Her Dark Justice (The Gates of Fortorus #5)

Prologue

Adam Harper

Twenty-five years before the present day

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SIGNALING TO THE SERVER, I gestured for the blonde to cross the dancefloor to our table. The club around us was beginning to come alive, the dull thud of the bassline amplifying with each step she took, and by the time she was in the vicinity, she had to huddle close to hear my order.

“Hi.” I offered her a smile, and duly, her lips stretched wide in return. Blondes had never really been my type, but she had shimmering blue eyes that gleamed as she replied.

“Hi there.” She leaned closer, revealing a tempting show of cleavage. “What can I get for you?”

“Five whiskey chasers, please.” I motioned to my friends sitting around the circular table with me.

“Coming right up.” Writing down my request, she tucked the loose strands of her hair behind her ear. “Would you like those with or without my number?”

My eyebrow arched at her direct approach. Blessed with dark looks and more than my share of charisma, I was used to female attention, but it was rare that the staff at the local gentlemen’s club paid me such compliments.

“I didn’t think staff were allowed to fraternize with the clientele?” Though eyeing her assets, I was more than happy to take her details and break that rule if she was game.

“I won’t tell them if you don’t.” She tugged her bottom lip between her white teeth.

“Deal.”

She might not have been the classic ‘English beauty’ I usually lusted after, but if my time at university had taught me anything, it was to play the field. The world was full of magnificent women, and God willing, I’d have time to love as many of them as possible.

Watching as she sashayed away from the table, I shook my head with a smile. It was the turn of the century. I was young, attractive, and getting a decent education. The world was my oyster.

“What did she say to you?” Ian Jackson hollered from across the table. Shifting in my seat, my gaze landed on my friend.

We met in year one at the politics society and hit it off.

Much like the shimmying blonde, Ian wasn’t the type of guy I tended to socialize with.

His sense of humor could be cruel, and some of the political ideas he expressed disturbed me, but the free-flowing alcohol meant I’d learned to overlook his extreme views.

What Ian lacked in looks and charm, he made up for in energy and determination, and having him around, organizing events with his daddy’s money, had proved to be fruitful.

“She asked what we were drinking.” I dug into my pocket in search of my wallet.

“Bullshit!” He spat the response at me, provoking laughter from the other guys. “She was hitting on you, wasn’t she?”

I smirked at his shrewd reading of the situation. “She might have asked for my number.”

“You lucky bastard.” Ian scowled, his complaint just audible over the music. “What I wouldn’t give to get my hands on her tits.”

“Ian.” I sighed despite the continued laughter of our friends. “Not everything is about a woman’s breasts, you know.”

Although even I had acknowledged what a beautiful pair the blonde had sported.

“Easy to say when you get to play with those!” Bishop snorted from beside me. “You get more than your fair share of pussy, Harper.”

“Because I know how to talk to women.” I scanned the row of envious faces. “And most of you just see them as casual pursuits you need to either conquer or dismiss.”

“Conquer!” Ian cheered, lifting his glass into the air.

“Con-quer! Con-quer! Con-quer!” the rest of them shouted as they imitated his twisted toast and shoved their remaining drinks aloft.

“Jesus,” I muttered, my focus flitting back to where the blonde was busy working at the bar. “You lot are like drunk preschoolers.”

Black Liquorice, the club we’d frequented since the middle of our freshman year, was a members-only venue; an exclusive little joint that Jackson senior had assured our entry to.

Most evenings, the place was filled with the same selection of weary hacks and slimy politicians; men old enough to be the entertainment’s grandfathers, who spent their time drooling at the women twirling around the pole on the main stage.

That night, it seemed to be particularly popular, and glancing around, I noted there were many men I didn’t recognize.

“Is there something going on in the city tonight?” I wondered aloud as Tania started her slow descent around the silver pole. The busty redhead was one of Ian’s favorites, and most nights, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. “Black Liquorice isn’t usually so busy.”

“Don’t change the subject,” Ian snapped. He seemed unreasonably irritated. “Don’t you want to conquer them as well?”

“Who?” I peered back at him, vexed that he seemed so immune to the sudden flood of new faces.

One of the things I liked most about the club was its discretion.

We could play there with little concern about repercussions beyond the club’s walls.

A torrent of new members, though, would make that more difficult to guarantee.

“Women!” Ian slammed his podgy hand down on the wooden table and sent one of his glasses flying across the polished wood.

At barely twenty years of age, he should have been in the physical prime of his life, yet somehow, in the haze of the club, you might have been forgiven for thinking he was closer to forty.

Shorter than me by some inches and already sporting a thinning hairline, he’d managed to grow something of a beer belly, despite mainly drinking whiskey.

“Don’t you agree that the natural order of things is for men to be in charge of them?”

“The natural order?” Was he serious? I was happy to take charge in the bedroom, but aside from there, I’d always seen women as my equals. My mother had ensured I was raised to respect and honor them. “How much have you had to drink, Ian?”

“Evidently not enough,” he grumbled, staring across the vaulted room to catch sight of our blonde waitress. “Where are our drinks?”

“On their way.” Leaning on the table with my elbows, I met his eyes. “What are you so grumpy about?”

“He’s jealous that you get all the hot women while it’s just him and his hand tonight!” Bishop joked, but his chuckle died a spontaneous death once he clocked Ian’s reaction.

“I have plenty of pussy.” Ian practically pouted. “You wait and see. By the time I’m out of college, they’ll all be clamoring for me.”

“Right.” I smiled, pondering whether he’d pick up on the sarcasm in my voice over the thrum of the relentless bassline. “You’ll be the boss, won’t you, Ian?”

“Too right.” He straightened, his grin stretching to reveal what dental work still needed attention. “By the time I’m done with this country, they’ll all know my name.”