by A. D. Ryan
Before I could say anything to force their eyes back to me, my father did. “Everybody, listen up.” His loud voice bounced off every wall in the room, and everybody listened without objection. Satisfied, he looked to me and nodded. “Detective.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Someone in the back of the room muttered “daddy’s girl” under their breath, and I saw red, my eyes zeroing in on Detective Clarke. He’d always been a pain in my ass and was a little sore that I’d been promoted so early in my career. He’d cited preferential treatment, when that couldn’t be further from the truth. I was quite aware how unprofessional a father promoting his daughter probably looked to those who claimed this as a classic case of nepotism, but I worked my ass off to get this promotion. I deserved it, and I was determined to prove it.
Rage bubbled inside me as I stared at Clarke in his seat. His eyes locked with mine, widening with the realization that I’d heard him, and I started to imagine how wildly his heart must be thumping in his chest. I focused on the thought so intensely, in fact, that I swore I heard it. I inhaled another deep breath, this time feeling a little smug, and my mouth salivated when I sensed something even more satisfying than the look on his face. I wasn’t sure how, but I recognized the smell for exactly what it was.
Fear. His fear.
I realized that he likely wasn’t scared of me so much as the fact that I overheard his backhanded comment, and it was barely enough to infuse the air, but there it was…and it shocked me just how much I liked it. How much I thrived off it.
“Got something you wish to share with the class, Detective Clarke?” I snarled in his direction. “Something you need to contribute to the case?”
His head moved back and forth rapidly, his eyes locked on mine and his fear spiking. “N-no, Detective Leighton.”
The right side of my mouth curled up into a cocky smirk. “Then if you could save any snide comments you have about me until we can discuss them at length—privately—I’d like to continue.”
A deafening silence filled the room, satisfying me completely, and I continued to go through my findings in hopes it would help convince them that this was a viable option. It surprised me to find my father wasn’t against my theory, nor did he think I’d lost my mind. Bonus.
There were skeptics in the room when I announced wanting to investigate these clubs, but no one contested me, probably afraid to be called out like Clarke was. By the end of the briefing, I decided that we’d split into four groups and hit each club armed with questions and a photo of each vic. If they were involved, someone was sure to have seen one of them.
At least, that’s what I hoped.
Chapter eleven | urges
Loud music poured from the subterranean club entrance, and bright lights flashed wildly through the heavily-tinted windows. Based on its underground location in Old Scottsdale, The Dungeon was actually an apt choice for this place’s name, and it made me feel more on edge than I’d ever felt before. Something I didn’t even realize was possible.
It wasn’t like I’d never found myself in similar situations, but there was something about this that had my entire body on high-alert. Ever since this vampire theory was mentioned, my muscles had been tense, and my heart pumped harder and slightly faster as if preparing my body for a surge of adrenaline at a moment’s notice. Acutely aware, I took in everything about my surroundings, my eyes darting around, looking in every direction and searching the shadows for danger. I focused my hearing on the sounds of passing pedestrians and vehicles while trying to block out the loud music.
David placed his hand on my back, and I jumped away, defensively swatting his arm in the process. His eyes widened in alarm, and I exhaled. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“You okay? You seem tense.”
I nodded as we made our way for the stairway that led to the club. “Yeah. I’m not sure why, but I feel like I’m poised to…I don’t know…attack?” David listened intently as I explained what I’ve been going through these last few days. “It’s weird, actually. Ever since Keaton joked around about vampires, I’ve been feeling anxious. Excited, even. Maybe it’s because this is the first real—albeit strange—lead we’ve had on this case, but it’s like some dormant part of me has been awakened and has been driving me forward this entire time.”
“Sounds reasonable,” David replied. “You’re a detective now, and this is your first real case. You’re thirst for justice is just stronger than you realized.”
