Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1
N ew York City—current day
Someone was going to have their lives blown up. Wilder Townsend sat in his private jet as he flew to New York from Charleston in the very early hours of the morning. He’d had to leave his brother Kane’s engagement party much earlier than he’d wanted to in order to deal with an issue at WET New York. The issue was someone was trying to mess with his clubs and should have known better.
Bryce Packer was the best nightclub manager in the business. He’d run the New York WET since Wilder had gone international. Wilder traveled to each club frequently, ensuring they were running smoothly. Therefore, he installed the best managers he could find at each club to ensure they always ran smoothly while he worked on the business aspect of running an ever-expanding international company between visits to each club.
Bryce had called about a robbery and assault of a young woman who had been drugged. Security cameras caught the moment a man slipped the drug into her drink. Unfortunately, the man had known enough to avoid the cameras. He had helped her outside while she was alert, therefore not drawing the attention of Wilder’s security. He took her into the alley running along the side of the club, robbed her, and sexually assaulted her. Luckily, a guy from the club went out for a smoke and stopped the assault from progressing beyond groping. It was assault but could have been much worse and Wilder knew it.
That incident was troubling enough, but the fact it was the third one in a month was enough for Wilder to know someone was trying to ruin his club.
Wilder took a private car to the club upon landing in New York City. He’d long grown used to how different nightclubs looked during the day. He’d been turned off as a young man at seeing how dirty some of the clubs looked both on the inside and outside during the daylight, so he’d made sure his clubs were always spotless. They didn’t look like rundown buildings that were a blight to the area. Planters, decorations for holidays, sidewalks that were pressure-washed every morning, and never-chipping paint that was constantly updated were some of the things he insisted on for every club. His clubs oozed luxury and exclusivity, not someone throwing up on a sidewalk littered with drugs and trash.
Wilder entered the code to the steel door that led into the club. Again, it wasn’t dented and it didn’t have chipped paint. Instead, the WET logo was engraved into the gleaming surface. The cleaning crew had just left, judging from the smell of cleaning solution in the air. This meeting was early, but he wanted action and his team needed some sleep before tonight.
“Hey, boss,” Hardy, the twenty-nine-year-old doorman said with a nod to his head. Hardy was a part-time male model. He’d had a very successful career in his early twenties, but now he was learning the business in the WET leadership program. Bryce was mentoring him to one day become a manager.
Most clubs catered to people in their early twenties. Wilder catered to mid-twenties and up. He targeted people who had money and most college kids didn’t have money. However, once they got some, they wanted to show it off at a luxury club. There were a few exceptions. Because of Wilder’s brother Hunter, who was in the Special Forces, military personnel always got in. To get into the VIP area, you had to apply and be approved. If Bryce didn’t know you, then you were passed onto Wilder in case he had a personal connection to you. If not, you were told when the line for general admission began. From there, Hardy took over. He had a great eye for the people who would make the club seem even more exclusive, which it was, considering how few line waiters got in. Hardy had a canny ability to keep the so-called influencers out. Most people would disagree with that business decision, claiming influencers were free publicity. But Wilder had learned influencers were a colossal pain in the ass. They took up way too much space, demanded way too many perks, and went on a power trip to destroy him if the club didn’t treat them as if they walked on water.
Elite reviewers for specialized sites, papers, magazines, and clients were a different matter. They tried to sneak in unnoticed, but Hardy was just as skilled at recognizing them.
“Bryce and Tiny are waiting by your office,” Hardy said, making sure the door closed and locked before they headed to the private entrance by the bar.
Upstairs, Bryce and Tiny stood waiting for him. Bryce was thirty and had a business degree from an Ivy League school. He had preppy frat boy written all over him. He’d gone from polos to puffer vests and now onto three-quarter zip sweaters as he got older. Tiny was six foot seven and three hundred and fifty pounds of muscle and common sense. Retired from MMA fighting, he was the head of security for WET NYC.
“Morning, boss,” Tiny said with a frown. “I’m sorry I missed it. I should have seen it, but when he walked her out, she wasn’t even acting drunk.”
Tiny might be a big man, but he had a bigger heart. Especially for women. He’d been raised by his mother and grandmother and had two older sisters.
“I saw the security tape. There’s no way you could have caught it. But I did notice something else on the tape. Did anyone else see it?” Wilder asked as he opened his office door and headed to his desk.
He turned on the cameras and pulled up the footage. He replayed it and waited. Tiny saw it first. “First, he knew where every camera was. Second, Sasha, the new bartender, he should have seen it.”
