Chapter 16 #2
They walked in. The air was thick, humid, bass thrumming from somewhere deep inside.
Archer placed his hand on the small of Tatum's back, steadying her, guiding her toward the entrance.
The contact sent heat through him. Even through the fabric, he could feel the warmth of her skin, the tension in her body.
Another guard met them at a second door. A woman in leather who looked Tatum over with professional interest.
"Mr. Gray. Welcome back." Her eyes slid to Tatum. "First time?"
"Yes," Tatum said, lifting her chin.
The woman smiled. "House rules. Consent is everything. No means no. If you see something you're not comfortable with, walk away. Don't judge, don't stare, don't interfere. Clear?"
"Clear," Tatum said with a nod.
"Enjoy yourselves."
The door opened, and the bass hit them like a physical force.
Archer had been here before, too many times, for too many reasons, none of them pleasure. But bringing Tatum here felt different. Wrong. Like he was exposing her to something she shouldn't have to see.
Except she didn't look shocked. She looked focused.
The club was packed. Bodies on the dance floor. Leather, latex, mesh, glitter. Someone walked past with their hair sculpted into the shape of a ship, and Archer felt Tatum's body shake slightly against his hand.
Was she laughing?
His hand tightened on her back. "You okay?"
"Fine," she said, but blood pulsed visibly at the base of her throat, thrumming faster than the bass beat of whatever hip-hop song was blaring.
"Lebowitz is usually in the VIP section," he said, leaning close so she could hear him over the music. "Let me find him and we'll—"
"There." Tatum tipped her chin toward the back corner.
Archer followed her gaze. Timothy Lebowitz sat near the back, flanked by two men in expensive suits. They were laughing, but Lebowitz looked tense. Nervous.
"How did you—" He turned to look at her fully and understanding landed on him like cold water. "You lied to the woman at the front. You've been here before."
"Several times."
His jaw clenched. "Alone?"
"Yes."
"Staking out Lebowitz."
"Yes," she said simply.
Rage flared hot in his chest. She'd been here.
Alone. In a place like this. Without backup, without protection, without anyone knowing where she was.
She could have been hurt. Killed. Taken.
He bit back the lecture forming on his tongue.
Now wasn't the time. But they were absolutely going to talk about this later.
They moved toward the corner and he realized she was leading. She knew this space. Knew the sight lines, the best positions. She navigated the crowd with the confidence of someone who'd done this before. How many times had she been here? He didn't want to think about it.
A few people approached, curiosity in their eyes. Tatum shook her head once and they backed off immediately. She knew the rules. Knew how to handle herself. It should have reassured him.
It didn't.
He leaned close, his mouth near her ear. "What's the play?"
"We wait," she said. "Lady Arabella will be here soon."
He was willing to let her take the lead on this if it made her happy, but only because he was right beside her. They were going to have a serious conversation after this about coming here alone, and there would be no room for argument on that point.
Ten minutes later, a woman appeared. Tall, commanding, leather corset gleaming. She exchanged a few words with Lebowitz, and he stood, smoothing his jacket.
"They're going to a private room," Tatum said quietly. "Lebowitz likes to be dominated. Just not in front of an audience." She tapped her watch. "Sessions run about two hours. Around the one-hour mark, Lady Arabella takes a break. That's our window."
Archer stared at her. He knew what went on here.
He made it his business to know what the more interesting members of the Society were into.
He knew about Lady Arabella, had spoken to her on occasion.
But being told the details by Tatum made his gut churn in a way he hadn't anticipated.
She'd been watching Lebowitz for weeks. Studying his patterns, his preferences.
Coming back here again and again, alone, gathering intelligence with the methodical patience of someone who had no idea how much danger she was in.
She was brilliant. She was reckless. She was going to give him a heart attack.
"How long have you been following the three of them?" he asked.
"Long enough." She gave a small shrug. "Staring at paperwork wasn't getting me answers fast enough. I thought following them might."
"Tatum—"
"Don't." She met his eyes. "I know what I'm doing." And then she proved it by filling him in with the kind of calm precision that told him she'd been doing this for a long time.
"Kelly has a gym he practically lives in.
Works out, talks too much, occasionally hooks up with young trainers who think he still has connections.
It never lasts once they find out he's under indictment.
Then he goes home to his wife. North was an alcoholic with a favorite bar in the financial district.
He liked to play the big man there, and it worked until the TV piece ran.
Then people started avoiding him. I was going to approach him there, but I waited too long. " She paused. "So now we're here."
He wanted to argue. Wanted to tell her that knowing what she was doing didn't make it safe. But the set of her jaw told him this wasn't the time.
"Alright," he said. "What's your plan?"
"We wait. Then we move."
Fifty minutes later, Tatum slid off her stool. "Now."
Archer followed her down the hallway, senses on full alert. The music faded behind them. The lighting dimmed. They were moving into the private areas, away from the crowds.
Tatum stopped at a door. Small. Unobtrusive. "Observation room," she said quietly. "People like to watch, I guess."
Archer was impressed. He'd missed it entirely the first time he'd come here, and he was surprised she'd found it at all. Although he shouldn’t be. But she was constantly surprising him. She stepped inside, and Archer followed, closing the door quietly behind them.
The room was small and dark. One wall was glass overlooking the room next door. He and Tatum approached it.
Archer went very still.
Timothy Lebowitz stood restrained at the center of the space. Arms stretched wide. Legs secured. A ball gag in his mouth. Lady Arabella circled him like a predator, her voice cutting, cruel, the insults creative and personal and designed to humiliate.
And Lebowitz was eating it up.