Chapter 4
DOMINIC
W hen I told Maxim where we were going and who I was meeting, he burst into laughter. When he’d asked me if I needed him to come along to save me from the “wild cats,” I’d politely declined using two of my favorite fingers.
So he’d left me at the doors of the Thunder Claw.
The bar was in one of the shadier parts of Brooklyn.
From the outside, it was a two-story brick structure.
The ground level was part glass and part dark wood front with a large “Thunder Claw” sign overhead.
The second story featured three large stained-glass rose windows, giving the bar a Gothic vibe.
The first thing that hit me upon entering was the smell of freshly brewed coffee. The place had a decent crowd of patrons in various corners, eating and chatting. Not for the first time, I wondered if meeting in such a public space to discuss something so confidential and sensitive was a good idea.
I approached the woman at the small reception counter near the front and gave her my name .
I was about to ask her if the Wildcats —I mentally rolled my eyes at the thought of saying it out loud—were waiting at some table. But the woman simply said, “Please follow me.”
She started toward the back of the establishment, and I quickly followed, taking in the hustle and bustle. A solid black bar dominated the left side of the restaurant, with about fifteen barstools arranged along its length. Every one of them was occupied at the moment.
The entire decor was Gothic industrial, with black chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. It clearly wasn’t a dance club but more of a sit-and-relax lounge bar. It actually looked like the kind of place Kai and I would come hang out at.
The woman went through the curtain at the back and opened an ominous black door.
“The Wildcats are waiting for you downstairs. Would you like some coffee? Tea?”
“No, thank you,” I said and made my way down the stairs. The door shut behind me with a click.
The dark wood handrail of the staircase glinted under the yellow lights of the ceiling. The staircase itself did not have natural lighting. I reached another ominous door at the foot of the stairs. I rolled my eyes at the amount of mystery these Wildcats were trying to create.
I turned the knob, pushed the door open, and halted at the doorway. The sight that greeted me could have been pulled straight out of a Hollywood sci-fi movie.
Five women stood inside a large, open room, each wearing a black-and-gold mask representing a different feline. The woman in the center wore a sharp black suit that rivaled mine and a black-and-gold lioness mask.
Faint light streamed from the small windows near the basement ceiling, casting sharp shadows across the women.
The entire room, which was as large as the bar above, was nearly empty, with a boxing ring in the far-right corner and rows of strength training equipment along the opposite wall.
It looked more like a training center than a formal meeting room.
In the center of the room stood an ordinary brown table, where the woman in the lioness mask waited. An empty chair sat across from her, most likely for me.
A shiver raced its way down my spine as I made my way to the chair, taking in the four other women in the room.
Two women flanked the lioness. The one on the left with a cheetah mask hiding her face wore a half-sleeve black T-shirt and cargo pants, her pink hair bunched in a high ponytail.
To the lioness’s right was another woman dressed in long-sleeved black gear just like the cheetah, her face hidden by a black-and-gold panther mask.
The fourth woman, dressed in all-black clothes and wearing a black-and-silver jaguar mask, stood beside the panther.
But it was the last woman who held my attention in a choke hold.
She wore a sleeveless black tank, showcasing her bulging muscles that rivaled my own, and her right arm featured a long-sleeved black-and-crimson tiger tattoo.
She sat in another chair set slightly farther away from the table, one foot casually crossed over her knee.
Her mask was a black-and-crimson tiger with intricate gold lining.
She looked, by far, the deadliest of the group.
My heart hammered against my ribs at the stillness with which the tiger’s head tilted slightly as she stared at me.
“Mr. Park,” the lioness greeted me from where she stood.
My gaze moved away from the tiger as I reached the table and shook the lioness’s offered hand. Her grip was firm and professional, her hand covered by black leather gloves.
“How did you know who I was?” I asked.
The lioness’s head tilted slightly—it was disconcerting to see the expressionless faces of the masks—as she said, “We wouldn’t be very good at what we do if we couldn’t figure out who was calling us. ”
I nodded. “And the masks? Do you need to scare your clients?”
Again, the masked head tilted. “Depends on who’s sitting in front of us.
