Page 17 of Bloodlust

You can't cry if your tears are frozen. I haven't in years. And I won't. There is nothing that could thaw me. Nothing to reverse the transition. That day made me a native of the Arctic. It's my home now.

My kingdom.

I grab my purse from the hook near the elevator, looping it over my arm as I check the time. 9:33 p.m. Time to protect my kingdom. If Judge Keegan thinks he can bring down my empire, he's in for a rude awakening.

Taking a long drag from my cigarette, I lean against the faded brick wall of the alley, my gaze glued to the ATM across the street. Swarms of people pass by, ignoring me, not giving me the time of day. It's a skill I'm trying to learn.

Invisibility.

My father taught me that fear is shaped by shadows. By whispers in the wind. By cloaked secrecy of strength. When a lion roars, they've already lost. They've given themselves away. That's why I like sharks. No sounds. Just an ominous presence.

I scoff internally, rememberingHayden'sidiotic remark.You're not a shark. Fucker. He doesn't even know me. He doesn't have a clue about what I can do. What I've seen. What I've experienced.

I grind my teeth.No. Don't do it. Don't let him get to you. I'm a motherfucking shark. With skin that is six inches thick. Not even a bullet can hurt me, which means a psycho-babbling, tweed-wearing, head doctor, sure as hell can't cause any damage.

Instinctively, my head snaps toward the ATM as Judge Keegan approaches, looking side to side before inserting his card. See? A shark. I flick my smoke downthe dark alley, studying Fred carefully as he withdraws six hundred dollars. My lips twist up as I scan his outfit. He's dressed...nice. Trench coat. Loafers. His watch glistens under the streetlight as he pockets the cash quickly and runs across the street.

Keeping a safe distance, I follow Fred as he slithers through the streets, keeping his head down.Oh, he is definitely up to something shady.I grin, knowing that in a matter of minutes, he won't be a thorn in my ass any longer. It's always wise to pull out a weed before it starts causing real problems. I'm just hoping that I'll rip him out at the root.

I pause at the end of the block. Fred looks over his shoulder before entering a Chinese restaurant. Huh. That's one pricey chow mein, Freddie. He disappears through the doors, and I jog up to the restaurant.

Where the fuck is he going?

"Dine in or take out?" the hostess asks as I step inside, my body instantly overheating from the stuffy air. I look around the room, scanning all the tables. Not here. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a glimpse of a brown loafer turning down the hall. "Excuse me? Miss?"

"The man that just came inside." I nod to the far side of the restaurant. "Where is he going?"

The hostess blinks, face paling. "Who?"

"Jesus." I roll my eyes, fetching my wallet from my purse. I pull out five hundred dollars and fold the bills in half before holding the cash in front of the skittish woman. "Let's try this again. Where is he going?"

The hostess presses her lips into a thin line,hesitantly looking at the wad of bills. "Password?" she finally asks. "Do you have the password?"

Password? The pieces suddenly fall into place. Oh my. I'm sorry Judge, but I seem to have uncovered your junk drawer. It's messier than I thought. How exciting.

I retrieve a few more hundreds from my open wallet. I hold the bills between two fingers and tilt my head to the side. I don't need to say anything. Words won't work here. Only money talks. And the cash in my hand is fucking screaming right now.

"This way," the hostess says, taking the money.

"Thought so," I mutter, following the short woman as she weaves us between the tables, down the hall, and through the kitchen to a back door. I wonder how long this place has been in operation. Last I heard The Dragons were in Asia. Guess they're back.

"Cricket," she says, opening the black door for me. I narrow my eyes. "If they ask, the password is cricket."

"Right," I say, nodding as she waves her hand, ushering me through the door.

"Good luck," she says before the door closes behind me.

I suck in a small breath, following the lit carpet toward a staircase. Honestly, I probably shouldn't be here right now. We've been semi-friendly with the Dragons—cards and heroin aren't really our cup of tea—but still, I pat my pocket, checking for my gun. The last thing I need is intercity drama, but it's good to be prepared.

A tall, bald man with crater-like scars on his faceglares at me from the bottom of the stairs, his posture alert, ready for battle. "You're new."

"I am," I coo, smiling coyly at the gross beast. The things I must do. "Hoping for some of that beginner's luck."

"Hmm." He eyes me warily, not giving a lot away. A fine soldier in my books. With a huff, he asks, "Password?"

"Cricket," I say innocently, biting my lip. "Did I pass...sir?"

He can't help but grin. Too easy. It's always so fucking easy. Men are simple like that. If you can't stroke their cocks, stroke their egos.