“Sugar. In the end, I always get what I want.”

Rhemy leaned back in his chair and gave Nicki a slow smile, turning the signet ring on his finger.

Nicki owned a popular bar on Canal Street, and didn’t much like that he, well, acquired her coveted musician. She kept saying the word “stole” but one can’t steal what comes to one’s door. Granted, Rhemy had spent the better part of a year persuading Jim to switch loyalties—a gifted artist with countless fans Rhemy could turn into paying members—but the trumpet player wouldn’t have done so unless he’d wanted to.

“You’re the devil, Rhemy Carrington.” Nicki glared at him with her blue eyes, although there was a glimmer of amusement behind the fire. She enjoyed these games they played.

He tsked. “Now, now. You know it only turns me on when you call me wicked names. If I was the devil, I’d have you workin’ for me.”

She stomped her foot. “You know I can’t match what you’re paying Jim!”

“You’ve had him plenty long now. There must be a thousand trumpet players in a one-mile radius in the Big Easy. It’s time to find fresh talent. Jim is much more suited to my place than yours. Old souls and all.” He winked.

A smile started to twitch, but the fairy raised her chin and crossed her chubby arms. “Gimme something in return or I’ll have a hex put on your place.”

“Done. A crate of my own customized moonshine.”

“Three crates,” she countered.

“Fine. Six.”

That made her smile. Without a word, she spun around and left his doorway.

That’s what I thought. He smiled and turned his chair to the two-way mirror looking down at the jazz club, which sat above the gambling room that was also exclusively his in the three-story building he owned.

It was time to make his rounds.

He poured a short glass of bourbon and went down to the main floor, stopping by the surveillance room. His staff watched the gaming tables from the cameras, observing like hawks to spot which players were on a roll, who was losing, who was new, and of course, who could be cheating. Not that many had tried at his place, but there were always one or two morons who dared.

His gambling establishment couldn’t accommodate many, and he liked it like that. Some asked why he didn’t move the business to a larger venue, but he had his reasons, and one of them was keeping in mind that bigger wasn’t necessarily better. Because the space was compact, it got crowded quickly, and because it was so challenging to become a member, its limited capacity gave it an air of distinction.

He came around Hank’s back, watching the monitor for a few seconds, sipping his bourbon. “How it’s goin’ so far?”

“Not much action to note. Baker is back.”

“You’re jokin’. He lost forty grand less than a month ago.”

Hank looked up at him. “Came in with ten large.”

“Wonder what fool gave him that.” Shaking his head, Rhemy turned around to the blackjack table cameras that Johnny manned.

They watched the dealer fling out card after card. One player tapped a finger down for his card, another waved her hand to stay. The pile of chips wasn’t very high, so it appeared the house was winning so far. The players didn’t look pleased as the dealer scored a twenty-one.

Moving on, he looked over the poker game. It was early in the evening and no one was quite inebriated enough yet to give him pause to predict any problems. In any case, the real excitement wouldn’t come until nine.

He checked his watch. It was just after seven, two more hours to go.

Every month he hosted the meeting in the building next door for vampires and shifters near and far. His nerves were always a little more on edge because of it, but he rather enjoyed the continual hum of adrenaline. Each gathering invited trouble, more so now than ever with Marex Daulton at the helm of bringing the two underworld species together in some underworld kumbaya.

Eventually—inevitably—details about his “club” would trickle in the wrong ears and his world would be no more. He’d either be dead or have to start over, which was another form of death itself.

He’d already been there, done that.

“Hey, boss.”

Rhemy turned to Ernest, whose job was to watch the entrance cameras. “What is it?”

“The new chairs is here. Want me to go git ’em?”

Ordinarily he wouldn’t want his men away from the cameras, but they were short-staffed with two of his best guarding the alley for the meeting. “Sure thing. Be quick.”

Ernest shuffled out, and Rhemy took his seat.

One by one, two by two, customers shuffled through the door after being patted down by his doormen.

A trio of males came in, each of them showing the card with the signature gold emblem he’d designed himself. Subsequently, one of his regulars arrived, a human well into her seventies, who used to be companion to a vampire who’d ascended recently. It seemed Rhemy’s place had become her second home, with the practically limitless wealth she had access to.

One after another, the same faces, the usual crowd. A preference. New faces created a thread of paranoia, even though he did his best to vet his members-only jazz and gambling club, some were approved by his manager, so he didn’t know every face.

He finished his drink and sat back in the chair, linking his fingers behind his head. For a few minutes, the flow of patrons came to a stop.

How long did it take Ernest to bring a few chairs inside?

Just then, the front door swung open.

A woman. Alone.

She walked halfway through with a hesitant manner, then turned back to speak to his security guard. A hand ushered her forward and pointed to the camera.

Rhemy’s brows slanted down.

The woman stepped forward, then raised her face to the camera.

Rhemy slowly unlinked his hands and came forward, spellbound.

Hello.

A new member? A quite lovely new one, for that matter.