We do dangerous work here, Mr. Park. We can’t reveal our identities to just anyone, especially not to public figures such as yourself.
Besides, some people find it comforting to share their story with masked people.
Gives them a sense of anonymity. Some prefer a more…
human connection. What is your preference, Mr. Park? ”
I shrugged, feigning indifference. The thought of five women staring at me as I talked about my sister made my skin crawl.
I guess I did prefer them in masks after all.
Made what I wanted to talk about a little easier to share.
But it also didn’t make me trust the unknown masked faces.
“Can I see one of your faces?” I asked, my voice tight.
“I need to know who I’m really talking to. ”
To my utter shock, it was the tigress who reached up and pulled off her mask, only to reveal the face of a warrior goddess.
The first thing I noticed was her chocolate-brown eyes, then her golden-brown skin, which seemed to glow when the sun's rays coming from the small basement window hit her form just right, and the sharp line of her jaw. God certainly took his time creating this woman. She reminded me of one of those Greek god statues in the Met. I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
The woman’s long, jet-black hair was pulled into two thick braids, though a few curls escaped, falling over her cheeks, giving her a touch of softness.
Her neck was adorned with a choker and two thin gold necklaces, but my attention was drawn to the cluster of piercings decorating her ears.
She had an industrial barbell through her upper cartilage, and at least six other earrings glinting from her lobes and helix—hoops, delicate chains, diamond studs.
She raised her eyebrows at me, a small, knowing smile playing at the corner of her full lips. Clearly, she was amused at my ridiculous, slack-jawed reaction.
“Haven’t seen a strong woman before, pretty boy?” the tigress asked. What else was I supposed to call her when I didn’t even know her name?
My cheeks heated at being caught staring, and definitely not at being called pretty .
“Strong? Yes. Jacked like a warrior? No.”
That got me a savage smile from her as she gave me a wink. “Thanks.”
A throat cleared, and my attention moved back to the lioness. “So, Mr. Park, how may we help you?”
The tigress got up and moved closer to us, dragging her chair behind her and sitting beside the lioness. Guess she didn’t want me to move my face back and forth between the two.
For some reason, I certainly felt more comfortable talking to her.
Speaking of my sister, the familiar rage flooded my veins. I looked the tigress straight in her eyes and said, “I want my sister’s rapists. Alive.”
It was the lioness who spoke. “You mentioned in the phone call that you have no idea who they are?”
With a clenched jaw, I nodded. “I’ve been trying to find them for four months. But they left no evidence. They were at the gala that my sister attended and grabbed her from outside the venue. They threw her out of their car in the back alley once they were done.”
The tigress’s lips curled in disgust, and her muscles bunched around her shoulders as if she were ready to attack the rapists. But she stayed silent.
So I turned to the lioness when she asked, “What about the cops? How long did they work on your case?”
My blood boiled at the mere thought of the cops. “A month, month and a half at max. The level of competence in the cops is a fucking joke.”
The lioness and the tigress looked at each other. It was merely a glance before they both turned their eyes to me. “Or maybe they were protecting the person who raped your sister.”
A harsh chuckle escaped me. “Do you know the amount of money I offered the cops?”
This time, the tigress shook her head at me in pity. In pity . “If your exorbitant amount of money couldn’t make the cops do their job, who do you think they’re protecting?”
My head buzzed, my mind spinning in circles, looping through every conversation I had with the detective—more like detectives—assigned to Sophie’s case.
The numerous delays in reporting progress, the lack of evidence, the inadequate thought put into interviewing people, the excessive number of excuses for not working the case, the cold trails, and the conclusions reached without any proof.
Their incessant blame on Sophie for not being able to provide them with much made her and, in turn, me feel guilty for not doing enough to help them.
What I thought was mere incompetence on the part of the cops might actually have been sabotage.
Fury raced through the blood in my veins. The need to destroy every person responsible for making Sophie’s life miserable was a living, beating thing inside my chest. I wanted to find every single fucker responsible and kill them all with my bare hands.
“Mr. Park…” The tigress’s voice infiltrated my spiraling mind, and my eyes snapped to hers as she said, “We’ll take on your case.”