Keeper of Crows (Keeper of Crows #1)(4)

Doc flipped the front paper up and curled it behind the clipboard. “Was it your first time at ‘The Castle?’”

“No. I went there almost every weekend.”

The sun was just setting, painting the piss puddles in shades of shadow, purple and orange. Two steps led to the back door. I knocked twice, jarring the metal. Jones answered, a tall bouncer three feet taller than me and four times as broad. “Carmen,” he greeted warmly, holding the door open so I could squeeze past him.

“Hey Jones.”

“Dimitri’s upstairs.”

I gave him a smile and left him in the hallway, winding through the dimly lit corridors to the staircase that only a few select patrons knew about. My wristlet flopped against my thigh. I couldn’t stop the tremors that started in my gut and rippled to my fingertips, down to my toes. It had been two days. Two long days. At the top of the staircase, I stepped onto a landing and knocked gently at Dimitri’s door.

“Who is it?” Dimitri asked from inside, his Russian accent thick and commanding.

I cleared my throat, mentally preparing to walk into the lion’s den. “It’s Carmen.”

“Come in.”

“Did you meet friends at the club? Why did you go every weekend?” Doc asked, his bushy eyebrows raised slightly.

“I don’t have friends, Doc. I bet that’s a real shocker.”

As the door lock disengaged with a click, I twisted the cool metal and pushed. Dimitri’s apartment was sleek and modern, clean but uninviting. Everything was black, white, gray, or silver. The furniture was masculine; powerful and angular—just like Dimitri. He was sitting on the couch in the living room, counting his way through a large stack of hundred-dollar bills. Seeing me enter his space, his hands stilled. His frigid blue eyes, sharp as diamonds, tracked my movements. He wasn’t muscled in the way his bouncers were, but he was fit. His silk suit was custom-made and his blond hair was naturally wavy.

“Come.”

Easing out of my heels, I padded across the hardwood floor, stopping on the stark white, plush rug that anchored the living room furniture.

He turned to face me, laying the stack of bills down on the coffee table. “You have needs?”

I nodded, sniffing and wiping the underside of my nose discreetly.

“I, too, have needs,” he replied, standing up and looking out the wall of windows toward the sliver of sun that was losing its battle with the night. This wasn’t the first time he’d propositioned me. It wouldn’t be the last. I gripped my wristlet tightly in my palm.

“I have money.”

Dimitri snorted, his eyes raking over my tiny dress as he stepped closer. He didn’t care about money. Both of us knew that. He already had enough to fill an Olympic size swimming pool. He prowled toward me until the tips of his shoes hit my big toes. “I have a new supplier. Better quality means more money. You understand, of course.” His Russian accent seemed thicker today. He’d lived here for fifteen years, but it hadn’t melted away. Most people felt the need to protect their heritage, whereas I wanted to forget mine entirely. However, I could never seem to escape the family name, the expectations—not without chemical assistance. It was the only way to feel like another person, even if only for a short while.

Dimitri stood up, fastening the second button on his jacket. “I give you a taste, but it will cost you. Next time, it will cost you more. I have clients coming in from Canada. You help show them how hospitable California girls can be, no?”

My brows knitted together in confusion, but when his knuckles raked across my breast, I batted his hand away. “I’m no whore, Dimitri. If you don’t want to sell me the flake, I’ll go somewhere else. I’m not entertaining your friends. Hire some fake tits for that.”

His blue eyes cut into me like diamonds raking across my flesh, drawing blood. For a split second, I could have sworn the coppery scent wafted into my nose. “Leave the money on the table,” he barked out finally. “Five.”

He walked to the back of his apartment while I fumbled for the cash. Five grand. Father wouldn’t even notice it was gone. The stack of greenbacks stared at me. The sound of Dimitri’s wing-tips retreating farther into the apartment was music to my ears. I could breathe again.

When he approached me again I snatched the bag of euphoria from his hand and ran toward the door, grabbing my shoes. Downstairs, the club had opened. The bass was thumping. The ladies room was empty. Black and white tile, cool against my bare feet, looked like a chess board, the pieces of good and evil alternating in a pattern that bled onto the walls. In my wristlet was a small, circular compact. Silver filigree crawled around the outer edges and the center held an engraved, “C.” I flipped it open and wasted no time pouring some powder onto my reflection, using my credit card to line it up. The empty shaft of an ink pen delivered the drug into my nose with a long sniff.

I blinked as it entered my system. The weightlessness hadn’t hit yet but I already felt better, more energetic and less tired. I felt calm, free.

Doc looked genuinely concerned. “Was this where you bought the cocaine?”

I ignored his question. He was fishing and I hated being used as bait.

Jones was waiting outside the bathroom door when I finally emerged, holding my shoes out for me. I took them and slid them on one at a time. “Thank you.”