Chapter Twelve
Dixon
It smells like salt, sweat, and sex, and not exactly in that order. Music thumps through my body like the reverb from mortar fire, and there’s a bouncer the size of Conan the barbarian watching me with a mix of curiosity and wariness so that I can’t tell if he wants to beat me, eat me, or torture me until he hears the lamentations of the woman beside me. If that’s his intent, good luck to him, because she would probably join in.
“Interesting choice for a meeting place.” Alexandra’s eyes linger on the bouncer, too, but he hardly seems to notice her. No, he’s just interested in me. This is going to be a long night.
“Not my first choice, but Moose insisted.”
“Well, I’m starting to believe you about him not being in your MC. I’ve heard about this place, and Cuff and Chain is definitely not a biker bar.”
“You’ve heard of it?”
“Kind of. They’re underground. They do a lot of pop-ups. Well, if pop-ups had ball gags and buckets of lube.”
From the sounds coming through the brick wall — thumping music, moans that rise between song breaks, and a long wail that walks the line between a ululation and a dying goat’s death rattle — I have a disturbingly good idea about what’s happening inside Cuff and Chain. It’s an idea that makes me incredibly uncomfortable around Alexandra. There’s one voice in particular that cuts through the music with a decidedly deep, earthy moan, and it sounds almost exactly like what I imagine her moan to sound like.
Judging by the color in her cheeks, she hears it, too.
“Your friend is running late,” she says.
“Just relax. You’ll get inside soon enough.”
She rolls her eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”
“It’s obvious you’re anxious. If you want, you can go inside now and wait for us at the bar.”
“And leave you out here unsupervised?”
”Unsupervised? Do I look like I need a babysitter, Alexandra?”
”You might not need one, but you sure act like it sometimes.”
Moose then lumbers into view, his shadow stretching out before him like a bear”s. The bouncer instinctively takes a step back and seems to shrink in on himself; Moose is the kind of mountain that moves unchallenged. A mountain that, right now, is wearing a leather getup that leaves little to the imagination.
”Speak of the devil,” I say.
Moose grins when he sees us, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
”Dixon, I was so happy when you called, but I didn’t realize we’d have company. If I had known it wasn’t just you and me, I’d have worn a different outfit. Who are you, princess?”
I grin, waiting for Alexandra to bite Moose’s head off for calling her ‘princess.’
Instead, she smiles and extends a hand, which Moose takes and kisses. “Alexandra. And you’re Moose?”
“The one and only,” he says, holding his arms wide for a hug. She steps in willingly and squeezes him like he’s an old friend.
”So nice to meet you, Moose,” she says, her voice sweet as honey and not laced with any of the venom like when she speaks to me.
Moose turns to me and throws his arms open wide. ”Come here, brother.”
I grunt as I”m pulled into the hug that feels like being caught in a landslide. When we finally break apart, I shoot Alexandra a look as she laughs softly at our exchange. ”How come he gets to call you ‘princess’ and I don’t?”
“Because he’s not an asshole.”
Moose laughs. “Smokey, I may have been a little upset at first to find out this isn’t the playdate that I thought it was — because, let me tell you, when you called and asked me if I’d help you do a little investigation into the seedier parts of the Costa Oscura underworld and find yourself a particular guy, I had something totally different in mind — but now, well, I’m not so upset. I like her.”
“Dixon, did you lure Moose here under false pretenses?” Alexandra says, grinning.
“It’s OK, princess,” Moose says. “To be honest with you, once he told me he needed help to find a man, I got so excited that I just stopped listening and my mind went to picking out which outfit would be the most fun.”
Frowning, I look over at the bouncer, then back at Moose. “So, are we here at Cuff and Chain because we can find information about the man who tried to kill Alexandra and me, or are we here because it’s a sex club and you were hoping to have a three-way with me and some random guy?”
“Things can have more than one meaning, Smokey,” Moose says.
“They absolutely can,” Alexandra says. “And let me just say, I think you’d be excellent for Dixon. He might not look like it, but he really needs someone with a tender touch. He’s fragile.”
“Oh, I’ve thought as much,” Moose says, giving me a look so blatant that I want to dig a deep hole and bury myself in it right now. “But Smokey, you’ll be happy to know that, just like me, this club will satisfy your needs. Cuff and Chain is run by a pair that is tapped in to everything happening on the west coast. From LA, San Francisco, even up to Seattle. The owners have connections because some seriously powerful people come here to get connected, if you know what I mean.”
“So, how is this going to work? Do we just walk in there and start showing his photo around?” I say.
“Only if you want to get whipped and then shot,” Moose answers. “Just put your arm in mine and follow my lead. They know me here.”
Moose hooks his arm around me and gracefully takes Alexandra’s proffered arm. This close, I can smell his cologne. As a trio, we head to the door, and the bouncer steps aside without a word. He and Moose exchange a glance that lingers just long enough to hint that they’re more than casual acquaintances. Once inside the door, Moose notices my look and winks at me. “It’s not what you think.”
