Page 89 of City of Salvation
“Decapitation is a bitch. Impalement is basically the same as punching someone. Harmless fun, really,” Kenji said with a shrug. I studied his profile, waiting for him to break character, but he never did. He was being serious.
When Caleb reverted his attention back to whatever Scar was going on about, I held out my fist for my new friend to bump.
“Some don’t understand,” I whispered.
“We’re all pretty fucking crazy, but Caleb likes to pretend he’s got a better handle on the bloodlust. I like to wear mine on the outside.” The smile Kenji flashed me was chilling.
Yup, I like this fucker.
Someone cleared their throat, and Kenji and I looked up to find an irritated Scar staring at us, her hand propped on her hip, a manicured brow arched. “If you two are done jerking each other off, pay fucking attention. We only have a few short hours to figure out as much shit as possible, so we don’t show up looking dumb as fuck. We don’t know the circumstances surrounding why she went to see him, only that several hours ago, Nikki landed in New York in disguise and thenchoseto go to Andrei’s section of the city before texting Ryan about meeting at his club. All of us,” she said, eyeing Kenji with what looked like irritation and lust.
Both Niko’s and Caleb’s hands were hidden from sight, and I couldn’t help but wonder if they were both touching her at that moment.
“Yes, ma’am,” Kenji responded, throwing her a mock solute that made her roll her eyes, but I caught the way the corner of her mouth turned up.
I grunted as Kenji rammed an elbow into my ribs. “Ever meet a woman you wanna let step on your fucking throat while you thank her? Because that’s her for me,” he said, infatuation coating his words.
The psycho was definitely in love.
A ball of emotion tightened painfully, lodging itself in my throat, my teeth aching under the pressure of my clench. “Yeah. I know what that’s like, but she stepped on my fuckin’ heart instead,” I responded, looking forward, trying to breathe through the turmoil running through my veins. “And now,I’m going to walk into a fucking club owned by the man she ran off to.”
“Well, fuck,” he whispered.
Well, fuck was right.
CHAPTER 37
DEX
GUNNER IS NOW A RELATIONSHIP GURU, AND WE LOVE THAT
“Of course thefucker’s place looks like this,” I mumbled as we pushed through the solid steel door of a building that looked like it was once a theater.
Andrei’s club was a cross between a rock concert and an avant-garde runway show. The dark walls were covered in concert posters and graffiti murals, while gilded chandeliers cast dim lighting over the space. The old concessions area had been converted into a bar that was covered in stickers, with rows of colorful bottles on mirrored shelves. On the stage was a band performing as people leaped off it, crowd surfing.
“Does he have fucking pyrotechnics going off?” I asked, pissed off that I thought the place was cool.
“Europunk,” Niko whispered in my ear. “That’s what this style is called. Andrei loves all the post-Soviet Union anarchy aesthetics. Hence the name.” He pointed out a giant neon light that had the nameAnarchyilluminated in blue. The whole club was swathed in blue and green lights, and everyone who worked there looked more like rock stars than bartenders.
The woman leading us up the stairs to the VIP had on leather pants and a tank top that barely covered the bottom of her tits—in fact, I was pretty sure the underboob wasthe goal. Two sparkly ‘X ’ pasties peeked out every time she moved her arms, and her hair was bright green, placed up in two buns on top of her head.
I’d have thought I would stick out like a sore thumb with my white shirt and Air Force Ones. Turned out Europunk was more about thefuck youattitude.
If I didn’t already hate the guy, I might have liked the club.
“Please, sit. Andrei will be with you shortly,” the girl said before moving behind a bar that was tucked into the corner.
The VIP section was up in the private balconies. This one looked out over the concert. The rows of seating had all been removed and replaced with tables and velvet booths that looked more like beds, with pillows and fur pelts strewn across them.
Kenji plopped down on one of them, stretching his arm across the back. He looked right at home with his mesh tank top and black Dickies. Everyone had dressed to blend in, actually. Caleb stuck out the most in his suit, but he’d forgone a tie, and his tattooed hands and scowl helped. The fucker was downright dangerous- looking, so he was sticking out regardless—that and the fact that up until recently, he’d been a pretty sought-after bachelor in New York.
“Why the fuck did we think we’d blend in?” I asked, taking a spot next to Kenji, careful to keep my back to the balcony so I could watch the only entrance. “We’re an intimidating bunch of fuckers.”
“And hot,” Kenji added, getting exasperated headshakes from Niko and Caleb. “Fine, fuckers. I’m hot,” he corrected, leaning forward and snatching Scar’s arm.
He hauled her into his lap and buried his face into the crook of her neck, causing her to let out a little squeal. She was different around him, and it was clear that each of these men fulfilled a different part of her.
“So is this fine piece of ass,” he said, capturing her mouth.