This is what you wanted.
Eyes stinging with tears I won’t let fall, throat clogged with an apology I cannot voice… I steady my shoulders, suck in a breath, and focus on the thing that matters most: getting my sister back. Safe, sound, and preferably sober.
My own impending emotional breakdown will have to simmer on the back burner until further notice.
I clear my throat lightly. “Do you know where Chloe is right now?”
Carter grunts out the name of a popular nightclub in Lund.
“Great. Let’s go.”
Chapter Five
The club’sthrobbing bass can be heard a half-block away, a pounding beat of that soulless electronica so popular at this kind of establishment. We’ve ditched the Rolls-Royce in favor of a nondescript black SUV — luxury limousines aren’t exactly ideal for flying under the radar. If I’m spotted at a place like this, I can only imagine the headlines tomorrow morning.
ROYAL RAGER! EMILIA TRADES ISOLATION FOR INEBRIATION
MOURNING QUEEN SPARKLES IN SILVER DRESS AT LUND HOTSPOT
Clubbing and drugging aren’t exactly in line with my royal “brand,” as Caulfield would say. I duck a little lower in my seat, cautious despite the dark tint of the backseat windows where Carter and I are sitting. Riggs is at the wheel, a second guard named Vega in the passenger seat.
I peer through the glass, trying to get a look at the club. From the outside it doesn’t look like much more than a blocky cube of cement. The line of beautiful people wrapping around it, waiting for their chance to strut past those velvet ropes, is our only clue to the debauchery unfolding within.
We pull into the alley that runs beside the club and find our path immediately blocked by three scary-looking bouncers in tight black “STAFF” t-shirts. Their muscles strain the fabric, corded veins thrumming with enough strength to crush any line-crashers with ease. Their expressions clearly communicate their intent.
Do not fuck with us.
Not if you enjoy the ability to walk.
It’s an impressive show of intimidation. I’m convinced our plan is about to disintegrate, that we’ll be forced to find an alternate way inside… until Riggs steps out of the SUV. The door shuts firmly behind him as he approaches the trio.
Riggs is by no means a small man, but standing in front of this mountain of muscle, he looks frighteningly slight. Concern crashes through me in an irrepressible wave as I see the bouncers’ hands curling into fists, their expressions darkening from annoyance to anger.
I can’t make out what Riggs is saying, but given the way the men begin to glance nervously at each other, going pale in the dim light of the alley, I’d bet my royal ass he’s using the full brunt of his national security privileges to threaten their livelihoods. Maybe even their lives, given how fast they scurry out of our SUV’s path.
Funny — they look a little smaller as Riggs walks back to the car. His poker face reveals nothing as he climbs into the driver’s seat.
“What did you say to them?” I marvel lowly, meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror.
In answer, the Commander merely shrugs and puts the SUV in gear, whistling lightly under his breath as we start to roll forward. Our headlights illuminate the alley, sending the bouncers scurrying out of our path like cockroaches. Riggs waves at them jauntily as we pass by, chuckling as he watches the blood drain from their faces.
Sociopath.
Vega grins over at his boss, clearly impressed by his antics. Even Carter expels a soft snort of amusement from the seat beside mine. I just roll my eyes.
Men.
The bouncers, still visibly shaken, wave us onward, deeper into the alley.A hundred or so yards down, we come to a stop in front of a nondescript steel door — a private back entrance leading into the bowels of the building. Our headlights illuminate a charming scene of grime-coated cement and rusted-out dumpsters.
“Your Majesty, this area isn’t secure,” Riggs says, half-turning in his seat to meet my stare. “I’d much prefer if you waited in the SUV with Vega.”
“What? No way! Chloe’s in there.”
“Thorne and I will find Chloe,” he says, eyes sliding to Carter. “You don’t need to be involved in this part.”
My jaw clenches down on a retort. I’m so tired of living in a protective bubble — of being sidelined over and over again, an ornately-carved chess piece that never moves more than one tile at a time.
“She’s my sister,” I whisper stubbornly. “She needs me. I’m not waiting in the car when she might be…”