Chapter 35
Thirty-Five
Brooks
Going to the Oval Office Club was risky.
Bringing Daphne with me was fucking stupid.
Yet there she was, stuffed in a suitcase again in the back of the Suburban.
The club had opened during my father’s first year in office. I’d hated the name the second I heard it.
Every VIP room was designed to resemble a different president’s Oval Office. It was weird as fuck that people enjoyed getting drunk and fucking on replicas of presidential furniture.
I’d never been a fan of partying in public, but tonight, I needed to get out of the White House. I also had a point to make.
It was after midnight when my phone vibrated in my hand. I sat in the back seat of the bulletproof SUV with Philip beside me, watching the dark streets outside the window.
I read the text.
Rachel: We’re in VIP Nixon. See you soon!
I locked my phone without replying and shoved it into my pocket as the driver pulled up to the club. Philip climbed out first, immediately scanning the back parking lot while I opened the door.
“Pop the trunk,” I told the driver.
He looked at me in the rearview mirror, his bushy brows pulling together. “You’re bringing your luggage into the club with you?”
“Yep.”
He waited.
I waited.
His brows climbed higher.
I wasn’t about to explain there was a princess inside that luggage.
“The trunk,” I repeated.
He finally hit the button.
Annoyed, I opened my door and stepped out into the night. A small overhead light shone above us as I popped the trunk and dragged out the heavy luggage with a grunt.
For a small woman, Daphne sure wasn’t light.
I’d make sure to tell her that to piss her off.
Philip met me at the back of the Suburban. “Need help with that?”
He knew Daphne was in it. He’d already warned me bringing her tonight was a terrible idea. I hadn’t listened.
I shook my head. “I got it.”
I unzipped the suitcase and pressed a finger to my lips.
Daphne glared up at me.
I hadn’t tied her up this time. She’d promised to stay quiet.
For once, she listened.
She stayed in the suitcase as I called out, “You’re good to go!” to the driver.
He pulled away. I waited until his taillights disappeared before reaching down and helping Daphne out.
She stood and started fixing herself, tugging down her dress while adjusting the wig.
Thankfully, when I had finished showering, she’d been ready to go. Wig styled and all.
She’d cut bangs into it, letting them fall across her forehead and stop right above her brows.
I’d paid a White House employee to find me a quality wig on short notice. She’d agreed while staring at me like she had a hundred questions.
Smart woman hadn’t asked one.
I hated Daphne in that fucking wig.
It wasn’t my Daphne.
Mine was blond.
I slapped Philip lightly in the stomach. “Don’t give her a hard time.”
He crossed his arms. “I’ll escort you inside.” He turned toward the club.
Daphne flipped him off behind his back.
I laughed. My Fawn had some fucking balls.
A doorman waited for us at the entrance. The second he spotted Philip, he opened the door and ushered us into a private hallway.
Philip had called ahead and arranged a discreet entrance. The club had promised to cater to every request.
“Brooks Byron!”
I stopped at the baritone voice.
A thin man with gelled back hair and a suit two sizes too small strutted toward us. He reminded me of someone cosplaying a mobster.
Enzo would’ve had a fucking field day with him.
“Welcome to my club!” He threw his arms wide. “Stan Melreeks.” His chest puffed with pride. “I own this place.”
I dropped the suitcase handle and took a step back when his arms somehow spread wider.
If this motherfucker tried to hug me, Philip was earning his paycheck tonight.
Fortunately, Stan stopped.
Unfortunately, Stan then noticed Daphne.
His stare started at her face before dropping lower.
Then lower.
When he licked his bottom lip, I debated how much trouble I’d get into for breaking the club owner’s nose within thirty seconds of arriving.
Most likely a lot. I still considered it.
I understood why the fucker was staring.
Daphne was every pussy-loving man’s dream. I’d loved how short her dress was when we were alone in my bedroom.
Now, I fucking hated it.
Daphne could show all the skin she wanted when I was the only one looking at her.
Not Stan. Not Philip. Not a single motherfucker in this club.
Me and me fucking only.
Her silver heels gave her a few extra inches, bringing the top of her head close to my shoulder. Between the wig, the heavier makeup, and the darkness of the club, she looked different enough that I doubted anyone would recognize her.
But me? I still saw Daphne.
“Nixon,” I barked. “Take me there.”
Stan looked back at me. “Ah, yes. Right.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out a stack of cards. “Free drink vouchers for you and your Secret Service buddies.”
He shoved them toward Philip before leaning closer to him. “We have plenty of patrons who like to get as close to anyone in the White House as possible, if you get my drift.”