Thirst. Is that what this was? Something about the word definitely fit with how I had been chasing this lead. It was stronger than desire, though—much stronger—and I wasn’t entirely convinced that justice was what I sought. Maybe a part of me did, but it didn’t feel like it most of the time. At first, I thought it was vengeance—and I still believed this—but now it felt like something I had to do. Something I was made to do.
At the bottom of the stairs, David grabbed the door handle and tried to open it, but it didn’t budge. He looked at me, confused, and then tried again. When the door remained closed, I shook my head, annoyed with this minor setback, and I pounded on the metal door loudly.
The small rectangular peephole in the door opened, and a pair of blood-red eyes appeared. I stared at them a moment, undeterred and unthreatened when I saw a ring of blue around the man’s pupils where the contacts didn’t cover. “Password,” he boomed through the door, and I rolled my eyes.
David and I unclipped our badges from our belts and held them up to the door. “Scottsdale PD. Sound about right?” I demanded firmly.
He cursed loudly before pulling the metal slide back over the peephole. I was about to knock again when the door suddenly flew open and he held an arm out, bowing with mock-chivalry and giving us a prime look at the top of his shiny, bald head. “Après vous,” he said.
David and I entered the club together, and every hair on my body prickled as my eyes adjusted to the strobe lights. It took a minute, but eventually I could see enough to get me through without running into one of the many people crowding the place. There were wall-to-wall bodies, and the combination of smells overwhelmed and disoriented me. I stumbled as the unusual aroma of cologne, perfume, deodorant—and lack thereof—fogged my head even further. David reached out and placed his hand flat on my back, guiding me through the rest of the way. In an effort to help lessen the effect the smell of this place had on me, I pressed my nose into the back of my hand.
We made it to the bar, and I looked around. Even with the lights flashing, I could make out the hundreds of bodies crowded in here. Black seemed to be the shade of choice, but splashes of crimson and deep purple were thrown in. Countless individuals sported dark hair and heavy makeup—something the victims didn’t seem to have in common. It was all very cliché.
I continued to scan the club, taking notice of the half-naked women writhing on several podiums around the room. There wasn’t a lot of dancing by the rest of the patrons as they stood around and watched the dancers. The look in their eyes was dangerous, almost predatory, and I observed as one man held his hand out to one of them and helped her off her podium. He pulled her to him, and they shared a deep kiss that suggested they knew each other. I couldn’t take my eyes off them, and not because it was titillating—quite the opposite, really. The strong reaction I was experiencing surprised me. It wasn’t that I found exhibitionism and voyeurism particularly repulsive—nor did I find it arousing—but this visceral reaction to these people seemed to stem from how I saw them as abominations to the human race.
Yes. That was exactly it, I realized.
Of course, this revelation only upset me, because behind this phony vampire exterior, they were still human. A man and a woman, pretending to be something that excited them so they could get off. Why was I reading more into this than necessary?
“I’m going to take a look around,” David said, leaning in so I could hear him over the music. The strange truth was, though, I could hear the couple across the room as the woman leane
d in and suggested they step into the back room for some privacy. “You okay out here?”
I nodded, watching the couple disappear behind a set of red velvet curtains. “Uh huh. Do me a favor, though? See if you can find out what goes on behind those curtains.”
“Will do. I’ll be back in a few.” David disappeared through the crowd before I turned toward the bar.
“You’re new,” the bartender said, leaning on the sticky-looking countertop. He was tall—just under six feet—his dark hair was spiked, and heavy eyeliner surrounded his blue-gray eyes. He was dressed in a tight black shirt and leather vest, and his arms were covered in tattoos. Basically, he appeared to be the stereotypical poster boy for the Goth scene.
I stepped toward the bar, and he stood up straight. “What can I get you, Red?”
“You work here often?” I asked with an annoyed smile brought on by the use of a nickname I’d been plagued with given my fiery red hair.
The man shrugged. “Five nights a week. We’re closed the other two. Why?”
I leaned on the bar. “I was just wondering if you could answer a couple of questions I had.”