“Exactly,” Wilder said, frowning. “Which means it’s someone with knowledge of our security. Anyone come to mind?”
“Sasha’s only been here three months,” Tiny added. “And anyone on my team would know where the cameras are.”
“All the staff know,” Bryce added. “We tell them so they know if they’re in trouble, someone is watching. As you know, they even have hand signals they can give to tell us what kind of help they require.”
“Have you seen anything unusual at the doors?” Wilder asked Hardy.
Hardy nodded. “After the second woman was drugged, there’s been a noticeable drop in women over thirty.”
Tiny frowned, probably thinking of his sisters being drugged or attacked. Wilder frowned too. He didn’t want this kind of thing at his club. He loved his sisters, too.
“Bryce, what about the other clubs?”
Bryce pulled out a notebook. “Paris turned out to be a one-off. However, we are seeing upticks in crime at the U.S. clubs. The managers have called other clubs in the area and most of them are also seeing an uptick. Right now, it’s hard to tell if it’s specific to WET or not.”
Wilder turned around and looked out the two-way mirror that overlooked the dance floor. “Bryce, call Collins Hanover at Hanover Club Security. Have her pick a small team to come out and install more cameras with you and Tiny right now. Only the four of us will know where they are located.” Wilder turned back around to face his team. “Hardy, keep an eye out for guys we don’t know. Only admit our regulars as much as you can. Tiny, tell me about the police.”
Tiny sighed. “Upon being informed of the incident, I immediately called the police. A patrol officer came and began to take a report. However, Captain Sean Kilpatrick of the Criminal Enterprise Investigations rolled up. He said he was just passing by. However, when the patrol office gave a rundown, Kilpatrick called the DA’s office. They told him to mark it a robbery and if the purse showed up the woman would be contacted. I pushed for it to be a pattern of increased crime and was ignored.”
“Is Kilpatrick the problem?” Wilder asked as he crossed his arms over his chest.
Bryce shrugged. “I don’t know, but it appeared to be DA Seabrook who shut it down. Kilpatrick was requesting an assistant DA to meet at the station, but was denied. However, Kilpatrick also didn’t fight it. Seabrook is running for mayor on a platform that he’s cleaned up the city. He hasn’t. He’s just stopped charging people with crimes.”
Wilder crossed his arms over his chest. “I know. Seabrook has asked me for a donation toward his campaign. A big one. I said no. Well, if Tommy taught me anything, it was to have friends in high places. You all get the cameras up. I’m going to meet with my police contact. I’ll see you tonight. Everyone keep your eyes open and report anything suspicious.”
“You got it, boss,” Tiny responded before they left the office.
Wilder picked up his phone and made his call. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Thanks.”
Police headquarters where the NYPD Bureau of Detectives was located, was busy with patrol officers streaming in and out of the first floor. The night shift was ending and the day shift was going to begin soon. Various divisions filled different floors, such as Special Victims Division, Central Robbery Division, Vice Enforcement Division, Criminal Enterprise Division, and at the very top floor was where the higher ups in the police force had offices. That’s where Wilder was going.
“Can I help you, sir?” asked a woman sitting behind a desk in the lobby that Wilder entered as he exited the elevator. This floor was more akin to an office building while the other floors had the hustle and bustle of active investigations.
“Wilder Townsend for Chief of Detectives Glen Wise,” Wilder told her as he looked around. On this floor there were fewer obvious guns and more suits.
She looked at the computer and frowned. “I’m sorry, you’re not on the calendar for today. You can call back and try to get an appointment.”
“He’s expecting me. Just tell him I’m here, please.” Wilder turned on the charm and gave her a smile that said he was friend, not foe, but she held firm.
Wilder pulled out his phone, sent a text, and waited. A moment later her phone rang and she answered it. “Yes, sir. I’ll send him.” She hung up the phone and reached into the drawer to pull out a visitor’s badge. “Sorry for the confusion. Right this way, Mr. Townsend.”
She used her badge to get through the secure doors and he followed her through an office that resembled a law firm with conference rooms and assistants running in every direction and the smell of coffee brewing.
“Here is Chief Wise’s office, sir.” She knocked, opened the door, then stepped back. “Stop by my desk when you leave so I can sign you out.”
“Thank you,” Wilder told her as he walked by her and into a huge office. The American flag, a photo of the president, and photographs from Glen Wise’s life filled the walls. The broad, shining wooden desk was a far cry from the battered metal hulk he’d started behind as a patrolman taking walk-in complaints thirty years ago.
Wilder had become friends with Glen by mistake. They’d both been at a hockey game and were in the same suite. Wilder had been cheering on Stone’s team, the Charleston Pirates, and Glen had been cheering on the New York Empire team. They’d struck up a conversation after some high-quality trash-talking. Somewhere along the way, the man who was a good twenty-five years older than Wilder had become a good friend.
Wise had been a hockey player in his youth. He still had the hockey player build, but it had softened in proportion the higher up the political ladder Wise climbed. His hair had gone from buzz cut to trimmed side part when he was appointed chief four years ago.
“Townsend, here to give me shit for the Pirates win last week?” Glen grinned. The hard lines of his face softened when they talked hockey.
“I mean, I came all this way. I’m sure I can fit it in so as to not disappoint you. You know, like your team’s disappointing play.” Wilder smirked at him and Glen laughed, but then his smile faded.
“Okay, I see this is serious. Close the door and tell me what’s going on.”
Wilder shut the door and took a seat across from the massive desk. “I don’t like pulling this card and coming to see you, but I’m having a police issue.”
Glen frowned and instantly his cop face was in place. No chief wanted to hear bad things about his men and women on the force. The blue wall ran high and held strong. “Such as?”
“Women have been attacked in my club,” Wilder told him before detailing the events and showing him the security footage. “A Captain Sean Kilpatrick showed up at this last one. He called the DA’s office, and they declined to pursue charges for anything except purse snatching. In full transparency, I don’t know if this is a Kilpatrick issue, a DA issue, or both. Kilpatrick made the call to drop the other complaints too. You know I don’t run that kind of club. I want to keep my patrons safe, and I’m not getting the support of the police or DA’s office. I don’t know what else to do except see if you can help me in some way.”
Glen’s face didn’t change through any of what Wilder said. Wilder was good at reading people, but he was getting nothing from Glen.
“Glen, people are getting hurt. Something has to be done. You have a daughter this age. What would you do if the DA refused to call it anything other than a snatch and grab theft?” Wilder leaned back then and waited. He hoped he hadn’t made an enemy by criticizing the police in this situation.
Glen let out a breath and leaned back in his chair. “Between you and me, this isn’t the first incident I’m hearing like this. My niece was randomly punched in the face walking down the sidewalk. They called it a snatch and grab instead of an assault. Seabrook is doing everything he can to fudge the numbers for this election. Anyone who pushes too hard against the narrative finds themselves transferred to the worst precincts in the city.” Glen looked up and out his office window and his frown intensified. “I think they weren’t playing the political game though.” Wilder followed Glen’s gaze to find DA Seabrook standing with a team of young employees around him all staring up at him with hero worship. “Let’s see what happens if he comes across someone who can play the game as good as he can.”
Glen slipped a smile on his face that looked friendly but was anything but. He stood and walked toward the door and opened it. “Seabrook, were your ears burning? I was just talking about you. I’d like a word.”
Glen held open the door. Seabrook was in his early forties. His pecan-colored hair was gelled back and his suit probably cost more than most police officers made in a month. “Of course. Anything for my constituents.”
“Guy Seabrook, this is Wilder Townsend, the owner of the WET nightclubs. Wilder, Guy Seabrook.”
Wilder shook hands with the DA and let Glen take the lead.
“Townsend? Yes, I read an article about you—New York’s Top Business Owners Under Thirty. I actually had my campaign manager call about a donation to my mayoral run. I would love to take you out to lunch to discuss it further.” Seabrook smelled a potential political donor and his smile grew. One “no” wasn’t enough for these guys.
“Yes, that’s me.” Wilder pasted on a smile as fake as Guy’s and ignored the lunch invitation.
“Guy,” Glen said, moving to they all sat in the seating area so it would appear less formal. Glen took the couch as Wilder and Guy both took a leather chair so they sat in a triangle with a coffee table between them. “Mr. Townsend has been having an increase in crime at his club. I knew you would be the person who could help.”
“Crime? Really?” Guy reacted as if crime in New York City was a new and foreign concept.
Glen gave a summary as Wilder kept his eyes on Guy. The guy could fake it, but not well. The lines around his eyes tensed and his lips flattened just enough to know he didn’t like what he was hearing.
“I told Mr. Townsend, if anyone could clean up this mess, it’s you. I told him how just this morning we got the latest report of how much you’ve reduced crime in the city this past month.”
Damn, Glen was good. “It’s very impressive, Mr. Seabrook,” Wilder said, trying to put on his most impressed look. “Is there anything you can do to help keep my patrons safer?”
