Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 83961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
I turn then and head to the Spades section. It’s bathed in teal lighting—my second-favorite color—and the bar is manned by two barrel-chested siblings, DeeDee and Dudley.
I approach the bar. Dudley approaches me and bows his head.
Shit. That’s right. They don’t speak.
This might be finished before it’s begun.
“I’m not interested in ordering a drink,” I say.
Dudley nods and moves down the bar toward another patron.
“Wait,” I say.
Dudley narrows his eyes and moves back toward me.
“Do you know who Maddox Hathaway is?”
Dudley lifts his eyebrows and nods.
“And do you know the young woman who he brought as his guest?”
He tilts his head for a moment but then nods again.
“You received one of Chet’s sketches?”
He shakes his head.
That makes sense, though. Mr. Night said that only the speaking staff received copies of Chet’s sketches. Dudley and DeeDee don’t speak, so they’d have no reason to need to know people’s names.
“So you just remember her because he brought her here so frequently.”
Another nod.
“Good. Did you witness anything unusual while they were in the Spades section?”
Dudley crinkles his eyes but then slowly shakes his head.
That’s a fucking tell if I ever saw one. I’ve treated patients for years who have come in with mysterious symptoms that are clearly the result of drug abuse. A scratch on the arm, a wrinkled nose, or the slight narrowing of the eyes I just saw from Dudley—they’re all clues that the person is hiding something.
Something did happen. And Dudley knows.
“You sure about that, Dudley?”
He raises a hand to quiet me and then shifts down the bar.
“Don’t you walk away from me.” I scurry down to where he is and pop myself between two patrons who gasp at the invasion. “What happened, Dudley?”
He blinks several times, but for a moment his gaze flickers on a nearby waitress.
She has dark skin, long black hair, and red lips. She’s wearing the usual waitress attire—the black bikini dotted with white spades. I eye her shoulders—on the left is a spade symbol, and on the right the number eight.
One of the patrons at the bar elbows my shoulder. “She’s hot, isn’t she? Just started here.”
I turn to the patron—he’s middle-aged with a graying handlebar mustache. “Did she? How long ago?”
He twiddles his thumbs. “About a month ago, I’d say?”
A month.
That’s when Maddox and Alissa went off on their little excursion.
It could be a coincidence. There’s a high turnover rate at this club. Every time Maddox has brought me here, there’s been a sea of fresh faces. I imagine Rouge is a nightmare to work for.
Still, perhaps an answer lies with the Eight of Spades.
She won’t speak to me either.
If she’s new, that means that she replaced someone.
Maybe that’s a clue. But I’m not going to harass a poor waitress in the middle of a busy shift.
Mr. Night mentioned that Alissa and Maddox recently spent some extra time in Diamonds. The dealers there are allowed to speak—thanks to my conversation with Rouge, I know this as a fact—but I won’t be able to get them away from their tables while people are playing. I could wait for a lull, but the club is hopping tonight.
Besides, even if I do get a chance to talk to them, all the employees here are in Rouge’s pocket. If they have information, they won’t give it to me. They’ll just talk in circles like Mr. Night and Chet do.
I’ll walk the perimeter of the club. Look around for any clues.
I have no idea what I’m even fucking looking for, but it’s better than sitting in the corner.
I walk around Spades, ease into Diamonds, pull through Clubs…
And just before I hit Hearts… I stop at the velvet curtain where Bianca and that lecherous old man disappeared.
I can’t help it. I know I won’t like what I’m going to hear, but I listen anyway. The curtains are billowy so I don’t attract any attention from the other patrons.
I’m expecting to hear moaning, guttural grunts.
But I hear…nothing.
Nothing?
They’re not even talking?
The curtains are the only things separating this area from the rest of the club. It’s not like it’s soundproofed.
What if something’s wrong?
What if—oh, God—what if the old man has silenced Bianca? Is performing some kind of horrifying, torturous ritual on her?
I’m no white knight. But I know when a woman needs to be saved.
I feel it in the rush of my blood through my veins. The electricity jolting through my nerves, all the way to the ends of my fingers.
Fuck it.
Worst case I interrupt two people in the throes of a very silent fuck.
I don’t want Bianca fucking another guy anyway. So it’s a win-win.
I walk inside.
And my jaw drops.
I was right. The old man is naked, his wrinkled body looking like a deflated ball on top of the bed.
But…he’s not moving.
Surely even this guy can get it up for a woman as beautiful as Bianca.