Chapter 13
LANTANA
When I stepped back into the bar earlier that evening, the last thing I expected was to feel so alone.
At first I thought he too had gone to the bathroom but after fifteen minutes I went to check and the men's bathroom was empty.
I asked the bartender if he'd seen the man I was with, and he let me know he'd paid for the drinks and left a while ago.
I was on the verge of angry tears when I called Roulette and she calmed me down and told me to come over.
Her apartment always felt so cozy. She lived in a townhouse in Midtown Manhattan near Central Park and it was a stark contrast to the expensive towering building that was Violent Delights.
As I entered the apartment I was hit with the scents of deep red wine, expensive perfume, soft vanilla bean candles, and the lingering traces of whatever man she had most recently destroyed emotionally before breakfast.
Books claimed every available surface. They crowded the walls in towering mahogany shelves that spilled across the coffee table, and stacked in precarious leaning towers beside the velvet sofa.
Small lamps cast amber pools of light across the hardwood, leaving the corners of the room in a soft, dusty haze.
I sat curled sideways into the corner of a massive emerald velvet couch wearing one of Roulette’s oversized shirts and black shorts after finally giving up on my dress and heels an hour earlier.
My curls remained piled messily on top of my head while leftover makeup smudged faintly beneath my eyes from exhaustion, wine, and frustration.
Mostly frustration.
Because despite everything that happened over the last few days, despite murders and investigations and the Harlots trying to avoid a war with the Royal Bastards, somehow the thing currently irritating me the most involved one dangerously sexy man disappearing without a word after making me completely lose my mind.
Pathetic.
“I still don’t get it,” I muttered while flipping through a dark romance book that was hidden under the cushions. “He just left me there.”
Roulette crossed the room slowly before handing me another glass and setting the bottle directly onto the marble coffee table between us. Her black silk robe hung open enough to reveal long tattooed legs while dark curls spilled over one shoulder beneath the soft lighting.
“Maybe he freaked out,” Obsidian offered from the opposite couch while typing lazily across her laptop keyboard.
I snorted softly. “If you met this guy, you definitely wouldn’t think that.”
That pulled Roulette’s attention immediately. She sank gracefully into the chair beside me before taking a slow sip of wine. “I’m not usually one to make excuses for the assholes wandering around this city, sweetheart, but maybe he had an emergency.”
“Possibly,” I muttered reluctantly while leaning back deeper into the cushions. “But why not tell me?”
“Because men are inconsistent. Especially when they get what they want out of you.” Obsidian stated blankly.
Roulette laughed quietly. “That is exactly why I refuse to be in a relationship.”
Obsidian leaned farther back against the couch afterward before crossing her legs dramatically.
"I just watch porn and get it on with Bob."
A startled laugh escaped me and I nearly choked on a sip of wine.
"What?"
"At least he's loyal," Obsidian said, a smirk playing on her lips. "Until he runs out of batteries."
Roulette let out a soft snort. "That is the best part. You just change the batteries and keep going. Or you buy a superior model."
"Okay," I said, shaking my head.
I set the glass down, staring down at the wine as it swirled. "Listen, this guy does not seem the type to run away. I’m sure something happened."
Obsidian sat up, her interest piqued. She reached for the sleek black laptop resting on the cushion beside her.
"I can break into the security cams for you and find out."
"Do it," Roulette said. She slid off the sofa to sit beside Obsidian, her eyes fixed on the screen.
"No... don't," I whispered weakly.
My body remembered the ghost of his touch, the way his fingers had driven me to the edge of a scream and I needed an answer. I needed to know why the air had suddenly gone cold and why I had been left feeling so used in a booth at the back of a bar.
I sat on the couch behind the girls and watched as several screens popped up.
The blue light of the monitor washed over Obsidian’s face, highlighting the sharp line of her jaw and the intense concentration on her brow.
After a few minutes, a grainy window popped open.
The footage flickered, showing the hallway of the bar.
Roulette leaned in, a smirk growing. "That surpassed a simple date."
"Oh fuck," I gasped. I lunged forward to grab the laptop, but Obsidian pivoted her body, shielding the screen.
"Stay back! I want to see the technique."
