The Wolf with the Iron Jaw (Elysium #1)

Chapter Twenty-Six

 The night was bitterly cold. Trinket's breath came out in puffs as Booker led her through the darkened streets. It was hard to tell where they were going, seeing as she was still slightly unfamiliar with the layout of the city. Maybe it was better that she didn't know. If Booker felt it necessary to arm her literally from head to toe, they couldn't be headed anywhere good.

As they turned into a filthy, dead-end alley, he leaned in towards her. "Watch out in here," he whispered, his breath warming her ear. "Don't trust anyone. Don't give any detailed information about yourself. Be subtle."

She nodded her understanding, and he led her to the back of the alley. She half expected him to knock on the wall and reveal a hidden door, but instead, he crouched down and tapped on a cellar hatch that practically blended into the trash and debris littering the ground. After a few moments, the door was thrown open, and a young man with a pug-like nose peered out. He glanced at Trinket suspiciously, but when he caught sight of Booker, his expression turned to respect.

"Right this way, Mr. Larkin," he said, disappearing into the shadows.

Booker carefully stepped through the entrance and offered his hand to help her inside. Once they were both within the entryway, the young man leaned over to shut and lock the door, pitching them into complete darkness until a match sparked to life. They followed the tiny flame down a set of stairs that they could not see for the inky blackness. She was thankful for Booker's arm around her shoulders and found herself holding on tightly to his waist as she tested each stair before proceeding.

The young man waited for them by yet another door as they reached the final step. Booker tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and gave it a quick squeeze before their escort opened the door and led them inside.

Raucous laughter welcomed them as they entered. Blinking against the sting of cigar smoke, she took in her surroundings. It was nothing more than an abandoned basement with a few candles and lanterns scattered about, casting menacing shadows throughout the room. The cement walls were covered in mold, the dirt floor stained with what looked suspiciously like blood. Crowds of men and women surrounded rickety tables where various games were being played: cards, dice, something that involved knives.

The men outnumbered the women for sure, but there were a handful of ladies participating in the entertainment. Of course, some of them were also providing the entertainment. Garishly dressed night flowers prowled the room, taking any opportunity they could find to plop themselves into the laps of inebriated players and distract them with their wandering hands.

Booker stopped short as one particular night flower lazily wove her way through the crowd, her eyes fixed on him. "Oh Lord," he mumbled.

She was by far the prettiest of all the women there, night flower or otherwise. Her cherry lips curled into a wicked smirk as she tucked a dark curl behind her ear. A slight hint of rouge colored her porcelain cheeks, although, considering how cold it was, the blush could have been natural. Whatever the case, it gave her a slightly girlish look that tempered the brazen determination in her eyes.

"Didn't know you'd be here tonight," she said to Booker, snaking her arm around his own.

His muscles went tense. "Yes, well, it's been far too long since I've had a good time, so why not?"

The woman leaned into him, her ample bosom strategically placed in his direct line of vision. "If it's a good time you're after, you know I can always help you with that."

He gently untangled himself from her grip and backed away. "Thank you, Grace, but I think I'm capable of generating my own fun."

Her eyes flitted to Trinket. "Ah, or have you already found a bit of skirt to fulfill your needs?"