“Got it.” She ended the call without another word. The only sound in the car was the roar of the engine as Rafe pressed on the accelerator, plunging them faster down the road. He had to return to Blush as quickly as possible.
“What can I do?” Philippe inquired. His soft voice almost made Rafe jump. Somehow he’d managed to forget that he was in the car.
“Nothing.”
“Rafe, please.”
He nearly snapped at the clan leader but caught himself at the last second. This wasn’t Philippe’s fault. There was no reason to take his anger and frustration out on him. This was a problem of his own creation, and he should have taken care of it ages ago.
“I can’t take you back to Arsenault Manor. I need to go directly to Blush. Can you arrange for a ride from there?” Rafe said evenly.
“Yes, of course. Is there anything else?”
Rafe stiffly shook his head. He appreciated the offer, but this was something he needed to do. He didn’t doubt that if necessary, Marcus would ride in and take care of things. Probably with more grace and efficiency than Rafe ever could. But in the end, Gideon would be protected.
But Rafe didn’t want his older brother sweeping in to clean up his messes. Not this time. Gideon was his. Lola and Ryder were his. He would protect what was his personally.
Chapter Fourteen
Rafe marched into Blush, his hands balled into fists at his sides. The empty building wasn’t surprising, but it only added more fuel to his temper. It was after midnight, and the place should have been crowded wall to wall with barely clad, writhing bodies and a thumping bassline. Drinks should have been flowing and money should have been accumulating in the till.
But the nightclub was empty.
The only positive was the lack of Rafe’s brother Marcus. Lola had managed to hold off whoever was causing problems in his club until Rafe could arrive. He didn’t want Marcus involved.
Pausing as he stepped into the wide-open space, Rafe tugged at the cuffs of his shirt, making sure his appearance was still perfect as his eyes swept over the scene. Gideon was perched on a seat in front of the long bar, his arms tightly crossed over his chest as if they were the only things holding him together.
Beside him stood Ryder. His larger frame nearly blocked Gideon from view. The perpetually silent vampire’s face looked as if it were carved from granite, and the artist hadn’t been particularly concerned with making him attractive. His features were too harsh, too cold. Steely gray eyes were narrowed, and his mouth was a brutal slash.
Only Lola appeared to be relaxed and unconcerned with the three vampires lined up opposite them, all appearing to be various degrees of pissed. Seated at a high-top table, she stared at the intruders. A bottle of whiskey and a tumbler rested in front of her as if she’d been steadily working her way through the expensive liquor while waiting for Rafe’s arrival.
The three vampires threatening Gideon didn’t look familiar, not that it deterred Rafe from protecting what he considered his. And Gideon was most definitely his to protect.
“Well, now,” Rafe said loudly as he stepped into the open area. “Isn’t this just cozy? The seven of us in a big, empty nightclub.”
“It didn’t have to go down like this,” one of the vampires snarled.
Rafe lifted an eyebrow at him, carefully keeping his expression bland when he was already looking to slash the fucker’s throat. From across the room, Rafe could see Gideon trembling and sinking into himself. The kid had been through enough trauma in his existence. He didn’t need this conflict, not when he was finally starting to find some self-confidence and joy.
“I don’t think we’ve been introduced. Rafe Varik, owner of Blush. You know, the stunning club that has been emptied at prime time for your little business.”
“I know you, Varik.”
Rafe smirked. “Most people do. But I’d wager that most don’t know you.”
“Gregori,” snarled the leader.
Rafe smirk widened into a teasing grin. “Gregori. How adorably antiquated. One might think you were trying to make yourself seem older than your century or so. I have to wonder if your mother named you something terribly mundane…like John. Or maybe Bert. Yes, I bet you were a Bert in your past life.”
“Shut it!”
“Come now, Bert. I thought we were talking civilly about why you’ve come into my club and disrupted my business, disrupted the pleasure of hundreds of humans and more than a few of your own brethren.” His tone grew sharper as he spoke until it was practically slicing through flesh when he finished.
Rafe took a few steps into the room, gracefully weaving past tables and chairs until he was between Gideon and Gregori.
“There was no need to stop anything. That was the doing of your employees,” Gregori snapped, though Rafe had already started to think of him as Bert. It really was a more appropriate name. His head was rounded and kind of pointed on top with tufts of black hair. The large nose protruding from his ugly face gave his voice a very nasal quality.