Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
“Are you shitting me?” Atlas gaped. “How’d you find Rex’s booty call?”
After ending the call with Molly—during which he’d paced the parking lot they’d pulled into thirty minutes ago—he’d returned to the vehicle and hopped in the front passenger seat. Already, the guys had news and a lead. And damn if he wasn’t proud of their quick adaptability.
Reaper smirked. “Apparently he visited the nightclub where she strips last night. When we first spoke to Harry a few weeks ago, he mentioned where Rex’s lady friend works.”
His memory sparked. Some woman who went by the name Cinnamon.
“Right. I remember that. Wasn’t important until now. Let’s pay her a visit.”
“You need to go,” Rogue said, glancing at Atlas from the driver’s seat. “Just you.”
“Why me?” As much as he wanted to drag the cockroach from his hole, he didn’t really want to spend his time in a sleazy strip club and return to Molly after seeing other naked women.
Okay, so that’s what really ate at him. He didn’t want to look at other women. Didn’t want to have to admit to Molly where he’d been. However, he would. No way he’d lie.
“You’ve been under the radar since Sagreja. Rex and his men might know what some of us look like, but they probably don’t have a description for you.”
“Seriously?” Viper guffawed. “He looks like a fucking cop more than a cop does.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Atlas craned his neck to look at the back seat.
“You’ve got a look about you. That’s all.” Havoc chuckled.
“And what look is that? Other than better lookin’ than you.”
Viper nudged him. “You’re the poster child for military recruitment.”
“Nothing I can do about that. I can’t get flabby in ten minutes. Maybe if I ate more like you, though.”
Viper’s smile vanished. “I’m solid muscle.”
“And I could pass for one of the strippers,” Havoc quipped.
“All right, enough,” Rogue said with impatience. “Atlas is our best bet. Wear a hoodie so you don’t look so jacked.”
“A hoodie? It’s a hundred degrees out and that place is going to be packed on a Friday night. I’ll be sweating my bag off.”
“You’ll be fine.”
Atlas huffed. If it meant getting the job done, he’d do it. He just wouldn’t be happy about it. Or comfortable.
“Fine,” he grumbled. “Let’s get it over with.”
“You’ll need to lose the vest. Probably the guns too,” Viper said wryly.
Atlas clenched his jaw as he unclipped his vest and pulled it over his head. Then he removed his Glock from the waistband at his back. His rifle was already in the rear of the SUV. After fleeing the scene near Rex’s warehouse, they’d all stowed their guns in case they got stopped.
“Knife,” Rogue said, nodding at Atlas’s leg.
“Guess if I pass out from the heat I won’t need this anyway,” he said, pulling the knife from its sheath and popping it into the glove box.
“You’ve got your earpiece. We’ll be on standby. If you get caught with a weapon, you’ll have every eye on you.”
“I know, I know.”
Rogue shifted into drive and turned out of the parking lot. They cruised from the industrial district to the bustling neighborhood of Marbella. People milled around in the streets, some gathering, others smoking.
Neon signs advertised nightclub specials and more than one gentleman’s club. They pulled into a parking lot across the street from Pretty Splits Gentleman’s House.
Pink floodlights lit the black building. “Pretty Splits? For real?”
Rogue shrugged. Viper passed him a black hoodie. He fit the thick material over his head. Viper was at least one size larger than him, so thankfully the sweatshirt wasn’t too snug.
“Keep your head down and find Cinnamon,” Rogue said.
Viper, Havoc, and Reaper hooted with laughter.
Rolling his eyes, Atlas climbed out of the vehicle. He was beginning to think his friends were just doing this to piss him off. Then again, the stakes were too high right now. Everyone wanted Rex found yesterday.
He crossed the street and ambled up the sidewalk to the front entrance. Dipping his hand in his pocket, he found some cash for the cover. He paid the fee and went through the metal detector.
A bouncer with a shaved, tattooed head and weird-ass contact lenses that made his irises an unnatural white barely gave him a second glance.
A wall of smelly heat struck him in the face the minute he entered the joint. Strobe lights blinked from the ceiling and a black light illuminated the rest of the club. Music blared from the speakers, vibrating his feet.
Servers with skirts so short they left little to the imagination sauntered around with trays on their hips.
“Need a table, hot stuff?” A woman with glasses, bright-blue hair, and a rose tattoo on her cheekbone sidled up to him. She smiled, smacking a wad of gum between her teeth.
