Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Eleanor
Let’s go fishing.
O nce I landed in Chicago, I booked another flight to Miami, and now find myself sitting in a bar across from the exclusive club Cloud. Despite its heavenly name, it conceals the worst sinners the world has to offer. Irony at its finest.
The burly doorman checks his tablet against the guest list as a steady stream of expensively dressed people enter the club. Can’t have any uninvited or unvetted people entering a club entangled with sex trafficking. My brows lower at the number of girls—who don’t look old enough to have graduated high school—being escorted inside. They are too innocent, too young, and are utterly clueless.
While their cyber security is good, it’s no match for my skills. I hacked into their list hours ago. The issue is there were no women’s names on it, simply men with their plus ones. I’m a lot of things, but I am not a man. My long brunette hair is tucked up beneath a bouncy blonde wig and contacts have transformed my blue eyes to brown. I want to get close enough to plant a tracker on one of Jonathan’s lackeys, without rousing suspicion. The aim tonight is to find the latest location of their compound. From there, I can build a plan to destroy him.
I’ve already scouted the back entrance, but it was locked up tight. I could break in, but it would draw attention, and I’m not entirely sure what I’m walking into. I studied the blueprint for the three-story building, and I know the exits, bathroom locations, even the stock behind the bar. But I have no idea what happens in the main rooms. There doesn’t appear to be any CCTV—apart from outside—which in itself is odd. I guess no recordings means no evidence, and if the authorities were to come sniffing around, they could claim ignorance.
So here I am in this classy bar filled with twenty to forty-year-olds dressed to the nines. I’m expecting three men who frequent the club to make a stop here before they disappear into Cloud. I’m not sure why they come here first, but my gut says the bartender is on Jonathan’s payroll and slips a little something into the girls’ drinks to lower their resistance. Then again, perhaps these predators like toying with their food.
If my suspicions are correct, then the women they bring have been handpicked for their lack of family and close connections, leaving no one to report them missing. Jonathan’s perfect trifecta. The problem is I’ve not been vetted. I could be the daughter of a high-profile politician for all they know. I’m an unknown, and I have to prove I’m alone in this world. I suck my teeth before taking a sip of my drink. Shouldn’t be all that hard.
My first target enters the bar, and at his side is a tiny brunette whose eyes dart around the room. I can mimic almost anyone, but I dressed to show off my body tonight. If he’s set on a Bambi-like damsel, I need to bide my time and wait for target two and three before deciding.
The couple is swallowed by the swell of the crowd at the bar, no longer worth my attention. I take a few more sips of my soda and keep my eyes peeled on the street.
“Are you waiting for someone?” a masculine voice asks, the fourth to approach me.
My body is wrapped in a tight white bandage dress, showing off my curves. My feet are squeezed into a pair of off-brand heels. Designer ones would give away my wealth, and I need to look sexy and a little desperate, not like a woman of means.
I scan him from head to toe. He’s actually someone I would pick out if I wasn’t working. He’s got the tattooed, leather jacket, bad boy look that makes me think perhaps, just maybe, he knows what he’s doing, and I wouldn’t have to reach for my electronic friend to enjoy myself.
“I am,” I tell him.
“Would you like company until he turns up?”
“Presumptuous on many accounts.”
He grins as he leans against the table. Good dental hygiene. Always a bonus. “How so?”
“One, you think I am waiting for a man, and two, you believe I’m some damsel who can’t sit and wait patiently for her companion.”
He blinks. “Well, a pretty lady like yourself is hardly going to be meeting a friend on a Saturday night in downtown Miami.”
I cast a glance out the window. Fuck. Target two just entered Cloud. My mind sorts through several plans, discarding each one until I settle between two options. I could dispatch the brunette and take her place, or hedge my bets and wait to see if my last target follows his routine. Not everyone is a creature of habit like I am.
My fingers drum against the smooth wood table as I make a decision. My gaze flicks around the room, finding the couple at the bar. He orders her a cocktail, his arm wrapping around her waist as he leans down to her ear, forcing her to turn away from the bar as the bartender prepares her drink. There it is. He drops something inside the shaker. There’s part of me that wants to save each girl independently, but I have to stay the course or I will get derailed, costing more lives in the long run.