"Don’t look at that!"
"Hold on, hold on," Obsidian laughed, dodging my hand. "Look at that grip. The confidence. He knows exactly what he is doing with those hands."
"You are a bitch," I groaned, though I didn't stop trying to peek.
"I am a connoisseur of fine reality porn," Obsidian countered.
The image changed and he stood in the hallway, the camera capturing his silhouette. He held a phone to his ear, his posture rigid. He stared back toward the bathroom door for a long second, his expression unreadable through the pixels. Then, he turned on his heel and walked out of the frame.
Roulette’s smirk vanished. She frowned, her brow furrowing."Where is he headed?"
Obsidian typed a command, her eyes scanning a scrolling list of IP addresses. She bypassed a junction box, then another.
"He's headed to Queens," she cried out.
"You got all that from one camera?" I asked.
"I followed him a few blocks until he jumped on the freeway. He owns a high-end bike."
"He rides?" I turned the screen to me and watched a motorcycle revving onto an exit ramp.
Obsidian looked at me, one eyebrow arched. "You didn't know that?"
"We just met. I barely know him."
Obsidian let out a loud, barking laugh that echoed through the apartment.
"He had his fingers inside you, girl. I think he knows you plenty."
I felt the heat climb up my neck, staining my cheeks. I sank back into the armchair, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Roulette didn't laugh. She remained still, her eyes narrowed as she stared at the frozen image of the man on the screen.
"He looks... familiar."
"I'm sure he does. Sexy guys all blend together after a while."
"No, I am serious," Roulette said. Her voice had lost its playfulness. "Where did you say you met him?"
"The other night at The Palace. The night Obsidian bailed."
Roulette looked at Obsidian.
"Can you check that feed?"
Obsidian sighed, but her fingers returned to the keys. "The Palace has better encryption. Give me a minute."
For fifteen minutes, the only sound in the room was the hum of the laptop and the occasional sip of wine.
I watched the clock on the wall, the second hand ticking with agonizing slowness.
My thoughts went back to the way he had looked at me, the intensity in his kiss, and that hunger.
There was a gravity to him that pulled everything in its orbit.
"Got it," Obsidian announced.
She shared the screen. The footage was clearer here. Legion stood at the bar, a drink in his hand. The lighting caught the angles of his handsome face, the hard line of his jaw, the darkness of his eyes. He looked dangerous, and entirely out of place in the glittering atmosphere of the club.
Roulette stayed quiet. She didn't move. She didn't even breathe.
“You sure you've seen him before," I said, leaning in. "Roulette?"
Roulette didn't respond immediately. Her gaze was locked on the screen, searching for something in the curve of his lip or the set of his shoulders.
"You think..." Roulette started, then stopped.
"Think what?"
"I could be wrong," she whispered. "But send me that clip. I will do my own research."
"What does that mean?" I asked, a chill settling in my marrow.
"It means he has a look," Roulette said, finally looking at me.
"Is he a criminal?"
"Maybe."
"You think he's one of the, you know... murderers?"
The word hung in the air as I looked back at the screen. I saw the man who had made me forget my own name for ten minutes. I saw the way he held himself, the protective stance, the way he scanned the room.
"I think he's something," she said, my voice barely a whisper. "But not that. His eyes tell a different story. What did you say his name was?”
“Benjamin Harper.”
She repeated his name as if keeping a mental note on him.
"If he is someone dangerous, we should be careful," Roulette warned. She stood up, her expression grim. "Men like that don't just appear in our lives by accident."
"I can handle myself," I said.
"We know you can," Roulette replied.
Obsidian closed the laptop with a decisive snap.
"Well, regardless of whether he's a hitman or a heartbreaking idiot, he's definitely a sexy motherfucker. I'll give you that."
"Thank you for the insight, Obs," I sighed, leaning my head back against the chair.
"Anytime. Now, who wants more wine? I think we need to get hammered if we're going to solve this mystery."
Roulette reached for the bottle and the rest of the night was spent on the topic of lousy men and making fun of Roulette’s taste for dirty books. After reading a few snippets of her dark romances, I decided I definitely needed more wine to numb the naughty thought of Benjamin Harper.