Monday,

Seven p.m.

The club was its usual busy self when Cad and Phair arrived. Men in tuxedos gathered around tables draped in pristine cloth, scantily-clad women sitting on their laps, chirping with fake giggles at their terrible jokes while hiding their disgust at the constant odour of cigars and inebriated-man stink.

The shifters advanced through the main room as they’d done many times by now. They were already making their way down the hall, the door to the Blue Room in their sights, when Barton stepped out of his office and called out to them.

“Gentlemen!” he bellowed, holding his arms out in a gesture of welcome. “Come talk to me for a moment.”

As they moved towards him, Cad eyed his office door, assessing its locking mechanism. The good news was that it looked as though Barton didn’t use anything more than a deadbolt to lock it.

Perfect.

“How are things, Mr. Barton?” Phair asked politely, though he probably wasn’t entirely successful at masking his disdain.

“I’m fine,” Barton replied, “but I’m afraid I have to tell you that your little friend is indisposed this evening.”

“Excuse me?” said Cad. “What does that mean, exactly?” It was possible that he wasn’t lying; the after-effects of the Ritual might have taken a toll on Mir. It wasn’t uncommon for humans to develop flu-like symptoms for a time after the rite had taken place.

“She was feeling unwell this afternoon,” Barton replied, “so I sent her to bed. Some sort of mild cold, I suppose. At any rate, she won’t be able to see you for your usual tryst this evening, I’m afraid.”

Tryst, thought Cad. If he knew what an understatement that was to describe what they’d experienced together. He and Phair exchanged a quick glance that communicated everything they were feeling: disappointment, frustration, a sense of failure. How the bloody hell were they going to get into Barton’s office if they had no excuse to even be in the building?

“You look disappointed,” Barton said in a mock-sympathetic tone. “But listen, I would be honoured if you two would join me in a game of poker. Two of our usual players have dropped out at the last second—I suppose they have the same ailment as Miranda—so we could really use you.”

Cad made every effort not to narrow his eyes suspiciously. Something about this strangely amicable offer didn’t feel right.

Did Barton know what they were up to, somehow?

The one thing he was sure of was that Mir hadn’t betrayed them. She was their mate now. There was no way she’d put them in danger. So if he knew, it was through some other means.

“We’re not really poker players,” he said. “I’m afraid we’d lose all our money to you.”

“Better and better,” Barton replied. “I love money.”

“I think it’s a great idea,” said Phair, raising his eyebrows towards Cad as though to say Come on, mate, this is our only damned chance. “Where’s the game?”

“The Red Room. It’s in a wing I don’t believe you two have seen before. Ivan will be only too happy to guide you there in a few minutes. Meanwhile please, help yourselves to a drink.” Barton gestured towards the main room, and the men had little choice but to head back.

“What the hell was that?” asked Cad under his breath as they walked. “We’re going to play poker with that rat bastard? Seriously?”

“It was either that or leave for the night,” Phair hissed out the side of his mouth. “If we leave, it’s another week before the next game. We need to break into the office while Barton’s occupied. There’s no way I’m letting Mir or Bry stay in this place another week, much less the other women the wanker holds captive.”

“I just don’t see how this will work. Even if we do stick around to play cards, we can’t exactly pop into his office, can we? So we’ll lose money and fail at our job.”

Phair smiled as he pulled up to the bar. “You said you need three minutes with Barton’s computer,” he said quietly. “Take a break in the middle of the game. You know, because you’re losing. Go for a little stroll. I’ll keep them occupied—it’ll be the perfect opportunity to get what we need.”

Cad threw himself onto a tall stool and stared ahead pensively. “Not the worst idea in the world, I suppose.” He signalled the bartender over. “Two beers, please,” he said, turning to Phair. “Something else doesn’t seem quite right. Do you think he was lying about Mir?”

“Absolutely.”

“So where is she?”

“I don’t know. What I do know is that she has a mobile, and so do I.” He reached into his pocket and extracted a phone. After he’d unlocked it with his thumb print, Phair typed in a quick message.

“Clever fellow,” said Cad. “You know, you’re not nearly as stupid as you look.”

“And you are far more stupid than you look,” Phair said, laying the phone down.

A few seconds later a reply came in.

“I don’t either,” said Cad. “Can you text her back and ask if she’s all right?”

Phair did as he asked, and another reply came in.

Phair dictated his response to Cad as he typed it. “Good. Listen, we’ll have to go through with the plan tonight, but it will be slightly altered. Keep the phone close and don’t let anyone see it. Make sure to keep it in low battery mode in case you need it in a few hours.”

A few seconds later, Mir responded:

* * *

At seven twenty-five, after each of the shifters had enjoyed a couple of drinks on the house, Ivan sidled up next to them, placing a hand on the bar.

“Mr. Barton asked me to escort you to the Red Room,” he said, his tone stoic.