“If you aren’t going to talk to me,” the guy says, as if it’s some threat he’s about to leave me.
My eyes focus on him. “You’ll what?”
His grin grows. For fuck’s sake. I don’t have the patience for an egocentric man needling me for attention. Opening my mouth, a scathing remark sits on my tongue, my patience wearing thin. I don’t have time for his games.
“Your peni?—”
My third target spills in through the door, and on his arm is a confident-looking blonde. Perfect. That, I can do. She’s dressed in a cute black flirty number showing her toned tanned legs. Christopher Burnside is a gray-eyed, dark-haired, forty-three-year-old multimillionaire who enjoys hurting women. He inserts himself as their savior, a knight in shining armor, swooping in on situations he’s cultivated. Blondes are his preference, and he enjoys dominating strong women, breaking them down until they entirely depend on him.
He’s a master psychological manipulator. There are reports of starvation, torture, financial ruin, and leaked videos of their degradation, causing the loss of their family and friends. Even more disturbing are the rumors of his darkest deeds, the ones where he slaughters his conquests while still inside their bodies. Then there are the survivors. Many have tried taking their lives. Some have succeeded. He’s one of the worst I have found linked to Jonathan’s organization.
I cross my legs, which hikes up my dress, showcasing my thighs, then slide forward to whisper in the hot dude’s ear. He obliges and leans down so I can look over his shoulder. My gaze catches Christopher’s as he places a hand on the woman’s lower back. I drag my bright red stained bottom lip between my teeth and hold his stare with a little defiance. The dude circles a hand around my waist, my skin erupting in goosebumps at his touch.
“Do you want to get out of here?” he rasps in my ear. Then he nips it. My eyes widen. Christopher licks his lips, not breaking eye contact with me.
“Not tonight,” I utter. “I’m working.”
The hot dude jerks back and his gaze skims down my body. “Yeah... I don’t pay for it.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. I pick up my soda as I wait for him to get the hint and leave. His eyes narrow, like he’s expecting me to correct him on his assumption. I don’t, and for a second, I think he’s about to ask me how much. Then he sighs, spins around, and stalks to the bar.
Christopher tracks his departure from my side, and I glance away and look out of the window, feigning disinterest.
Hook.
He doesn’t enjoy easy; he wants to feel like a predator, someone who has captured a wild woman and brought her to heel.
There have been several police reports against him which have never seen the light of day. Stalking. Assault. Harassment. His money and connections ensure he’s untouchable. Every single charge has been squashed by the legal team surrounding Jonathan and his closest people. That’s okay. I don’t plan on playing within the confines of the law. Murder is, after all, a crime. Eye for an eye and all that.
Fingertips trail down my bare arm and ghost over the back of my hand. It takes everything in me not to flinch from the oily sensation. They are infected with hate and evil, and they’re trying to bury their way into my skin.
“Is that guy bothering you?” Christopher asks. He has a cultured accent, a neutral American cadence resulting from an affluent upbringing. Being the son of a congressman and a student of an Ivy League university, Christopher made his fortune by building on his late mother’s high-end fashion line. Too bad his company is rife with slave labor. Given his private preferences, it shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone.
I glance around his shoulder at the hot dude lasering Christopher’s back. “I can handle him.” I make sure to sink into a light southern drawl. Another layer to my disguise.
He hums in his throat. “I’m sure you can.”
Line.
“What are your plans tonight?” he asks.
A grin spreads across my face as I tuck a long curl behind my ear. “I’m here to forget the fact I lost my job today.” I pout, sinking into my chair and into his shoulder.
“No friends joining you?”
“No friends, period. I’m a long way from home and looking to lose myself in this city for a few nights. Perhaps longer. I think I need a fresh start.”
“Would you like to join us?” he asks.
I glance over his shoulder at the blonde, finding her ignoring the hot dude. My mouth contorts into a grimace, which isn’t hard as my skin is trying to crawl off my bones to escape his touch. “No, thank you. I’m a little possessive over my partners. I don’t share well.”
He leans close to my ear, his warm breath teasing my flesh and sending goosebumps down my arm. A physiological response which I’m certain he misinterprets for pleasure. My stomach twists, my body already craving a shower.
“And if I get rid of her?”
Sinker.