CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The club swallowed Mila whole the moment the black door swung inward. Dim violet light crawled across the walls, the bass struck like a second heartbeat, and the crowded room seemed to breathe hot air against her face.
Piper entered at her shoulder, smiling for the room while her eyes measured every exit. In front of them, Lucia and Addie slipped through the crush of bodies, each woman keeping just enough distance to look accidental.
The music pounded hard enough to blur thought. Glasses trembled along the bar, ice clicked in silver buckets, and every few seconds a roar rose from the audience and broke against the low ceiling.
The air smelled of citrus cleaner, spilled liquor, overheated wiring, and too many perfumes fighting for space. Beneath it all lurked the metallic scent of the fog machines, sharp as a warning.
Mila found Magnus near a curtained alcove, costumed as one of the club’s private dancers. He never looked directly at her, but two taps against his wrist told her the backstage corridor was watched and the men were in place.
Across the room, Rory carried a tray he had no intention of serving. He was dressed in a toga, the drape coming across his broad, muscled shoulders, tapering to his narrow waist. Women were literally salivating as he walked past them, paying no attention to them at all.
O’Hara leaned beside a mirrored pillar beneath a wash of red light. He too was dressed in a toga, the contrast of his light complexion and features to Rory’s dark ones was startling. Lucia leaned toward Piper smiling.
“I’d still choose him every damn day,” she grinned.
“Same, girl,” smiled Piper.
Bron disappeared behind a knot of celebrating patrons without breaking his cover. He and Magnus would be dancing soon, hopefully their man would dance before them and the women would be able to get him into the private room.
Their disguises placed them close to the restricted rooms, but closeness had its own danger. One suspicious glance from security could collapse the entire operation before Jordan ever appeared.
Women crowded around the stage, shouting over one another and flinging bills beneath the spinning lights. Their laughter came in sudden bursts, bright and frantic, masking every whispered question the four investigators tried to exchange.
Piper tilted her glass toward the balcony. A broad-shouldered guard stood there with one hand pressed to an earpiece, scanning the room in slow, deliberate sweeps.
Lucia followed his gaze and saw cameras tucked into smoked-glass domes above the bar. One pointed toward the stage, another toward the entrance, and a third tracked the narrow hallway marked STAFF ONLY.
Addie moved first, letting the crowd carry her toward that hallway. A server blocked the route with a practiced smile, so she laughed, apologized, and drifted away before the man could study her face.
Mila checked the stage again. The featured performers had changed twice since they arrived, but none matched Jordan’s photograph.
Minutes dragged beneath the relentless beat. Each flash of white light froze the room into a harsh still image: raised hands, falling money, watchful guards, and faces twisted by noise.
Then darkness returned between the flashes, deep enough to hide a weapon or a lie.
Mila felt the weight of the small transmitter beneath her sleeve and resisted the urge to touch it.
The music was so loud they had to turn to old school tech, at least it was old school for G.R.I.P.
, transmitters that could relay through the noise.
Magnus stepped on stage and the women went crazy. Two-hundred women of all ages stood, gasping with excitement, pointing at his very handsome package, and already tossing money onto the stage.
Addie smirked at her husband, whispering into the transmitter.
“Just remember babe, you go home with me tonight.” Magnus turned to her giving a smirk and then jerked his hips forward toward her smiling face. She stood and tucked a twenty-dollar bill into his thong and he blew her kiss.
“He’s going to pay for that,” laughed Addie.
No Jordan backstage, no confirmed sighting, no sign that their plan was going to produce anything tonight other than embarrassment.
Rory appeared near Piper and set down the untouched tray. He traced a circle in the condensation with one finger, their signal that the dressing rooms had already been searched.
O’Hara shook his head from the pillar. Bron emerged from the crowd a moment later, jaw tight, and adjusted his fake cuffs to signal the same result.
The search was over, Mila thought. Jordan had either called in sick or had slipped away, or he had never intended to come.
Onstage, the music cut off mid-beat. The sudden silence struck the room harder than the sound had, leaving a high electric ringing in Mila’s ears.
A spotlight snapped on, stark and colorless. The announcer’s voice rolled from hidden speakers, stretched by echo until it sounded less like an introduction than a summons.
“Jordan.”
The crowd erupted. Sound crashed through the club, chairs scraped, and a fresh storm of bills fluttered toward the empty stage.
Mila’s pulse jumped. Piper had already turned, Lucia’s hand had gone still beside her glass, and Addie was watching the curtain with the fixed concentration of a marksman.
Before Jordan stepped out, two women entered through a side door guarded by velvet rope. The nearest attendant unhooked it at once.
Samantha wore a black dress that swallowed the colored lights. Abigail followed in pale gray, her expression calm and unreadable as she crossed the room without acknowledging the people who moved aside for her.
Piper casually walked toward the manager, whispering in his ear. He shook his head and Piper handed him ten-grand in cash. He stared at the stack of bills and nodded.
The two newly arrived women took their seats at a reserved table close to the stage. A small brass plaque gleamed between them, and an untouched bottle waited in a bucket of melting ice.
None of the undercover team reacted openly. Magnus faced the curtain, Rory lifted his tray, O’Hara lowered his gaze, and Bron let the shifting crowd erase him again.