“Of course he did,” Cad replied, rising to his feet to hulk over the much smaller man. “Please, by all means show us the way.”

Ivan winced, then seemed to relax a little. Apparently he’d decided the shifter wasn’t going to bite his face off just now. “Come with me,” he said, before leading them through a door concealed under a tapestry at the far side of the room, which led to a corridor that neither of them had seen before.

At the end of the hallway was a chamber that looked very much like the Blue Room, only, true to its name, its walls and furnishings were dark, rich red.

The colour of fresh blood.

“Interesting place you have here,” said Cad as they approached an antique table that was set up towards the back of the space. Barton was seated in an elegant chair of crimson velvet, as was the stranger to his right.

“Oh, you know. It’s home,” he replied, gesturing to the chains and other sexual paraphernalia on the walls. “I like to think of it as cozy.”

The man seated at the table looked about the same age as Barton, maybe fifty or so. He was balding, thin, unremarkable in every way, except that he exuded wealth and privilege from every pore. He eyed the shifters with fascination as they approached, no doubt lamenting the fact that wealth couldn’t buy genes like theirs.

“This is Mr. Evans,” Barton said. “Evans, I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Cadman and Mr. Fairfax.”

“I hope you’ll forgive me,” the man said as he rose to his feet and extended a hand, “but it was I who asked Barton if you two could join us tonight. I’ve always wanted to meet a shifter, and given that we have two here at the club, I thought it might be interesting to spend some time with you.”

So that was why Barton had kept Mir away from them. He was sucking up to another wealthy client.

Somehow, it made Cad feel better to know the boss’s motives were relatively pure. At least he wasn’t being malicious.

Probably.

“Well, mate, we’re looking forward to getting to know you, too,” said Cad, smacking Evans on the back so hard that the man nearly dropped the glass he was holding in his right hand. “So, you really wanted to play poker with us. You should know that we’re not very good. Then again, you do know that many shifters have powers of Sight, don’t you? Some of us can read the future, not to mention minds.”

Evans let out a chuckle. “I didn’t know that, actually. It looks like I may lose a significant amount of money tonight. Ah, well. It’ll be worth it for the opportunity to hang about with such interesting…specimens.”

Specimens. He was talking about them like they both belonged in petri dishes. No doubt he was contemplating skinning them and turning them into rugs for his study.

Cad and Phair threw one another a quick look, but neither shifter bothered to mention that they didn’t actually have Sight. It would be far more fun to lead Evans to believe they could take his money from him at any given moment.

The men seated themselves at the table, and Ivan began to shuffle a deck of cards. He eyed the shifters nervously, as though he was half expecting a set of jaws to clamp down on his wrist. It seemed the security guard had never quite gotten over their first encounter.

“Texas Hold ‘Em?” said Barton as Ivan dealt each man a hand.

“Sounds good,” said Phair.

“Ten thousand all right to begin?” asked Barton.

“Pounds?” asked Phair, “or cents?”

Barton laughed. “Pounds, of course. Too rich for your shifter blood?”

“Not at all, my good man,” Cad said. “What’s the fun in a game if we don’t lose our shirts?”

“I hadn’t realized this was strip poker,” Phair replied. “That will make the evening far more interesting.”

When everyone had had a good laugh, each man was given a pile of chips to play with, valued anywhere from one hundred to five thousand pounds. Cad could tell by Barton’s happy demeanour that the man had no intention or expectation of losing.

They played a few hands, of which Barton cleaned up two, Phair one, Evans one. The liquor flowed freely, the shifters taking advantage of the fact that alcohol had little to no effect on their own bloodstreams.

Cad played poorly on purpose, handily losing each round until nine p.m., when he held his hands up. “Listen,” he said, “I’d like to sit out for a round. As you can tell by the fact that I’m depleting my wealth rapidly, I’m not so good at this. So with your permission,” he added, looking at Barton, “I wouldn’t mind stretching my legs and getting a breath of fresh air. Ivan, why don’t you take over my seat for a few minutes?”

“Oh, no. I don’t play,” the guard replied.

“You do now,” said Cad, standing up. “Come on, you can’t be any worse than I am.”

“That’s for damned sure,” grumbled Phair. “You really do give our kind a bad name, Cadman.”

“Apologies,” said Cad, bowing to his companions.

Ivan looked at Barton and raised his eyebrows, looking for permission.

“Sure, why not?” said Barton. “I’ll be just as happy gaining your riches as Cad’s. I can win back all the money I’ve paid you over the last year.” He let out a chuckle and slapped Ivan on the shoulder.

“Oh, I wouldn’t want that, Ivan. You can use my chips,” Cad said. “Until I’m back, at least.” He threw Phair a sly look. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”

“Take your time,” Barton said, shoving a cigar between his teeth. “Something tells me we’ll be enjoying ourselves quite a lot.”