Her Selkie Harem by Savannah Skye

Author:Savannah Skye [Skye, Savannah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-04-16T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Cards on the table, walking back toward the Twisted Club was not made any less terrifying by doing so brazenly rather than covertly.

It was made still more hair-raising by the presence of more money than I had ever seen in one place, burning a hole in my bag. I felt like I had a sign on my front saying 'I'm here to secretly infiltrate your club' and another on my back saying 'I am holding vast quantities of cash, please mug me'. I had asked, of course, where the money had come from - I don't like to pry but... Damn. They hadn't been remotely shy about it - money meant little to a Selkie, it was merely useful at times like this.

"People lose things at sea," Declan had explained. "Often worthless things but often valuable things. We pick them up and sell them."

"Sell them how?"

"eBay."

I'd stopped questioning it after that. The whole concept of seals selling sunken treasure on eBay was pretty weird.

Of course, Connor and Declan had wanted to come along and watch me go in from a safe distance, but I had nixed that idea straight away. That was exactly what Patch's plan had been and look how that had turned out. I didn't know how broad a perimeter the club guards took when they circled the club and I wasn't keen to find out by trial and error. The Selkies were just too easy to spot - too big to be missed and too threatening in size and strength not to rouse suspicion. Even so, they refused to stay in the hotel and were instead propping up a bar about a block away, waiting for a discrete text from me to bring them up to speed or text to say I was in trouble.

Hopefully, the former.

My heart was in my mouth as I made my way toward the building trying to look confident and as if I belonged. The type of people who came to venues like this were shrouded in an aura of entitlement - no one ever questioned where they were going or what they were doing because something about them declared that they were better than you and had every right to be where they were, doing what they were doing and how dare you question it?

If you asked one of these people why they were bludgeoning someone over the head with a pickaxe handle, then they would respond by asking what business it was of yours, and you would retreat guiltily to leave them to their bludgeoning. That level of granite-hard self-confidence was hard to emulate, but I was going to give it my best shot.

As I approached, I could see the guards on the door talking to each other in lowered voices, and I started to imagine they were talking about me. Surely, they had spotted me a mile away. Surely, I stuck out like a sore thumb. They knew that I was not one of their clientele, they knew I was here to bring them down, they recognized me from New York.

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