“Beijo de Satanás?” Greyson crossed his arms over his chest. “Satan’s Kiss.”
“Well, that’s a fucking hell of a name,” Rafe commented.
“Perhaps we should take it at face value,” Greyson suggested.
“It’s a sign from the Goddess. It means stay the fuck out,” Rafe joked.
“We’ve got to go in,” Waverly said, her voice strong. “We’ve got to end this. One way or another, Adam will come for me again. The more we know, the better we can fight.”
Viktor smiled down at her, impressed with her determination. While most humans didn’t quite understand the level of risk, she’d seen first-hand what monsters lie within, yet she wanted to fight harder, smarter.
“Keep her covered.” Viktor nodded to Greyson. “Anything could go down. We get in, we get out.”
Viktor shoved the bar door open, keeping Waverly at his side. The scent of blood and sex mixed with the stench of stale cigar smoke lingered in the air. Viktor brushed past the host podium, noting the absence of the maître d’. He ignored the hum of whispers and headed to a clearing at the bar.
Viktor approached the bartender, who wore a smug grin. The passage of time showed on his weathered face; once-fresh tattoos faded on his wrinkled skin.
“Where’s the maître d’?” Viktor pinned him with a glare.
The bartender dried a glass with a dirty rag and turned his back to him. “He’s dead.”
“Don’t give me that shit. Where is he?” Viktor demanded, slamming a fist onto the bar.
The room fell silent as the bartender set down the glass and turned to him. Viktor swiveled his head to address the nosy patrons. “Mind your business.”
“There’s plenty of humans here for the plucking.” The barkeep’s gaze painted over Waverly. “Though looks like you already have one. Are you bringin’ her to us? I’d like a go at her.”
“She’s mine,” Viktor growled, stepping in front of her and blocking his view. “You have five seconds to tell me where he is, or I’m going to rip out your throat.”
“I told ya he’s dead,” he grumbled.
“Stop fucking around. Tell me where he is. Someone has to be running this place.”
“Boss man’s downstairs. In the playpen. Had a few bleeders he needed to take care of. You know how it is. Someone took things a little too far.”
“What do you do with the bodies?” Viktor sensed Waverly’s fear but continued to press for answers.
“We got a tunnel.”
“A tunnel?”
“Yeah. You know. For pickup. We keep on the up and up. PCAP is called for perps. But the bodies gotta go. We send em’ down a tunnel for pickup. Can’t be bringing them through the lobby. Bad for business.”
“This is Miami. There are no basements.” Viktor tightened his fist. He hated liars.
“Yeah, well. We got one. Building on the other side technically owns it.” A cockroach scampered across the bar and the bartender smashed it with his hand. He smiled at Waverly and licked the entrails off his palm, a leg still twitching on his tongue. “We’re respectable.”
“This building’s a shithole.” Viktor glared at him, unfazed by his antics.
“It’s in the new building behind us. Tore down the old property a year ago.” He shrugged.
“Who owns this place?” Viktor asked.
“The Missus.” The bartender picked a wet glass out of the sink and began to dry it.
Viktor had never made it his business to know the bar’s owner. When it had first appeared on the scene over a year ago, he’d never treated it as more than it was, fast food. On the rare occasions he’d frequented the blood club, he’d come and gone like the wind.
“Is she here?” he asked.
“Nope. She leaves it for Ivar.”
“Where’s the basement?” Viktor’s jaw ticked in anger, his patience wearing thin.
“I ain’t gotta tell you anything.” He eyed Waverly and licked his lips. “But I’ll help you out if you let me have a go at your bitch. Hmm…her pussy smells fresh.”
In a flash, Viktor’s hand smacked across the bartender’s face, knocking him to the ground. Blood splashed onto the glasses he’d just washed.
“Where’s this Ivar?” Viktor growled.
“Behind the purple curtain.” The bartender coughed and spat blood onto the floor. “Follow the no trespassing signs.”
“Sit tight, and I might let you live,” Viktor told him.
“Piss off,” the bartender muttered.
“Best keep your mouth shut.” Greyson glared at him as he pulled out a stool.
“Do me a favor and monitor things up here while we go have a chat with Ivar. Keep an eye on him.” Viktor glanced over his shoulder toward the back of the bar.
“You can’t go back there. Ivar doesn’t—” The bartender attempted to speak.
“Shut the fuck up or you’ll be in the tunnel next,” Greyson warned.
Viktor took Waverly’s hand in his and headed toward the back of the club. Not a soul dared to look up as he passed through the crowd. Toward the back of the room, a sign on the wall warned off trespassers. A dark purple curtain hung in the doorway. Viktor brushed it aside and entered a small vestibule that led to a staircase.
He stared down the stairway. A single lightbulb swung from a wire above. The unfinished concrete appeared cracked and crumbling. He glanced down to his feet, anger surging at the sight of his boots. “Every time I get a new pair of shoes. Well fuck.”
“Are you sure we should go down there?” Waverly asked, her voice a low whisper.
“We’ll be but a minute.” Viktor’s words sounded far more confident than what lay in his thoughts. Going down into the basement of a potential lowlife was never a good idea, but questioning Ivar was long overdue.
“Oh my God,” Waverly exclaimed as she snatched her hand away from the wall.
“What is it?” he asked.
“This place.” Waverly’s voice shook as she spoke. “I can feel something through the wall. Something terrible is happening.” She briefly touched it again. “Someone’s down there. More than one person. I can’t explain what I’m feeling. I can’t see anything specific, but it doesn’t feel okay. I don’t know if we should go down.”
“It’s going to be all right. He won’t get you,” Viktor promised and looked to Rafe. “You’re ready to shift?”
“You know it,” the wolf nodded.
As they descended, the light flickered, heavy metal music growing louder with each step.
“What is that sound?” Waverly asked.
“Lorna Shore. Death Coffin,” Rafe replied with a fist pump.
“Cliché.” Every damn wannabe used the music to conceal screams. It worked most times to keep the humans at bay, but still struck Viktor as amateurish.
I can barely think. Waverly looked to Viktor without speaking and covered her ears.
It’s okay. Stay close. When they reached the landing, Viktor poked his head into the basement, quickly scanning the empty space. A string of black lights hung from the ceiling. The walls appeared to move in the dimly lit room. An upside down cross hung upon the single black wooden door.