“Where are we?” I ask, looking around the parking lot.
I already know of course. We’re at The Yellow Brick, which is a strip club in the heart of Kinland, owned by none other than Farrell Westerly himself.
Liam, one of Farrell’s associates who’s been tasked with babysitting me, grins as he slicks back his greasy red strands in the rearview mirror of his car.
“Let’s not play games, okay rook?” he says, turning toward me and lighting the end of a cigarette. “We both know that you know where we are.”
My heart shoots into my throat. Is this a trap? Have I been made? “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
He frowns. “You expect me to believe you don’t know what a strip club is?”
Relief floods my system and my muscles relax. He’s just being a prick. I lean back in my car seat and smirk.
He purses his lips. “Must be nice to get in so quick with The Skip.”
I shrug, not bothering to reply. To be completely honest, I’m just as shocked as anyone else Farrell granted me access to his person that easily; that he allowed me into his home and to meet with him face to face. That he doesn’t seem to care if his “pride and joy” wants to fuck me six ways from Sunday and that—at least in everyone else’s eyes—I’m entertaining the thought.
And that tells me one of two things. Either Farrell Westerly is the dumbest motherfucker to ever run an organized crime ring, or he’s gotten overly confident and sloppy.
Either way, it begs the question of how the hell he built such an empire in such a short amount of time if these are the types of decisions he makes.
Liam grunts before opening his car door and slamming it behind him, throwing his half-burned cigarette on the ground. I follow suit, the cool nighttime air whipping across my face when I leave the vehicle and walk toward the front door. The loose gravel of the club’s parking lot crunches beneath my shoes as we make our way to the front entrance, and I sink into my role as Brayden, my hand running along the chain on my neck, pulling it to rest on top of my shirt instead of underneath it. The minuscule wire inside wouldn’t capture much video if it was hidden beneath fabric.
The inside is exactly what you’d expect from the name. The floor is almost black, and it’s accented with muted yellow brick walls. Couches line the perimeter with VIP areas hidden along the back. The dim lighting and the music pumping through the speakers sets up a club atmosphere, but instead of being overwhelming and in your face, it’s relaxed. There’s a bar along the far right that spans the entire length of the building and in the center of the room there’s a large stage with a pole. Smaller circular stages are scattered throughout, all of them with women in various stages of undress.
I know the layout of this place inside and out, having looked at the architectural blueprints until my eyes bled. But seeing it in person is different.
Liam’s hand slaps down on my shoulder, squeezing. “Look at all the tits you want later, let’s go.”
I move behind him as he waltzes by the main stage and past the bar, barely sparing anyone a second glance as he heads to the back where the VIP areas are. I spin around as we walk, trying to get a visual of as much of the room as possible. There’s a long hall with blank doors and he moves past the first two before throwing open the third one aggressively, the sound of it slamming against the wall harsh against my ears.
A man sits in the center of a U-shaped booth with a cigar in his mouth and a bottle of Don in the center of the table. He snaps his head up. The girl in his lap ignores that we’re here entirely and continues to rub her naked pussy on top of him.
“Liam, buddy.” He peers around her shoulder. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Tony.” Liam cracks his knuckles then puts his hand in his pocket and pulls out an emerald necklace. My stomach tightens when I realize it’s the one I said was a fake.
He brings his arm back and then flings it. It hits the woman in the back and she yelps, stuttering in her movement.
Tony’s face drops, the laid-back ease that was present morphing into something more sinister. He puts his hands on the hips of the dancer, stopping her. He squeezes her ass roughly and groans like he can’t stand the thought of letting it go before tapping her with his palm. “Give me a few minutes, doll.”
She rises from him and skims her eyes over Liam and me before leaving the room entirely.
He adjusts the waist of his pants before pointing a gold-ringed finger at Liam. “You better have a good fucking reason for doing what you just did.”
Liam lifts his chin. “You selling Skip fakes now?”
My chest tightens, my eyes going back and forth between them.
Fucking great.
“Please.” Tony laughs. “The fuck outta here with that.”
Liam lifts his brows, tossing a thumb in my direction. “This guy says you are.”
“Bullshit,” Tony spits, his eyes narrowing on me. “You saying I gave a fugazi?”
I clench my jaw, wanting to be anywhere other than in this room. Because no, he didn’t, in all actuality. “Come on, buddy. Let’s not play games.”
“And now you’re calling me a liar?” He sits up straight, looking over to Liam. “Who the fuck is this guy? You come in here and accuse me of shit? I don’t gotta answer to no one. Not even your fucking boss.”
Liam shakes his head. “He wants his money, Tony.”
He sits back, crossing his leg over his other knee and grinning. “Tell him to bill me.”
There’s a split moment where I consider what I’m about to do, but it’s only that; a moment. I need to gain Farrell’s trust enough to make it into the inner circle, and regardless of the repercussions, word will get to him.
I chuckle before snapping forward and gripping Tony by the back of his neck, slamming his head forward into the glass table. The sound of it smashing is loud, and a searing pain shoots up the side of my arm, a steady trickle of liquid seeping from a cut on my wrist.
