Chapter 4
Chapter Four
DAMIAN
The club isn’t loud enough to drown out my thoughts, but it tries. The music rolls through the floor like a steady pulse, low and rhythmic. Lights flash across the room in deep reds and violets, slicing through shadows but never fully clearing them.
Cody leans back into the booth like he’s on vacation, his drink already half gone, his eyes locked on the redhead in front of us.
She moves with exact precision, each shift of her body deliberate, designed to hold his eyes and make him think he’s the only one in the club she’s dancing for.
He doesn’t even blink. His smile is crooked in that way that always gets him into trouble.
Bridger sits to my left, arms crossed, his eyes on the floor just to the left of the redhead.
He’s not uncomfortable here. None of us are.
We’ve spent enough nights in places like this, waiting on people who only crawl out from the dark when the world looks the other way.
He turns toward me slightly. “Marlowe’s going to kill you when she finds out you sent her off to a spa just to get her out of the way. ”
I keep my eyes forward. “She’s not going to find out.”
“She’s not stupid,” Bridger says. “She’ll know something’s off.”
“That’s why no one is going to tell her what’s happening. Then she won’t know something is off.”
He falls quiet again. Not because he agrees, but because he knows it’s not his call to make.
Cody laughs low in his throat as the dancer straddles his lap, her knees braced on either side of him, the wooden chair creaking beneath their weight.
The bass rolls through the room like a heartbeat, thick and slow, pulsing with each sway of her hips.
She leans forward, chest brushing his as she moves against him, deliberate and unhurried, her body perfectly timed to the rhythm.
Cody tips his head back and says something under his breath that makes her laugh, and her fingers trace the edge of his jaw before sliding down his chest. His hands go up, locked behind his head like he’s surrendering to it.
She grinds into his thighs with a practiced rhythm.
He pulls a folded bill from his pocket and tucks it into the band of her top without breaking eye contact, his grin wide and lazy.
He doesn’t try to hide how much he’s enjoying himself.
She continues the lap dance then glides between me and Bridger. She pauses in front of me, her eyes lined with glitter and her mouth painted deep red. She tilts her head, waiting for a signal.
I shake mine. “I’m good, thanks.”
She turns to Bridger. He gives her the same answer. She shrugs and saunters off, already moving on to the next table.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I slip it out and keep it low under the table:
He’s got to be arming up. Got something out of a lockbox this morning. Word is he knows you guys are out east somewhere. He’s been asking around about Marlowe. Not by name. By description. Hair. Height. Definitely knows Joel and Zero are gone.
I slip my phone away, a lead weight knotting in my gut. I glance toward the back of the room. The hallway behind us is empty, the door marked "Private" still closed. He’s late.
Bridger sips his drink and doesn’t look at me when he says, “You know this is going to backfire.”
I don’t answer. Not because Bridger’s wrong, but because I don’t know what to do about it.
The plan is solid. The pieces are in place.
I’m not worried about that. It’s Marlowe I can’t stop thinking about—not just what she might figure out, but how she’ll look at me if she does.
The weight of her silence, the shift in her body when something doesn’t sit right—it’s already happening.
She feels it. She just hasn’t said it out loud yet.
This thing with her—it’s starting to eat at me.
I can’t stop thinking about the way she sounds when she’s falling apart in my arms. The way she opens under me, holds on like I’m the only thing she wants to feel.
It’s not just that fucking her feels good, but when I’m inside her, everything else quiets.
I don’t think. I don’t hurt. I just want.
And that’s the problem. Because I’ve never wanted anything this badly and still had to lie to it.
The door at the back finally opens.
A man steps out. He’s clean-shaven, wearing a suit that doesn’t belong in a place like this. His eyes sweep the room once, land on me, and stay there.
I offer him a slight nod.
The man slides onto the chair across from me and lifts his drink like we’re old friends. He doesn’t speak. His eyes stay fixed on mine, waiting to see who blinks first. I don’t. “Do you have what I came for or not?” I ask.
He sets the glass down and reaches inside his suit jacket. The envelope he produces is thick and worn, its edges softened from too many trades. He places it on the table, letting it sit in the puddle of someone else’s drink before pushing it across the sticky surface.
I take it without breaking eye contact. I open the seal. Inside are the documents I paid for—passports, licenses, supporting files. Five complete sets.
Mine. Marlowe’s. Bridger’s. Cody’s. Mom’s.
Each name chosen for a reason. Each photograph perfect. New lives. New histories. A clean way out, if we need one.
Bridger taps through the wire transfer on his phone. Fifty thousand, sent in seconds like it’s nothing. The man checks his screen, nods once, and leans back like the job is finished.
But it isn’t.
I hold the envelope under my arm and rise. Bridger stands beside me. Cody stays in his seat, eyes locked on another dancer—a blonde this time. He lifts his drink, sips slowly, then eventually stands like he has nowhere better to be.
I don’t look down at the man. I just ask, “And our other deal?”
He gives a slight tilt of the head and replies, calm as ever. “Follow Kitty into the back. You’ll get what you paid for.”
From the dark hallway, a woman steps out. Her heels strike the floor without hesitation. She wears lace and confidence. Her expression is painted in red. She lifts a hand and curls her fingers once, beckoning. Then she turns and walks into the shadows.
Bridger exhales. Cody follows without a word. We don’t need to talk about what comes next.
They know what this is.
Only Marlowe doesn’t.
And I’ve made peace with the fact that when she finds out, she won’t want me anymore. She shouldn’t. Because I’m a fucking monster.
We walk out into the hall, and the music fades behind us.
The air shifts, cooler in the hallway, quieter.
I can feel the decision thick in my throat, lodged there like a weight I chose to carry.
That’s when the man speaks again from behind us.
“When he finds you, and he will, he’s going to kill you. All of you. You know that, right?”
Bridger laughs under his breath, but there’s no humor in it.
Cody doesn’t even turn around. I stop. Turn just enough to catch the edge of the man’s face in the faint, pulsing red light.
“He won’t find us,” I say. “Because if he does, I’ll know exactly who opened their mouth.
And when that happens, I’ll cut you open.
I’ll drag out every inch of your intestines and leave them hanging from that stage for the next girl to step over. ”
He doesn’t flinch.
I continue walking.
The hallway swallows the last of the noise, replacing it with silence and the pulse of what I’m about to do.