Make Me Burn: Fireborne, Book 2 (13 page)

What the sand conceals it will reveal. But only to you. Soon.

“Nice and cryptic, as usual,” she growled. Two more women. Innocent women. Both were hers to protect.

All she had to do was find out who they were before it was too late.

Chapter Five

Greg was still unhappy but at her side when they headed down the dark staircase that led to the heart of the club. The loud beat of the music pounding in her ears, thrumming through her veins, made it hard to hear anything else. Hard to think.

She loved it.

Underbridge
was
the best-kept secret in London, a members-only club with a world-famous deejay, a state-of-the-art dungeon and a room for every kink you could imagine. It was a two-story underground club beside a busy bridge—its front door giving off the unobtrusive appearance of a public utilities entrance—and it had obviously been designed with that theme in mind. A latticework of steel trusses hung above their heads, and the glass-topped, art-deco, metal garbage-bin tables made it feel as if they really were gathering beneath the London Bridge.

Doing dirty things in the dark.

The music, the scent of lust and sweat in the air, the crowded, excited energy as soon as they hit the last stair and entered the main section of the club—all of it sent adrenaline rushing through her veins. This place did exactly what it was designed to do. Made her want to join the fun. Turned her on.

Especially tonight. Despite her earlier shower session, Aziza felt the need for release. The last few days had been a rollercoaster of emotion. Brandon. The body. Adam’s box. Te’s potential human encyclopedia.

Ram.

She needed to be here, for information and to let off some steam. Aziza absently wished she’d chosen the schoolgirl outfit just to drive Ram crazy. Instead, she’d followed his instructions and dressed more conservatively, wearing a costume barely sexy enough to allow her inside.

She slid her hands self-consciously down her black-PVC skirt, the metal rings and black laced-corset effect of which was mimicked by her waist cincher. A khaki T-shirt emblazoned with a bleeding heart and torn artfully at the shoulders, as well as black knee-high stockings and a pair of combat boots, completed her tame attire.

Definitely restrained.

“There’s an open table away from the dance floor,” Greg shouted in her ear. “We should be able to hear ourselves think over there.”

As he used his height to guide her through the crush, Aziza refrained from expressing her disappointment. She didn’t want to think. She wanted to feel. She wanted to find Ram, forget about everything else and be the wild, reckless Aziza Jane she used to be. The girl who lived like she was dying, instead of the one responsible for other people’s lives.

She wanted to move closer to the rope demonstration currently in progress on the elevated stage in the corner. That was where they would be. Where she’d told him they needed to be. Where was Ram? Her skin was heating, and her blood burned with the need to—

No
, she scolded herself firmly.
No burning anything. Chill out. Think blizzards. Ice storms. The last thing you need to do is start this club on fire. You have more control than that now.

She wasn’t sure, though. The excitement buzzing under her skin wasn’t hers alone. What was inside her was desperate for the new experience. For the sting of the whip and whatever tortures her Jinn had devised for her.

They moved past a group of familiar women wearing matching shorts, electrical tape over their nipples and little else. Aziza had seen them when she’d come here before. “Hey, ladies.”

One of them—the redhead—squealed in delight and wrapped her arms around Aziza before her friends could drag her away. “I remember that gorgeous face. I was hoping you’d come back. But you’re wearing too many clothes again,” she shouted over the music. “You are too snog worthy to be hiding that much skin. We have extra tape if it gets too hot in here for you.”

“I might take you up on that,” Aziza shouted back. “I’m playing on the stage tonight. With Ram.”

“Lucky girl!” The woman laughed. “We’ll be watching and we’ll find you after.”

They continued moving away, disappearing before Aziza could respond. The threesome definitely made an impression, and she knew instinctively they would be her in. They were regulars. They would have known all the women killed. Including the latest. Which meant they hadn’t found out about girl number three yet, either—the atmosphere was too upbeat.