“Uh, sure.” He couldn’t exactly walk in off the street and demand to speak to one of their strippers. He had to blend in a bit first.
She peeked over the top of her large black frames that were surely for show. She looked to be playing a part—probably like most people here tonight.
“Follow me.” She grinned and sashayed past him close enough to grind the side of her ass against his thigh.
He bunched his hands into fists but followed her to a table near the front of the bar. When she left, he took the seat, cringing. He was close enough to the stage to get pinkeye if he wasn’t careful.
A server approached. “What can I get you? We’ve got delicious wings.”
“Tequila and water, please.”
“Sure thing.” She turned on her five-inch heels and walked all too well across the floor.
A rock song came on and the DJ shouted, “Give it up for Candy!”
The crowd catcalled and a woman with long dark hair swinging past her ass strode out in a lime-green G-string and not much else. Atlas kept his gaze down. He might have to be here for work, but he sure as hell wouldn’t let his eye wander.
It’d been years since he was in a strip club, but he was still a hot-blooded male, so the fact that Candy or Blue Hair didn’t stir an iota of interest told him more than he needed to know about how strong his feelings were for Molly.
Blue Hair returned with his drink. “How about those wings?” she said, over the scream of an electric guitar.
“No, thanks. Is Cinnamon here?”
She popped her hip, new interest blazing across her face. “Why? I’ve never seen you here before.”
He dragged his thumb over the sweat on his glass. “I’m an old friend. Just stopped by to say hi.”
“She expecting you?”
He huffed out a breath. “Is there a problem? I’m sitting here like every other asshole, and honestly I’m the least of your worries.” He nodded to the table behind him, where a drunk dude was hollering at Candy.
“They’re spending more money than they make. No complaints yet.” She compressed her lips. “Who do I tell her is here?”
It was unlikely Rex knew his name—any of theirs, really. Still . . . “Tom.”
She hiked up a skeptical eyebrow. “Hot-stuff Tom with the shoulders. Got it. I’m sure she hasn’t forgotten you.”
Before he could respond, she pivoted and moved through patrons then disappeared down a dark hall.
He swept his gaze over the room, locating the exits and the bouncers.
In the unlikely scenario Rex was here and ambushed him, he wouldn’t be a sitting duck.
The guys were close as well, and they’d already have their sights on entry points in case of emergency.
“You all right in there?” Viper asked through the earpiece. “Need some backup to pull all the ladies off your lap?”
Atlas fought a smirk. Ass.
“Actually, they asked about you,” he said quietly. “Missing their biggest spender.”
Heat struck his forehead. He looked up to see Blue Hair signaling in his direction to a petite and curvy redhead.
Cinnamon moved his way, not taking her eyes off him. Apprehension tightened his neck. If he said the wrong thing, she could have him thrown out and they’d be even farther from locating Rex.
She wore a pink-cotton-candy-colored dress that hugged every curve of her frame. Her red hair hung down to her waist. “Tom?” Her mauve lips curled with more skepticism than Blue Hair’s.
“You can call me that,” he drawled lazily. “Can I get you a drink?”
She batted her heavily made-up green eyes. “As you can see, Tom, it’s a busy night. Now, since I’m one-thousand-percent certain we’re not old friends, I suggest you tell me why you’re here before I scream.”
Ah, hell.
“Please,” he said, gesturing at the chair across from him. “I just want five minutes of your time.”
She pursed her lips, but pulled out the chair and sat. “I don’t charge by the minute, Tom. If that were the case, I’d be broke.”
So she didn’t just specialize in dancing. “I’ll pay you for two hours if you’re nice. How’s that?”
She shrugged. “Depends what you want my time for.”
He sighed. “Look, I’ll pay you for the night if you promise discretion.”
That got her interest. She leaned forward, and her breasts touched the tabletop. Her eyes narrowed with intrigue. “Sounds like you’ve got some kinks.”
“No kinks. Matter of fact, I don’t want to touch you at all. I want to know when you last saw Rex Younge.”
She straightened away and her cheeks paled. Only the stain of her blush remained. She glanced around, her expression frantic and her eyes wide.
“I have no idea who you’re talking about. I-I’ve never heard that name before.”
He leaned his arm on the table and peered over her shoulder at the bouncers stationed at the edge of the hallway, about thirty feet away. “You’re not in danger, Cinnamon. Least not from me. If he’s here, blink twice.”
She stared at him.
“Not here?” he mouthed.
