Chapter Fifteen
Anxiety and self-doubt are my co-captains on this plane I’m currently piloting.
We’ve already lost both engines, and now I’m just praying for a miracle. And that when they dig up the wreckage, they don’t find the black box.
I have no clue what I’m doing. This wasn’t part of the plan, though admittedly, there wasn’t a concrete one to begin with. Still, I certainly didn’t anticipate this… Wandering around the VIP area of Club Edge in search of anything that might indicate where he went…
The man in the devil mask.
By the time I followed Jonah out of the room, he was already gone, and I had to at least pretend I was using the restroom.
Jonah went back to work, and of course I stayed behind.
And now I’m just ambling about, knowing that at any moment, I could bump into a security guard—or worse, the manager—who will most definitely kick me out.
And then that incredible blowjob performance will have been for naught.
Well, that’s not entirely true. It got me closer to him…
As close as I could get without plunging my knife into his chest.
He was standing there, staring at me for what felt like hours. I had him…
Sure, I couldn’t see his face, but that doesn’t matter. I know it was him.
After all, he’s El Diablo. The mysterious owner of this club, whom no one has ever seen.
Not a coincidence.
But I fucking lost him, and now I’m panicking.
Even if he doesn’t know it’s me, he’s certainly suspicious.
What’s to stop him from looking me up in their system?
He could recognize me by the picture on my ID, then easily deduce that it’s a fake, and there is no Lucas Hansen at 540 Atlantic Ave in Brooklyn.
I have to get him back before that happens. I refuse to squander this opportunity and let him kill me like he should have when I was three. Not when I’m this close.
Voices pull my attention to a closed door. Inching closer, I press my ear up to it and listen. There are at least two men in there, and it sounds like they’re bickering. Not fighting, per se. One of them is scolding the other, while the other claps back.
I’m trying to make out what they’re saying when the door flings open, and I tumble right into someone.
“Shit… m-my bad,” I choke, scrambling back.
But it’s too late. There’s a guy with black hair and vibrant blue eyes staring at me with his brows lifted like I’m insane.
His sky irises do a sweep over me and he licks his lip, to which I blink. He’s extremely attractive, but he’s making me nervous with the way he’s sort of eye-fucking me right now.
“Please tell me you’re one of the new dancers.” He grins wickedly. “I’ve been saying for months we need a nice slice of twink cake up in here on the platform.”
My mouth is literally just hanging open. I’m sure I’ve never been more dumbfounded, and I need to just leave, but I’m frozen in place by this brazen dude with the flirtiest eyes of all time, a flush of humility rising to my cheeks at his words.
“Uh, maybe next time,” I grunt, spinning away to the sound of him chuckling.
I barely make it a step before another voice stops me. “Excuse me! Who the hell are you??”
My eyes close. Dammit. So close.
Peeking over my shoulder, I see Dom, the manager, also emerging from the same room, tucking in his shirt and buckling his belt. I peek at the kid, who appears ruffled and flushed himself.
None of my business.
“I’m, um, just looking for my friend. Thank you, I’m fine.” I wave him off, darting up the hall. “Keep up the good work.”
“Not so fast.” Dom rushes up behind me, plucking my shirt between his fingers.
I don’t blame him. I sounded like an idiot.
You’re supposed to be good at thinking on your feet! What was that??
I blame Baby Blue Eyes over there for distracting me.
“You are not a member.” Dom squints at me. “This area is members only. How’d you get in here anyway?”
“I, uh…”
“He is too a member,” the kid jumps to my defense. I gape at him. “I’ve seen him before. He’s new, some kind of tech mogul. Shit, what was your name again?” He’s snapping his fingers like he’s really trying to remember.
That. That’s the kind of liar I need to be.
“Lucas,” I mumble. “Lucas Hansen, of Lucky Hands. We’re a startup. We make accessories from sustainable—”
“Shut up. I don’t care,” Dom grunts, glaring at me, then my blue-eyed cohort. “Ren, please get back to work.”
The guy—Ren—purses his lips and shrugs, mouthing, Sorry, to me before he scampers away. Leaving me alone with Dom the hard-ass.
“You think you’re pretty slick, huh?” He grumbles, shaking his head. “We have a zero-tolerance policy for rule breaking. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ban you.”
No.
No no no, I was so close!
Fuck!
He grabs me by the arm, dragging me along while I stammer, “Please, that won’t be necessary. I’m sure we can work something—”
The distinct sound of a cellphone buzzing catches my ear and Dom pauses. He pulls out his phone, face dropping in an instant.