When Aziza turned back toward the empty seats they were headed for, she saw West’s roommate Chiye at the next table…and couldn’t look away. She was kneeling on her stool, watching the stage, as distracted by what was happening on it as Aziza had been moments before.

Tonight, instead of the shorts and sports bra she’d performed on the aerial hoop in, she wore a sheer, purple-tulle skirt that danced around her thighs, knee-high boots and a nearly sheer, black halter top that did little to hide breasts that were surprisingly full for her small frame. How she managed to give the appearance of an innocent ingénue in that outfit was a puzzle, but Aziza had to give her credit for making it look effortless.

She took a soothing breath in order to hide her reaction. She wasn’t sure she could explain what she was feeling if she tried. Recognition. Admiration. And something else…something she’d only felt in the presence of Ram and Shev. With Brandon. Like a slender thread connected them to her, slowly tugging her closer from somewhere deep inside. Was Chiye Jinn? Some other supernatural creature Aziza had yet to meet?

Maybe she’s the one you’re supposed to protect.

Greg stopped and turned so suddenly she bumped into him.

“What’s wrong?”

He gripped her shoulders, more to steady himself than to hold her still. “Try not to be obvious, but I don’t think you’ll need to introduce me to a girl tonight. I believe I have spotted the mother of my children.”

Aziza’s lips twitched. “You don’t have kids, Greg. I would know.”

He combed his hands through his sandy hair. “Not yet,” he agreed. “But I’d love to practice. Why is she here
tonight
? You have to cancel this thing with Ram, Aziza Jane. I can’t look after you and keep up my cool illusion at the same time.”

“Sorry, I’m not canceling, but you don’t have to watch if you’re squeamish.” She leaned sideways to glance past Greg, noticing West had returned with a tray of drinks in his hands. “I get the feeling you’re going to forgive me and love me even more in five minutes than you do now.”

“Impossible,” he responded automatically. Then paused. “What do you mean?”

She gently shoved him out of the way and moved toward the table. “West? We’re here.”

West heard her over the music and turned toward them, a broad smile on his face. Damn, he looked good tonight—he even managed to pull off one of those macho utility kilts with pockets she’d always threatened to buy for Greg, along with combat boots and a sleeveless white shirt that did nothing to hide his well-defined muscles…or the scarification marks and tattoos that covered both his shoulders.

They were like carnal book ends, the two of them. West and Chiye. Both beautiful in an unmistakably sexual way.

“Aziza Jane, at last,” he said. “And you must be the infamous Gregory Prophet.”

Poor Greg. She knew he was thinking that the woman he wanted to “practice” with was already taken. She had to put him out of his misery. “Greg, this is Ram’s friend West and his
friend
and roommate, Chiye…?”

“Wyn. Chiye Wyn.” The girl had hopped off the stool and come to stand beside West, excitement practically vibrating off her body. Aziza could feel the hum. “Ram told us you were a dazzler, Aziza, but he never mentioned your Greg was foxy too, did he? That’s brilliant. Give us a
cwtch
.”

A
cootch
? This exotic Eurasian beauty was Welsh?

Chiye stood on her toes to wrap her arms around Aziza. Her scent was intoxicating, but her eyes were a simple warm brown, not the color of gemstones. Not Jinn then. And far too small to be a werewolf.

Unable to help herself, Aziza hugged her warmly in return, then stepped back and winked at Greg. “Hear that, buddy? She thinks you’re foxy.”

Greg sent her a warning look as he held out his hand. “Thank you, but you probably shouldn’t listen to anything Ram says about me. He’s not my biggest fan.”

Batting his hand away, Chiye wrapped her arms around his waist while West looked on, laughing. “Forgive her, she doesn’t believe in handshakes. But make sure you check your pockets when she’s done.”

Chiye turned her head to stick out her tongue at him, her arms still firmly wrapped around the red-faced Greg. “He’s having a laugh. Ignore him.”

The sensuality of Greg’s smile as he looked down at Chiye startled Aziza. “Ignore who?”

“Good man,” Chiye responded, licking her lips. “For that, you can sit beside me.”