Mila forced herself to cheer with everyone else. The motion felt false in her throat, but Samantha’s glance skimmed across her and moved on.
The curtain rippled. A tall silhouette paused behind it, nearly motionless, while red light seeped around the edges like smoke under a locked door.
Jordan stepped into the spotlight, composed yet somehow pale beneath the glare. His eyes swept the front tables, found Samantha and Abigail, and stopped for half a second too long.
That brief hesitation was all Mila needed. Jordan knew them all too well, and whatever brought him onto that stage may or may not have been his choice.
The bass returned with a violent thud, and the lights began to spin. Under cover of the crowd’s renewed frenzy, Samantha leaned toward Abigail and pointed—not at Jordan, but directly at Mila.
Whatever Jordan was taking, he was miserably hard, his hips gyrating back and forth, up and down. His dark skin glistened with sweat and baby oil, while he humped the pole to women shrieking, praying that it might be them.
But it was the men on the team that saw something the women did not. He was in pain. His penis was so hard, and most likely for too long, he was weak and hurting himself.
“He could be experiencing urinary tract or bladder issues,” said Addie into the transmitter. “He looks as if he’s in terrible pain.”
His music finished and he gathered the bills on the floor, blowing kisses to his audience. Across the floor, Samantha and Abigail started to stand, no doubt to head to their usual private room.
Instead, the manager touched their shoulders and shook his head. The women glared at him as Piper, Addie, Mila, and Lucia stood from their table. Mila turned toward the two women and smiled, raising her glass of champagne feigning a toast to them.
Inside the private room the women looked around at the velvet sofas. They were tempted to break out the sanitizer but knew they were being watched.
“Relax ladies,” said the voice of AJ, now perfectly clear without the music. “Cameras are frozen and the music is turned off in the room.”
They all smiled, grateful once again for the genius of their team. The door opened behind the velvet curtain and then shut, Jordan spreading the drapes with a big smile.
“Hi…oh. You’re new,” he said with a strange look.
“You look disappointed,” said Piper, crossing her long, lean, muscular legs. She was tanned and her body was still in peak physical condition. He grinned down at her and licked his lips.
“My friends and I would like some private time,” said Addie standing and running her finger down his chest. The tented thong told them he was ready for something and if things got out of control, he could get angry.
“Baby, if you paid, I’m all about the private time,” he said with a gleaming smile.
“That’s good,” said Lucia from behind him. He heard the click of the lock and the door opening again. Four men walked in and he frowned looking at the women, then back at the men.
“Hey, I’m not usually into dudes but if you’re willing and pay extra, I’m all about working my kink out.”
“Fuck off,” growled Rory. Jordan’s face darkened and he flexed his muscles only to be flexed back by Rory. “Please. Don’t embarrass yourself.”
“What do you want?” he asked staring at the others. He tried to wave at the cameras and O’Hara shook his head.
“Sorry, brother. Cameras are on the fritz. Tell us about Colt.”
“I’m leaving,” he said trying to make his way to the door. It was useless, Magnus and Bron were both blocking the door and there was no way he was getting through them.
Lucia bit her lip and looked at her husband with a knowing glance. She stepped closer to Jordan, her hand sliding down his abdomen.
“You look like you could use a little help,” she said in a throaty, sexy voice. “That’s an awful lot of blood flow going to one place.”
His breathing immediately quickened, the sweat now dripping from his body. He touched himself, trying to push his erection down.
“Please. If you’re not going to help me out, let me leave,” he said in pleading tone.
“We can help you, Jordan,” said Bron. “The drug you’re taking is going to kill you unless you let us help you. Tell us about Colt.”
“I can’t. Don’t you understand? I can’t. They’ll kill me,” he said in a panicked voice. It had turned from sexy god to almost whimpering child.
“The drug will kill you, Jordan. Let us help you,” said Piper. “Who killed Colt?”
“How do you know? Who told you?” he said finally taking a seat. It did nothing to help his groin situation but he lowered his head into his hands.
“He whispered your name before he died. Who did those terrible things to him? Samantha and Abigail?” asked Addie. His head jerked up and he realized just how much shit he was actually in.
“They’re brutal. They like it rough, really rough. I get women that want to be spanked or tied up but those two, they want more than that, in reverse.”
“What do you mean?” frowned Rory.
“Most women are the ones that want to be tied up or spanked, you know, living a fantasy their husband’s won’t give them. Those two are different. They want us tied up. I was always okay with it, mostly because I was taking the drug and I knew they would help ease my situation.
“But they were into more than we bargained for. We’re talking brutal shit. The kind of stuff you’d read about from the mafia or some biker gang.”
“That might be insulting to bikers,” frowned Magnus.
“I’m serious, dude. I’m talking spankings with wide wooden paddles until your skin blisters and sick shit shoved…”
“Stop!” said Bron. “Who killed Colt?”
“All of them,” he said quietly. He stood, gripping his chest and stared at the group of people in front of him. “I-I’m sorr-y.”
His body thumped to the floor like a fallen tree and Rory leaned over him, feeling for a pulse. He began chest compressions as Piper called for an ambulance, Lucia running out to the manager to let him know.
By the time the ambulance arrived, he was gone. Dead of a massive heart attack before the age of thirty. With his body leaving on a gurney, women stood outside the club. All but two. Samantha and Abigail were gone.