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“As instructed, I let her into the public rooms, but she asked about?—”
“Me.”
The girl on the floor, Ashley, starts to finger fuck herself.
“The owner,” Ashley says. “Yes.”
That makes me smile. In another life, the ice-blonde would be my perfect mate. But Ashley prefers pussy to cock, and her long-standing work with the Obsidian Knights and their affiliated sex clubs brings complications I couldn’t be bothered to deal with.
“Make her wait at the VIP table. I’ll get back to you.” I mute the headset.
Ashley looks at me. She pulls her fingers free and sucks them, one by one.
“You know what,” I say softly. “I’ve changed my mind.”
I get up, helping myself to a drink on the other side of the room.
My gaze shifts back to the screen.
Scarlett’s now sitting at the VIP table, stiff-backed but not looking like a deer in headlights. More martyr than anything.
“Did I do something wrong?” Ashley asks.
I glance back at her.
She’s pulled on her dress. It’s latex, short, skintight, and black. I bite back a sigh as she wiggles the skirt down over her pierced labia and clit.
“No, baby, I’m just busy,” I say, pouring on the sleaze of an up-and-coming mover and shaker in New York’s underbelly world of dark-edged crime. I motion her closer and she comes. “Lift the skirt.”
She does and fuck, she’s glistening, wet, and so smooth that yeah, I want to fucking touch, but if I do, I’m not going to stop.
“Another time,” I mutter. “Tell whoever sent you I’ll want you again.”
“Fox said you?—”
“Go. Give your number to Bernadette at the front desk.” I don’t know who the fuck this Fox person is. But she goes.
That’s what happens when you’re set up as a powerful new silent force. People come out of the woodwork, either to strengthen what they have or to see what you can do or what you know. Power plays. And I’m familiar with every single one.
If I was after information, I’d have kept Ashley around and fucked her sweet ass and cunt. Mouth, too, if I’m honest. I’d have inflicted the pain a whore like her really wants. Given her the humiliation she clearly craves—it’s there in her eyes right now.
And if I’d fucked her, I’d have gotten her to talk.
Girls like her know things. They listen. She didn’t come up from the floors below to try and fuck the newest owner of a filthy sex club, a place that’s less about exclusivity and more about depravity because she purely wanted a hot ride.
Someone sent her to me.
As a gift, a test, I really don’t give a shit. But if I needed information, I’d have kept her here to get at what she knows.
She didn’t, however, come from the Hanlon family.
No, Dale Hanlon pulled out the big guns when he sent me his daughter.
A door opens behind me, but I just pour another drink and hold out the glass of whiskey. I know who it is.
“Thanks,” Smith says, taking it. “How’s this side of the campaign?”
I turn. His gaze is on the screen and irritation burns through me. “Slow.”