He swipes to answer the call faster than I’ve ever seen anyone move.
“Sir?”
My lashes flutter.
He’s clearly listening to someone speaking, face etched in nervous fear.
That’s him…
Dom’s forehead lines and he peeks at me. “Oh…kay. Sure… Uh, will do. Right away.”
The call ends, and he tucks his phone away, letting out a breath. “Change of plans.”
And now he’s dragging me in the opposite direction.
I’m relieved. But also not.
Because if that was The Ivory… What did he tell him to do with me?
“Where are we going?” I ask, but Dom doesn’t answer. Not until we’re in an elevator, going up.
“You have been requested to join someone in his private suite.” He eyes me, suspicious, but even more curious.
An ardent sense of fear is causing tremors in my extremities that I’m working very hard to disguise as simple anxious fidgets.
If The Ivory wanted to kill me, confront me or take me hostage, why wouldn’t he have done it before?
I suppose he couldn’t reveal himself in front of Jonah. Even so, the nature of this little meeting could go a hundred different ways. I have to be prepared for anything. And I have to get my shit together, because this could very well be my last shot.
He’s seen my face. He knows my alias, and he knows that I know he’s here. I won’t get another opportunity like this. I have to make it count.
The knife hidden in my sock burns against my flesh as I visualize dozens of different scenarios, preparing potential reactions.
The elevator stops at the highest floor, and Dom nods for me to go, so I do. I step out into a dark corridor, expecting him to be following me. But when I turn over my shoulder, the elevator doors are closing with him still inside.
Okay… guess I’m on my own.
Perfecto.
I gulp, wandering cautiously, assessing my surroundings. The place is quiet, only the faded thumping bass of the music coming from downstairs. And dark, a dim glow lighting my way in only one direction—straight ahead, to a large room.
I can see before I even get inside that it’s a suite, vastly spacious and spread-out, like maybe it was supposed to be offices.
But instead, it’s designed like a lavish penthouse, various pieces of elegant furniture scattered about, a bar across the room, a pool table.
A few doors that I’m guessing lead to an en suite and some other smaller rooms.
Stepping into the suite, I’m bathed in rich, colored light that melts between magenta, violet, and blue. I should be looking for him, but my gaze is momentarily captured by a spectacular view.
Floor to ceiling windows reveal the buildings and lights of Hell’s Kitchen. I would assume they’re mirrored on the outside, being that this place screams bad things you don’t want people in the adjacent buildings seeing you do.
“Quite the view… isn’t it?”
The voice startles me, but I don’t show it. Spine stiff, I turn my face slowly, placing him at last, standing by the bar. Or rather, leaning against it, a glass of brown liquor in hand.
Devil mask still in place.
He takes a sip while I stand still, in the middle of the giant room, contemplating.
We’re… alone?
He brought me in here alone?
Surely his staff know he has someone in here, but still. There’s no visible security, and that could mean one of two things; either he’s so confident in himself, and so underestimating of me, that he doesn’t consider being left alone with me a threat…
Or he doesn’t know who I am.
He doesn’t recognize me. It’s a possibility. The last time he saw me, I was three years old. I’ve obviously changed a lot since then, in many ways, but mostly physically.
I always assumed he’d been keeping tabs on me over the years, which is why I’ve never had any social media, never done anything that could result in my picture being in the paper or online. I’m a ghost…
Like the rest of my family.
The Ivory has his ways, we know this, but still. It is possible he doesn’t recognize me as the son of Arturo Alvarez.
Toying with my fingers, I squirm in place. “Wh-what am I… doing here?”
My voice is timid and fluttery, displaying nerves I want him to hear and see. I need to get a read on him, find out what he knows. And the best way to do that is to act like I don’t know who he is.
I’m just a nervous newcomer to this club, who was just being reprimanded by the manager for sneaking into a restricted area with my hook-up friend, now standing in a dark room, alone, with a baleful stranger in a devil mask.
“You tell me…” He murmurs.
That voice, so deep and smooth, like the quiet purr of a jungle cat. I remember it so well… But I can’t let him know that.
I can’t let him know I’ve been hearing his voice in my mind as the soundtrack to fantasies of slitting his throat for fifteen years.
“What do you think you’re doing here?” He sips again, watching me. Carefully fixated.
He’s staring at me like I’m literally the only thing in the room.
“You’re mad…” I mumble, tone questioning. “Because you caught me?”
His head cocks.