When we pull up to the club, Grizz is standing guard, his scarred face still as stone. He’s a life-sized gargoyle until we approach and he moves to intercept us. “Boss.”
“Where’s the body?” Trey asks grimly.
Grizz brings us to the back door. The body is a limp pile half-leaning against the door, soft red hair spilling over the face. I bite my fist to stifle a cry. The redhead at the club—could it be her? Did she scene with a vampire and disappear, a victim to Nero’s bloodlust? Did he whip her flesh in a frenzy and drag her to an alcove to drain her dry because he was angry with me?
Did I cause this?
Then Trey stoops down, brushing the hair aside. It’s not a woman, but a young man with matching red hair. That doesn’t help any. It could’ve been her.
I close my eyes, breathing deep to st