The bartender laughed, flashing me his sharp, elongated canines. My hands tensed, and my body trembled at the sight of them. I wasn’t sure what to make of this reaction. It definitely wasn’t fear, but I felt surges of adrenaline coursing through my arms and legs as my survival instincts kicked in and weighed all of my options.
Options? What options? I asked myself. He’s not a threat. He’s just some guy caught up in the idea that vampires are glamorous and mysterious. Telling myself this helped a little, calming my heart minutely, but not altogether. I reached for my badge and reminded myself why I was really here.
“What are you, a cop?” The question left his mouth at the exact moment I placed my badge on the counter. “Holy shit,” he muttered under his breath, looking around. “What is it you wanna know, officer?”
“Detective,” I corrected, pulling the pictures of our victims from the inside pocket of my leather jacket and holding them out one at a time. “Have you seen any of these people before? Like, in the last few weeks?”
He looked a little taken aback at first, but he pushed his shock aside and wiped his hands on his bar towel before reaching out and taking the pictures for a closer look. After a minute, he shook his head regretfully. “Sorry, they don’t look familiar.”
“You’re sure?”
Nodding, he gave the photos back. “Well, they don’t exactly look the type, you know? But that’s not to say they didn’t maybe alter their appearance before coming in once or twice.”
“So it’s possible they kept this part of their lives hidden during the day?”
“Definitely,” he conceded, leaning forward again, almost as though he was trying to keep this conversation private. “But I will tell you that most of the people we cater to live and breathe this shit.”
Somewhat bewildered by his choice of words, I questioned his statement. “You make it sound like you don’t share their interest in all of this.”
“Because I don’t,” he replied, sounding somewhat offended that I would even suggest it.
Really? Has he looked in a mirror?
He sighed heavily. “I’m here because it pays the bills and leaves me with quite a bit of money left over. Most of these people are regulars, and not just anyone can get in. It’s a very exclusive club, and you get in by invite only…or if you flash your badge at the front door.” So I’d be willing to bet none of them”—he pointed at the photos—“are regulars here.”
Invite only. Something about that triggered a memory, but I couldn’t quite recall it, and I didn’t have the luxury of time to worry about it now. I would have to come back to the thought later and try to figure it out.
“Anything else?” he asked, growing more annoyed and impatient as he looked beyond me and at his growing line of patrons.
I didn’t like the tone he took with me, and I fought back the sudden urge to reach across the bar and slam his head onto the countertop. This impulse opened up a floodgate of images, and I visualized the stream of blood pouring from his mouth and nose. It was so vivid, I could almost smell the coppery undertones to it—feel the warmth of it on the tips of my fingers—and the sound of him pleading for me to stop was like music to my ears…
Shocked and horrified at myself for this unexpected and extremely violent train of thought, I inhaled deeply, drawing in another lungful of the pungent air, and swallowed thickly. That was when I realized that the smell of blood wasn’t just a figment of my overactive—and disturbing—imagination. It was in the air. It was faint, but was there.
“Is there anything else I can help you with, Detective? Or can I get back to work? There’s a line forming.”
Distracted by the smell of blood, my eyes wandered from him, but I was wholly aware of his question. “That’s fine. I’ll need your name and number in case I have any more follow-up questions.”
“Of course. I’m Adam, and I’ll grab you a card with my information.” His attitude shifted back to helpful, and I briefly questioned his mental stability before a new trace of copper invaded my nose, making my mouth water…
What the hell is wrong with me? I find that smell appealing? No. It wasn’t actually the smell that made me react this way. It was something else that appealed to me. Something I still couldn’t put my finger on.
The bartender—Adam—handed me his card, and I slipped the gray rectangle into my pocket along with the pictures. “Thanks,” I said listlessly, following the coppery notes in the air. I made it to the velvet curtains, where the scent was overwhelmingly intense, and I was preparing to step through them when a thin man, about my height and dressed all in black, slipped into my view.
