Page 80 of Terror at the Gates

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll see you in a few days.”

I didn’t give her a solid timeline, mostly because I didn’t know how long it would take me to secure the drug. While Zahariev had stolen my father’s shipment, it was possible he’d already destroyed it. If that was the case, I would have to organize a drop, which would prove difficult since my name had been sullied.

As hard as I tried, I couldn’t help feeling angry at Zahariev for making my life just a little more difficult.

I started toward the door.

“Wait. Take this,” said the woman, handing me an umbrella, adding, “For your familiar.”

“Thank you,” I said, because though she’d made it clear her kindness wasn’t for me, I was still grateful.

I stood outside her door for a few seconds, zipping up my jacket to keep Cherub warm. It had grown colder since I’d been inside, the rain a steady, miserable drizzle. I took a deep breath, inhaling burnt air. The sharp smell grounded me as I deployed my umbrella and left the Trenches.

By the time I arrived at Praise, my jeans were soaked, but at least Cherub was dry.

Since the club was closed, I went around back and leftmy umbrella at the door. It was cold inside, and I shivered as I made my way across the carpeted floor toward the stage, my socks squelching in my boots. Luckily, no one heard my approach over the vibrating music.

Coco’s smile widened when she saw me.

The downside was that it also drew Hassenaah’s attention to me.

She was standing before the stage, one hand folded just below her chest, the other propped into the air. Her head and upper body twisted toward me, eyes flashing to mine. She was a beautiful woman, probably a little older than Zahariev, with dark hair, thick arched brows, and prominent cheekbones.

She looked me up and down like she was disgusted by my very presence and then turned toward the stage.

“Again,” she snapped, her voice hitting the air like a whip.

The music stopped, and the girls took their places, some hurrying offstage. When it began again, I focused on Coco. I loved watching her dance. Her movements were always so controlled and graceful. If she’d been born in Hiram, she would have been put in the National Ballet.

I wandered closer to the stage, one step behind Hassenaah.

I knew she was aware of me by the way her shoulders rose. It took her a few minutes, but she finally spoke. She couldn’t help herself.

“If you think you can go over my head for a place on my stage, you are mistaken, Miss Leviathan.”

“I didn’t go over your head,” I said, a flush of warm hatred twisting through me.

“Don’t lie, Miss Leviathan,” she said. “You got whatyou wanted the way you get everything you want: with your name.”

“Actually, I danced for him,” I said.

Hassenaah’s head snapped toward me, her shocked gaze falling to mine. I probably should have kept my mouth shut about that particular truth, but she pissed me off. She was so eager to throw my name in my face, she couldn’t even acknowledge when I worked hard.

“What would your father think about that?”

“Are you threatening me, Hassenaah?” I asked.

“It’s a fair question. To my knowledge, the families aren’t allowed intimate relationships.”

“Who said anything about intimacy?” I countered. “It was a dance, nothing more. Maybe you need to consider why it makes you jealous.”

She jerked her head back to the stage and waved her hand, signaling the sound guy to cut the music.

“Practice is over,” she said. “Stretch tonight. We start tomorrow at six p.m. sharp.”

Hassenaah strolled away, and the girls dispersed. Coco ran up to me as she pulled on a long-sleeved shirt.

“Everything okay?” she asked. “I saw you talking to Hassenaah.”