He waggled his brows, and I swore, I heard Daphne gag.
I cut my eyes toward her and mouthed, “Behave.”
She fought back a smile.
At least one of us was enjoying this shitshow.
“Now come on.” Stan waved us forward. “I’ll show you to your section.”
Before following him, I stopped beside Philip and lowered my voice. “Make sure every camera in this place is wiped.”
He nodded.
I grabbed Daphne’s hand, threaded our fingers together, and followed Stan down the hallway.
Employees stared as we passed. I kept my head down and kept moving. Daphne followed my lead, her wig falling forward to help hide her face.
“Go downstairs and use one of those free drink cards,” I told Philip when he stayed glued to my side.
“Hell no.” His stare shifted to Daphne. “I’m waiting outside the door. I’m not leaving you alone, especially with her.”
My steps slowed. “She’ll behave.”
“She’s the daughter of the enemy.”
I stopped completely. Daphne did the same.
“She’s my Fawn.” I stared Philip down. “You’ll say nothing else negative about her. Are we clear?”
Philip held my gaze for another second before giving me a clipped nod.
“Good.” I started walking again.
He kept his comments to himself after that. I knew he wouldn’t take me up on the go have a drink offer. The stubborn bastard would plant himself outside the door and wait until I was ready to leave.
The quiet of the hallway disappeared the second we entered the VIP section. Music slammed into me.
Below us, a sea of bodies moved under the flashing strobe lights. People crowded the dance floor and wrapped around the bar, waving cash and drinks in the air. The bass pounded through the floor and straight into my fucking skull.
People do this shit for fun?
I preferred places I could sit, drink bourbon, and hear myself fucking think.
Daphne bumped her shoulder against mine as she leaned closer. “I heard this place is nicknamed Roofie Club.”
I barely caught her words over the music.
I leaned down, bringing my mouth closer to her ear. “Which is why you don’t take a drink from anyone but me.”
She bumped me again. “Why?”
I stopped in my tracks.
Philip and Stan did the same.
I ignored both of them and waited for Daphne to tell me she was fucking joking. “So you don’t get roofied, obviously.” I kept my voice low enough that Stan couldn’t hear me.
Daphne pulled her hand from mine. “What if you taste-test it first? Make sure it’s not roofied, and then I can drink it?”
I scrubbed a hand down my face. “Daph, that’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.”
Her lips crept into a small smile. “I want to make sure my Son cares about me enough to take a roofie for me.”
“I’d take a fucking bullet for you.”
The answer came out before I even thought about it.
Her smile disappeared for half a second.
Then she reached for my hand again.
I looked down as her fingers slipped between mine. Her smile returned, bigger this time.
I squeezed her hand. “Don’t take a drink from anyone but me. Do I make myself clear?”
She chewed on that plump lower lip of hers. “But what if the guy is cute?”
“You take a drink from anyone, and I’ll shove a handful of roofies down his throat until he foams at the mouth and dies.”
Her eyes formed small slits as she glared at me.
“After I do that, I’ll make you drink the foam for making me waste my time killing him,” I went on.
She rolled her eyes. “You making people foam at the mouth must be your kink.”
“And while we’re going over the rules—” I tightened my grip on her hand and started walking again—“You don’t leave my side either.”
“Considering only douchebags hang out here, I’m okay with that rule.” She cocked her head. “I guess that explains your attendance.”
“Trust me, this is the last place I want to be.” I tugged her forward, noticing Stan getting antsy a few feet ahead of us.
“Why are we here, then?”
“Because.”
“That sure doesn’t answer my question.”
“Wasn’t supposed to.”
We passed two VIP rooms before I recognized the one designed to mimic my father’s office.
I covered the side of my face with my hand as we walked past, but curiosity had me peering through my fingers.
Three married senators sat around the U-shaped couch with women on their laps. None of them were their wives. One had his hand shoved so far beneath a redhead’s dress that I rolled my eyes.
Family values, my ass.
Stan finally stepped outside our room. Two security guards stood on either side of the door and stepped aside for us.
I looked inside. Eight people.
Good. I preferred a smaller crowd.
Unfortunately, those eight people looked determined to consume enough drugs for eighty.
Bottles and mixers covered the table, squeezed between lines of coke and an assortment of pills. A girl danced barefoot across the table, waving a bottle of champagne over her head.
She spotted me, and her heel slipped. She collapsed straight into some guy’s lap and immediately dissolved into giggles.
“Hell yeah!” He hooked an arm around her waist and dragged her farther onto him. “I love it when chicks fall for me.”
I already hated everyone here.