Afterlight - Elle Jasper [74]
I didn’t answer him; instead, I shoved the dope in my pocket, pushed away from him, and left his office, slamming the door behind me. It didn’t drown out his laughter. What a nasty freak. I was halfway to the double doors when Eli stepped out of the shadows. Immediately, a protective hand went to my lower back. Within the horseshoe, it was like some seedy club in a movie; two guys were standing close, sharing a joint; another couple was hot and heavy against the wall not two feet away, her laced leather shirt completely undone and his hands all over her breasts. Two girls had staked out a dark alcove near the bathroom, one sprawled across the other’s lap; they faced each other, making out and feeling each other up. The one on top had on a short plaid schoolgirl skirt with her knees pulled up, and her thonged ass was hanging out. Swear to God, people these days had no freaking humility. I wasn’t a prude or anything, but damn. “Get a room,” I muttered, but no way did they hear me, and even if they did, they didn’t care. The pressure of Eli’s hand guided me past all the club lovers and into the main room, where we entered a mob of people dancing. Not once did his palm leave my skin. People bumped and knocked into me as they moved to the music, and each time they did, Eli’s grasp tightened against my flesh. I could feel his entire body pressed against me as we weaved through the crowd, and my body hummed with awareness. I liked it.
Close to the door we ran into Mullet and a tall, leggy girl with a pitch-black bob, straight-across bangs, black pants, and a red tank top with suspenders. Her Goth boots made her an easy two inches taller than Mullet. He made quick introductions; then we left. Mullet had never gotten into the bad stuff, like what went on in the back rooms. He was strictly a partier of music and drink. A really good guy. I sometimes wondered how he remained my friend when I’d been into so much awful stuff.
At the door, Zetty gave me the stink eye; he knew something was up, and although I hadn’t been around him in some time, it didn’t set right with me that he thought I was into Kelter’s shit again. But I couldn’t tell him otherwise. I waved good-bye and felt his all-knowing mystical Tibetan eyes on me until the door closed.
Outside, the heavy, wet air from the recent rain hung thick around us, the salt marsh from the Savannah River throwing off a weighty scent, and I breathed deeply, relieved to be outside. I glanced back at the Panic Room and again wondered how such a nondescript building could contain so much . . . sin. And how easily I had become a part of it, way back when.
“Get on,” Eli said, the anger back in his voice. I looked at him like he’d lost his mind, wondering why he was so mad—especially at me. He said nothing more, so I climbed on and we headed up Martin Luther until we reached Bay.
“Head to Congress Street,” I said over his shoulder. “Molly McPherson’s.”
At the traffic light he stopped and half turned to look at me. He said nothing.
“Because I don’t feel like going home yet,” I said, and I didn’t. Home was where Seth wasn’t, and it was where Eligius Dupré would be, and the walls of my apartment would close in on me. “Please?” I asked, and really didn’t like having to plead. Eli didn’t answer, but he made the right turn, and we parked across the street from Congress and walked to Molly’s.
Inside the atmospheric Scottish pub, I weaved through the small crowd gathered at the long, polished mahogany bar to Martin, the bartender, then grabbed the corner booth by the front window and ordered another whiskey. Eli slid into the booth across from me, his mouth drawn tight, brows pulled together in a pissed-off expression. He didn’t order anything. His light eyes regarded me with such depth, and although he usually observed me in such a manner, tonight was different. There was something different gleaming there, and I wanted to know what it was. I waited, thinking he’d tell me on his own. Too