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“Fine, Cross, but you’re on the hook for him.” The man leveled a finger at me. “Do not say shit like that to the girls again or I will personally kick your ass.”
“Be nice to the whores, got it,” I said under my breath as Cross grabbed my arm and hauled me in. “Thanks, man.”
“You’re welcome,” he said. “I’m Bertie—Bertie Cross.”
“Zakary.”
“This first time in such an establishment, Zakary?”
I nodded as we ducked out of a corridor into a murky room with a brightly lit stage, filled with the scent of baby powder, sweat, and beer. My head began to ache as I watched a naked woman strut across the stage and wrap herself around a pole, and I struggled to contain the arousal in my pants. Damn these disgusting women for fucking with my head like this.
Bertie’s laugh in my ear recalled me back to myself and he murmured, “Have a drink on me and enjoy. But be nice. These girls work hard.”
I scoffed. “Sure they do.” Then I hesitated, “Look, I have money—”
Alarm flared in Bertie’s eyes. “Young man, I cannot help you secure a prostitute.”
“Not that,” I hissed. “I need information, I—”
“Bertie, where the fuck have you been?” A tall man with pale hair and eyes stood over us and gave me an amused look. “Who’s the kid? How’d he get in? You know I only corrupt female minors.”
“Aw, the kid was curious,” Bertie said. “I just let him in the door, Caleb, that’s all.”
The man had already dismissed me and moved on. Usually that would piss me off, but I was a bit in awe of what an alpha he was—and obviously smart, too.
“I’m actually looking—”
“Just go enjoy the strippers and maybe get a lap dance,” Caleb cut in, glaring at me. “I got work to do. Don’t cause problems.”
Caleb and Bertie began walking away, Bertie throwing me a sheepish, what-can-you-do-kind of a look over his shoulder. Desperate, I shifted from foot to foot and then yanked out the cash.
“Sir,” I said, hating how that word felt in my throat, as he half-turned, real rage flickering in his eyes and my knees knocked together. “I need information.”
“Good for you,” he said. “I don’t want your fucking money, punk. Give it to my girls or leave.”
“It’s about Daniel Michaels,” I called out as he walked away.
He paused and slowly turned, real interest in his face, along with a predatory amusement that made me cringe. “You mean Daniel Michaelson?”
Shit, did I have his name wrong this whole time?“Yeah. There’s a woman I work with, she’s helping him with some illegal computer shit, I think.”
I’d taken a gamble throwing that out there and now I watched Caleb’s face light up with unholy satisfaction. It made me uneasy, but I smiled as he clapped an arm around my shoulders.
“What did you say your name was again, kid?” Caleb asked as he steered me toward the back.
An hour later, I was dizzy with all the information I now had on the Michaelson family. How Daniel Michaelson was the son of Sal “the Reaper” Michaelson, brother to Tommasino, the “Rhino,” who was one of the most notorious mob bosses who’d ruled the northeast. Tommasino was dead and Sal was in a federal prison, and Daniel, along with his cousin Tyler, had taken over.
According to Caleb Hendrix, a mobster in his own right who was trying to take Tyler down, Daniel was the pet monster of the family. He also did “computer shit,” as Caleb put it, and seemed pretty good at it. I’d been tempted to try that route again, now armed with intel, but Caleb had a better idea.
“Reach out to Sal,” he now advised.
“His father?” I asked.The Reaper?
“Yeah,” Caleb said, smirking to himself. “Sal will know best how to take down that fucking demon.” He gave me a serious look as he stubbed out a cigar. “Daniel is a monster. You need to go in prepared, especially if you want to get your girl back.”
I nodded and absorbed all of this. “How will I get in touch with him?”
“I’ll handle logistics,” Caleb said and sat forward. “In the meantime, I think I was wrong about you, Zakary. I think you’re a man after my own heart.” He grinned at me as he gestured at me to stand up and handed me a flogger of all things. “Come on.”