He leaned in, inches from the screen, memorizing her face. For a moment, it felt as though she was looking right into his eyes, too.

She plucked a card from inside her tank top and held it up.

He raised a brow. That was an all-access card, for both clubs, issued only to his highest-paying customers. How did she get one? He would’ve remembered her. She turned her head and spoke to whoever was behind her, seemingly frustrated at the length of time it was taking for her to be buzzed through.

Though he would’ve never granted entry to someone he didn’t recognize with that particular card, he let her through out of sheer intrigue, pressing the buzzer, never taking his eyes off the monitor. His gaze moved from camera to camera, arrested, as she made her way to the jazz club.

Rhemy sprung from his chair and watched her progress to the next set of surveillance cameras. He leaned over his employee’s shoulder. It didn’t appear as though she was there for the music and drinks, her gaze moving around as though she was looking for someone.

Who?

He shuffled to the next monitor, then the next, tracking her.

His employees glanced up at him with perplexed faces.

“What is it, boss?” asked Hank.

She stood out by her attire alone. A black tank top and figure-loving pants. An edgy ensemble, in contrast to her pretty, long waves of hair. Was she human, fairy, vampire? Hard to tell, even with his expensive, top-of-the-line equipment. He had to get close to know, but maybe he could find out who she was first.

He pointed. “Do you recognize her?” he asked Johnny, who was handling the cameras that faced the main bar.

Johnny shook his head. “Never seen her before.”

Hank pushed back from his station and peered at the screen. “Me either.”

Two of his other security personnel took turns to look, but both had the same answer.

Ernest returned and Rhemy grabbed his shoulder before he could slip by. Ernest had a gift for faces, hence why he was in charge of the entrance. If she’d been here before, he’d know. Rhemy pointed. “Who is she, Ern?”

The man’s puffy eyes squinted as he stared. “Uh...” He closed his lips, let the air fill his cheeks, then shook his head. “Don’t know who she is. Sure is pretty, though.”

He let the man get back to his job, a smile tugging the corner of his mouth.

Looked like he’d have to find out the old-fashioned way.

More than one set of eyes glanced her way as Taelour walked around the club with no sign.

She was early. No doubt Calvin Porter would make her wait.

Feeling more comfortable isolated from the crowd, she found an empty seat in a corner and sat.

So this is what one of those red cards gets you. A sexy, low-lit, if not pretentious bar filled with mostly underworld patrons, models serving blood-tinged cocktails, and jazz players who’d probably sold their souls for their talent. Literally.

A waitress with a neckline down to her navel came over and smiled at her, placing a napkin on the table, followed by a drink. “Compliments of Rhemy.”

Taelour leaned in. “Compliments of who?”

The server straightened with an arched brow. “Rhemy Carrington. He owns the club, girl.”

And? Taelour gave no response. Once again, the server appeared like she wanted to burst into laughter. “He’s invited you to join him upstairs.” She gestured upward to the balconies.

Taelour looked up, seeing no one. Didn’t matter. She’d heard of him. A fateblood who used to be a big-shot owner of a hotel in Biloxi before he got caught up in the mob and was branded an immortal forsaken. So what if he invited her to be a VIP? He was probably some egotistical porker who aimed to surround himself with women to make him look good.

Pass.

“That’s nice of him, but I’m here to meet somebody.” She raised the glass in a salute and took a sip. Mmm. Top-shelf vodka with the glass rimmed in blood, not the basic stuff she’d ordered.

“Do you know who and what you’re turning down?” Clearly the waitress hadn’t expected her to say no.

Taelour knew, had done her research. This place’s VIP was decadent to the extreme.

Nevertheless, she wasn’t there to play. Nothing could distract her from her goal tonight.

Nothing.

A niggling started at the base of her skull, drawing her attention upward. She slowly lifted her gaze, sensing she was being watched. A man stepped out of the shadows and rested his hands on the balcony rail, a gold ring on his forefinger reflected in the stage lights. A flood of heat burned her cheeks down to her toes. They curled in response.

Though he too was far away for her to make out the details of his face, his stare burned straight through her. The cut of his cheeks and jaw were a little too sharp for her taste. His dark hair too neatly styled. His build too…average, wrapped in a form-fitting vest and a shirt with the sleeves rolled up, like some kind of librarian.

Yeah, not her type. She liked men with big muscles, shaved heads, and some rough edges. His gaze, though… His eyes were hidden under the hood of his brow, and yet, searing. She feared if she didn’t break eye contact soon her clothes would disintegrate right off her body.

Without asking, she knew that was Rhemy Carrington, and he was no porker.

The waitress repeated her bafflement. “You sure, honey?”

More than sure now. “Yes,” Taelour said a little too breathlessly to be taken all that seriously.

The look on the waitress’s face could’ve been interpreted that she thought Taelour was crazy. She walked off, shaking her head.

Taelour refused to look up again.