“Aye, aye,” Liam snaps, pulling me back as Tony struggles and yells in the background. “For fuck’s sake, rook, get ahold of yourself. For the love of God.”
I scoff, throwing my arm toward him. “You’re gonna let some nobody fuck disrespect you, disrespect Skip like that? Here? On your turf?” I shake my head. “Nah, not with me. Not like that.”
“Vattela a pigliare in culo,” Antonio spits.
“The fuck you say?” I reply, turning to go at him again. The fake outbursts of violence make me feel like shit, but everything about my persona has to fit the mold. The lazy speech, the short temper and flares of violence. That’s Brayden, so in effect, that’s me.
Liam’s eyes narrow, his nostrils flaring and he grabs the front of my shirt, dragging me into him. “You don’t get to bash in the heads of people with more importance than you. I can, but you can’t. Got it?”
I shrug out of his hold, my heart slamming against my chest from the adrenaline. “Whatever.”
“Go clean yourself up.” He glares down at my hand. “Christ.”
Sighing, I shake out my wrist and make a beeline toward the restrooms, hoping like hell I didn’t make a mistake by fucking with an Italian. I’m assuming if he was hanging out in Westerly territory, he’s no one high in the food chain, possibly could even get himself eighty-sixed if people found out, but when it comes to the inner workings of the underworld, you can never be too sure.
I turn the corner and slam into a body, my hands shooting out quickly and gripping slender shoulders, hauling them into me to keep us both steady.
My wrist throbs.
Glancing down, I meet angry brown eyes lined in black.
Eveline. What the hell is she doing here?
“Why am I not surprised to see you?” she says, lifting one of her perfectly arched brows. “What are you doing back here?”
My eyes soak her in, taking in the soft lines of her face and her black lace tank top covered by a hoodie that’s unzipped in the front, leaving her cleavage on full display.
Should have paid them more attention when I had the chance.
“Got lost.”
She narrows her gaze before sucking in a quick and shallow breath, her hand reaching out to grab my wrist. “What happened?”
I lift a brow, surprised by her tender touch, so at odds with the wall she erects anytime she’s near me. “Didn’t realize you cared so much, sweetheart.”
She turns, pulling me toward the nearest door and opening it so we can walk into a large office with mahogany wood and burgundy furniture.
“Just need to make sure you won’t bleed out on Westerly property,” she mutters as she pushes me into one of the couches against the wall. “It’s bad for business.”
I fall back willingly, the buttery soft fabric so comfortable I sink into the cushions.
“Stay.” She points at me as she walks across the room and into the door of the en suite.
I don’t stay, of course, hopping up immediately and walking over to the desk, my eyes flicking to the open door of the private restroom and then back as I hunch over to allow the camera a good view of the desk’s top. I don’t touch anything, and more than likely there’s nothing of importance out, but you never know.
“What are you doing?” Eveline’s voice breaks through the fog, making my stomach jump into my throat.
Stepping back, I run a hand through my hair. “Snooping, obviously.”
Her brows draw in. “I told you to stay put.”
I step into her until her ass is pressed against the edge of the desk and my hips are wedged against hers. “And I’m not a dog you can bark demands at, sweetheart.”
She smirks. “I beg to differ.”
My cock jerks, arousal warring with my brain, warning me to keep my distance. My brain loses, the way it seems to always lose with her.
“You’re right,” I agree, taking my uninjured hand and reaching around to grip her hip and pull her into me. “Tell me to sit and eat like a good boy, and I swear to fucking god I’ll do it.”
My mouth waters at even the thought of what she tastes like.
Her lips part, and I have the most delicious visual of my dick slipping between them, her big brown eyes staring up at me, and that tongue ring she didn’t have the night we met running along the shaft.
“This desk is worth more than your life,” she whispers. “And you’re bleeding all over it.”
I snap out of my thoughts, realizing that my fingers are digging into the meat of her ass, and I step back, letting go like she set me on fire before looking down to where there’s a small puddle of red pooling on the wood.
Jesus, what the hell is wrong with me?
A loud sigh pours from Eveline’s mouth and then she’s pulling me by the hand again, back to the couch, tossing me like a rag doll into it. She sits next to me, dragging my bleeding arm into her lap. Then she grabs the first aid kit and gets to work, pouring hydrogen peroxide over the wound.
The sting permeates through my skin and makes me hiss. “Ouch. Fuck.”
“Oops.” She looks at me with wide eyes. “Did that hurt?”
It gets quiet as she takes out the antiseptic and gauze, cleaning the wound and dabbing at it, her eyes laser-focused on the task at hand.
My stomach tightens and I take the moment to look at her, really look at her, wondering again what she’s doing here and how she feels about her family’s chosen profession. Sadness whirls through my center as I think of everything she could be.
Maybe it’s not too late. Maybe I can get her out.
“Why did you lie to me about your name?” she asks without looking up from where she’s bandaging the wound.
My chest twists. “The same reason you didn’t give me yours.”
She swallows audibly and peers at me through her lashes, her eyes moving back and forth quickly, as if she’s trying to see past the facade and drag out my soul. Her lips part and my abs tense, the air growing thick and filling the space between us until it feels like I might snap in half.
