She wanted to move closer to the rope demonstration currently in progress on the elevated stage in the corner. That was where they would be. Where she’d told him they needed to be. Where was Ram? Her skin was heating, and her blood burned with the need to—
No, she scolded herself firmly. No burning anything. Chill out. Think blizzards. Ice storms. The last thing you need to do is start this club on fire. You have more control than that now.
She wasn’t sure, though. The excitement buzzing under her skin wasn’t hers alone. What was inside her was desperate for the new experience. For the sting of the whip and whatever tortures her Jinn had devised for her.
They moved past a group of familiar women wearing matching shorts, electrical tape over their nipples and little else. Aziza had seen them when she’d come here before. “Hey, ladies.”
One of them—the redhead—squealed in delight and wrapped her arms around Aziza before her friends could drag her away. “I remember that gorgeous face. I was hoping you’d come back. But you’re wearing too many clothes again,” she shouted over the music. “You are too snog worthy to be hiding that much skin. We have extra tape if it gets too hot in here for you.”
“I might take you up on that,” Aziza shouted back. “I’m playing on the stage tonight. With Ram.”
“Lucky girl!” The woman laughed. “We’ll be watching and we’ll find you after.”
They continued moving away, disappearing before Aziza could respond. The threesome definitely made an impression, and she knew instinctively they would be her in. They were regulars. They would have known all the women killed. Including the latest. Which meant they hadn’t found out about girl number three yet, either—the atmosphere was too upbeat.
When Aziza turned back toward the empty seats they were headed for, she saw West’s roommate Chiye at the next table…and couldn’t look away. She was kneeling on her stool, watching the stage, as distracted by what was happening on it as Aziza had been moments before.
Tonight, instead of the shorts and sports bra she’d performed on the aerial hoop in, she wore a sheer, purple-tulle skirt that danced around her thighs, knee-high boots and a nearly sheer, black halter top that did little to hide breasts that were surprisingly full for her small frame. How she managed to give the appearance of an innocent ingénue in that outfit was a puzzle, but Aziza had to give her credit for making it look effortless.
She took a soothing breath in order to hide her reaction. She wasn’t sure she could explain what she was feeling if she tried. Recognition. Admiration. And something else…something she’d only felt in the presence of Ram and Shev. With Brandon. Like a slender thread connected them to her, slowly tugging her closer from somewhere deep inside. Was Chiye Jinn? Some other supernatural creature Aziza had yet to meet?
Maybe she’s the one you’re supposed to protect.
Greg stopped and turned so suddenly she bumped into him.
“What’s wrong?”
He gripped her shoulders, more to steady himself than to hold her still. “Try not to be obvious, but I don’t think you’ll need to introduce me to a girl tonight. I believe I have spotted the mother of my children.”
Aziza’s lips twitched. “You don’t have kids, Greg. I would know.”
He combed his hands through his sandy hair. “Not yet,” he agreed. “But I’d love to practice. Why is she here tonight? You have to cancel this thing with Ram, Aziza Jane. I can’t look after you and keep up my cool illusion at the same time.”
“Sorry, I’m not canceling, but you don’t have to watch if you’re squeamish.” She leaned sideways to glance past Greg, noticing West had returned with a tray of drinks in his hands. “I get the feeling you’re going to forgive me and love me even more in five minutes than you do now.”
“Impossible,” he responded automatically. Then paused. “What do you mean?”
She gently shoved him out of the way and moved toward the table. “West? We’re here.”
West heard her over the music and turned toward them, a broad smile on his face. Damn, he looked good tonight—he even managed to pull off one of those macho utility kilts with pockets she’d always threatened to buy for Greg, along with combat boots and a sleeveless white shirt that did nothing to hide his well-defined muscles…or the scarification marks and tattoos that covered both his shoulders.
They were like carnal book ends, the two of them. West and Chiye. Both beautiful in an unmistakably sexual way.
“Aziza Jane, at last,” he said. “And you must be the infamous Gregory Prophet.”
