Chapter 1 #2
Trying to keep my thoughts purely professional, my focus returns to his eyes. They’re mesmerizing, like he’s actually looking back at me. The whiskey color shines from the photo, and his half-smile makes me wonder what he’s like in person.
He looks like a celebrity. Important. He exudes power in his fitted black suit. On my shifts, I’ve never responded to a call that’s taken me anywhere near Club Greed. And I certainly haven’t been inside of the establishment.
Club Greed is like a fortress. Its own little city. You have to be a member to even step foot in the parking lot, and well, it’s not a place I’ve ever considered joining.
Although, I’m low-key kind of curious.
It’s rumored that many members of the Russian mob are members. Someone once claimed they saw Yuri Cheknov, alleged boss of the Russian syndicate here, driving away in a Maserati. This club is very elite, and I’m a clearance-aisle-at-Target kind of girl.
I place the photo down and Katherine catches me up to speed on how the girls were murdered only days apart from one another. I thumb through the case files of each woman as she speaks.
“And the killer leaves a calling card,” Katherine says.
I tilt my head. “What do you mean?”
“Each girl had the words ‘Say My Name’ scrawled in red lipstick across their chests.” She points to a picture of a deceased woman in another file with those words on her porcelain skin.
I fight back the gasp that travels up my throat. I mean, I’ve studied to be a detective, so this shouldn’t shock me, but it’s Saint Pierce, for heaven’s sake.
“These are the three women,” she continues. “Suzie Parks, Lindsey Jane, and Julie Landers. They each used stage names. Scarlett was the first discovered dead, followed by Strawberry, and this morning’s fatality is Ginger.”
My eyes roam over Ginger’s striking red hair and radiant smile.
“He’s the key,” Katherine says to the room, her finger pointing to the picture of Devereaux. “Club Greed is the one link we have to the three women right now.”
The room goes silent for a moment as all eyes home in on me.
“What do you think, Chloe? Can you handle this assignment?” Captain Adler asks.
My eyes return to the photo of the breathtakingly gorgeous man at the center of this investigation. I nod, steadfast in my determination to find out whether he’s a murderer. “Yes. I can, sir.”
“We have little intel about the club. All we know for sure is the victims worked there,” Katherine says.
“What exactly happens at the club?” I ask.
“Whatever they want,” Katherine says. When my brows shoot up, she quickly tries to reassure me this aspect of the job is safer than it seems. “You’ll be fine.”
I rein in my doubting expression and nod. “Yes, ma’am.” I don’t sound convincing, and she’s probably pegged me for a complete sexual noob. I am. I’ve been so busy working on my career that I’ve had little time for a social life.
Both of my failed relationships were mundane in the bedroom. I can’t imagine either of them being members in a club like this.
“You’re our only female option. They’d see right through me.
I’m old, and you’re younger. You fit the stereotype of the girls who work there.
And your long blonde hair and pretty green eyes certainly help.
” She hands me a few files. “This is for you to study before your interview at Club Greed tomorrow.”
I swallow the ball of nerves threatening to choke me. “Tomorrow?”
She gives me a curt nod. “Yes. We’ve given you a fake last name and full backstory for you in your file. Memorize it. Breathe it. Live it.” Her expression changes to one of reassurance. “You’ll do fine.”
I gaze back at the picture of Devereaux Huxley, hoping she’s right.
I spent every free second and my entire morning studying every word of the files Katherine handed me yesterday. If they gave me an exam on Devereaux Huxley, I’d ace it. However, I fail at pulling off sexy.
I cock my head to the side, staring in the bathroom mirror at the absurd dark eyeliner sprawled out from the corner of my upper lid.
Since I wanted my makeup to give off seductive vibes, I went where all professionals of their trade turn—YouTube.
However, the smokey-eye tutorial I watched has me looking more like a twelve-year-old girl trying to be a punk rocker for Halloween than a sensuous woman who entertains wealthy men for a living.
