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Theon makes his way back inside, bringing the black ID scanner to us. “Got it, let’s go run it through the system and pull her ID.”
We head up the stairs, down a secured hallway that holds each of our offices, piling into Ace’s. No matter how many times I’m in these rooms, I’m always in awe of the view. The walls are a sleek white, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the road and club entrance below. On the outside, the windows are blacked out, but we can see all who come and go without them even knowing we’re watching. Looking out, I see a long line of people eager to submerge themselves in the world of Trinity.
Turning my attention back to the guys, Ace sits behind his computer with a scowl on his face. It’s not unusual, but Theon has the same expression painted across his.
“What’s wrong?” I say, walking over to them.
“What the fuck is this?” Theon leans over, resting his palms against the desk. The muscles in his forearms flex as he digs his nails into the wooden surface.
“If I wasn’t already suspicious of this girl, I sure as hell am now,” Ace utters, leaning back in his chair.
“What is it?” Making my way around the desk behind them, I see exactly what they’re looking at.
Well, shit. Damn, she’s good, but not better than us.
“It’s fake,” I mumble under my breath. We’ve had the clubs for years, and with that, comes plenty of minors trying to get in with fake identities. We’ve seen them all from really shitty ones to high-end ones. Hers is one of the best I’ve ever seen.
Thank fuck for our ID scanners. We installed them for multiple reasons. One was to know who’s coming in and out of our clubs just in case we need to do research on them, but the other was to help our bouncers spot the fakes. We might do illegal things in our own time, but we don’t need the cops shutting us down for serving minors in our club.
“How did it not register as a fake when it was scanned?” I ask.
“Whoever made it for her is good. That’s probably why it didn’t go off because it’s almost fucking perfect, but she missed one part. The hologram of her picture is slightly off to the right. It’s nearly flawless, but not flawless enough.” Theon points to the tilted hologram picture to show us.
“Why would she need a fake? I mean she’s hot as hell, but it’s clear she’s not a minor. She has to be at least twenty-five or twenty-six, so I don’t get why she’d need one.”
Ace’s head snaps in my direction, his cold green eyes landing on me. “Exactly my thought. I knew something was off about her from the way she was watching Novak, and this doesn’t help her case,” Ace says, looking between me and Theon.
“So what’s the plan?”
“We get close to her. Catch her in a lie, figure out her secrets. We do what we do best. Take her out if she becomes a problem,” Theon says, his eyes darkening with a menacing look etched on his face. No matter what attraction I may have to this woman, it doesn’t look like things will end well for her if we find out she’s up to something bad.
At least I’ll get a taste of her sweet, sweet blood if she is.
Adifferent bouncer guards the door when I arrive at Trinity this time. He takes my ID, stamping my hand without any lingering stares or unwanted touches unlike last night. I wonder if the creep is off tonight or if Ace and Blais did something about him. If they did, they sure as hell are quick.
Tonight, I chose a baby pink dress that’s still way too short, but it’s looser around my thighs than the black one. The most fascinating feature of this dress is the back—there practically isn’t one. The material dips down right above my ass, leaving my entire back exposed. If I make one wrong move, everyone might get a show. The only material anchoring the dress to my body are thin little straps crisscrossing at my shoulder blades.
Why did I have to choose dresses that I can’t fight in?
My hair is curled and pulled back in a messy, but cute, ponytail, still looking stylish. I’m not a girl that has to wash her hair every day, so if I don’t feel like it, I don’t.
I push through the door, suddenly engulfed in a thick cloud of fog from machines blasting out of the ceiling. Working my way through the crowd, I instantly look for Novak. I won’t miss him tonight—I can’t afford to. Instead of Novak, my eyes catch on something unexpected.
Blais, the creepy tattooed fucker, is having the time of his life at the DJ booth. His head bobs along with the beat while his inked fingers expertly work the knobs and sliders. The most surprising part is his smile. It’s infectious; I can’t look away. His grin is radiant and real. I can tell from here that he’s so damn happy up there, making the coolest beats I’ve ever heard.
I stand still, mesmerized, watching him in his element. He’s lost in the music for a few minutes swaying to the sound, but the longer I stare, it’s like a magnet pulls his eyes to me. Not missing a beat, his hands keep moving, but he shoots me a wink like he knows I’ve been watching him the entire time.
Cocky fucker.
Shaking my head, I force my eyes away from the attractive man distracting me from my job and head toward the packed crowd.
Not seeing Novak dancing, I make my way toward the booth seating around the edge of the room.
This guy’s so predictable. I don’t know why he comes to certain clubs in a specific order, but that makes it easier for me to track his every move. He’s only hurting himself in the end; he just doesn’t know it. When people pick up on your habits, it’s easier to track you and catch you off guard when you’re least expecting it.
Sitting alone in the corner booth is the one and only Ross Novak. Sipping his whiskey, he smugly leans back against the seat in perfectly tailored navy-blue dress pants and a white button-down shirt. His eyes roam over the sweaty bodies dancing in the crowd, scoping the place, probably looking for another girl to take home for the night.
My steps don't falter as I confidently make my way to him, knowing what I have to do. The thought makes me sick, but it’s part of the job. There’s only one way to retain the attention of a sleazy man like Novak, so I’ll do what I must to get this plan to work.