West took Aziza’s hand and pulled her over to their table. “I had a feeling they would get along. And I’m glad you came, Aziza Jane. It means the drink I brought you won’t go to waste.”

Drink? She sat down at the table and noticed that there were four shot glasses on the tray and a bottle of tequila. A man after her own heart.

“I haven’t seen that in a while.” She laughed. “You
are
a southern boy, aren’t you?”

West nodded, pouring the liquor into each of the glasses as Chiye and Greg joined them at the table. “Atlanta, Georgia, born and raised. What about you?”

“Dallas,” Greg answered for her. “We grew up a few blocks away from each other.”

“I’m surrounded by sexy Americans who’ll soon have me soused on Mexican spirits? Cheers to me.” Chiye lifted her glass and threw her head back, swallowing the shot in one gulp.

Aziza already liked her. She swallowed her own shot and felt the burning warmth spread from her throat down to her chest. “Mmm. That’s good. I needed that. So tell me, how did a Georgia writer end up in a kinky London dungeon with a Welsh roommate and a Ram?” And where was Ram?

“That
is
a story.” West sat down and leaned his elbows on the table, his light-brown eyes never straying from hers. “Not one we usually tell until we get to know someone a little better.”

Chiye laughed and leaned closer to Greg, who looked like a man whose world was being rocked. “We know them though, don’t we? I feel like we do, don’t you, Greg? And from what Ram said, we’ll be knowing Aziza intimately not too long from now. Tell them before she leaves us, West. I love this story.”

What Ram said…
Aziza took a calming breath.

West poured more shots all around. “Yes, ma’am. Once upon a time about a year ago, being a young man of means from a good family with a college education in ancient history and philosophy under my belt, I made the very pragmatic and responsible decision to become a writer. I planned to rent a Tuscan villa and spend my days drinking wine and typing out my masterpiece in the solitude and sunshine.” He paused for effect. “Then for some godforsaken reason, I ended up in Cardiff.”

Chiye clinked her glass to his. “Where I picked his pocket.”

“You skipped ahead again.” West chuckled. “But yes, you did. Though it wasn’t your fault. You were too young to know better when you fell in with that crowd.”

“True enough.” She said, a momentary shadow crossing her features. “And too scared to climb out of the hole I’d dug when I realized I should. If West hadn’t been quick enough to follow me and save me from spending my life reenacting my take on
Oliver Twist
, I wouldn’t be here now, helping the great writer with his research and exploring this big, glorious city that it only took me twenty-two years and a tick over two hours to get to.”

Greg reached over to cover her hand. “So we owe West another toast for saving you.”

Chiye’s smile was so exquisitely vulnerable when she looked at Greg that Aziza didn’t have the heart to dig any further, despite her curiosity.

She grinned to lighten the mood, taking the bottle and filling their glasses again, even though her last one was still untouched. Not only was she playing tonight, which made overindulging a bad idea, but she needed to keep her head clear to find answers afterward.

“I saved Greg from being shoved into a locker by the school bully.”

“Thank you.” Sarcasm dripped from Greg’s voice and she knew if they were alone she’d be in trouble. “That’s always a great story to share with new people.”

“You’re just mad I beat you to the overshare punch. It was your turn the last time.” She patted his shoulder. “There’s no shame in it. That girl was a mutant. I’m serious. Her nickname was Mutant Mindy.”

West and Chiye chuckled, and Aziza noticed the way they looked at each other, as if communicating silently. Had she read them wrong? “Look, there really is no subtle way to ask this and, since we’re sharing, I think we should get it out of the way. Do you two play here together and are you simply looking for another couple to join in? Because Greg and I are strictly platonic, and if it’s just him you’re after, he’s a one-person-on-the-ride-at-a-time kind of guy as a rule.”
 

She didn’t want to admit she found the idea of a ride including West and Chiye arousing.

“Aziza Jane Stewart.” Greg had taken his shot and was glaring now, looking decidedly uncomfortable.