Dark Carousel (Dark #30) - Christine Feehan Page 0,3

makeup and looked like a runway model. “Seriously? We’re really getting bad here, Vi. We both know we look good and we came here hoping for a little fun.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Charlie,” Genevieve protested haughtily. “I look like this all the time. Waking up, I look like this.”

Charlotte blew her a kiss. “Truthfully, you do look like that when you wake up. It makes me sick.”

“Uh-oh, here they come. They’re bringing drinks. Vince and his friend Bruce at your nine o’clock. They’re carrying one for their friend Daniel as well,” Genevieve lowered her voice until Charlotte could barely make out what she was saying over the music.

Both women plastered on smiles as the two men toed chairs around and sat at their table without asking.

“I know you must have missed us,” Bruce Van Hues said. “So we came bearing gifts.” He put the drinks down in front of them, flashing them smiles as if that would convince them he was merely joking.

“Pined away,” Charlotte said. “Could hardly breathe without you.”

Vince laughed, nudging Genevieve playfully with his shoulder before pulling his chair very close to hers, making a show of claiming her. Charlotte saw Genevieve’s eyes darken from her normal vivid emerald green to a much deeper forest green, like moss after a rain. That was always, always a bad sign with her best friend. Genevieve had a bit of a temper. She flashed hot and wild, but it never lasted long. Charlotte, however, could hold a mean grudge. She wasn’t happy about it, but if she was honest, she could. For a long time.

Charlotte knew Vince was genuinely attracted to Genevieve. Most men were. She was gorgeous. But she was fairly certain the three men had followed them to the club. They hadn’t just picked them out of the crowd of women. Four stories’ worth of women. Many were beautiful, and most were hungry, looking to take someone home. Genevieve and Charlotte had made it clear several times to the trio of men that they weren’t there for casual hookups. That hadn’t deterred them in the least.

Daniel sauntered over, pulled out the chair beside Charlotte’s and dropped into it. “I think I’ve done my duty for the night.” He picked up the drink in front of Charlotte, grinned at her and took a sip. “You haven’t done yours, though, woman. You’ve hardly danced at all. Think of all the disappointment that’s caused so many men.”

Charlotte shook her head, flashing a small smile at him. He really thought he was charming. He pushed the drink toward her and deliberately she wrapped her fingers around the glass, her fingers automatically finding the exact spots where his fingers had touched as she lifted it to her mouth and tipped some of the contents down her throat. The jolt hit her like it always did when she opened herself up to a psychic connection. Her mind tunneled and she found herself in the void, looking at the fresh memories of the men who had touched the glass before her.

The bartender first. His touch was imprinted there. He was worried about his mother and didn’t like his father. He wanted a raise and was very tired of drunken women coming on to him. He wished he could come out openly and declare he preferred men, but his father had made it clear if he did so, it would ruin his family and he would be disowned. The bartender wished he had the guts to tell his father to go to hell, and just walk away from his family instead of living a lie.

Charlotte felt bad for the man and risked a quick look in the direction of the bar. There were too many bodies dancing to the music for her to see the actual bar, and she knew she was putting off the inevitable—allowing herself to read Daniel’s memories. Quick flashes of horror movies pushed at her vision. A stake driven into a man’s chest. Blood erupting, spraying like a fountain. The victim’s eyes wide-open, revealing shock and terrible suffering. Daniel swinging a hammer to drive the stake deep. Voices urging him on. Distaste for the task but determination.

Charlotte gasped and let go of the glass, leaping up, knocking her chair over in the process as she backed away from the table. Not a horror movie. Reality. She couldn’t breathe for a moment, couldn’t catch a breath. There was no air in the room. He had done that. Killed a human