Only to discover Moss and Merle waiting in the shadows, both of them armed. I wouldn't have gotten past cocking the weapon, let alone firing a shot. They would have splattered me across the walls, not the other way around.
I stopped. The elevator doors closed and darkness settled in. I didn't bother switching to infrared. Moss's and Merle's inherent corruption stung the air, and though their scents paled compared to the man in front of us, the smell of them was still so thick and foul it quickly seemed to clog my throat. I certainly didn't need to see them to know where they were.
The doors to the second elevator swished open. Starr stepped inside and we followed. It wasn't a tight squeeze and yet, as the doors slid closed again, panic surged. Suddenly I felt caged. Trapped.
Sweat began to trickle down my forehead. I licked my lips and tried to get a grip. I'd been in far worse situations—though right now, I was hard pressed to think of one of them.
I glanced around. Met Merle's gaze, and saw the heat there. Iktar was right—Merle hadn't yet finished with me. I wasn't sure whether to be happy or sad about that, though he was definitely the safer option of the two hetero men. The vibes I was picking up from Moss suggested anger—deep anger—over the events of the previous night.
I swiped at the moisture running down my hairline and silently prayed Starr would either open the second door or get this elevator moving.
He did the former rather than the latter, and as the metal doors swished open, I got my first glimpse of the room beyond. It was like stepping back into time and coming out in the Middle Ages, in one of those vast, lush banquet halls so often seen in movies. A large wooden table, complete with rough hewn, high backed wooden chairs, dominated the far end, and behind that, lush wall hangings that depicted images of beauty and brutality. The rest of the concrete walls were brown, painted so that they resembled wood planking. A small arena of sorts lay in the middle of the room, though its base was rushes rather than the sand of the bigger arena upstairs. Scattered cushions and heavily padded benches were strewn haphazardly around the rest of the room. Heavy metal sconces lined the painted walls, these so laden with wax it was easy to believe centuries of candlesticks might have burned there. The candles were the only source of light, and the flickering amber glow added to the brooding, old style atmosphere.
It should have been inviting, if perhaps a little mysterious, but it was neither. The smell of death rode the air and, as my gaze skirted the room, the faces of those who had died here seemed to step out of the shadows, filling me with their despair, their anger.
I stumbled under the weight of it, and would have fallen if Merle hadn't grabbed my arm. The sick heat of him ran across my skin, overrunning all other sensation. When I looked up, the wraiths had gone. Maybe they were never there. Maybe it was just my imagination, my fear.
Maybe.
I swallowed heavily and wrenched my arm from Merle's grasp. He chuckled, a heavy sound that itched at my skin. "You won't be pulling away like that later. You'll be begging."
"Yeah, that you've somehow learned some technique overnight." The words were out before I could stop them, and Merle's face darkened. Even more so when Moss chuckled softly.
"The wolf has spunk," he said. "Perhaps I might have to steal her back. Sounds as if she'd appreciate a man with a little more style."
"What I have claimed you cannot have," Merle growled. "You had your opportunity. You were too busy looking for new talent in the recruits."
Moss's face went red, and little veins began to stand out in his forehead. "I am not the ass-lover amongst us—"
"No," Starr interrupted calmly, "I am. And if you two can't shut up, kindly remember that I am not overly fussy about my partners being willing and that I am more than ready to try someone I have until now considered off-limits."
As threats went, it was pretty darn efficient. The two men continued to scowl at each other, but otherwise fell silent. But they'd obviously been around Starr a long time, and would have had plenty of firsthand experience about how ugly he could get. And how far he would go.
Starr walked across to the table and took the middle seat. Moss headed left, while Merle motioned me to the right. Lucky me got to sit between death and his right-hand man. Not a place someone with a stomach as fragile as mine was feeling right now should really be.
As I pulled the chair up closer to the table, I looked up at the ceiling then around the walls again. There were no monitors to be seen, but there were guards hiding in the shadows. Surprisingly, there weren't Iktar's kin, but gray things with scaly skin and human extremities. They were armed—candlelight flickered across the barrels of the guns they held inhumanly still.
And they were watching me with that same unnerving stillness. One wrong move, one nod from Starr, and I was one splattered puppy, of that I had no doubt.
Starr clapped his hands, the sudden sound making me jump. Well-built men wearing skimpy thongs and little else appeared, all carrying either wine or food. It was a decadence I would normally have enjoyed, except for the fact Starr was so close. He watched them appreciatively for several seconds, then turned in his seat so he could look at me. And he wasn't looking at me appreciatively—far from it.
A chill ran down my spine. This man suspected I was not who I was pretending to be, and I had no idea why.
"So tell me a little more about yourself."
I shrugged, wishing like hell I had a coffee to hang on to, and yet at the same time, glad I didn't. My hands were trembling so much I probably would have scalded myself. "I'm sure you've read my file."
"I have, but it's all dry details. I'm sure there is more to you than that."
"And I assure you, there's not." I shoved my hands under my knees and let my gaze drift to the nearest waiter. I just couldn't look at Starr for very long without my stomach turning at the vileness of his aura. At the deadness in his eyes. "The life of a thief is not very exciting."
"These people you stole the jewelry off—Jamieson was their name, wasn't it?"
I shrugged again, and did my best to ignore the sick trembling in my limbs. Sitting on my hands helped them, but it didn't do much for the rest of me. "I have no idea. I don't study the people before a job. I just study the house."
"And the jewels? Who was your fence?"
Fucked if I knew. If it had been in the files, then I'd managed to skip that section of it. I glanced at him briefly. "Who said I've fenced them yet? Maybe they're a little too hot right now."
He grinned. He had an awful lot of teeth, many of them pointy. And not just the canines. "A nice safe answer."
"The truth always is." I thanked a dark skinned man as he placed a platter of meats and bread in front of me. His gaze met mine, and the warm brown depths were haunted. This man might not be physically dead, but deep down where it really counted, only ice existed. Everything else had been ripped away by the perversity of the man beside me.
I blinked at the sudden insight, and had to clench my hands against the urge to reach out and touch him—reassure him—either physically or psychically. There was nothing I could do tor this man, nothing I could do for the others in this room. Nothing other than destroy the foul thing who had ripped away their self-respect. Their humanity.
"But how do I know you are telling the truth?" Starr said.
My nerves were so bad I jumped at the sudden sound of his voice.
"You don't." I reached forward and plucked a slice of beef from the platter. "I don't have the jewels with me, so there is no way I can prove anything right now."
The beef was butter-tender, but it tasted as dry as sawdust. I swallowed with some difficulty, and reached for a glass of wine to wash the taste away.