Poor Greg. She knew he was thinking that the woman he wanted to “practice” with was already taken. She had to put him out of his misery. “Greg, this is Ram’s friend West and his friend and roommate, Chiye…?”
“Wyn. Chiye Wyn.” The girl had hopped off the stool and come to stand beside West, excitement practically vibrating off her body. Aziza could feel the hum. “Ram told us you were a dazzler, Aziza, but he never mentioned your Greg was foxy too, did he? That’s brilliant. Give us a cwtch.”
A cootch? This exotic Eurasian beauty was Welsh?
Chiye stood on her toes to wrap her arms around Aziza. Her scent was intoxicating, but her eyes were a simple warm brown, not the color of gemstones. Not Jinn then. And far too small to be a werewolf.
Unable to help herself, Aziza hugged her warmly in return, then stepped back and winked at Greg. “Hear that, buddy? She thinks you’re foxy.”
Greg sent her a warning look as he held out his hand. “Thank you, but you probably shouldn’t listen to anything Ram says about me. He’s not my biggest fan.”
Batting his hand away, Chiye wrapped her arms around his waist while West looked on, laughing. “Forgive her, she doesn’t believe in handshakes. But make sure you check your pockets when she’s done.”
Chiye turned her head to stick out her tongue at him, her arms still firmly wrapped around the red-faced Greg. “He’s having a laugh. Ignore him.”
The sensuality of Greg’s smile as he looked down at Chiye startled Aziza. “Ignore who?”
“Good man,” Chiye responded, licking her lips. “For that, you can sit beside me.”
West took Aziza’s hand and pulled her over to their table. “I had a feeling they would get along. And I’m glad you came, Aziza Jane. It means the drink I brought you won’t go to waste.”
Drink? She sat down at the table and noticed that there were four shot glasses on the tray and a bottle of tequila. A man after her own heart.
“I haven’t seen that in a while.” She laughed. “You are a southern boy, aren’t you?”
West nodded, pouring the liquor into each of the glasses as Chiye and Greg joined them at the table. “Atlanta, Georgia, born and raised. What about you?”
“Dallas,” Greg answered for her. “We grew up a few blocks away from each other.”
“I’m surrounded by sexy Americans who’ll soon have me soused on Mexican spirits? Cheers to me.” Chiye lifted her glass and threw her head back, swallowing the shot in one gulp.
Aziza already liked her. She swallowed her own shot and felt the burning warmth spread from her throat down to her chest. “Mmm. That’s good. I needed that. So tell me, how did a Georgia writer end up in a kinky London dungeon with a Welsh roommate and a Ram?” And where was Ram?
“That is a story.” West sat down and leaned his elbows on the table, his light-brown eyes never straying from hers. “Not one we usually tell until we get to know someone a little better.”
Chiye laughed and leaned closer to Greg, who looked like a man whose world was being rocked. “We know them though, don’t we? I feel like we do, don’t you, Greg? And from what Ram said, we’ll be knowing Aziza intimately not too long from now. Tell them before she leaves us, West. I love this story.”
What Ram said… Aziza took a calming breath.
West poured more shots all around. “Yes, ma’am. Once upon a time about a year ago, being a young man of means from a good family with a college
education in ancient history and philosophy under my belt, I made the very pragmatic and responsible decision to become a writer. I planned to rent a Tuscan villa and spend my days drinking wine and typing out my masterpiece in the solitude and sunshine.” He paused for effect. “Then for some godforsaken reason, I ended up in Cardiff.”
Chiye clinked her glass to his. “Where I picked his pocket.”
“You skipped ahead again.” West chuckled. “But yes, you did. Though it wasn’t your fault. You were too young to know better when you fell in with that crowd.”
“True enough.” She said, a momentary shadow crossing her features. “And too scared to climb out of the hole I’d dug when I realized I should. If West hadn’t been quick enough to follow me and save me from spending my life reenacting my take on Oliver Twist, I wouldn’t be here now, helping the great writer with his research and exploring this big, glorious city that it only took me twenty-two years and a tick over two hours to get to.”
Greg reached over to cover her hand. “So we owe West another toast for saving you.”
