Page 9

The next day, Naomi parked her car in the lot outside a very popular nightclub. A club that hid the entrance to the Underground. And what was the Underground? More or less a subterranean version of the Las Vegas strip that was mostly exclusive to demons.

There were places to eat, shop, dance, drink, gamble, compete, and . . . well, pretty much anything. Demons naturally sought thrills and dopamine rushes, so this was a good place to not only enjoy downtime but open up a business of your own.

The Underground’s founder, Knox Thorne, was both the mate and anchor of Jolene’s granddaughter Harper. She happened to co-run Urban Ink and would be very soon giving Naomi her newest tattoo.

Naomi slid out of the car and let her eyes skim her surroundings. Several cars were parked nearby, but no people stood around. The club wasn’t yet open for business, so there wasn’t a queue of clubgoers waiting for entrance either.

Making a beeline for the building, she felt the spot between her shoulder blades begin to burn. Halting abruptly, she glanced over her shoulder. No one. There was no one. But . . . she could swear she was being watched.

After giving her surroundings one last visual sweep, she again headed for the club. Maybe Iain was following her from a distance so as to avoid being noticed. Dammit, she’d hoped that Luka’s warning would do the trick.

Luka.

Snippets of their conversation last night still ran riot around her brain.

She couldn’t lie: being pursued by such a scorching-hot motherfucker who embodied a massively amplified bad-boy vibe .

. . well, it was something of a turn-on.

Call her weird, but she liked that he’d thrown out a declaration of intent.

He hadn’t put out feelers to check if she’d be receptive first; he’d quite explicitly and confidently told her that he wanted her.

Her demon liked his boldness; liked that he wouldn’t be prepared to share her—the entity wasn’t a fan of flings that didn’t entail exclusivity. Not because it was possessive but because it felt that Naomi deserved to be the sole focus of whatever male sought her out.

While her demon wouldn’t fight her on allowing Luka into her bed, Tobe sure would. After the legion had left her home last night, her anchor had whirled on her and said, “ He wants to nail you. You know that, right? ”

“ So aptly put ,” she’d quipped.

“ You don’t want to get involved with him, Nome. You’ve heard the rumors. It ain’t a secret that he’s an ice-cold motherfucker. He won’t be good for you .”

But she didn’t need Luka to be good for her—she wasn’t looking for anything serious or permanent.

Better still, neither was he. She’d met plenty of people who held themselves apart from others, but most did it subconsciously.

With Luka, it was deliberate. They could enjoy a brief fling—and she had the feeling that she truly would enjoy it—and then each go their own way. It was a far too appealing thought.

Well, a girl had to eat.

Inside the club, Naomi headed to the basement. The demons manning the elevator let her pass, at which point she began a long-ass downward ride. The contraption slowed to a stop, and the doors opened.

Stepping out, she was hit by an abundance of street sounds. Voices talking. Distant music. Muffled laughter. Phones ringing. Heels clacking as people walked back and forth along the strip and filed in and out of the various premises.

There were bakeries, coffee houses, delis, bars, specialty stores. You name it; the Underground would have it.

She walked in the direction of the tattoo shop, shrugging past the many pedestrians. The Underground was as busy as always. Cart vendors were around. The occasional busker could be seen. Street sweepers did a good job of keeping the strip as litter-free as possible.

Finally arriving at her destination, Naomi stepped into the exceptionally neat reception area. The scents of ink, paint, coffee, and citrus disinfectant surrounded her.

Urban Ink was the epitome of cool. Sketches, metal art, and decals decorated the white walls, which were a contrast to the dark hardwood flooring. Muffled chatter mingled with the buzzing of tattoo guns and the rock music video playing on the wall-mounted TV in the reception area.

She spotted Harper straight off. The sphinx was wiping down the leather recliner at her station while talking into her cell phone.

The other three tattooists—Raini, Devon, and Piper, who’d all been part of Naomi’s lair until they mated—were at their own stations, their focus on their respective clients.

At the rear of the studio were some doors, a sink, autoclave, and tracing table.

Crossing to the reception desk, Naomi waved at Khloe.

The imp’s gray eyes lit up. “Hey, you’re here. And late.”

“This surprises you?”

“Not in the slightest.”

And so it shouldn’t. “Can you let Harper know I’m here?”

“Sure. Harper, your next client is here!”

Naomi sighed. “As always, you are pure class and grace.”

Khloe grinned, gently patting her messy dark bun as if it were a perfectly styled updo. “Aren’t I just?”

