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“It’s OK, princess,” Moose says. “To be honest with you, once he told me he needed help to find a man, I got so excited that I just stopped listening and my mind went to picking out which outfit would be the most fun.”
Frowning, I look over at the bouncer, then back at Moose. “So, are we here at Cuff and Chain because we can find information about the man who tried to kill Alexandra and me, or are we here because it’s a sex club and you were hoping to have a three-way with me and some random guy?”
“Things can have more than one meaning, Smokey,” Moose says.
“They absolutely can,” Alexandra says. “And let me just say, I think you’d be excellent for Dixon. He might not look like it, but he really needs someone with a tender touch. He’s fragile.”
“Oh, I’ve thought as much,” Moose says, giving me a look so blatant that I want to dig a deep hole and bury myself in it right now. “But Smokey, you’ll be happy to know that, just like me, this club will satisfy your needs. Cuff and Chain is run by a pair that is tapped in to everything happening on the west coast. From LA, San Francisco, even up to Seattle. The owners have connections because some seriously powerful people come here to get connected, if you know what I mean.”
“So, how is this going to work? Do we just walk in there and start showing his photo around?” I say.
“Only if you want to get whipped and then shot,” Moose answers. “Just put your arm in mine and follow my lead. They know me here.”
Moose hooks his arm around me and gracefully takes Alexandra’s proffered arm. This close, I can smell his cologne. As a trio, we head to the door, and the bouncer steps aside without a word. He and Moose exchange a glance that lingers just long enough to hint that they’re more than casual acquaintances. Once inside the door, Moose notices my look and winks at me. “It’s not what you think.”
“I don’t even know what to think when it involves you.”
“His name is Rex. I did some volunteering at a soup kitchen once upon a time. He went there for a while, when he was going through some tough times. We became friends, and I helped him get this job. There’s nothing sexual about it,” Moose says as we pass through the entryway and enter the club. “Yet.”
Then I stop paying attention. Because nothing in my life could have possibly prepared me for the sweaty, steamy, sticky mess I see in front of me. The atmosphere inside Cuff and Chain is like a heavy, scented fog. Bodies move with an almost hypnotic rhythm, and the low thrum of the bass syncs with the pulse beating at my temple.
Alexandra’s grip on my arm tightens ever so slightly.
Moose leads us through the writhing sea of leather, his confidence unwavering, as if he is the king of this jungle. I catch glimpses of scenes that make even my blood run hot, and then we come to a halt in front of a secluded booth shrouded by beaded curtains. Moose slides in first, pulling Alexandra with him while I follow suit, trying not to show how out of my depth I feel.
"OK," Moose whispers, leaning across the table so only we can hear. "We're not here to partake in the activities. Especially because tonight is Movie Night.”
“Movie night?” Alexandra says. “Are they recording? Like, making their own movies?”
“Dear, that happens every night. On Movie Night, there are different rooms set up to enable you to play out scenes from some of the sexiest movies of all time. Movies like Secretary, Unfaithful, and Road House.”
“Road House?” I say. “The original or the remake?”
“The original. As tasty as he is, Jake Gyllenhaal doesn’t compare to Patrick Swayze and Sam Elliot. I mean, Swayze was on form — cocky, sweaty, and oh, that hair — and Elliot, oh, with that gravel voice and that smirk that is made for tucking you into bed. It’s everything you want on a lonely Tuesday night when you’re coming off a long-haul drive and you’re stuck in some fleabag motel in the middle of Nebraska. Now, you two sit tight, and I’m going to go check in with the bartender and let him know we’re looking to see the owners.”
Moose leaves, parting the beaded curtains and disappearing into the crowd of sweaty people.
Alexandra gives me a confused look. “Road House?”
"It’s a good movie."
“You too, huh?”
Before I can assure her that the last thing I'd ever want is to try to step into Dalton’s shoes, Moose returns, his face lit up.
"They're expecting us," he says, sliding back into the booth beside Alexandra. "But we've got to play it cool. The owners are discreet, and they’re our best ticket to finding out what we need, but things between me and them are a little dicey right now. I’m hoping they’ll overlook what happened between us on account of the interesting little mystery you two have going on. They always were suckers for riddles and puzzles. Just remember to be respectful. That’s especially important, Smokey.”
“What?” I say.
“Can you play nice?” Moose says.
“Why the fuck does everyone keep asking me that?”
“Because it’s a legit question,” Alexandra says. “Moose, did I tell you he peed in a Gatorade bottle rather than use the toilet?”
“That’s a serious misrepresentation,“ I say.
Moose cuts me off. “Dixon, I need you to be serious. Can you play nice when we’re in there?”
