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The second thug smirks, revealing a gold tooth. “Not always at the club, are you? Sometimes you’re entertaining private parties. Like your boy Marco. Before he disappeared.”

I tense, my other hand inching toward my holster. “The lady’s with me now. Whatever business you have with her can wait.”

“And who the fuck are you?” Gold Tooth demands.

“Victor Callahan. Private investigator.”

The taller thug’s expression shifts to something uglier. “The one asking questions about the Dahlia murder. The one seen leaving Marco’s place the night he vanished.”

My blood runs cold. Seen leaving Marco’s? By who? There hadn’t been anyone around when I left, unless they’re trying to trip me into a confession.

“I think you have me confused with someone else,” I say carefully.

“Don’t think so.” Tall Thug leans down, getting in my face. “Mickey wants to talk to both of you. Now.”

“We’re having a private conversation,” Lena interjects. “Tell Mickey I’ll stop by the club later.”

Gold Tooth grabs her arm, yanking her halfway out of her seat. “It wasn’t a request, sweetheart.”

I’m on my feet in an instant, but Lena beats me to it, twisting out of his grip with surprising strength.

“Don’t touch me,” she hisses, a dangerous edge entering her voice.

The tension in the bar ratchets up, other patrons edging away from the brewing confrontation. The bartender reaches for the phone, presumably to call security.

“Fine,” Gold Tooth says, smiling without warmth. “We’ll do this the hard way. You brought this on yourself, Red.”

It happens so fast I almost miss it—his hand disappearing into his jacket, emerging with a small glass vial. He flicks the stopper off and flings the contents directly into Lena’s face.

Acid.

She screams, hands flying to her face, the sound cutting through the murmur of the bar like a knife. I react without thinking, drawing my gun and putting a bullet between Gold Tooth’s eyes before he can reach for his own weapon.

The bar erupts into chaos—people screaming, diving for cover, glasses shattering as they’re knocked from tables. I turn to Lena, expecting to find her horrifically burned.

Instead, I see something impossible.

The skin of her face, which had begun to blister and redden and boil from the acid, is…healing. Regenerating before my eyes, the damaged tissue slowly knitting itself back together. By the time my brain processes what I’m seeing, her face is nearly unblemished, save for lingering redness and swelling.

Tall Thug sees it too, his eyes widening in shock. “What the fuck? What the fuck are you? A witch?”

His hand moves toward his jacket. Instinctively, I know I can’t let him leave, can’t let him tell Cohen or anyone else what we just witnessed. My gun swings toward him, finger tightening on the trigger.

He’s faster than I expect, drawing his own weapon in a smooth motion. But before either of us can fire, Lena is between us, moving with inhuman speed. She knocks his gun aside, the shot going wide, shattering a mirror behind the bar.

“Outside,” she says to me, her voice tight. “Now.”

I hesitate, looking at Tall Thug, who’s recovering his balance, bringing his gun back around.

“There’s no time,” Lena insists, grabbing my arm.

She’s right. Already, sirens wail in the distance, approaching fast. I follow her toward the service exit, but Tall Thug lunges after us, catching Lena’s dress. My gun comes up almost of its own accord, two shots catching him in the chest.

He drops like a stone, blood seeping across his shirt.

I stand frozen for a moment, staring at the second man I’ve killed in as many minutes. The bartender stares at me in terror from behind the bar, already reaching for the phone again.

Lena grabs my hand, pulling me through the back of the restaurant and through the service exit, across the next street and into a back alley that smells of garbage and urine. We run, her hand gripping mine with surprising strength, guiding me through a maze of narrow passages until we emerge onto a side street several blocks from the hotel.