Page 31 of Targeted By Fate
“We need a plan.” Ezra showed us the layout of the VIP suite that he’d downloaded. Or hacked into, because the club owners didn’t advertise that.
I shoved his hand away. There was no need to see the sofa placements, the bar, expensive coffee tables, or private booths. I shuddered at the last one, thinking Keane might be there serving drinks and getting groped.
“He’s with that fucker, Cassian. The Ironclaw Alpha.”
“Who has his goons at the door.” Riggs jerked his head toward the entrance. “And probably more inside.”
“And they are packing,” Lake noted. “Obviously.” He put his hand on his own gun.
Ezra stabbed the phone. “But there are private entrances here and here.”
“So?” My voice was louder than intended, and heads swirled in our directions. More than one drink spilled on the expensive carpet. “What use is that?”
We huddled together, keeping our heads down.
“True, but there will only be security at the private entrances and not a club full of people with phones videoing you with your gun blazing.”
“I would hope you’d be at my side, so it’s guns, not a gun,” I huffed.
“Look.” Maynard steered us into a corner. “We don’t know there’s a problem other than Keane is with a drug lord.”
“Do you hear yourself, dude?”
“Okay, that came out wrong.” Maynard chewed his lower lip. “Not sure how to make it sound right. But Keane isn’t doing anything wrong. He’s working and has no idea who Cassian is.” Maynard crossed his arms.
I gulped in air, trying to tamp down my rage at Cassian and my annoying older brother. Maynard was the suave one who could pretend to make sense of the most ridiculous garbage, while I was all bluster.
Glass splintering had us whirl around. The humans who were laughing and drinking nearby hadn’t picked up on the glass shattering, but every shifter was staring at the VIP entrance.
One guy, with a deep cut on his brow and a blood-spattered shirt, swayed and slurred his words, saying there’s been an accident with one of the hosts.
“That’s it. I’m going in and not through the back door.” My reasoning for charging in the main entrance was the staff would be distracted, and I was convinced whatever had happened involved Keane. And to heck with starting a war or continuing one. No one toyed with my mate’s safety.
“Right behind you.” Thiago reached for his gun, but Riggs hissed at him and said we’d never get through the door if we brandished our weapons.
I strode toward the door, and a security guard shoved his arm out, smacking me in the chest. I paused, glancing down at his burly arm, and raised my head, allowing my beast to shine through my gaze.
He was a shifter, and I expected him to return the favor. If his wolf resembled his human, he’d crush me, but his attention was diverted by another VIP staggering out. I took advantage of his distraction and barreled past him, my brothers at my heels.
The dim lighting inside had me blinking. While my eyes adjusted quicker than a human’s, I inwardly raged at the delay.
My gaze alighted on Keane. He was standing—barely—his head lolling forward and his tongue hanging out. Oh shit. This was how the staff at Pulsepoint had described the shifters who’d been drugged. He was anything but fine.
Cassian was leaning on the bar, a cocktail to his lips, and for a second I wavered. Help my mate or kill Cassian. I could do both but not at the same time. I chose Keane, even though this would give Cassian and his drug-spiking thugs ample opportunity to kill us.
He caught sight of us, and the lazy conceited smile on his lips faded.
“Ezra and Thiago, with me.”
I needed my remaining brothers to fan out around the club and hoped Maynard and Lake were surrounding Cassian.
“My darling, I’ve got you.” I steadied Keane as he studied me with glazed eyes. A crushing of bones and a crack, along with grunts and thuds, alerted me my brothers were engaging with the security guards.
“I don’t… don’t feel so good.”
“You’ve been drugged, but you’re going to be fine.” I hoped that was true.
“I don’t feel furry l-l-like the last time.” He hiccuped.
