I shoot out a few inquiry emails then surf the net, recalling how Tara agreed to wear a collar for me. Score. I told her it would be fit for a queen, so it will have to be something unique. I punch in diamond collars, and about a billion options pop up. Everything from rhinestone dog collars to multi-million dollar chokers.
Choices, choices.
Then I find it. It’s not leather or lace. It’s twelve carats’ worth of diamonds, strung together like garland. Heavy and thick, while feminine and princess-like all at the same time. I can already picture Tara wearing it butt-naked as she rides my cock dry.
I click buy, glossing over the hefty price tag. I don’t know what’s come over me, but I’m becoming as possessive as Kayne and as perverted as Jett and loving every second of it.
Speak of the blond devil; a text comes through from him.
Jett: Will we ever see you again or has T’s pussy swallowed you alive?
Me: Funny . . . wish they had a middle finger emoji. Figuring out my next move as we speak.
Jett: Better hurry up, the big guy has been asking about you. Can’t cover forever. Gonna have to tell him you’ve been reassigned soon.
Shit.
Me: Buy me a little more time. Relationship status: it’s complicated.
Jett: It always is. Roger that.
I lean back on the couch and stare at the ceiling, only seeing Tara’s eyes. The sparkly, dark blue ones that hold me hostage twenty-four hours a day.
My phone beeps again, and I am expecting a last-minute snide remark from Jett, but it’s an unknown number instead.
Unknown: Caught a break. Want to go clubbing? ~ S
Me: Clubbing? WTF . . . ?
I’M STANDING IN AN ALLEYWAYnext to a shady building in the middle of Hell’s Kitchen at midnight. Faint club music pumps through the air as I wait for my accomplice. Thump . . . thump . . . thump . . . My head hurts already.
Slade materializes out of the darkness in his usual attire. Black hat, shirt, and jeans. He looks like night personified.
“So what’s the scoop?” I ask as I look around, scouting the immediate area.
“After further investigation into the girl’s phone records, I found something peculiar.”
“And that was?” I blow into my hands to warm them up.
“Joe’s Pizza.”
“Excuse me?”
“Joe’s Pizza. There was an abundance of calls on her phone bill for a Joe’s Pizza.”
“So she liked pizza. How is that a lead?”
“The calls were incoming. All of them.”
“Huh?”
“My thoughts exactly. Why would she be getting so many calls from a pizza place?”
“Deadbeat boyfriend with no cell phone?” I throw out there.
“One theory. So I traced the number and found out it wasn’t Joe’s Pizza. It was Club Clip.”
“Shady Club Clip?” I thumb down the street to the line on the sidewalk.
