Afterlight

Zetty smiled at me as we drew close, and recognition made his eyes shine. It was the kind of look that made his already intimidating features even scarier. “Riley Poe. What are you doing here?” he said in his heavy Tibetan accent, and grasped my shoulder.

Eli immediately stiffened and moved slightly in front of me, causing Zetty’s gaze to move from me to Eli. Zetty frowned.

“It’s okay,” I said quietly to Eli, and placed my hand on his back. “Zetty’s an old friend.” I looked at the bouncer. “Just here to hang out. So how ya been, Zetty?” I asked.

“Cannot complain,” he answered, but his attention was now on Eli.

“Good. Nice seeing ya,” I said, and tugged on Eli’s arm.

Zetty turned his eyes on me. “Stay out of the back rooms, Riley,” he said with a deadpan tone. “Nothing there for you anymore.”

We walked away, and I averted my gaze from Zetty.

“What’s up with him?” Eli asked as we passed through the small foyer where the music reverberated through another set of double doors that led into the club. “He seems too protective over you.”

“He probably thought the same thing about you.” I smiled. “Zetty does his job and only his job,” I said, glancing at him. “He always hated that I’d gotten messed up, and while he knows what goes on in the back panic rooms, he doesn’t get involved.” I shrugged. “Except for once. He pulled me out of a bad situation and almost killed a guy doing it. Otherwise, he merely stays up front and keeps the peace.”

“He knows what I am,” Eli said matter-of-factly.

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” I answered, knowing he’d read Zetty’s mind, and to be honest, I wasn’t all that surprised. Zetty had been sort of a mystical man in Tibet, mysterious and deadly. I was always grateful he liked me, for whatever reason.

As we pushed into the crowd, the black walls and strobe lights swallowed us, and “The Raven and the Rose” by My Dying Bride slammed through the sound system and hummed through me; Eli’s body crowded mine, his palm and fingers pressed possessively to the bare skin of my lower back as he guided me through a sea of smoke, black leather, silver spikes, and exotic makeup. This part of the Panic Room was tame — the club part, the dancing, the music, the drinks, and most of the people. What I knew lay in the back rooms — the dark panic rooms — was something else altogether. I’d experienced them, and I’d be a liar if I said it didn’t bother me to be back. And yet with Eli’s hand against my skin, and the music bounding through my body, it sort of thrilled me, too.

“I’d ask what’s wrong, but I already know,” Eli said, his mouth grazing the shell of my ear as he leaned close. I turned and looked at him, our faces close, intoxicating, erotic. His eyes were mesmerizing, and I was drawn to them. Him. I was drawn to him.

“This is the easy part,” I said, and I knew he understood that I meant where we were now. “Kelter Phillips owns this place. I know how to get in, know how to act. And I know exactly what to do to be accepted back.” Now I pushed my lips to Eli’s ear. “You say the Arcoses are into the dark stuff, right? It’s where they’ll gather their freaky vampiric army?” I purposely pressed my mouth to Eli’s jaw. “Then it’s this place they’ll come, and I swear to God, I’m not leaving here tonight without finding something out about my brother or those assholes that have him under their control.” I pulled back and held Eli’s gaze with my very determined one. “You’re going to have to back off, Eli, and trust me. These aren’t vampires. They’re people.” I lifted my chin. “I can damn well handle people.” He stared hard, contemplating probably, then gave a begrudging single nod, and his eyes flared as they bored into mine. I couldn’t tell whether he was impressed or turned on. With his hand resting on my hip, Eli guided me to the bar; I ordered a shot of whiskey, and to my surprise Eli did the same. As I lifted the glass and swallowed the fiery liquid, Eli watched, his gaze following the path of the whiskey as it slipped down my throat. Raw male power and deliberate sexual hunger lit his eyes, and to say that the sensation it stirred within me was erotic was a freaking understatement. He was driving me crazy, and I had to literally make a conscious effort not to put my hands on him. It was so easy to submerge into the seductive darkness of our surroundings; the music, the forced intimacy, the whiskey — they were all drugs in their own right. And I was an ex-junkie to it all.