“Hey, baby,” he said, his voice scratchy and his breath smelling of booze. “You wanna head back there and party?”
When he flashed his teeth and I saw the two pointy canines, something inside of me snapped like a rubberband that had been pulled too taut. Every muscle in my body tensed again, and a low rumble formed in my belly…
Wait. Am I growling?
“Come on, babe.” He reached out and grabbed me around my wrist, leading me forward and pulling the curtain back slightly. “I promise you an unforgettable experience.”
The minute he touched me, alarm bells blared in my head, screaming at me that this guy was a threat to my existence. The rush of adrenaline building outside earlier exploded, flooding my veins, and the tension in my muscles released like tightly wound springs as I yanked my arm from his hold. Everything happened so fast after that. I spun around, my elbow connecting with his nose, and before I could process what happened, my hand was around his neck, and I had him pressed against the wall.
Blood poured from his nose, and one of his pointy “fangs” was missing as he wept. I breathed heavily, a scratchy noise escaping my throat with each exhale, and I was only vaguely aware of the shocked bar patrons that surrounded us to take in the show. Using only my eyes, I glanced around to see their wide-eyed stares, and I heard the low murmurs as they wondered who the nut-job holding their brother off the ground was.
Off…the…ground?
Slowly, my eyes fell to the floor, and sure enough, the guy’s feet were more than a foot from the ground, jerking wildly. How did I…? When did I…? Confusion filled my head, pushing out the previous urge to teach this guy a lesson, but before I could figure out what was going on with me, David stepped out from behind the thick curtains.
“Hey. What did you find out?” he asked before noticing the man pinned to the wall at my mercy.
Horrified, I dropped the thin creep and stepped back, looking at my hands as if I didn’t even recognize them as my own. “I-I’m fine.”
Clearly worried, David grabbed my upper arms and forced our gazes to lock. “Brooke? What the hell happened out here?”
The haze cleared the minute I stared into his wide blue eyes, and I looked at the man on the ground, holdi
ng his neck and surrounded by his alarmed friends. “I was coming to find you, and that guy grabbed my wrist. I don’t know what happened, but I snapped. I-I wasn’t thinking.”
A fire erupted in David’s eyes, and he shot a menacing glare down at the guy I attacked. Instead of beating this guy senseless, though, David pulled me off to the side, cradling my face protectively. It was sweet. “Are you okay?”
My head bobbed slowly. “Yeah. I think it was probably just a normal fight-or-flight instinct. And I don’t think he was really going to hurt me. He probably thought I was one of…them, I guess.” Pausing, I replayed the last couple of minutes since David showed up and registered his original question. “Oh, I talked to the bartender. He’s never seen the victims before. Says the club is exclusive and all the people are regulars. I got his name and number in case I think of anything else. How about you? What’s behind the curtain? The wizard?”
The tension left his body, and David chuckled. “Not quite. It’s a private room where the dancers go with patrons and they engage in…” he trailed off, pausing to try to find a way to explain. “Illicit activities.”
“Illicit?”
He nodded once. “There’s dancing, stripping—”
The lingering essence of blood in the air was the furthest thing from my mind, and David sure as hell found a way to get my full, undivided attention now. “Stripping?” I interrupted, jealousy haloing my tone as an inexplicable surge of anger washed through me. “So, I sent you into a room where women were taking their clothes off?”
“Among other things,” he said, piquing my curiosity and ignoring my unnecessary attitude. “Let’s just say, they take this vampire thing seriously.”
“Meaning?”
David hesitated, but only briefly. “I caught a couple back there. The woman was on her knees, sucking his—”
Not quite ready for that visual, I held up my hand. “Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!” I cried, clenching my eyes and shaking my head. “I’m sorry I asked.”
“—wrist,” he concluded with a bit of a laugh, completely bypassing my assumption and making me feel like a total ass.
