Touched by Fire (Demons of New Chicago #1) - Kel Carpenter Page 0,26

took up most of the space. The lights were so low I could only make out bodies, but not who they were or what they were doing.

“She tortured him growing up, and their parents did nothing,” Nathalie muttered back.

Ouch. Witches and warlocks really were some of the worst of the lot as far as supernaturals went. I had a feeling, based on his features, the kid was a by-product of adultery, likely the mother.

“I don’t want your pity,” Barry said, without looking at me. That fae hearing of his must come in handy.

“You don’t have it,” I replied.

He regarded me coolly before nodding once. “I don’t particularly care what you do about my sister as long as she doesn’t know I helped you.”

“You won’t have to worry about that when I’m done.”

His yellow eyes blinked, then he nodded.

“Follow this around the left side to the last door on the right. She’ll be in there.”

With that, Barry turned and kissed Nathalie on the cheek.

“Thanks, Barry,” she whispered softly.

“Be safe, Nat.” He glanced sideways at me, and Nathalie gave him a tight smile.

I started down the carpeted walkway that hugged the glass railing overlooking the club.

“Don’t take it personal—” Nathalie started, walking fast to keep up with my longer gait. I didn’t slow down.

“I don’t,” I replied. “He’d be an idiot to trust me.”

She snorted. “You know for someone that needs help, you sure like reminding me that you could turn on me.”

“Need is a bit of a stretch here,” I said as we approached the door.

“You’re not keeping me around for my charming personality or badass magic,” she deadpanned.

I almost grinned at that, but we were at the door.

I pulled a pistol from my holster. One that had a silencer on it. Thankfully, this being a supe club, there were no cameras to speak of, and the darkness provided me with a natural cloak. And unless anyone here was looking too closely—they’d never know anyone entered or left the room.

Just the way I liked it.

“So how do we do this—” Nathalie started. I grabbed the handle and flung the door open. The heavy scent of magic pulled at me, trying to calm the violence in my blood, but there was something else in the air as well. A faint smoke drifted over me, filling me with warmth. My core tightened. I grit my teeth.

Motherfucking witches.

God, I hated magic.

I took a step forward, and Nathalie muttered, “Alright, guess we’re doing it this way.”

Ignoring her, I followed the scent of smoke around the corner. It opened up into a larger bedroom. A single king-sized bed took up most of the space.

In it, the witch I presumed to be Greta McArthur wore lingerie and was busy being pleasured by three different men.

None of them had yet to notice me, despite the intrusion. The sounds of the club filtered through, but they were faint. Someone without my greater hearing likely wouldn’t hear them at all. Which brought up the question of how they’d yet to notice when the door opened.

I had a feeling the decorative gravity bong filling the room with a moderate aphrodisiac had a lot to do with it.

“I’m assuming you can’t bind them,” I said under my breath.

“Uh, I wouldn’t rely on it if I were you.”

I sighed.

This job was going to get fucking messy and fast. I didn’t believe in any gods, but I might need to start after I was done.

Lifting the pistol, I fired off two quick shots.

The man sitting behind her whose chest she braced against went limp as his head exploded in an impersonation of a Jackson Pollock painting. She didn’t even have time to react before the one eating her out also lost his head. The back part of his skull decorated her naked abdomen, and his body went limp.

“Holy shit,” Nathalie murmured in quiet awe—or fear—frankly, I wasn’t sure which.

The third man who was sucking her breast turned as blood splattered his cheek.

I fired a third shot, right between the eyes, and he dropped dead.

“Hello, Greta.”

She opened and closed her mouth. I had to give it to her, I was surprised she didn’t scream. More battle-hardened criminals than her had buckled under the initial shock of meeting me. My brand of acquiring information was far less appealing than Nathalie’s.

Her throat bobbed. I couldn’t make out her eye color in the low light, as her dilated pupils expanded.

Then at once, she recovered from her shock. She lunged to the side, starting a quick curse under her