Where the hell was Calvin Porter? Late was what he was. She looked around the bar for the hundredth time, even though she knew he hadn’t arrived, because whenever he walked in the room, he made sure everyone knew it.

He reminded her of a used car salesman from ’80s TV ads. Flashy, deceivingly smiley, and slick as a snake with a cheesy wardrobe. The girl who told Taelour about him warned he would sell his own mother if it made him money, though Taelour came to the conclusion he was mostly harmless. Just listening to his voice got on her nerves, but he’d said he could help her, and she forced herself to get over how revolting he could be in order to get it.

A way into the Centurias.

The most popular, over-the-top, heavily guarded vampire gathering held once a century.

While most would be attending to party, hook up, and handle their alliances, she had a very different agenda altogether.

She said no?

Twice?

As the server walked away after having delivered the shocking news, Rhemy frowned, hands on hips.

Okay. So that was…irregular. Apparently the invitation to the VIP area didn’t appeal to the mysterious woman whatsoever, which was baffling since it was basically a vampire’s paradise. Only the crème de la crème mingled up there, the beautiful vampires and vampiresses of New Orleans with connections and influence. The ones who didn’t turn their noses down at him. In addition, there were willing, healthy humans on standby who offered their necks or wrists for feeding, their blood guaranteed to be void of prescription and recreational drugs. Unlimited drinks, food, and the best views in the place, too. His best customers paid hundreds of thousands a year to maintain this membership.

And she’d declined?

The server had confirmed she was there to meet someone and thank-you-but-no to everything else. Well, he wasn’t giving up. He was determined to meet her, find out just how she attained one of his VIP cards, and why she was there, especially if it wasn’t to enjoy the best his club had to offer.

He made his way down the spiral iron steps. His regulars were delighted and surprised to see him—he usually spent Friday nights in the gambling room—but he wouldn’t let anyone delay him. The band went on break and tried to call him over. He lifted a hand as he walked by. Weaving through bodies, he searched, arriving at the seat where he’d spotted her from above, currently unoccupied, her cocktail glass empty.

Damn it. Had she left?

“You’re looking for me, aren’t you?”

A rush of pleasure flung up his spine at the sound of the woman’s voice. He tampered down a grin as he turned around, looking her up and down. Yes. Her. “You know I am.”

On a colorless monitor, at a distance, she was attractive. Up close? A whole other tempting kind of peach. An exotic peach with olive skin, medium brown hair, and eyes that were light gray, almost violet. Not Creole, but a mixed heritage for sure. Her scent filled his nose and his brain. A vampiress, too. An unavowed one.

She crossed her arms at his open perusal. “Look. Like I told your waitress, thanks, but I’m not interested. I’m here to meet someone, not be your arm candy for the night.”

“Then why are you talkin’ to me right now?”

“Because I know your type. You won’t give up when you want something. Am I right?”

He assented with a lazy half-shrug. “Well—”

“Men like you can’t stand rejection. It’s a challenge. A game.” Her hand went her to chest as if she sympathized. “I get it. I have four brothers who are just like that. So that’s why I can see it coming a mile away, Ronnie.”

Did she do that on purpose? “Rhemy,” he corrected.

“That’s what I meant. Let me just give you a little validation so we both can move on with our night.”

“Validation?” he frowned, despite the fact he wanted to chuckle.

“Here it is. You’re hot. Okay? I’ll admit you’re hotter than homemade sin and obviously successful with what you’ve got going on in here. Your southern drawl is on point, and you are seriously popular with the ladies, because every single one of them you’ve passed looks like they’d give up their right eye for a night with you. You’ve got good taste in clothes, even though you wear them a little too tight, but you carry yourself well. Bravo.” She clapped her hands. “And maybe I’m insane to turn down your company, but you’ll get over it. There. There’s your validation. Thank you for the drink. Leave me alone.” She brushed past him.

Rhemy stared after her. Dumbstruck. His brows drew together as he watched—shit, still didn’t get her name. “Well, damn me...”

He’d evoked his sensa toward her with vigor, yet she didn’t take it in at all. Usually vampiresses who were attracted to him were demure and flirtatious. Even when they liked the chase and played hard to get, he still knew they wanted him. While she apparently thought her little speech would send him off, unfortunately for her it had the opposite effect.

He wanted her. He wanted to open her wide, sink deep inside her, and wrapped those legs around him. He wanted her on her knees, those sassy, full lips on his cock, her grayish-violet eyes looking up at him.

Something inside him would not let that be the last interaction they had.

Obviously she didn’t want him interfering on her date, or whatever it was, but she was in his house, and would have to deal with some interference. An instinct told him to be cautious. As ravenous as his lust was becoming, he couldn’t allow his cock to lead the way.

He frowned. She could be a spy, some undercover UCC snitch out to run recon on his business, or the shief-vampire meeting.

The vampiress disappeared in the powder room and shut the door.

Suspicion creeping through his mind, he leveled his gaze and walked toward it.

I’m not done with you yet.