Chapter 32 Slade
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
SLADE
I don’t own guns, and I picture Thea making some sly remark about Batman not having any either, but right now, I wish I did. Even if it was only to prompt my driver to move faster. He slogs along in Friday night traffic, and every time he brakes, the urge to throttle the loyal man is unrelenting.
I need to get to the Market. I need to get to her.
When Knox called me from the security room yesterday, telling me the girls were beating her, I immediately called Graves and spun some line about how she was an asset, and if she got severely injured or worse, died, he’d lose out on money.
He relented and said Knox could take her to a secure room for the night.
To hell with my plans. If I have any hope of saving her from this life, I need to get her out of Chicago, out of Illinois.
If Vaughan is sent to hunt her down—I shiver.
Out of the country wouldn’t be far enough.
I might be able to persuade him otherwise, but his loyalty to Graves is for an entirely different reason.
My driver pulls into the parking garage and lets me out at the elevator. Security is on the ground level of the garage, and Kenji exits from the inconspicuous door as I wait to head underground. Knox follows out him out.
“Slade!” Kenji calls out.
I press the button again. I don’t want to socialize. I need to hurry and get to Thea.
He strides over, hair pulled back in a ponytail, the dragon tattoo swallowing his flexing neck as he watches me push the button again. He chuckles. “Slade’s got a crush and suddenly his best buds don’t matter anymore. It’s a sad world we live in.”
I roll my eyes while Knox shoves a palm between his shoulder blades. “Give him a break,” he says.
“I don’t need your defense. I need to get down there.” I press the button again.
“You know, it doesn’t matter how many times you press it. It’s not going to move any faster.” Kenji grins, and I want to punch him in the damn throat.
He’s got a point. I need to get a hold of myself. If I roll into the club all desperate and demanding, it’ll just make everyone pay attention to me and my bid tonight.
“She was fine last I checked,” Knox says. “I checked on her in the prep room, and she’s a little bruised up, but they’re doing what they do best.”
Kenji snorts. “Sure you don’t want to be a member, Knox? Between Slade and I, you’re as good as in.”
“Don’t have one of those fancy last names, asshole.” Knox smiles at me, as if he’s empathetic to my need to get to Thea.
A door opens, security again, and Kenji and I watch a dark-haired woman in jeans and a T-shirt run out of it. My brow furrows, and Kenji just shakes his head. Knox’s back is toward the door, but Kenji points. “Isn’t that yours?”
Knox spins around. “Shit!” Then he takes off, yelling at her as his footsteps echo hers in the looming quiet.
They both disappear into the darkness of the parking garage as the door to the elevator finally opens.
I dart in, pressing the level for the club and verifying my credentials.
As the door slides shut, Kenji’s hand darts in, and it pauses, opening again.
“Coming down?” I ask impatiently.
“Nah, I have … stuff to do. Just wanted to say … Whatever you need, DuPont, don’t hesitate to use that sexy voice of yours, okay?” He winks at me, but there’s a seriousness in his tone, an understanding.
I nod, pressing the button again, and his lips pinch together as he steps away and allows the door to shut. The descent is brutal, but when the door dings, I roll my shoulders and go through the second level of security measures to enter the club.
“Welcome, Congressman DuPont,” the feminine voice says. “It’s been a while.”
I snort. I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for Thea being taken back. Is this going to be her life now? I get stolen moments with her, twelve hours instead of weeks or months, while she’s relegated to underground quarters and treated no better than an animal.
I won’t allow it.
The club is brimming when I enter, and there’s a subtle shift in posture. Many in the club tilt their heads in my direction when I cross the threshold. They’re either on the lookout for me to do something out of character like last time, or they’re sizing up just how far I may go tonight. For her.
Music pulses around me, and the air is soaked with perfume from the dancers.
I recognize some senators and powerful businessmen from Florida, who must be visiting from the Miami chapter. They’re leaned back against the bar with drinks lax in their hands. Every heavy-lidded and greedy pass over the women around them makes my stomach lurch.
The scene is foreign after my time away with Thea.
Yes, I was in D.C. and crawling in the pit of scum there too, but this …
I crave the bubble I created with her—pajamas, comics, movies, Frosted Flakes.
Seemingly innocent touches on the dock, her confiding in me, and I in her.
It’s all tainted by the depraved festering around me.
