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I look at him tiredly.
“I know,” Mason relents. “In my defense, no one’s shift had started so I didn’t think anyone was here.”
“Is there a point to this, other than you copping a bonus look at the tits you see every day?”
He leans on the bar, lowering his voice. “She was startled.”
“I would be too if a hairy, pierced fucker like you walked in on me getting dressed.” I slide my empty across to him in instruction to fill. “Get to the point.”
“She was on a cell. Nothing unusual. Except her cell was on the dressing table.”
My eyebrows jump up. “Two cells?”
Mason nods. “I heard Danny’s phone was bugged. I also heard some Mexicans and Russians have shown up dead. And you just got shot at outside.” He rises, taking another glass down and pouring himself some water. “I think now is the time to question everything, right?”
“Right,” I say, looking over my shoulder. “Which one?”
“Ella.”
One of the newer girls. She and Erica are popular. I nod, watching the Amazonian-looking beauty grind down on the stage, her long, straight black hair skimming the floor with her pussy. “How long is left of her set?”
“Fifteen minutes.”
I get up and head to the dressing rooms, knocking, listening, and entering when I get no indication that anyone is in there. I pull out my car keys, get the master for the lockers and open Ella’s, pulling out a backpack. I dump it on the chair nearby and open, going in. I find one phone. Dig a little deeper. And find another.
Both are iPhones, one newer than the other. Both have the same screen saver. A golden retriever. Cute. I pocket both the phones and put her bag back, securing the locker and returning to the club.
I give Mason a nod, silently telling him to expect a complaint from staff about missing belongings, and neck the last of my drink, checking the time. I have fifteen minutes to make it to the Four Seasons. I’m not worried. She’ll wait.
I text Danny and James as I leave.
We need to talk.
I get in my Mercedes, looking up and down the street as I do, wondering if today is the day we stop moving around alone again. Wondering if we’re vulnerable again. I pull off, driving sensibly, in no rush to get to the hotel. My head is reeling with so much, and I’m at a massive disadvantage right now, without the brain power to process the unexpected developments today—the killings, the emblems, Danny’s bugged cell, the drive-by, the dancer with two phones.
I come to a stop at a set of lights and take the opportunity to be courteous and text Allison to let her know I’m ten minutes away. As I slip my phone back into my inside pocket and look up at the lights, something over the road catches my attention.
Red.
My heart begins to beat dangerously fast as I watch Pearl move in on an ATM, a can of soda in her hand. The shape of her body in that black dress. Her ass.
Fuck.
No.
I curse that curvy ass off to hell and back for being so fucking reckless. Alone. This time of night. Using a fucking ATM. And I thought she was ill. If she’s sick, she should be at home in bed.
A horn sounds, surprising me, and I look up to see the lights have turned green. “Fuck it,” I hiss, pulling away, staying in my lane, rather than indicating and moving across toward the sidewalk to stop. She’s not my concern. Danny and James can deal with this.
I cruise past the ATM, eyes forward, hands holding the steering wheel tightly, thinking of the pussy waiting for me. The distraction. No complications. No pissed off Rose and Beau. No conscience. Because all I can offer is an emotionless fuck.
I can’t rescue her from the clutches of traffickers and then violate her.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
“Shit.” I release one hand from the wheel and hit the screen on my dash, pulling up my recent calls. I dial Len.
“Brad,” he says.
