Chloe’s world turned to ice when she saw the dragon shifter fall to the ground. In the second before he fell, his eyes had glowed like a volcano shortly before an eruption. A thousand things flew through her head, all at once. She had failed. Dasquian didn’t tolerate anyone defying his orders. Isabelle would suffer the consequences. If Chloe only knew where the jerk had hidden her sister… At the same time, a tiny part of her was relieved that it was finally over. Nobody had ever gotten a second chance from Dasquian, and he certainly wasn’t going to start with her. After all, he had a reputation to uphold.
Chloe didn’t think it would be the money he had lost because of her that would awaken his fury. She had spent the last six months in close “cooperation” with him and had seen how his eyes shone when the opportunity presented itself to demonstrate his power. Only a born sadist had the gift of being able to expose his opponent’s weakness, so he could take advantage of it. Chloe had seen him force a woman to pour caustic liquid all over her face. She had been proud of her attractive features, with the emphasis on had been. Dasquian had insisted that she spare her eyes, just so she could look at her disfigured face in the mirror every day, over and over again. Her only sin had been to resist his advances.
She suppressed a shiver, while the spectators around her, who had bet on Coran, cheered. Only a few had bet their money on the New One winning, and that was precisely the point where she thought about Dasquian again. She grimaced when she realized how, for seemingly endless months, her world had revolved around only Shor Dasquian. The things he wanted and demanded of her; how much he enjoyed increasing his already immense fortune because of her – all of these things had dominated her life.
Now it was over.
Chloe had no choice. She had to go for broke. She had heard rumors that Dasquian had a house at the edge of the city where he kept his playmates. Isabelle was a glowing beauty, despite her drug use, and despite the fact that her dancing grace was slowly turning into something sharp and choppy. Earlier, there had been many reasons for the glow in her eyes. A small kitten that meowed sweetly had delighted Isabelle as much as the sound of a key turning in the lock. The last time Chloe had seen her sister was two weeks ago, and she was sure her eyes had been glowing for a different reason then. Stardust made its consumers fly, but the higher they flew, the more it hollowed them out. Isabelle’s beauty had become morbid and with her gaunt features, and the red splotches under her sharp cheekbones, she resembled someone who was deathly ill.
Dasquian had had Isabelle brought to the club to demonstrate his good will to Chloe, and then he had hauled her off in one of his limousines. The memory of seeing Isabelle snuggling up to the sick bastard still made Chloe nauseous. Her stomach churned, and her heart twitched restlessly in her breast. The only way to her sister was over Dasquian himself.
She didn’t notice that she was staring at the winner in the ring, until somebody bumped into her and almost knocked her over. For a second, she felt naked and unprotected under Coran’s gaze, but in the next moment, he broke their eye contact and stationed himself over his unconscious opponent’s body, broad-legged. She ducked and squeezed through the crowd towards the nearest exit. It had been hard enough to get up to the ring before, but now the swaying bodies standing in her way made a wall of flesh and blood. It wasn’t until a black-gloved hand reached for her, grabbing her by the neck, that the crows parted.
Dasquian’s security man had found her. My God, had she really, seriously thought that she would be able to escape? Dasquian had probably given the order to bring her to him the minute Coran won. It was the pitying look the man gave her, as he steered her out of the room and farther into the bowels of the planet that bothered her more than anything else. If this brawny security boss felt sorry for her, then things must really look bad for her. Her future would probably consist of thirty minutes of endless pain, each one seeming like an eternity.
Chloe gulped and tried to wriggle out of his iron grip. “Let me go,” she said, determined. The dark, tunnel-like hallway echoed her words and gave them a hollowed and surreal sound. To her surprise, Harold loosened his grip on her wrist. Once again, she noticed how absurd the old-fashioned name was for the lizard-like man. A real Harold should be slightly balding, with the beginnings of a belly. He should also have nickel glasses. This Harold had none of these. His slit-shaped eyes said he needed no assistance, and his already completely hairless scalp was smooth as an egg. To emphasize his conservative name, he dressed primarily in dark suits, including vests that looked tailor-made. Just as Dasquian indulged in only the best for himself, the same principle also applied to his “employees.”
Chloe had slowed down instinctively, and that earned her a gentle push from Harold. Gentle for him, anyway, because the pain spread from Chloe’s side all the way up to her shoulder. The farther they went, the darker and narrower the hall became. Sharp-edged stones tore her pants when she tripped and bumped up against the wall. She thought they must have been getting close to Dasquian’s command center, because the smell that always surrounded him was getting stronger with every step. It stank of mold and old blood and, for some inexplicable reason, dust, as if someone had ground up old bones and had spread them into the air.
Chloe’s heart was beating in her ears. It was the old, instinctive fear of a foreign species and it left no room for her to form a clear thought. It was the fear that lay in a human’s genes, ever since that first primate with an upright gait had wandered into a predator’s cave. Maybe she could use her fear to her advantage. Her plan was to influence Dasquian to the point that he decided to take her to Isabelle, seemingly of his own free will. Anything else just didn’t make sense, mostly because he was always surrounded by bodyguards and because it was physically impossible for Chloe. Even if Chloe could have smuggled a gun into the club, she would have been dead before she could have gotten anywhere near close enough to him. Nobody other than Dasquian himself, knew of her ability to influence others and she was going to use this to her advantage. None of his companions ever dared to question his orders, so if she could get him to drive her to Isabelle, then his men would accept that blindly.
At least she hoped they would.
****