“How am I ever going to pull off being a Greedy Girl?” I mutter.
I can’t leave the house like this, so with a wet wipe, I tone down the goofy eyeliner.
Pulling off sexy is hard AF. I followed the instructions on the eye tutorial to the T but my eyes look like someone punched me, or worse, that I’m impersonating a raccoon.
Hopefully, my white blouse and black pencil skirt—courtesy of the precinct’s Amex card shopping spree—projects something close to a sex-club vibe. I leave the bathroom and wobble on the tallest heels I’ve ever worn in search of my keys.
It’s seven in the evening when I lock up my townhouse and leave for the club. One new thing about working at an establishment like Club Greed is the late hours. The place doesn’t even open until eight p.m. so I will no longer be a morning bird with a nine-to-five schedule. Well, if they hire me.
They have to hire me.
As I take the left onto Hallow Drive, my nerves ratchet up with each mile that passes.
The winding road takes me up the coast, and I glance at the ocean. It’s a dark storm of waves at this time of night. Even the moon hides behind a cloud for fear of witnessing something it doesn’t like.
Before long, I see the club’s spotlights shooting up into the heavens above to tease God about all the lewd acts happening inside its walls. I white-knuckle the steering wheel as I make a right and drive down the tree-lined road leading to Club Greed.
The club is nestled in an immense hollow to hide all the dark secrets of the people paying big money to remain anonymous.
Signs to visitor parking direct me around the grounds, and I find a well-lit space in the front row.
A cobblestone path leads me from the parking area to the imposing two-story brick building, sprawled out on acres of land.
The bubbling fountain in front changes from yellow to red as I approach, like liquid flames taunting me.
I can do this.
I can play with fire and not get burned.
Up close, Club Greed’s exterior reminds me of a posh hotel, surrounded by elegant greenery.
Because of their strict privacy policy, no pictures are circulating of the interior, so I have no idea what to expect when I step inside the building.
My feet want to head back to my car, but Captain Adler, those dead girls, and the town of Saint Pierce are counting on me to catch a killer.
At the entrance, a bald man in a suit guards the oversized wooden doors.
He checks a list that has my fake name on it for an interview and allows me entrance into the lion’s den.
Chilly air cools my hot face as I move toward the marble desk situated at the back of what looks like a ritzy hotel lobby.
Completely professional, as if there isn’t a lewd party taking place somewhere within these walls.
“Hi, I’m here to interview for the open position.”
The petite brunette behind the desk tips her lips up at me, but there’s sadness in her dark eyes. I’m sure the murders have hit her hard. They must have hit everyone here hard.
“I’ll let Adele know you’ve arrived.” She picks up the phone and pushes a button. “There’s a girl here for an interview.” As she hangs up the phone, her eyes sweep over my attire. “Adele will be right down.”
“Thank you.”
The club’s music booms behind a door to my right, and while I wait, I take in the surrounding red walls adorned with framed pictures of painted statues, all in black and white.
An enormous rose, also in black and white, hangs over a white leather couch accented with black throw pillows.
Maybe it’s a good omen that my outfit matches the décor?
The steel door to the right of the brunette bursts open, and a tall woman with sleek red hair bustles through as if she’s on an important mission. She’s like a supermodel walking toward me, and her fitted navy suit makes her appear even more intimidating.
“Are you here for the interview?”
I nod. “Yes, I’m Chl—”
She cuts me off with a wave of her elegant hand. “No names. You’re blonde, that’s good. We don’t have any blondes.” Her eyes scan my body from head to toe as if I’m another piece of art she’s considering adding to her collection. “Beautiful face, nice breasts. Are they real?”
“Excuse me?”
“Are your breasts real?” she asks, like it’s the same as asking for my five-year goals.
“Uh, yes.” Based on her quick appraisal of me and the meticulous, tightly wound bun atop her head, I peg Adele for someone who appreciates anyone who can make her life easier. So, I try to win some hiring points. “And the carpet matches the drapes. No piercings or tattoos. Just lots of pale skin.”
