“I am not taking another fucking step until you tell me where this leads,” I said, crossing my arms and halting in the doorway.
The man turned in the low light, keeping his posture relaxed as he smiled.
“It is a direct passage to her chambers in the East Wing.”
Fucking chambers. In the East Wing. Because we were in feudal England, and this extortionate whoremonger was a princess. Ha! More like the fucking devil in a crown made of teeth.
“Her bedroom,” I corrected, grumbling. “And is there a reason she called for her meeting in her private quarters?” I asked, adjusting my tone to match his.
“I am sure she has one, but I am afraid I am not privy to her internal motivations. I simply do as I am told.”
“And you are content with that level of existence?” I prodded, following him up the poorly lit steps to the upper level.
“Not in the slightest,” he smiled at me before pointing to a taped line before her door. “Entry requires a search. It is standard procedure, you understand.”
I didn’t argue when a single guard stepped forward from the shadows and patted me down. His fingers fell over my chest, to my pockets, to the space between my legs.
“If you stay there any longer, I will assume you want to suck it,” I glanced down at the twenty-something with his hands on my balls. “If I wanted to hide a firearm, it would not be inside my nutsack.”
The guard’s eyes flashed, and he dropped his grip, staring at my shoes before standing.
“All clear,” he mouthed, rising to look me over.
“Very well," my escort nodded, pushing the door open with the flat of his hand, watching me step through.
Marianne’s room was every shade of pink imaginable. Pale pink valances draped her four-poster bed, and magenta plush rugs covered her pale, soft floors. My eyes swept left until I saw the forty-something, mostly naked drug queen bent over a café table, getting railed by her bodyguard.
“I’ll be with you in a moment,” she panted, her face sliding across the pink tablecloth in several ragged breaths. I swallowed down a gag; the thought of anyone else in that position but Daphne made me ill.
To get my mind off the image, I shifted to the guard by her hips, fucking into her mindlessly as if it was Tuesday. And for him, it probably was. The boredom in his eyes and his motions said he was there for his dick, and nothing more.
After Marianne came, or pretended to, she gathered herself back into the white silk chemise she was wearing and smoothed it over her waistline. As with most women her age, her body was confident, maybe softer, less perky, but right in all the ways that screamed confidence. It was really too bad it belonged to her, and that messed-up head of hers.
“Wolfe. Sorry, I uh,” she grabbed a napkin and swiped between her legs. “Got bored waiting for you,” and then put the cum rag in her guard’s hand despite there being a trash bin to her left. I made a face when he shoved it in his pocket instead of moving to throw it away.
“Fuck whenever you want, Marianne. I do not give a shit!” I yawned, watching her glide about the room before landing at a small table with a hand-painted teapot in the middle.
“Of course you don’t,” she flashed a stiff smile and pointed to the chair across from her. “That’s your M.O., correct? Nothing matters to Wolfe. Because you can’t hurt what’s already broken.”
“That’s right, Marianne. You have me all figured out,” I gave a relaxed grin, peering out the window to see if Thay had left. The driveway was empty, and the roof was surprisingly accessible from up here.
“Sit,” she demanded, brushing several sweaty clumps of dyed blonde hair to the side while she settled into her chair.
I glanced at the two goons in the room. The one who fucked was a large guy, but green. He had to be twenty-three, maybe twenty-four, and the way he refused to look me in the eye told me all I needed to know about his personality. The other was older and bored, often staring at the wall, as most men do when they’ve seen too much that it all starts to blur together. Neither screamed threat to me, but I’ve been wrong before.
“What did you want to talk about?” she asked as she prepared a cup of tea.
“I should ask you that question, since apparently this conversation couldn’t wait until tomorrow.”
Marianne released a half-smile, twirling the spoon around in her cup. From this angle, she almost looked human.
“I have a proposition for you, Wolfe,” she said without looking at me, waiting for me to sit.
I lingered for a couple of moments, calculating the exits, running the numbers in my head.
“Wolfe?” she snapped again, looking up at me with nothing but venom in her eyes when I finally sat down.
“I suspect you found out that I was planning to acquire your little club,” she preened, straightening her posture. “Judging from the way the contractor went all kaboom.”