Chiye’s smile was so exquisitely vulnerable when she looked at Greg that Aziza didn’t have the heart to dig any further, despite her curiosity.
She grinned to lighten the mood, taking the bottle and filling their glasses again, even though her last one was still untouched. Not only was she playing tonight, which made overindulging a bad idea, but she needed to keep her head clear to find answers afterward.
“I saved Greg from being shoved into a locker by the school bully.”
“Thank you.” Sarcasm dripped from Greg’s voice and she knew if they were alone she’d be in trouble. “That’s always a great story to share with new people.”
“You’re just mad I beat you to the overshare punch. It was your turn the last time.” She patted his shoulder. “There’s no shame in it. That girl was a mutant. I’m serious. Her nickname was Mutant Mindy.”
West and Chiye chuckled, and Aziza noticed the way they looked at each other, as if communicating silently. Had she read them wrong? “Look, there really is no subtle way to ask this and, since we’re sharing, I think we should get it out of the way. Do you two play here together and are you simply looking for another couple to join in? Because Greg and I are strictly platonic, and if it’s just him you’re after, he’s a one-person-on-the-ride-at-a-time kind of guy as a rule.”
She didn’t want to admit she found the idea of a ride including West and Chiye arousing.
“Aziza Jane Stewart.” Greg had taken his shot and was glaring now, looking decidedly uncomfortable.
She refilled his glass, risking another sideways glance to see if he was really upset. Was Chiye making him nervous or was he worried Aziza would destroy his chances? “What? That’s a perfectly reasonable question, considering where we are and the fact that they’re friends with Ram. What kind of irresponsible best friend would I be if I didn’t ask?”
“It is a fair question.” West leaned forward and looked into Aziza’s eyes. “We’re not a couple, any more than you and Gregory are. Chiye enjoys the community here and though my tastes are tamer, the people watching is mesmerizing.”
She could practically hear Greg swallow. “His tastes are tamer?”
Chiye chuckled softly. “Don’t let him scare you. I like to try new things, sure, but my tastes aren’t as over the top as he makes them sound.”
West winked at Aziza. “The point is we are both currently single. We, like you, simply see safety in numbers. We choose to walk the world with each other for a time, instead of wandering alone.”
Aziza leaned her elbow on the table and grinned at him, fighting her desire to develop a hard crush. She already had too many to keep track of. “Good answer.”
“He’s a writer.” Chiye rolled her eyes, as if unimpressed.
Looking at them was like looking in a fun-house mirror. She knew Greg felt it too. An instant kinship. As if the four of them had always been friends. Chiye seemed to count on West the same way Aziza had always depended on Greg. Both men had been lifesavers, in more ways than one.
The music changed, and Chiye slid off her stool and wrapped her hands around Greg’s biceps. “Would you be offended if a girl asked you to dance?”
“I would be offended if she didn’t.” Greg stood and followed the energetic pickpocket-turned-aerialist and research assistant onto the dance floor.
Aziza frowned. She’d never seen Greg like this. He’d had girlfriends off and on since he’d grown out of his awkward, dorky phase, but none of them was ever serious. At least, he’d never talked about them in more than an offhand way. And she’d never seen him spun at first sight. Not even Lola the Dominatrix had done that.
She didn’t blame him. Chiye Wyn had a way about her. A way that even Aziza had a difficult time resisting. As strange as it was to see her best friend so focused on someone else, from the instant Aziza had seen her at The Hangar, she’d known they were meant to meet. To be friends.
She sipped from her shot glass thoughtfully. “I think I’ve lost my roommate to your roommate.” Another thought hit her and she groaned. “Poor Te.”
“Who is Te?” West sounded amused.
“Just a girl…who used to be a boy…in love with Greg’s giant brain.”
West snorted. “Cleared that right up. I didn’t realize you were a lightweight. Tequila might not have been the best idea I’ve ever had, especially since you’re planning to play with Ram. But you may be on to something. Chiye has always been open about her attractions, but she’s not usually drawn to someone like Greg. I’m glad. He seems like a decent guy and she’s had a rough life. Someone like that would be good for her soul.”