Her gaze on Naomi, Harper held up her index finger as she spoke into her phone.

Naomi gave her a nod.

“Hey, Naomi,” a stunning blonde succubae greeted from her station.

Naomi felt her lips curve. “Hi, Raini. How’re things?”

“All good,” Raini assured her.

As she rested her tattoo gun on her shelf, Piper’s pale-green eyes flitted to Naomi. “I bumped into your mom the other day. She said one of your exes was bothering you. Is that a thing of the past yet?”

“Whatever his Prime said seems to have gotten through to him,” Naomi told the dark-haired nightmare, not wanting to get into specifics in front of a shop full of strangers. “The guy has stayed off my radar since then.”

“Good,” said Devon, skidding her wheeled chair a little closer to the recliner at her station. “Weirdos are everywhere these days. Including behind the reception desk near you.”

Khloe frowned at the hellcat. “I might be quirky—”

“ ‘Insane’ would be a better descriptor,” muttered Devon, using her arm to knock her ultraviolet ringlets over her shoulder.

“—but I’m not even half as weird as your homicidal spawn.”

“Hey!”

“What? Ana?s is a death dealer. Which I love her because of, not in spite of.”

Raini snickered. “Of course you do.”

“Whatevs.” Khloe turned back to Naomi. “We should just ignore them. It’s so enjoyable. Let’s talk about something else. Ooh, by the way,” she went on, lowering her voice, “I haven’t found out anything interesting about the clerics yet.”

“Unsurprising,” said Naomi. “They weren’t interesting.”

The imp planted a palm on her desk. “You know, we could show a picture of the emblem to one of the Black Saints,” she suggested, referring to a local motorcycle club whose president was mated to Luka’s anchor.

“Why would we do that?”

“They’re fallen angels, Nome. They might know of a monkhood that wear clothes bearing that particular emblem.”

Naomi pulled a face. “I don’t think we need to go asking the Black Saints about it. They’ll only wonder where you saw the emblem, and I’d rather outsiders weren’t poking their noses into this. You’ll find the answers without them.”

Khloe inched up her chin proudly. “Of course I will. I’m awesome that way.” Her gaze shifted to a guy who’d materialized beside Naomi. “Yo, what can I do for you?”

Stepping away, Naomi glanced over at Harper, to find that the sphinx was heading her way.

Casting her an apologetic look, Harper sank her fingers into her dark hair tipped with gold. “I’m really sorry, Naomi, but I need five more minutes.”

“I don’t mind waiting, it’s fine.” Considering that Naomi consistently lost track of time and had to often apologize for making others wait, she had no room to complain anyway.

Her smile one of both relief and gratitude, Harper said, “Thanks. I’ll be as fast as I can.” Then she was gone, putting her phone to her ear once more.

Naomi took a seat on the leather sofa and swiped a tattoo portfolio from the coffee table. Crossing one leg over the other, she hummed to the music playing on the TV as she idly flicked through the portfolio.

Someone sank onto the sofa beside her. “Cool place, right?”

Naomi looked up to see the guy who’d entered the studio only moments ago.

Average height and wide-shouldered, he had a scruffy appearance, but it seemed deliberate.

Gel kept his ash-blond hair in an unkempt clump.

His short beard was wiry and uneven. Wrinkles graced his clothes, but they were designer and otherwise high-quality.

His smile was friendly, but it didn’t fully reach his brown eyes. They were fixed on her, a little glazed over with a sleazy, objectifying lust.

Naomi handled the moment the same way she handled any guy who did that. She pasted a haughty, disinterested look on her face and gave a superior sniff designed to fracture his friendly act. And it worked—his smile faltered, and a hardness slid into his eyes.

“Right,” she agreed before turning her attention back to the portfolio, essentially dismissing him.

He cleared his throat. “This your first time getting a tattoo?” he asked, all ease and pleasantness, except for the note of irritation in his voice.

Without looking up, she gave a slight shake of her head. “No.”

“What should I expect?”

“Pain.”

A snicker popped out of him. “At least you’re honest. You know, I feel like I’ve seen you before, but I can’t think where. It was recently.” He made a speculative sound and then, moments later, clicked his fingers. “An imp. I saw you with an imp. Tobe something.”

Her scalp prickled, and her inner demon tensed. Because there’d been something probing in his words.

So, what, he wanted information of some kind about Tobe?

Naomi telepathically reached out to Khloe. Take a photo of this dude and text it to me. I want to know who he is.

The imp’s psyche brushed hers. Give me two minutes and I’ll have that info for you.