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from all the bland, identical ones around it, especially since they’d left the lights off when they left, but she thought she could see the shadowed forms of Nate and Dante standing there watching her progress. She hoped the two of them would be able to keep their dislike for one another under control without her there to act as peacemaker.
    She looked resolutely forward as she and Bishop left everything that was familiar behind her.
    It was early by Basement standards, so there wasn’t a whole lot of foot traffic, but there was enough to make Nadia jittery, and everyone looked so exotic it was hard not to stare.
    “Don’t make eye contact with anyone,” Bishop warned, taking her arm as if to guide her around something and then not letting go. “Pretend like we’re alone on the street. And stick real close.”
    Like she had any choice when he had his hand on her arm. Not that she felt inclined to complain. Bishop wasn’t particularly large or burly—not like Dante, who exuded strength—but he nonetheless looked scary enough to keep predators at a distance. He wasn’t as exotically colorful as most of the Basement-dwellers, the only color on him being a thin, many-times-ripped chartreuse T-shirt that displayed more than it hid of his heavily tattooed torso. But there were obvious wiry muscles under those tattoos, and his kohl-lined eyes were a particular piercing shade of blue and projected an instant aura of menace. The facial piercings and the currently ultra-short mohawk he was growing put the finishing touches on his look, and she knew it would be a rare Basement-dweller indeed who would choose to mess with him.
    The walk to Angel’s club seemed to take forever. Partly because the ridiculous boots with their torturous heels were killing Nadia’s feet, and partly because of her hyperactive threat radar. Avoiding eye contact turned out to be harder than she’d expected. Her eyes kept wanting to scope out her surroundings, take a second look at anyone who might be a predator on the hunt. But keeping an eye on their surroundings was Bishop’s job. Hers was to not attract attention.
    Eventually, they stopped in front of a high-rise that looked like all the others around it, except the word ANGEL’S was spray-painted over the entrance. Nadia could hardly wait to get behind a closed door, even though she knew the hard part of her mission hadn’t yet begun. She tried to hurry her steps, but Bishop still had hold of her arm, and he came to a stop, forcing her to stop with him.
    “What is it?” she asked, her pulse pounding in her throat.
    “They’re gonna search you when we go in,” he warned.
    Nadia looked down at herself and blinked. “Where do they think I would hide a weapon in this outfit?” she asked. The catsuit was so tight you could probably see the slightly raised birthmark on her left shoulder blade.
    “It’s not really about weapons,” he said. “Think of it as a kind of dominance display. They want us to know who’s in charge—and it ain’t us.”
    “Okay,” she said slowly, though the look in his eyes told her there was more to come.
    “They’ll probably be assholes about it. The less you react, the better. If you make it obvious it’s bothering you, they’ll get off on it and make it worse.”
    Nadia swallowed hard. “Funny how you didn’t mention any of this when we were talking things over with Nate and Dante.” She could just imagine how the two of them would react to the thought of her being manhandled. Not that she was doing so great with the idea herself.
    Bishop shrugged. “What Dante doesn’t know won’t hurt him. And Nate’s kinda being Nate. He’s been felt up here a million times, but it hasn’t occurred to him that they’ll do the same to you. If he knew, we’d probably have to tie him up and have Dante sit on him to keep him from coming along and pitching a fit.”
    Nadia smiled faintly at the image. “Guess it’s a good thing he didn’t fully think it