“Someone’s coming, and I don’t like him,” Eli said close to me, and he turned to the bar. I waited, although I knew who it’d be. I was right.

“Riley Poe. Damn, it is you,” a throaty voice said behind me. “All grown-up.”

I turned and amid the strobe lights stared into a face from my past — one I hadn’t ever planned on encountering again but knew I’d run into tonight. Average-sized, Kelter Phillips wore his usual attire: a collection of black leather, chains, spiked cuffs, and collars, and his signature bald head and black goatee looked exactly as they had when I used to hang with him. Ten years my senior and filthy rich, he now sported a large tat that started at his brow and stretched over his head in a six-inch-wide strip, Mohawk style. The tat was a list of the seven deadly sins, written in Old English and inked in black, with black vines and bloodred roses along the side. The words above his brow read Fuck Virtue, followed by lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy, and pride in intricate calligraphy. Damn, he always thought he was a badass. He could smell fresh meat a mile away, and to him I’d always been meat — only back then, I hadn’t known or cared. I pushed past my revulsion and gave Kelter a seductive smile. Eli tensed beside me. “What’s up, Kelter?”

Kelter gave Eli a curious glance and a nod. “Friend of yours?” he asked.

“Yeah, a friend,” I assured him. I’d get nowhere fast if Kelter thought I had the scrutiny of a boyfriend, and I nearly snorted out loud when I thought of what he’d think if he knew Eli was a creature of the afterlight. Beside me, Eli smothered a chuckle. Get out of my head, jackass, I thought. I knew Eli had heard.

“Come with me,” Kelter offered, completely ignoring Eli, and I tried not to shiver with revulsion when he placed his hand on my bare lower back.

“Sure,” I said, looking directly into Kelter’s black-lined eyes. I slid from the barstool and allowed him to guide me into the throng of people dancing. Before I got too far, I glanced over my shoulder; Eli sat watching me with a deadly glare in his eyes. I’ll be okay, I told him in my mind, and allowed the crowd to swallow me up. I wasn’t kidding myself; I knew Eli could see me, hear my heart, and would hear if called for him.

And God help anyone in his path.

Megadeth’s “Bite the Hand” roared through the Panic Room, and I moved seductively to the music; strange bodies moved with me. With my peripheral, I noticed someone standing close to us, and when I turned, the person had slipped back into the crowd. I stared hard through the smoky darkness. It was Eli, and he was everywhere, moving so fast the human eye couldn’t track him. I knew to look for him, and although I couldn’t see him actually change locations, I glimpsed him hovering closer, like a hawk. I got one glimpse of his face; he looked like he wanted to rip Kelter apart. Take it easy, Dupré, I said in my mind, and turned my attention back to the scumbag I was forced to deal with.

Kelter watched me intently as his hands slid down my hips and pulled me closer, and I knew he was already half lit and turned on, the smell of whiskey, marijuana, and cigarettes clinging to him. Suddenly, his hands were on my ass, his crotch grinding against me, and his mouth pressed to my ear. “You look good enough to fuck right here,” he said, obviously thinking his controlling dirty talk would do it for me, and it made me sick to think that at one time, it had done it for me. Now it made me profusely sick, and I tried not to let it show. “That ink is goddamn hot,” he said, and traced my dragons up both arms, then back down again. “All professional now, huh? Got your own business,” he said, moving behind me and groping my hips, pulling me hard against him. His dick was already hard — it probably stayed that way. With all the crap Kelter took, it wouldn’t surprise me to know he’d added Viagra to his repertoire of drugs and walked around with a twenty-four-hour woody. “Wanna go to the back?” he said in my ear, and turned me back around to face him. “Old times, huh, Riley?”

“Depends,” I said loudly over the pounding music. “On what you got back there.”

Without warning, Kelter grabbed my hand and pushed it against his crotch, and he throbbed beneath the leather pants at my touch. I tried to control my reaction; seriously, I did. But a lot had happened since my wild, reckless days at the Panic Room, and I reacted. I grabbed his balls hard, yanked upward and in, and twisted; Kelter’s eyes widened, and he smothered a painful gasp. I could tell he was getting no air at all if the squeaking from his throat and stretched eyeballs meant anything. I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing.