Rhett 35
RHETT
The steel exit door clicks shut behind me with a sound too clean for a place that holds so many dirty secrets.
Kade’s at my side, both of us dressed in black-on-black suits and leather gloves, faces split in half by sleek masquerade masks that the club requires.
Hopefully, those will be enough to keep our anonymity intact.
As we stalk down the expansive hallway, the air hums with a booming sensual bass. Drawing in a breath, the scent of liquor and latex clings to my inhale like stale cigarette smoke does a motel carpet.
“Audio check,” Cole’s voice crackles into my Bluetooth, low and close like he’s standing next to me.
“Clear,” I mutter, adjusting the earpiece just enough to feel it settle in place.
“Loud and bitchy,” Kade adds from beside me. His tone is smooth, but I catch the way his fingers flex at his sides.
Jace laughs through the connection. “Copy that, assholes.”
Pushing through the velvet-curtained threshold, Kade and I step into a room that looks like a sin pit carved out of wealth.
He exhales through his nose. “Jesus. You could smell the money before we even walked in.” It sounds like a joke, but he’s not laughing.
Kade’s gaze sweeps the room, not to observe the girls or the glitter, but for exits, threats, and blind spots.
I keep my voice low. “Money doesn’t cover the stench.”
“Doesn’t have to,” he quips. “They just spray it with perfume and call it exclusive.”
Scanning my surroundings, my eyes lock on the bar.
A dark obsidian ring sits dead center, polished and lit from below, casting soft shadows across glass bottles and bare skin.
Men in tailored suits line the circular booths around the room, their expensive watches glinting, cigars glowing like fireflies.
This place wasn’t built for men like us.
Kade doesn’t say it, but I know he feels the difference too … between our lives and theirs. We’re a long way from Black River.
Topless dancers twist up chrome poles in slow-motion elegance, all hips and shadows. Suspended cages swing from the two-story ceiling—satin ropes, long limbs wrapped in glitter and steel.
The walls are mirrored—the kind that stretch from floor to ceiling, catching light like liquid mercury. I’m betting somewhere up there, men with more money than conscience are watching while they drink expensive liquor in the privacy their wealth buys.
“Tell me this doesn’t make your skin crawl,” Kade mutters as we move across the floor.
“You could say that.”
Each step measured, we walk toward the bar. I glance to the left and catch a glimpse of a man pouring a drink while a girl straddles his lap, her eyes glazed and vacant. She doesn’t even blink. I sweep my gaze around the room, looking for anything out of place. Cole’s voice comes through again.
“We’ve got a visual on Marcus and Paulie. They’re fifteen minutes out. Tops.”
“Kade, let me know when they head up.”
“You got it.” He leans against the bar, eyes already moving.
I start toward the stairs, leaving the noise and smoke and perfume behind.
The second floor is quieter, darker. Remembering what Jace said earlier, I stop at the third door on the left. There’s a keypad. Shit!
“Cole. Is there anything about an entry code in their email exchanges?”
“Give me thirty seconds.” I take one deep breath while he searches for it, then another. “Got it,” Jace confirms. “Two seven four eight.”
I key it in, and the lock gives a satisfying click. Pushing the door open, I step into the suite and shut it behind me. “I’m in.”
A mirrored wall runs along one side, and it’s just as I’d suspected. From in here, the club floor is exposed like a stage play of one-way voyeurism. The dancers in the cages move slowly and sinuously in the filtered light.
Surveying the space, I scrunch my nose. Everything in here is designed to seduce—velvet, leather, low lights, and silence.
Quickly, I note everything around me from the big bed to a jacuzzi tub, and a marble bar stocked with booze.
The bathroom door stands open. At the center of everything, twin couches frame a glass coffee table.
A crystal decanter filled with amber liquid sits on top. Perfect.
From my breast pocket, I pull a clear baggie filled with the cocaine Jace and Cole acquired from some dodgy dude they found on Craigslist. Cocaine alone isn’t enough to ensure this goes the way I need it to, so I’ve laced it with a fatal dose of xylazine.
Thankfully, I have easy access to that medication for veterinary purposes.
It’s commonly found in illegal substances.
Even if it’s detected in their systems, they’ll never tie it to me, and considering the source, there’s always a chance the coke is already cut with fentanyl or something similar.
I crouch beside the coffee table, peel open the plastic, and tap out the powder in slow lines. Shaping them carefully with the edge of my gloved finger, I drag each one until it’s smooth, even, and clean at the edges—the way they’d expect to find it. Prepped and presented like a gift.