A Supreme Court clerk laughs into the ear of a well-known cartel member.
A CEO slips a small white bag into a senator’s palm.
Unbothered.
Unchecked.
They flaunt their immunity, indulge in it.
A dancer slides up beside me, her finger trailing down the front of my suit, yet I don’t flinch.
I look past her, finding my grandfather sitting with the Eight, his drink of amber liquid raised at me.
He smirks and takes a long sip while the dancer whispers something in my ear that I don’t pay attention to.
The wrinkles around his mouth crease when he purses his lips to take in his drink.
He holds my gaze, and it’s less mentor grandfather and more the competitive congressman.
The lights dim, casting shadows across the curtained stage. My heart pounds, and I pace in the back, staring past the marble tables and strung-out men, willing the curtain to open. The need to see her, to check on her, to connect with her gnaws away at me until—
The curtain opens, and the announcer steps onto the stage. He prattles on about the rules and how the night will proceed, but it doesn’t matter. It’s swimming in a sea of hums, laughter, and chatter, all of which are drowned out by my rapidly beating pulse.
The hollow metallic rattle of chains clangs offbeat with their music selection, and I step forward, hands seeking the empty leather chair in front of me.
I grip the back of it, closing my eyes and breathing deep.
It makes me sick that I have to bid on her, purchase her.
She’s everything I want, and there’s no amount of money in the world that would or should ever come close to being enough.
The girls round the corner, shuffling as the iron cuffs hinder their movement. I scan each girl’s face, plastered in makeup and overly glittered. Then I see her. Thea. My Thea.
My relief is snuffed out when I take in the bruising around her stomach—purples, blacks, and blues slinking up around her ribs.
When I move to her face, though it’s covered up, the swelling on her cheekbones is undeniable.
I stumble forward as she scans her eyes around the room.
Is she looking for me? It takes every ounce of effort not to act the fool and jump up and down and wave my arms.
I glance at the Eight’s table, where Senator Graves watches me. It’s immediate—the prickle at the back of my neck. Wrong, my mind whispers.
I try to ignore it and keep my eyes focused on Thea, breathing normally. But Graves’s stare carves its way through the low light and cigar smoke. His eyes don’t flick away when I meet them, he just stares unblinking and vacant.
The announcer calls for the first girl, and she shuffles forward.
It’s Juliette, and she doesn’t have a problem seeking me out in the crowd.
Her eyes are void, as if she’s reached her limit.
She stares through me, and when I glance at Thea, Juliette silently chuckles to herself, shaking her head as the first bid is met and matched.
“Do I have thirty thousand?” the announcer says.
Thea finally spots me, and her eyes widen. She dips her head, gesturing to Juliette, and I tilt my head, not understanding.
“We have thirty thousand. Do I have forty?”
Thea’s expression becomes increasingly annoyed—her nostrils flare slightly as she shifts her weight and subtly lifts her hand to point to Juliette.
No.
No.
I’m not.
Juliette is escorted out, and the next girl is brought up. Thea shakes her head and attempts the same gestures as the numbers climb higher but eventually gives up and rolls her eyes at me when she finally realizes I’m not bidding.
When Thea’s number is called, she doesn’t hesitate. She marches as best she can in shackles and stands proudly in front.
When the first ask is called out by the announcer, I raise my hand, and Thea’s face hardens. When I bid again, she averts her gaze.
“I have seventy thousand. Do I have eighty?” I scour the room. Who the hell is bidding this high?
There’s the cartel idiot in the corner, but then—
“Do I have eighty-five thousand?”
Graves’s hand raises just enough to be considered, and the announcer acknowledges him.
I raise my hand again.
Graves. Cartel asshole.
Me.
Cartel dude.
Graves.
Me.
Graves.
Damn it!
Thea won’t look at me. She’s tapping her fingers on her leg, as though this is an inconvenience for her at this point.
“Do we have one hundred forty?” The announcer looks at me.
I don’t bid.
Graves glances at me with the current high bid and smiles. He points at me, and I take that as him realizing I know he’s counting on me to pay.
“Going once, twice—”
I raise my hand, glaring at the announcer while Thea looks everywhere but at me.
“I have one hundred forty. Do I have one forty-five? Going once, twice, sold. Seven-fifty-five exit to the left. Six-eighty-two is next …”