Chapter Twenty-Three
Silver Tongue
Juliet
“ L ITTLE DOVE.”
“No dove here.” I burrowed into the pillows to hide my eyes from the evil bedside lamp. “Only a raccoon.”
“Need you to wake up for a minute, then you can go back to sleep.”
Cracking one eye—it was the best I could do—I peered up at Maximo.
It didn’t matter if he was up crazy late or just working from home, Maximo was always awake, showered, and dressed at an ungodly hour, like some sort of weirdo.
But he was a weirdo I missed.
It’d been almost two weeks since his day off with me, and I’d barely seen him. Each day, he’d been gone by the time I woke and got home after I’d gone to sleep.
“You awake enough to listen?” he rumbled, amused tenderness threading his tone.
“Mmhmm.”
“I’ll make it quick before you start snoring again.”
That was enough to make both lids pop open. “I do not snore.”
“Like a foghorn.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Like a forest of lumberjacks sawing wood.”
“Didn’t you have something important to talk to me about?” I gritted out.
“You’re coming to the fight tonight.”
I shot upright, nearly hitting his jaw with my head. “What?”
“And staying the weekend with me at Moonlight.”
“I am? We are?”
I’d been dying to visit his hotels. Any of them. All of them. I didn’t care, I just wanted to see. But I’d kept that desire to myself. Part of it was I understood how busy he was. He didn’t have time to entertain me or be a tour guide, and he’d likely feel obligated to do both.
Mostly, though, I’d worried he’d say no.
Taking me to the underground fight where everyone had been wrapped up in their own depravity was one thing.
But taking me to his place of work was far different.
While logically I’d have understood if he didn’t want his personal life aired at work, I knew I would’ve felt like his dirty secret if he refused me. That would’ve hurt.
And that hurt would’ve festered. It’d been easier to not even put it out there.
I couldn’t get rejected if I never asked.
His lips tipped. “I take it you like that idea.”
“A lot.”
“It’ll be a lot of waiting around.”
“That’s fine. I’m just excited to finally see one of your resorts.”
His eyes narrowed.
Oops.
And shit.
“Have you been wanting to?” At my non-answer, he lifted his chin. “You’ve been wanting to. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Not sharing the main reason, I gave him a smaller truth. “I know you’re really busy, and I didn’t want to be in the way.”
“You’d never be in the way. A distraction, fuck yeah, but one I want. I didn’t know you wanted to come. You never said anything so I thought…” His eyes went soft as he stroked my hair and finished, “I thought casinos would be hard for you because of Shamus.”
“Gambling is probably ruined for me,” I agreed. “But there’s more than just that, right?”
“Right.” His lips tipped before going serious. “If you want something, you need to tell me. Sometimes the answer will be no, but telling me what you want is a rule. Understood?”
“Understood.”
“I’m betting you don’t want to wake up and come with me now.”
“I do not.”
He grinned.
And it was beautiful.
“Ash will bring you later. I’ll have Vera pack you a bag, so make sure you let her know what you want. One of your dresses ready?”
I wish. Maybe then I wouldn’t want to put my head through the pretty dove canvas.
I shook my head. “But I’ve got—”
“I’ll send something over.”
“Maximo, I have…” I started before his eyes narrowed.
“Who am I?” he bit out.
“Daddy.”
“And what does Daddy fucking love to do?”
“Take care of me.”
“Then stop trying to take that away from me, or I’m not going to be happy. And neither will your burning, red ass.”
Because he’d been gone so much and therefore unable to spank my ass, his threat made a surprising amount of longing surge through me.
And I must not have done a good job hiding it because Maximo’s expression shifted from hotly stern to just hotly hot. “You like that.”
I did.
A lot.
“Not the you-being-unhappy part,” I clarified.
“Noted.” Stroking my hair, he lowered his voice. “I haven’t been doing a good job taking care of you. I’ll make it right.”
You’re the only person who’s ever taken care of me.
I opened my mouth to tell him that, but he stood and flicked off the light.
“Go back to sleep.” His gruff order was softened by his sweet, lingering kiss. “I’ll see you later.”
Excitement and anticipation bubbled in me, and I didn’t think I’d be able to sleep.
But I was out immediately—likely before he even got downstairs.
Maximo
“Say that again.”
In the dark, dank room far below Moonlight, the squirrelly motherfucker tied to a chair spit out a mouth full of blood before repeating, “Viktor Dobrow paid me to hang around your resorts.”
Viktor Dobrow.
Club owner, drug and woman peddler, and pain in my fucking ass.
“Why?” I asked.
“He didn’t say, and I’m not stupid enough to question an order.”
“But you’re stupid enough to come here?”