Next comes the decanter. I remove the crystal stopper and pour enough Rohypnol in to sedate a prized fucking stallion. I swirl a few times until it settles. Like nothing’s wrong. Like no one would ever know what’s waiting in their glass. Just like my Noah didn’t.
Through my earpiece, Cole checks in. “Doing okay, Rhett?”
“Yeah. Just adding the final touches.” Once again, I reach into my pocket and pull out a folded white note card with embossed lettering that will tie all this back to Bradley. Compliments of Hemstock Holdings. I leave it next to the decanter.
“Don’t forget the camera,” Jace reminds me. “Paulie and Marcus just pulled up.”
“On it.” Breath quickening, I scan the suite until I spy an air vent above the mini fridge. I move toward it and pop it open, sliding the micro-camera into the grate before resealing it—just like my tech-savvy brothers suggested. “Done.”
“Visuals confirmed,” Cole notes just as Kade’s voice cuts through the line. “Rhett, they just walked in. Seems like they’re heading straight up.”
“I wouldn’t doubt it,” I confirm. “This suite has everything they’d ever want. But more than they’re expecting.”
I’d love to get the fuck out of here, but I have to hang back and make sure everything goes as planned. With one last check of the room, I slip behind the bathroom door, angling myself enough to see through the crack.
A few minutes later, footsteps sound, followed by gruff laughter, then, the click of the suite door.
Showtime, motherfuckers.
I remain silent as Paulie shrugs out of his jacket, tosses it onto the couch like he’s done it a hundred times before, and beelines for the party favors left on the table. He takes a seat, elbows braced on his knees, and lets out a pleased exhale. “Now this is how you welcome your boys.”
A grin tugs at Marcus’s face. “Didn’t think he’d bother cutting it ahead of time.”
“As if.” Paulie chuckles, dragging a finger through the powdery substance before sniffing it up his nose. “Probably paid someone from the waitstaff to set it up.”
Reaching for the decanter, Marcus sits down next to him and holds it up so the light catches the glass, watching the amber liquid slosh. “Want some?”
“Don’t ask stupid questions.”
For several minutes, they take turns doing line after line, polishing off half a bottle of whiskey as they go—none the wiser that this will be their final curtain call.
Once they’re feeling the effects start to kick in, Marcus tips his head back against the couch, gaze drifting and unfocused.
“You remember the last time we got this fucked up?”
Paulie snorts another line. “You mean the night of Noah and Bradley’s wedding?”
My spine goes rigid, and Cole’s voice sounds in my ear. “Don’t fucking react, Rhett.”
The wall behind me presses into my back, and I anchor myself to it. Fuck. This is going to be harder than I thought.
Paulie laughs like he’s retelling a joke they’ve already told each other a dozen times. “Always wanted to fuck a bitch while her husband watched.”
“Salacious.” Marcus gives a low whistle.
My knuckles turn white as I fight to keep my composure.
“Fuck yeah. She was half out before we got to the bed …” Paulie recalls. “Just how I like them. Compliant.”
The words crawl under my skin, and it takes everything in me to stay fucking put. “Don’t,” Kade warns, drawing me back to the task at hand. “Can’t believe I’m saying this,” he huffs. “Now’s not the time to lose your head. You’re almost there.”
Closing my eyes, I focus on my breathing. Noah’s image comes flashing through my head without warning. Pale. Quiet. Not there.
She couldn’t focus. Her hands shook when she finally told me pieces of what they’d done to her. She kept apologizing for not remembering everything.
I mumble under my breath, keeping my voice low, “I don’t know how much longer I can listen to this.”
This time, it’s Jace. “Stick to the plan, Rhett. If you bust in there, blinded by rage, we’ll be behind bars before sunrise. That’s the last thing Noah needs.”
He’s right. And I hate that he is. “I’ll get it under control.” I stare at the crack in the door like it’s the only thing keeping me from tearing through it.
“Who would have thought Noah Lane’s pussy was so fuckin’ tight?” I want to put my fist through the smirk that twitches to Paulie’s lips.
The world narrows to a pinpoint. Kade’s voice slices into my ear. “Rhett.” I don’t answer, jaw locked so tight it aches. “Breathe.”
I force air into my lungs and count it. In. Out. Again. Over and over until the rage clawing at my veins settles into something more manageable.
Paulie bends over the table and takes another hit. This one’s sloppier. Less care. When he straightens, his words drag just a fraction. His rough laugh is followed by a slur of words. “You think … she’s gonna tell anyone?”
“You feel that?” Marcus frowns.