It’s an unfamiliar feeling.
Because there is only one thing I care about.
Revenge.
I exit the restaurant and smile for the third time tonight. Across the street, the red dress sparkles in the dark.
She is on the move again. Little Thunder is trying to get Pascal to work with Quinn.
Opportunity.
My moment to get to know her better.
A car pulls to the curb, and she gets in. And somehow I luck out, because a couple is getting out of a taxi just as her car pulls into the traffic.
“I’m already booked,” the driver protests as I jump in.
“Follow that car. I will make it worthwhile for you.”
He blinks a few times, staring at me. I glance at the road and see her car stopped at a red light.
I reach into my pocket and give him five hundred-dollar bills. “You better not lose them.”
He nods and glides into the traffic.
The drive through the night leads into a residential neighborhood. My eyes are glued to the back bumper of her car the entire time.
By the time we stop, I have no idea where we are.
The street is lined with luxurious townhouses. Could she have Pascal’s home address?
I hope not. The last thing I want is to wait around for her. And then what? Buy the information from her?
I’m not above bribery, but I’d prefer not to start our acquaintance that way. Okay, maybe as a last resort I can attempt that.
The ridiculous idea gets resolved as soon as she rings the bell, and two suited men built like bulldogs step out.
This is not a private home, unless Pascal has security inspecting his visitors. But what do I know? This might be one of his eccentricities.
I pay the driver, observing the exchange at the door across the street. As soon as they let Little Thunder in, I decide to follow.
Flexing my fingers, I take the few stairs to the entrance, my heart beating just slightly faster.
I knock, and for the second time tonight, I’m wrong about what I expect.
After a few bribes, and the careless use of my last name, I find myself standing in the middle of a fucking sex club.
Silk mask. Low lights. The hum of bodies pressed too close.
I barely tolerate handshakes.
And yet I just bribed my way into a room full of masked strangers.
Following her was a mistake. The kind you don’t plan for and can’t undo once it’s made.
I should walk away.
I don’t.