“He paid me.”
That was all we’d be getting from Tommy Janson because that was all he knew. He was exactly the kind of idiot who’d blindly follow whatever orders he was given—especially if he profited without having to do any actual work.
Even if said orders landed him on my radar.
And in The Basement.
Unless it was going to get too messy—like with Murphy—The Basement was where we brought people. People who owed me. People who crossed me. People who fucked me over.
And, in my eyes, Tommy Janson was guilty of all three.
Ash stood with Marco, waiting for my order.
Jerking my head toward Tommy, I said, “Dump his body outside one of Dobrow’s clubs.”
“What?” Janson shrieked. “Nah, man, no way. I’m not going down for just watching your place. I didn’t see shit to report back. I didn’t make trouble.”
“Christ, I hate liars. You got caught with your hand in a woman’s purse.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t steal anything from you .”
“You steal on my property, you make my guests feel unsafe. That’s costing me money.”
Fucking dumbass.
“I’ll work for you, man. You wouldn’t even have to pay me. I’ll tell Dobrow whatever you want, and I’ll report back to you. I’ll ask questions. I’ll be your eyes and ears.”
I had eyes and ears all over the city, ranging from high-level officials to card slappers, showgirls, and a very adult Buzz Lightyear who worked the Strip, posing with a variety of other toys .
There were things to learn from everyone, but usually those who were dismissed and disregarded garnered the most useful information.
It was easy to overhear things when people forgot they existed.
But deals only worked when I trusted the person. And I didn’t trust Tommy with a spork.
“I want to know when it’s done,” I told Marco.
“Wait! C’mon, we can figure this out. I can do something. I got good connections. I can score anything your clients need, I swear.”
That wasn’t a surprise. The sallow, waxiness of his pasty skin made it clear he knew his way around drugs.
I didn’t like that shit in my casinos, I sure as hell wasn’t going to supply it. Even at the makeshift arenas, coke, weed, and limited uppers were allowed, but anything else was confiscated by security during pat-downs and tossed. It hadn’t taken long before people stopped trying to sneak it in.
Ash took out his little black kit, unzipped it, and pulled out a syringe. He glanced at it before putting it back and getting a different one. “Ready?”
“I hate this part,” Marco sighed, approaching Tommy.
“Whoa, point made. Okay? Point made. I won’t go back to Dobrow at all. I won’t ever contact you. You’ll never see me again, I swear it.” The sound of something dripping on the floor came seconds before the scent of ammonia filled the small space.
Marco grimaced. “Damn, just once can’t someone keep their piss where it belongs.”
“Look how orange it is.” Ash shook his head. “Jesus, drink a glass of water every once in a while.” He smirked, undoing Tommy’s belt. “Oh wait.”
Cruel bastard.
“What’re you doing?” Tommy shifted away as his belt was pulled free, panic widening his eyes. “Get away from me, you freak.”
“Trust me, if I swung that way, I’d have higher standards.”
After Marco pushed the sleeves of Tommy’s grubby shirt up, exposing the plethora of scabs, scars, and track marks, Ash tightened the belt around Tommy’s upper arm.
He had to know we weren’t just giving him a free high, but that didn’t stop him from watching the needle like… well, like a junkie getting his next fix. His movements and protests were half-assed, and it didn’t take much effort for Marco to subdue him long enough for Ash to inject him.
I opened the door behind me and slipped out into the hall before the urine smell permeated into my clothes and not just my nostrils.
“Done?” Cole asked.
I lifted my chin. “Marco and you can handle the dump while Ash gets Juliet.”
Cole would jam Dobrow’s cheap security cameras so they could dump the body outside whichever of his clubs was most deserted.
Minus a few punches to Janson’s mouth, there were no signs of a struggle. Ash’s skilled rope work wouldn’t leave any bruising or abrasions, Tommy hadn’t put up a fight, and his own belt was used.
As far as anyone would be concerned, it was an OD.
But Dobrow would know.
“Get anything useful out of him?” Cole asked.
“Not unless you consider him pissing himself useful,” I said.
His lip curled. “I think that room has seen more piss than the toilets in this place. Why is everyone’s first instinct to piss themselves when they’re about to die?”
Not everyone.
Twice Juliet thought she was facing death, and twice she faced it with strength.
“When I die,” he continued, “it’ll be with a beautiful woman riding my dick and another riding my face. And, unlike that diplomat at Nebula with the golden shower fetish, there will be no piss involved.”
Little turned my stomach, but the reminder of how the diplomat had left that room did it. “Fucking hell, don’t ever mention that shit to me again. I had to toss the whole bed and hire one of the crews that handle crime scenes to scrub that place out.”