She gave one shake of her head, so slight he could’ve convinced himself he’d imagined it.
One of the bouncers, who had a long ponytail, leaned toward the other and said something. They both looked their way.
“Can you pretend we’re having fun? I think some people are watching you like a hawk.”
That snapped Cinnamon from her state. She let out a loud cackle, then slapped his shoulder. He smiled, playing along, and lifted his glass to his lips. He didn’t take a sip. If by chance someone had spotted him, he wasn’t going down as a result of drugs in his tequila.
She leaned close and dragged a red-tipped finger over the collar of his shirt. Her lips slid into a sultry smirk, but her eyes told a different story—one of fear.
“Rex has spies all around. Asking for me by name wasn’t smart. We either need to talk quickly or go in a private room.”
He fisted his hand on the table. “Room.”
“Good.” She flounced out of her seat, caught his fingers, and drew him from the table.
He kept a stupid grin on his face hoping whoever was watching would simply assume he was a customer.
She led him down the hall, sliding past the bouncers. At the end was a staircase. Apprehension puckered his flesh. He could be walking right into a damn trap. Dipping his head, he spoke low in his mic. “Heading upstairs.”
Red lights lit the upper hallway, and each door had a whiteboard sign on it that read Vacant or Occupied.
“Right here,” she said, pushing open one of the doors with a Vacant sign. In the center of the room was a stripper pole, and in front of it was a leather love seat.
She closed the door and locked it behind her. With her back pressed against the wood, she glared at him. “Now who the hell are you and what do you want with Rex?”
He moved around the room, checking the ceilings and walls for cameras or recording devices.
“For your safety, I can’t tell you anything. However, just know your compliance—or noncompliance—will be noted.”
Her eyes rounded. “Ohmigod. You’re a fed. Are you nuts? They’re going to know you spoke to me. They’re going to—”
He held up a hand, his patience thinning more than her extensions. Satisfied they weren’t being watched, he went to the sofa and sat on the arm. “I’m assuming no one can hear us, correct?”
She bit her bottom lip and nodded.
“How many guys do you see in one of these”— he glanced around and took in the chipped paint, the smudged mirror, the tear in the leather—“rooms a night?”
She shrugged. “I dunno. Five or ten.”
“Then there’s no reason for them to assume you’re speaking to someone you shouldn’t. When we go downstairs, tell ’em I tipped big and you knew me from . . . wherever. Make something up.”
She kneaded her hands together. “All right. What do you want to know?”
“When did you see him last?”
She paced away from the door and puffed out her cheeks. “Last night.”
“Here?”
“No.” She met his gaze. “Well, he came inside for a few minutes, and then we went to my place.”
“Did he tell you anything?”
“I need to sit down.” She dragged her fingers through her strands then walked to the couch and sank into the leather.
He stood to give her more breathing room. “Cinnamon,” he urged.
She swallowed. “He said there was a lot of heat on him and he’d have to leave town for a while. Gave me some cash and told me he’d keep men here.” She looked up at him. “He told me to alert them if anyone asked for him.”
He gave her a flat smile. “Where do you think he went?”
“I don’t know.” She threw her hands in the air. “Hell, for all I care.”
He tightened his arms around his chest. Interesting. Rex paid her well, yet she didn’t seem to care about him. “Why do you say that?”
She squinted at him as if he were stupid. “He’s an evil man. We’d all be better off without him here.”
“I agree. I want to help make that happen, but I need to know where to find him.”
She lowered her gaze to the floor. “I-I know where he might have gone. I can’t say for sure, but—”
“Where?”
When she lifted her lashes, he saw tears in her eyes. “They’ll kill me if they find out I said anything.”
“Look. I can either help track him down and put him away, or he can run loose. If we don’t catch him, you’ll see him again, I’m sure.”
Her shoulders sunk an inch. “That’s what I’m afraid of.” She sighed, long, heavy, and resigned. “He’s probably with Katrina Klause.”
“Who’s that?”
“His mistress. He only sees me for convenience. I don’t know where she lives—but it’s not close to here. I’ve heard rumors about Katrina. She’s depraved. More evil than he is.”
“How long have they been a thing?” He hadn’t seen anything about a Katrina and they’d been researching Rex for a month.
“I don’t know. From what I understand, they keep their relationship out of the public eye.”
Questions buzzed in his head. “How can I find her?”
Knock, knock, knock
“Jenna, open the fucking door or we’ll break it down!”
Her face turned white.
Fuck.