Her face is an inch from mine and when she breathes out, I breathe in, trying like hell to remember that she’s the enemy. That I’m here to take her and everyone she cares about down.
That none of this is real.
It can’t be real.
Suddenly, the door swings open and slams against the wall, causing us both to jump apart. Liam walks in, barreling straight to us and shoving his thick finger in my face.
“Fuck up like that again, and I’ll put a bullet in your fucking mouth. You understand me?”
Eveline’s brows jump and she stands, moving across the room to perch behind the desk.
I lean back against the couch cushions. “Remind me when I started to work for you, Liam?”
His cheeks grow red, his body tensing, hands rolling into fists like he’s about to try and hit me. Dude’s got anger problems, for sure.
“When you two are done measuring dicks, feel free to tell me what’s going on,” Eveline interrupts.
He spins around to face her, strands of his red hair falling onto his forehead. “Don’t worry about what the big boys are doing, sweetheart. Just sit there, look pretty, and run the numbers like your daddy asks.”
So she’s doing the books. Shit.
Him calling her sweetheart burns deep in my gut, because calling her that is my way of pissing her off, not his. Every time I say it, my cock jerks from the angry flush that pinks her skin. When the endearment falls from his lips I want to stand up and shove his face into glass the way I did Tony a few minutes ago.
Eveline’s entire persona shifts in an instant. She tilts her head to the side and smiles. “Come again?”
“Why don’t you give us a minute?” Liam continues.
Clearly, Liam doesn’t see the change.
Eveline places her dainty hands on top of the large mahogany desk, dropping her head and shaking it back and forth as she closes her eyes, mouthing what look like numbers.
“Come on, Evie. You don’t need to listen to all this,” he tries again, winking at her this time. “I know you like to play boss when Skip’s not around, but this is guy stuff, okay?”
Her eyes crack open and sharpen like a blade as she grabs a couple of envelopes from the corner of the desk and a silver letter opener before walking toward the door. “Sure, my bad.”
My brows rise, surprised she withered so quickly, but I should have known better. She reaches Liam and shoves him forcefully into the wall, using her entire body to pin him, the letter opener pressing into his crotch, and the skinny heel of those boots she’s always wearing stabbing into his foot.
He pushes back against her, his hands at her shoulders, and I move to jump between them, but quickly realize there’s no need. She subdues him easily.
It’s actually quite a comical sight, a short girl not even clearing five-two with a tall man well over six feet at her mercy.
I sit back, half in disgust at what she’s capable of and the other half in awe of the power she’s suddenly exuding.
“You know,” she starts. “I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to cut off a man’s testicles.”
He jerks again, but she shifts her weight, her pointy heel digging into his foot until he groans from the pain. His hands tense at his sides, but even he isn’t stupid enough to try anything while she has a sharp blade against his dick.
She tilts her head. “Should I try it on you?”
“Evie, come on. Don’t lose it right now.” His voice is strained. “Your dad will kill me if I have to hurt you.”
“Lose it? I’m not losing anything,” she says, glancing over at me. “People seem to think I have problems with impulse control. Can you believe that?”
She laughs, and I’m frozen, stuck halfway in my seat and halfway to standing, the burning in my thighs nothing close to the panic swirling through my middle and surging to my throat.
Liam’s eyes flick to me, and I… I don’t know what the fuck to do. I should stop whatever this is, the right thing to do is to stop it, but the other part of me, perhaps the more vindictive part, wants to let it play out. Stepping in is a risk. One that I can’t afford to take.
“Oh no,” she coos to Liam. “Brayden can’t help you. He’s assured me that he’s incredibly adept at following directions.” Her hand presses the letter opener farther into Liam’s crotch. “Isn’t that right, pup?”
He whimpers.
“Apologize,” she demands.
“I’m sorry,” he rasps.
She tsks. “Just like a man. Giving the bare minimum and expecting us to be satisfied. Say it like you mean it, Liam, and maybe you won’t leave this room a eunuch.”
He gulps. “I’m sor-sorry, Evie. I was wrong. I won’t disrespect you again.”
She reaches up and pats his cheek twice. “Good boy.”
When she lets him go, she spins around and moves away quickly, not bothering to keep her eyes on him, like she’s completely confident he won’t seek retribution at her back.
My eyes, however, don’t leave him for a second. Just to make sure.
He doesn’t. He just clears his throat and adjusts his rumpled clothing as he straightens from the wall.
Walking back toward the desk, she flips the letter opener through her fingers, flashing me a grin. Liam and I are stone silent, and it doesn’t take long for her to notice.
She cackles and I swear no other sound has ever sent a chill through me quite like it.
“Oh, calm down. I was only kidding. It’s like you said, Liam. I’m only here to do Dad’s books. I’ll leave the ‘business’ up to you big, strong men.” Her eyes flick to my bandaged wrist. “You clearly handle it so well.”
She grins again, that same thin smile with no teeth and blazing eyes that she always gives, and I realize then that Eveline Westerly is not one of the good guys.
And she absolutely cannot be saved.