She was drawn to bad boys—Aziza could hear the undertones, and she could relate. Wasn’t that why she was so surprised to find herself in a relationship with Brandon, the ultimate rule follower? And why she wasn’t really surprised that she still had feelings for Ram? “I know how she feels.”
“I can see that. You looked sad for a minute there. Man troubles of your own? Ram mentioned you were seeing a police detective? I’m gathering he isn’t into the lifestyle and that’s why Ram is stepping in. Am I right?”
She nodded. He was right about the man troubles. Plural. Ram and Brandon. Brandon and Ram. After what Penn told her this afternoon, her anger toward Brandon had faded, though she should have been ticked that in his never-ending quest to protect her he hadn’t done what she’d asked. He must have some serious daddy issues, because it was obvious the Alpha drove Brandon nuts. She’d seen him change after one of the man’s phone calls, seen him tense every time a meeting with her was mentioned. What was he so worried about? That his father would use her, or that she would embarrass him?
Nothing had changed. He was still fighting her battles, and she was still what she was. Even when they were happy together, something inside her wanted more. Chafed at his possessiveness as much as she craved it.
Maybe she wasn’t cut out for a relationship. She had issues of her own.
She turned to West. “Do you know where Ram is?”
Speaking of issues and needs.
He shook his head. “He said you worry about him. Or is that excitement I hear?”
“He apparently says a lot.”
West shrugged. “He’s a lightweight when it comes to tequila too. You shouldn’t. Worry about him, I mean. Now I’m not saying he wasn’t a first-prize ass when we met, but whatever he was going through, I think he’s coming out of it now. Ram is lucky to have you as a friend. He has no idea how lucky…but he will learn.”
“He’s lucky to have you,” Aziza countered. “I wanted to thank you for that. Giving him a place to stay. He hasn’t made it easy for me to help him lately.”
“Pride is a stubborn thing. It can lead to the worst kinds of decisions. But he chose to accept my offer of hospitality for what it was. It means he wants a chance to have more.” He gestured toward the stage with his chin. “Speak of the devil and he will appear to st
eal you away from me.”
She shifted in her seat and looked over at the stage, where someone was setting up a freestanding St. Andrew’s Cross. Holy shit. Ram was there, on the far edge of the stage while two regulars set their scene. He was shirtless, his arms crossed, and he was looking straight at her. Just like her dream. She swallowed. “I should go.”
“Since Greg is busy, I’ll have to fill in.” West covered her hand and she jumped when a feeling like static electricity zapped her skin. “I assume you two negotiated earlier since he hasn’t come over to get you?”
If telling him he could do whatever he wanted was negotiating… “Yes.”
“From your expression I’m going to assume that in this case negotiate means you agreed to do whatever he wanted.” West’s laugh was rueful. “Ram has skills, I’ll give him that. It’s inhuman, the way he draws you all in. To think, before I met him I thought I was charming.”
“You are.” She thought about her fantasy that afternoon. “Believe me, West, you are.”
Aziza stood and began her push through the crowd toward the stage, thinking she really sucked at thinking. She was so much better at making rash decisions, living for the moment. This was more her speed. At least, the old Aziza’s speed. She knew what to expect from this, how it would make her feel—only for some reason she knew it would be better as a Fireborne. Better with Ram.
She wanted what he was going to give her. To play harder than she had before. To stop skirting the edges of what she wanted and take more.
Practically trembling with excitement already, Aziza tried to calm herself by concentrating on her larger plan for the evening. She’d let Ram play her onstage without using any Fireborne abilities so that everyone who was looking could see. She’d bond with the girls during her aftercare and find out if there was anything that linked the murder victims besides being members who’d played with Ram. Maybe unearth some bit of evidence she could follow that would guide the Enforcers away from him and back to the real killers.
None of that was unreasonable or unrealistic. None of that was a lie. But as she moved closer to Ram, her body already tingling with anticipation and desire, she knew none of those reasons was why she was going to submit to him.
Make Me Burn: Fireborne, Book 2 Page 10