“For sure. Especially for my friends. Wise, call patrol and have them increase police presence. I’m sure that will take care of the problem right away. This isn’t really a DA issue since, as you can see, our prosecutions have gone way down due to the decrease in incidents. However,” Seabrook paused for dramatic effect, “we all know night clubs attract certain... clientele. I might wonder if it’s not an internal problem more than a police problem. In most cases, I’m sad to say, club owners are the ones who create these issues by not only allowing but courting these unsavory types to increase business. Drugs flow freely in clubs. Let’s not pretend otherwise. We’ve found in most cases that the club owners themselves are responsible for the crime since they care more about having a packed club than who packs it.”
Wilder was about to open his mouth to set Seabrook down when Glen stood up. “Yes, very true. However, Mr. Townsend is not that kind of owner and has already made steps to actively discover if these crimes are coming from within. I’m sure your idea of an increased patrol would be a big help. I’ll make the call myself.”
Wilder stood, shook Seabrook’s hand, dodged Seabrook’s request for lunch, and watched as Glen escorted him from the office before closing the door once again. “What a crock of shit,” Glen muttered. “Not a DA issue? We can arrest a million people but it won’t matter if the DA refuses to press charges. My officers can’t walk the suspects into court and try the cases themselves.”
“So. What now?” Wilder asked, his frustration making his jaw ache as he clenched it, trying to keep his calm. “Just keep letting women get attacked?”
Glen let out a breath and walked to his desk. He punched a number and waited. “It’s Wise. Can you come to my office?” Glen paused and then nodded. “Thanks.”
“You have an idea?”
“I do. It’s not an answer, but an idea of how we can get an answer.” There was a knock on the door a minute later and it opened after Glen told them to enter. A man around Wilder’s age walked in and Wilder narrowed his eyes. The man was tall and wearing jeans and a black quarter-zip jacket. He didn’t scream power, but his quiet confidence told Wilder there was more to this man than what he appeared to be.
“Don’t I know you?” The man cocked his head and snapped his fingers. “WET night club. VIP section. I think I’ve seen you there when I was with my friends. Your brother is Stone Townsend. Man, I met him when he was in town the other month. Very cool. Gotta say he’s my favorite player.” That confession elicited a groan from Wise.
Wilder nodded. “Yeah. You know my VIP bartender, Dracklen, and I’ve seen you with that girl with the red hair.” She was friends with Wilder’s New York PR team and he’d run across her several times over the past year. “Paige Turner.”
The smile on the man’s face softened. Wilder knew that look. Stone, Hunter, and Kane all had that silly smile when their wives’ names were mentioned. Wilder snuck a look at the man’s hand, but there was no ring, thank goodness, but it was also curious. A little over six weeks ago, Wilder had almost kissed Paige at the Halloween bash and she was very much single. There had been an attempted attack on a patron that night and that had interrupted them. Apparently, things had changed.
“Max Caldwell,” he said, holding out his hand for Wilder.
“And you and Paige are. . .?” Wilder asked. He didn’t want to step on any toes and if she’d been cheating, he needed to know.
“Friends.” Glen snorted at Max’s answer as Max smiled and shook his head. “She thinks of me as a friend. I want more.”
“Gotcha,” Wilder said with relief. No lines had been crossed and now he knew the situation he would keep Paige Turner at arm’s length if he ran across her again.
“What can I do for you?” Max asked.
“Max is a detective and one who doesn’t have to play by Seabrook’s rules.” Max’s easy smile fell at the mention of the DA. It fell further as Glen gave him a rundown of Wilder’s case. “Can you look into this for us? Off the books.”
Max nodded. “No problem. First thought, what about rivals?”
Wilder thought about it. He was on pretty good terms with most of the club owners who were legit. “There are two I can think of. Fergus Kelly who owns The Golden Harp. And Tequila Nights, which is technically owned by Manny Hernandez but is really a cartel front.”
“I’ll start there and you might see me on my nights off hanging out at the club. I’ll report to Glen and he can let you know if I find anything. For the record, Seabrook will do anything to maintain his position that he’s cleaned up crime. I’m on the streets. It’s not better, it’s worse. I wouldn’t trust a single thing he says.”
“Should you be worried about your job?” Wilder asked. “I don’t want you to get fired for helping me.”
Max’s lips tilted into a smirk. “Nah. Don’t worry about me. I’ll let you know what I find.”
Max left the room and Wilder shook Glen’s hand. “Thank you.”
Glen returned the handshake. “I’ll let you know as soon as we have anything. In the meantime, beef up your security.”
“On my way to do just that.” Tiny had texted. Collins Hanover was on her way to the club to install eight more cameras.