It works.
“Excellent. Follow me,” she says, snapping her fingers. “There’s a no-name policy. I’ll be the only one with access to your file and your real name.”
“Oh, the owner doesn’t know?”
She studies me. “No, he’s got more important things to do.”
I nod as she leads me down a lengthy hallway with marble floors and walls painted a darker shade of red than the area we just vacated.
When we emerge, we’re in a vast space with a high-end nightclub feel to it.
A golden chandelier sparkles in the center of the room, and to my right is a long bar, with fluorescent red bulbs running its length.
On the left-hand side, a grand staircase with white limestone banisters leads up to another floor.
It’s still early, so there aren’t many patrons present, just a few men sitting at the tables, sipping drinks. I glance over at the bartender, who is whispering with several cocktail servers. Once they spot Adele, they separate and busy themselves.
Anticipation zaps my chest at the thought of being able to do some actual detective work once I get hired and can chat with the girls to find out what they know.
“This way,” Adele says, turning toward the staircase.
I hurry to keep up with her long confident strides across the glossy black floor, memorizing everything I can in case I don’t get the job and this is the only look I’ll get of the interior.
Once we reach the top of the staircase, she guides me into a large reception area which has a loft feel to it and allows me to still see the bottom floor.
“You’ll interview with Mr. Huxley, if he’s available,” she clips as we move past a desk with another beautiful brunette behind it.
I’m about to meet the potentially dangerous man I’ve studied, and my insides coil tight with something I can’t quite grasp. Anticipation? Nerves? Excitement?
“He’s busy,” the girl tells Adele as we approach a closed door.
Adele stops in her tracks. “Doing what?”
“The Thorne twins are in there with him.”
At first I assume she’s referring to women, but my mind slingshots back to the packet of information I studied on Huxley.
Roman and Ledger Thorne are Devereaux’s best friends.
Roman and Ledger don’t have jobs, because they don’t need one.
According to their file, they’re living their best life off of the billions they earned from stellar investments.
Must be nice to be so rich. They grew up with Devereaux, and even though these men are not mafia related, I’m sure they have tons of associates in organized crime.
It’s also rumored the Chekov brothers frequent this club.
Dimitri and Vlad Chekov are the sons of mob boss Yuri Chekov, one of the most notorious men in this century.
Yuri bows to no one and has given his spoiled sons the keys to his kingdom.
I make a mental note to look further into their recent activities as Adele knocks on the door, opens it, and leans her head in.
“We have a girl here for an interview.”
I barely get a peek, but what I glimpse unsettles me. Three men, one more powerful than the others, occupy the office. Devereaux sits with his hands steepled and his elbows resting on an imposing oak desk. The other two men stand nearby, as if hanging on his every word.
“Adele, come in,” Roman says with a wicked glint in his eye.
I recognize Roman Thorne from his file picture. Nicknamed Romeo, according to the background information, because he has a way with the ladies. And looking at him right now, I can see why. Tall, dark hair, with dazzling blue eyes and a body of steel. He’s incredibly handsome.
His fraternal twin brother, Ledger, is just as pleasing to the eye in an unfair-to-other-men kind of way. He’s covered in tattoos, and his jaw looks like it’s been set in stone. His brown eyes rake over my body as I enter the office with Adele.
Heat flows through my veins. I’m well aware the warmth I’m now experiencing relates to the way his eyes land on me.
The killer.
Devereaux Huxley’s whiskey-colored orbs devour me, leaving nothing but my shaky bones in their wake.
“She’s here to interview for a position,” Adele says. “I think she’ll do.”
Devereaux nods at his friends and they walk toward the door, licking up the space with each large stride.
Adele follows them out, shutting the door behind her, leaving me alone with Devereaux. Not what I expected to happen.
But it’s showtime.