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“Most have no clue. They sign that first document and never read it. Is what it is, sugar tits.”
“Don’t speak to my wife that way,” said Lars. The man stared at him. For just a moment, there was a glimpse of someone contemplating a challenge. In the end, he decided it wasn’t the day.
“Of course. My apologies. You guys are gonna need to loosen up if you’re gonna fit in here. We’re a group that enjoys playtime, and we do a lot of playtime.” He looked at Jean and nodded toward an office door. “That’s you. All the logins are beside the computer. If you need help, just call Marilyn over there. She’s always happy to do whatever you need. And I do mean whatever.”
He left them standing there, and they all looked at one another.
Comms has all audio and cameras blocked. Their videos are going to yield nothing.
“Thanks, Pigsty,” said Jean. “This is no more than a fucking porn shop. They’re videoing these people doing all kinds of shit. Look. Look at that guy over there.”
“I know it’s uncomfortable, Wendy, but sometimes doing these activities in the nude will allow me to see where you might need the most help. You’re almost there, just the panties, and we’ll be good. You’re a stunner, and I know we can get you to where you want to be. That’s it. Good girl. Very good girl,” he moaned, rubbing his crotch. “Alright, let’s stretch. Open those legs for me. That’s it.”
“Jesus,” whispered Addie. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“I think we need to make this fast,” said Rory. “Jean? Find out whatever you can. If comms can make magic happen and download everything on the server, let’s do it. See if you can find a way to get the videos. Mingle, but don’t be obvious. We’re not staying.”
“What about the others?” asked Cait.
“If my spidey-senses are correct, I think that’s why Quinn had to leave. I believe our boys have a little surprise waiting for him at the restaurant,” said Rory. Jean nodded, frowning at the dozens of cameras.
“Let’s do this.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The chef watched as the food was set in front of the men. He nudged his sous chef, nodding toward their table.
“Bastards won’t know what hit ‘em. Made that shit a level five on the heat scale.”
“Hey, man!” said Liffey. “This shit is good. Nice job.”
The chef frowned at them as they gobbled the food down. Not one of them seemed bothered by the heat, and not a damn one of them was sweating or red-faced. Who the fuck were these men?
Outside, a black town car parked half on the curb, half in the street. They all just shook their heads, chuckling.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” said Quinn, pushing through the door. They all ignored him, taking another bite of food. “I’m not in the habit of repeating myself.”
“I’m not in the habit of people interrupting my meal,” said Irish.
Quinn’s face flushed a bright pink, and he nodded to the man next to him. Stepping forward, he gripped Irish’s shoulder. Irish quickly reached back, twisting his arm until he dropped to one knee screaming.
“Don’t touch me again, or you’ll lose that arm,” said Irish. The man screamed in pain as he continued to twist. Quinn only watched, then nodded to the other man. Titus laughed, shaking his head, and stood as he came toward him.
“I will kill you. Take a seat.” The bodyguard wasn’t sure what to do. It was obvious that these men were skilled, but Quinn would end his life either way.
“Let him go,” said Quinn. “You’ve made your point. Do I want to know where my other men are?”
“You’re not a very smart businessman, Mr. Quinn,” said Titus. “By the way, Quinn is my last name. My family would be worried about you carrying on our legacy. Either way, forcing patrons to drink alcohol in your establishment is stupid.”
“Stupid?” he spat.
“That’s right, stupid. Lots of folks don’t like to drink. Strange, I know, but it’s true. Now, see, in this place, what I would do is give people milk to drink when that fucked up chef of yours over-spices the food. Find someone better. Perhaps someone of Eastern Indian descent. Dial down the heat, kick up the salt. They’ll be thirsty. They’ll drink. Pretty fucking simple.”
“You’ve got a lot of nerve coming into my establishment, not complying with my requirements, obviously chasing off my men, hurting these men, and all in front of me. Do you have any fucking idea who I am?” he snapped.
“Yea,” laughed Dom. “You’re the five-feet-four pip-squeak, five-six in those lifts, who thinks he’s a tough guy but gets the big guys to do the tough work. You’re the man that thinks he can manipulate people. You’re the man who creates porn videos in his studio masquerading as exercise and diet assistance. Clever, by the way.”
“Who the fuck are you guys?” he growled.