“I don’t even know what to think when it involves you.”
“His name is Rex. I did some volunteering at a soup kitchen once upon a time. He went there for a while, when he was going through some tough times. We became friends, and I helped him get this job. There’s nothing sexual about it,” Moose says as we pass through the entryway and enter the club. “Yet.”
Then I stop paying attention. Because nothing in my life could have possibly prepared me for the sweaty, steamy, sticky mess I see in front of me. The atmosphere inside Cuff and Chain is like a heavy, scented fog. Bodies move with an almost hypnotic rhythm, and the low thrum of the bass syncs with the pulse beating at my temple.
Alexandra’s grip on my arm tightens ever so slightly.
Moose leads us through the writhing sea of leather, his confidence unwavering, as if he is the king of this jungle. I catch glimpses of scenes that make even my blood run hot, and then we come to a halt in front of a secluded booth shrouded by beaded curtains. Moose slides in first, pulling Alexandra with him while I follow suit, trying not to show how out of my depth I feel.
”OK,” Moose whispers, leaning across the table so only we can hear. ”We”re not here to partake in the activities. Especially because tonight is Movie Night.”
“Movie night?” Alexandra says. “Are they recording? Like, making their own movies?”
“Dear, that happens every night. On Movie Night, there are different rooms set up to enable you to play out scenes from some of the sexiest movies of all time. Movies like Secretary, Unfaithful, and Road House.”
“Road House?” I say. “The original or the remake?”
“The original. As tasty as he is, Jake Gyllenhaal doesn’t compare to Patrick Swayze and Sam Elliot. I mean, Swayze was on form — cocky, sweaty, and oh, that hair — and Elliot, oh, with that gravel voice and that smirk that is made for tucking you into bed. It’s everything you want on a lonely Tuesday night when you’re coming off a long-haul drive and you’re stuck in some fleabag motel in the middle of Nebraska. Now, you two sit tight, and I’m going to go check in with the bartender and let him know we’re looking to see the owners.”
Moose leaves, parting the beaded curtains and disappearing into the crowd of sweaty people.
Alexandra gives me a confused look. “Road House?”
”It’s a good movie.”
“You too, huh?”
Before I can assure her that the last thing I”d ever want is to try to step into Dalton’s shoes, Moose returns, his face lit up.
”They”re expecting us,” he says, sliding back into the booth beside Alexandra. ”But we”ve got to play it cool. The owners are discreet, and they’re our best ticket to finding out what we need, but things between me and them are a little dicey right now. I’m hoping they’ll overlook what happened between us on account of the interesting little mystery you two have going on. They always were suckers for riddles and puzzles. Just remember to be respectful. That’s especially important, Smokey.”
“What?” I say.
“Can you play nice?” Moose says.
“Why the fuck does everyone keep asking me that?”
“Because it’s a legit question,” Alexandra says. “Moose, did I tell you he peed in a Gatorade bottle rather than use the toilet?”
“That’s a serious misrepresentation,“ I say.
Moose cuts me off. “Dixon, I need you to be serious. Can you play nice when we’re in there?”
“I want answers as much as anyone. I’ll play nice.”
“It’s not exactly how I thought I’d hear them, but you saying those words still gives me the shivers, Smokey,” Moose says. “Little goosebumps, all up and down my back, my booty, my arms, everywhere. Now, follow me.”
He leads us to a back door, one guarded by two men who make the bouncer out front look as big and threatening as a chihuahua. Moose whispers something to one man, who nods and then opens the door for us. As we enter, the two of them give me a look that feels more probing than a cavity check.
After a long hallway, the room we enter is dark, ostentatious sex; leather and crimson velvet drape the expansive space, and every surface gleams with a polish that reflects the sparse candlelight flickering around us. I feel like I’m in The Wizard of Oz and I’ve just peeked behind the curtain, except, instead of seeing the wizard as some old man, there’s two really well-dressed people — a man and a woman, who both look like they live perpetually on the edge of fucking.
We”re ushered to an ornate table where the two of them sit, their gazes casually dissecting us as we approach. One is a woman with a silver streak running through her black hair, her eyes sharp as razors, a body barely concealed beneath elegant clothes — leather, lace, and a bowtie. Beside her is a man with a thick beard peppered in gray who strokes his chin thoughtfully as he looks me up and down.
Though the people who escorted us into this room quickly leave, I still feel eyes on us from the shadows. We’re not alone, and those who are observing us are definitely armed.
”Moose,” the man greets us with an icy smile, his voice smooth as silk. ”It’s been a while.”
Moose nods, and I can see the faintest hint of tension at the corners of his eyes.
”This is Alexandra,” he says, gesturing to her before turning to me, ”and Smokey.”
No equal introductions come; they stare at us with eyes that seem to dissect and undress us equally.
From the darkness, I hear guns being cocked.
Then the woman stands, fists clenched, eyes blazing.
“It’s astounding to me you would even dare come back here after the way you left things. How is it you thought you could return, and we’d let you live?”