care of you for once, okay? Be here in ten, or I’m sending Rune out to drag you here.”
Which is how Jordana found herself getting off the train in the old North End some seven minutes later and walking the short block to La Notte’s rear door.
Carys was there before she even had a chance to knock, opening the door and pulling Jordana into a warm embrace. “You’re shivering,” Carys pointed out. “Come in, and tell me what’s going on.”
Jordana walked with her friend into the back corridor, feeling relieved to have come, now that she was there.
But the feeling was short-lived.
No sooner had she stepped inside when a door opened farther ahead of them in the gloomy passageway. A man walked out and strode in the opposite direction of Jordana and Carys.
No, not just a man—a Breed warrior. Six and a half feet of sinew and dark, stormy menace. Jordana knew that massive build and prowling swagger anywhere.
She could still feel his hands on her. She could still hear the sinful rumble of his deep voice against her ear.
Nathan.
God help her, she almost called his name out loud.
But then, in that next awful instant, a woman came out of the room behind him.
More na**d than not, she strutted out on spiked boots, her br**sts strapped into a complicated web of black leather and metal rings, another skimpy, punishing-looking set of straps emphasizing the round globes of her bare behind.
There could be no mistaking the brunette’s line of work. Nor the fact that she and Nathan had been in the room together behind the closed door.
The woman glanced over her shoulder and spotted Jordana and Carys gaping at her in the corridor. In the sex worker’s hand was a wad of cash, which she ceremoniously slipped beneath one of the tight black strips of leather on her bosom before sauntering off.
Jordana felt sick. If she’d been afraid of how she’d left things with Nathan tonight, apparently she shouldn’t have worried. He certainly hadn’t wasted any time finding a replacement for her.
Disappointment and hurt roared up on her. She was pissed too—at him, but even more so at herself, for caring enough to be upset.
“Get me out of here,” she whispered to Carys.
Her friend looked equally miserable. “Oh, God, honey. I had no idea. I never would’ve told you to come—”
“He can’t know I was here,” Jordana hissed urgently. “Don’t let him see me, please. He can’t know that I saw him here tonight.”
“Of course not.” Carys took her hand. “Come on. Rune’s quarters are this way.”
Jordana followed her friend down another length of dark hallway, feeling as if that cliff she’d been so afraid of had suddenly broken away under her feet and left her falling.
12
“YOU TRYING TO CLEAN THAT FIREARM OR RUB OFF THE SERIAL number?”
Jolted, Nathan swung his head around from the table and chair where he was seated and found Sterling Chase leaning against the jamb of the open weapons room door.
Jesus Christ. He’d been so engrossed in his work, his head full of steam and troubling realizations, he hadn’t even heard the commander arrive.
It was early morning at the Order’s Boston headquarters. Most everyone in the compound and the connected estate would be in bed. Nathan, however, had been awake and twitchy ever since he and his team returned to base last night. A couple hours ago, he’d finally given up the idea of sleep and decided to make some productive use of his restlessness.
He met Chase’s stare. Years of old training schooled his expression to a bland, unreadable mask before he went back to cleaning and lubricating the field-stripped black Beretta 9 mm. “Didn’t expect to see you down here at this hour. How long you been standing there?”
“Couple of minutes,” Chase said. “Long enough. You wanna talk about it?”
With nimble fingers, Nathan reassembled the pistol and set it aside. “Nope.”
Chase strode into the room now and took up a position next to Nathan’s worktable, his thick arms crossed over his chest. He wore a white short-sleeve T-shirt and loose gray sweats, his trim golden hair rumpled.
At the moment, Sterling Chase looked less like the impeccable, tight-ship captain he was and more like a man with troubles of his own. Troubles that dragged him from the comfort of the warm bed he shared with his mate at an unholy, early hour.
“Looks like you’ve been up for a while yourself.” Nathan glanced at him sidelong. “Maybe you wanna talk about it?”
“Not really.” Chase smirked and blew out a short sigh. “I guess I’m still trying to get used to the fact that Carys moved out. Tavia doesn’t like it either, but she says we have to give her time. Give her space.” A growl rumbled in the vampire’s chest. “If anything happens to her … if anyone hurts her now that she’s living outside my direct protection—”
“She’s doing all right,” Nathan said. “She has people looking out for her.”
Chase scoffed. “Jordana Gates may be well connected in the Darkhavens, but no one she knows is going to keep my little girl safe the way her mother and I can.”