Taming Seraphine

SERAPHINE

My heart pounds so loudly that it muffles the music as we approach the entrance of the familiar establishment. Leroi’s hand on the small of my back is the only thing keeping me upright as the guard lets us through the doors of the Phoenix Nightclub.

He doesn’t know this is where it all began. I came to this club, followed by that awful handler, to murder Enzo Montesano, the most powerful criminal in New Alderney. Leroi’s uncle and my first kill.

I haven’t told him the importance of this place because I want to face my demons. If I can get through tonight without killing or maiming anyone, then maybe I’ll be normal for Gabriel… and for Leroi.

“Are you alright?” He slides my jacket off my shoulders and hands it to the coat check attendant.

My insides are quaking too much for me to speak and I don’t want my voice to tremble, so I gaze into his dark eyes and nod.

He leans down and whispers in my ear, “You’re going to be fine. I’ll be right here the entire night, watching your back.”

His words are a balm on my frayed nerves and infuse me with the confidence I need to face the evening. Squaring my shoulders, I stare straight ahead into the dimly lit space, taking in the flashing lights and the sea of bodies jumping to the music. My nose fills with the mingled scents of dry ice and alcohol, giving me the familiar rush of adrenaline that comes before each mission.

The layout has changed in the five years since I was first here. There’s now a cordoned-off section on the edge of the nightclub with its own bar. A guard stands at its entrance, making it clear that it’s a VIP area, but there’s still another door that leads to the room where Montesano’s guard served me drugged champagne.

Crowds part for Leroi as we make our way toward the VIP section. I can’t help but notice the glances we receive from both sexes. Leroi radiates power and not just because he’s tall, muscular, and dressed in a tailored black suit. He stands out with his sharp cheekbones, chiseled jaw, and dark eyes. They’re a deadly combination that signals danger and invites desire.

Leroi is so focused on me, he doesn’t notice that every woman we pass is eyeing him with various degrees of hunger and awe. It’s understandable. Compared to Leroi, every man in the club looks the same.

My skin hasn’t stopped tingling since I stepped out of the fitting room wearing this dress. It’s more revealing than the pastel ones I wore during my missions. Those were designed to make me look younger, innocent, more vulnerable. Tonight’s the first time I’ve been allowed to go out with my dark hair and makeup, and I almost feel like a new woman.

After winding our way through the crowd, we finally reach the VIP section, and the guard steps aside to let us through. Leroi guides me to a table with a great view of the dance floor. As soon as we sit, the man behind the bar rushes forward with a menu.

“Whiskey on the rocks and…” He turns to me.

“Champagne,” I say.

“Make that a Sprite,” Leroi says.

As the waiter hurries back to the bar, I turn to Leroi with a scowl.

“I can handle my liquor,” I say.

He raises a brow.

I lean into his side, keeping my voice quieter than the music. “My handler trained me to handle syringes in any physical state, including inebriation.”

Leroi shifts in his seat, his features pinching.

“What?” I snap, still stinging at the reminder of how he once called my electrocution story bullshit. Leroi acts like I’m feral, as though I didn’t endure six months of intensive and painful training.

“You don’t believe me?” I ask.

“It’s not that,” he mutters.

“Then what?”

“I want you to stay sober tonight and not take any chances.”

He doesn’t elaborate on why he doesn’t want me drinking, so I brush it off as one of his controlling quirks, like the way he made me meditate before we left and repeat a bunch of affirmations.

The waiter returns with our drinks. I sip from my glass and pretend it’s champagne. One benefit of being irritated with Leroi is that my heart is no longer pounding. He has a way of erasing even the worst anxiety. The music is so loud that its bass makes my bones vibrate.

I straighten in my seat and survey the people on the dancefloor. Right now, I feel confident, poised, and because I’m sitting beside Leroi, powerful. It’s a change from the first time I was here when I’d struggled with the thought of killing. Now, murder is infused in my blood.

Leroi’s gaze burns the side of my face. I turn to meet his dark eyes and say, “Let’s dance.”

The corner of his lips lift. “Go right ahead.”

“Come with me.” I stand up and hold out my hand.

He snorts. “I don’t dance.”

I roll my eyes. “What’s the point of going to a club just to sit around and drink?”

He lounges back in his seat and sweeps a hand toward the dance floor. “You dance. I’ll watch.”

With a huff, I turn on my heel and walk out of the VIP section to where everyone is dancing. The music is thumping with a tune I heard at the boutique, and I sway in time with the beat.

Leroi’s gaze heats my skin, even though I’m trying not to look in his direction. No matter where I turn, he’s on the edge of my awareness, a constant presence that’s impossible to ignore.

In some ways, he reminds me of the handler Dad hired to train me into becoming a killer. They’re both tall, dark, and unsmiling, except the handler didn’t have a soul. He was a creep whose eyes I wanted to scoop out with a rusty spoon. Leroi might be a killer, but he has a heart.

A loud burst of giggles on my left catches my attention. I turn to find a group of five women around my age performing the same steps. It’s a variation of the Grapevine, a dance so old Mom used to incorporate it into her aerobics routine. I watch them for a few repetitions before joining in.

As I dance, I catch Leroi’s eyes again, but his expression is unreadable, though his gaze follows me like a sniper’s red dot. I smirk. If he’s so worried about what I might do to these women, then maybe he should come to the dance floor for a closer look.

“Hey,” the woman closest to me yells over the music. “I like your shoes.”

She’s tall with a mass of dark curls that remind me of Gregor, the less insane of the twins who wore his hair long.

“Thanks,” I shout back. “They came with the dress.”

We continue the dance steps and the woman asks me more about my outfit. Her own dress is made of scraps of denim sewn together to mold around her curves. I’m no expert in fashion, but the outfit looks homemade.

The music changes, and I glance toward our table. A man wearing a black leather jacket sits beside him and is looking in our direction. He’s dangerous and edgy, and reminds me of some of the men I’ve had to kill. Leroi is so relaxed around him that it’s obvious they’re friends or associates.

“What’s your name?” shouts the curly-haired woman.

“Sera,” I answer. “And you?”

“Emberly,” she says. “My friends call me Ember.”

Ember introduces me to the other women, whose names I instantly forget. They’re a friendly bunch with bright eyes and easy smiles, but I can’t help but feel disconnected. Everything about them is light and carefree, while my past is encased in the kind of darkness that can never feel bright.

All I feel for them is a bone-deep envy that makes my ribs ache.

The next time I glance in Leroi’s direction, he’s standing and gesturing at that dark-haired woman who barged into our apartment, Rosalind.

I’m about to charge over to the VIP section to handle her, when a pair of arms wrap around my waist and I feel a tiny erection grind into my ass. The hands move to my hips and a deep voice slurs in my ear, “Hey, baby, wanna dance?”