He grinned. “Isn’t it great? It’s winter chic, the newest style from Fiona Fine.”
“You look like a bad prom date.”
He arched his eyebrows, his green gaze taking in the boots, jeans, blue sweater, and black fleece jacket that I’d had on all day. “And you look like you beat up some guys earlier and forgot to wash their blood out of your jacket.” He stabbed his finger at the dime-size stains on the fleece. “I know what those dark spots really are.”
I shrugged. “It was only three guys, and they didn’t bleed all that much.”
Finn’s eyebrows rose a little higher in disbelief.
“Well, they didn’t bleed all that much on me,” I amended. “Certainly not enough for me to change jackets.”
He shook his head. “Your lack of fashion sense always confounds me. But blood-spattered jacket aside, there is another issue.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “And what would that be?”
He sniffed the air. “You still smell like barbecue from the restaurant.”
“You once told me that smelling like barbecue was a total aphrodisiac.”
“And it usually is,” Finn said. “Women and barbecue are two of my favorite things. But not when we’re going out clubbing.”
“We are not going clubbing. We’re looking for a missing girl. They are not the same thing. Not at all. Not even a little bit.”
He grinned. “You say potato . . .”
I rolled my eyes. “I know, I know. You say opportunity. Let’s go, Prom King. Owen is meeting us there. Bria has to work tonight, but she said that she’d call if she had any news.”
I shut and locked the front door behind me, then drove us over to the nightclub.
Northern Aggression was Ashland’s most decadent club, known near and far for its many hedonistic pleasures. You could get just about anything you wanted in the club—drinks, smokes, blood, sex—in just about any amount and combination, as long as you had enough cash or credit to pay your tab at the end of the night. Even though it was just after seven o’clock on a Wednesday night, dozens of people were already standing in line, waiting to get past the giant bouncers and the red velvet rope so they could go inside and get their party started.
The nightclub was located in a featureless building that looked like it could have housed a call center or some other anonymous corporate endeavor. The only thing that set the club apart from the surrounding Northtown buildings was the sign over the front door: a heart with an arrow shooting straight through it, Roslyn Phillips’s rune for her club and all the pleasure and pain that could be had inside. The sign glowed a bright neon red, then orange, and finally yellow, highlighting the eager faces of all the people milling around below.
Finn, being Finn, naturally strutted past everyone and went straight to the front of the line. Normally, I would have scoffed at his swagger and told him to wait his turn, but tonight I followed him. I wanted to get inside as quickly as possible and find out what had happened to Elissa.
Finn shook hands with first one bouncer, then the other. “Gerald, Tim, nice to see you guys again.”
The giants nodded and murmured their thanks, since Finn had just slipped each one of them a C-note to further expedite our entrance into the club. They undid the red velvet rope and let us pass, much to the muttered annoyance of everyone else still waiting in line in the cold.
I followed Finn inside, and we made our way to the main dance floor. The outside of Northern Aggression might be plain and featureless, but the inside was all luxe decadence. The dance floor was made of a springy bamboo, and thick red velvet curtains covered the walls. And most important to those partying hard, a large elemental Ice bar ran along one wall.
The bar had been updated a bit since the last time I’d been here, with the shapes of martini glasses, cherries, and other drink paraphernalia carved into the pale, glittering surface. Behind the bar, a guy mixed drink after drink, his eyes glowing a bright blue as he steadily fed his magic into the thick sheet of Ice to keep it frozen, solid, and in one piece amid the heat from all the bodies gathered around it and grooving out on the dance floor.
The music pulsed with a low, thumping beat, and Finn started shaking his ass in time to it as we pushed through the throngs of people and headed deeper into the club. A hand rose in the air, waving, and I spotted Owen standing at the far end of the bar. I waved back, put my hands against Finn’s shoulders, and steered him in that direction.
Unlike Finn, who’d dressed up, Owen had dressed down in a pair of black corduroy pants and a dark gray sweater that outlined his broad shoulders. His black hair gleamed under the flashing strobe lights, which also made his violet eyes shimmer. I wasn’t the only one who noticed him. Several women gave Owen appreciative, come-hither looks, but his gaze met mine and stayed there. I went over, wound my arms around his neck, and gave him a long, lingering kiss, marking my territory. The women in question all pouted into their drinks and drifted off in search of easier prey.
Owen looked at me, an amused smile playing across his lips. “What was that for?”
“No reason, really. Maybe because it’s Wednesday?”
“Wednesday, huh?” He leaned down and murmured in my ear. “Then you’ll have to come over later tonight, and we’ll really make it memorable. Why, Wednesday might even become my new favorite day of the week.”
His low, husky voice sent shivers down my spine, and I kissed him again. “Deal.”
Owen winked back at me, and then we both turned to the woman standing beside him.
With her short black hair, toffee eyes and skin, and perfect features, she was quite simply one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen. Supermodels would be jealous of her lush, curvy figure. Even when she was just standing at the bar and sipping a drink, she was the sort of woman who drew everyone’s eye—and envy.
Roslyn Phillips gave me a warm, welcoming smile. “Hey, Gin.”
“You look like a bad prom date.”
He arched his eyebrows, his green gaze taking in the boots, jeans, blue sweater, and black fleece jacket that I’d had on all day. “And you look like you beat up some guys earlier and forgot to wash their blood out of your jacket.” He stabbed his finger at the dime-size stains on the fleece. “I know what those dark spots really are.”
I shrugged. “It was only three guys, and they didn’t bleed all that much.”
Finn’s eyebrows rose a little higher in disbelief.
“Well, they didn’t bleed all that much on me,” I amended. “Certainly not enough for me to change jackets.”
He shook his head. “Your lack of fashion sense always confounds me. But blood-spattered jacket aside, there is another issue.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “And what would that be?”
He sniffed the air. “You still smell like barbecue from the restaurant.”
“You once told me that smelling like barbecue was a total aphrodisiac.”
“And it usually is,” Finn said. “Women and barbecue are two of my favorite things. But not when we’re going out clubbing.”
“We are not going clubbing. We’re looking for a missing girl. They are not the same thing. Not at all. Not even a little bit.”
He grinned. “You say potato . . .”
I rolled my eyes. “I know, I know. You say opportunity. Let’s go, Prom King. Owen is meeting us there. Bria has to work tonight, but she said that she’d call if she had any news.”
I shut and locked the front door behind me, then drove us over to the nightclub.
Northern Aggression was Ashland’s most decadent club, known near and far for its many hedonistic pleasures. You could get just about anything you wanted in the club—drinks, smokes, blood, sex—in just about any amount and combination, as long as you had enough cash or credit to pay your tab at the end of the night. Even though it was just after seven o’clock on a Wednesday night, dozens of people were already standing in line, waiting to get past the giant bouncers and the red velvet rope so they could go inside and get their party started.
The nightclub was located in a featureless building that looked like it could have housed a call center or some other anonymous corporate endeavor. The only thing that set the club apart from the surrounding Northtown buildings was the sign over the front door: a heart with an arrow shooting straight through it, Roslyn Phillips’s rune for her club and all the pleasure and pain that could be had inside. The sign glowed a bright neon red, then orange, and finally yellow, highlighting the eager faces of all the people milling around below.
Finn, being Finn, naturally strutted past everyone and went straight to the front of the line. Normally, I would have scoffed at his swagger and told him to wait his turn, but tonight I followed him. I wanted to get inside as quickly as possible and find out what had happened to Elissa.
Finn shook hands with first one bouncer, then the other. “Gerald, Tim, nice to see you guys again.”
The giants nodded and murmured their thanks, since Finn had just slipped each one of them a C-note to further expedite our entrance into the club. They undid the red velvet rope and let us pass, much to the muttered annoyance of everyone else still waiting in line in the cold.
I followed Finn inside, and we made our way to the main dance floor. The outside of Northern Aggression might be plain and featureless, but the inside was all luxe decadence. The dance floor was made of a springy bamboo, and thick red velvet curtains covered the walls. And most important to those partying hard, a large elemental Ice bar ran along one wall.
The bar had been updated a bit since the last time I’d been here, with the shapes of martini glasses, cherries, and other drink paraphernalia carved into the pale, glittering surface. Behind the bar, a guy mixed drink after drink, his eyes glowing a bright blue as he steadily fed his magic into the thick sheet of Ice to keep it frozen, solid, and in one piece amid the heat from all the bodies gathered around it and grooving out on the dance floor.
The music pulsed with a low, thumping beat, and Finn started shaking his ass in time to it as we pushed through the throngs of people and headed deeper into the club. A hand rose in the air, waving, and I spotted Owen standing at the far end of the bar. I waved back, put my hands against Finn’s shoulders, and steered him in that direction.
Unlike Finn, who’d dressed up, Owen had dressed down in a pair of black corduroy pants and a dark gray sweater that outlined his broad shoulders. His black hair gleamed under the flashing strobe lights, which also made his violet eyes shimmer. I wasn’t the only one who noticed him. Several women gave Owen appreciative, come-hither looks, but his gaze met mine and stayed there. I went over, wound my arms around his neck, and gave him a long, lingering kiss, marking my territory. The women in question all pouted into their drinks and drifted off in search of easier prey.
Owen looked at me, an amused smile playing across his lips. “What was that for?”
“No reason, really. Maybe because it’s Wednesday?”
“Wednesday, huh?” He leaned down and murmured in my ear. “Then you’ll have to come over later tonight, and we’ll really make it memorable. Why, Wednesday might even become my new favorite day of the week.”
His low, husky voice sent shivers down my spine, and I kissed him again. “Deal.”
Owen winked back at me, and then we both turned to the woman standing beside him.
With her short black hair, toffee eyes and skin, and perfect features, she was quite simply one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen. Supermodels would be jealous of her lush, curvy figure. Even when she was just standing at the bar and sipping a drink, she was the sort of woman who drew everyone’s eye—and envy.
Roslyn Phillips gave me a warm, welcoming smile. “Hey, Gin.”
