Chapter Four

Warren entered the clubhouse at ten to eight and followed the smell of coffee. He poured a huge mug of the stuff, ignored the milk and sugar. It was an unspoken rule that real men drank black coffee, and although he hated the bitter taste, he needed the caffeine. Badly.

He leaned against the wall, sipping his coffee, and surveyed the large main room. It was a disaster area, naturally, as it always was first thing in the morning, and before the underpaid cleaning ladies arrived. Broken glass and cigarette butts covered the floor, empty bottles and dishes and articles of women’s clothing were strewn around all over the damn place, and the women themselves were naked and draped over the furniture, passed out cold.

He averted his eyes from the miles of flesh on display, hoped hard that none of the girls had been forced the night before. Nobody had ever complained, but then again, this wasn’t the kind of place where a sexual assault claim would be taken all that seriously.

“Derby.”

Warren turned to the harsh voice behind him and nodded at Ace. The man looked rough, man, like he hadn’t slept, and was nursing a mammoth hangover to boot.

“Ace,” he replied.

Ace yawned, stretched, wandered over to the coffee machine. “Fuck,” he remarked. “Lisa wore me out last night.”

“Yeah?” Warren asked, not caring whatsoever, but he had to make polite conversation.

“Hell, yeah. That skank knows how to suck and fuck.”

Warren didn’t react to Ace’s chosen way to refer to Lisa. ‘Skank’ was the club equivalent of ‘chick’, and Warren had long ago learned to not so much as blink when he heard it used. He still despised it, though, and he fought down a sneer of contempt.

“Yeah, I’m sure she does,” he said now.

“Ummm-hmmm.” Ace blinked at him, his black eyes flat and dead in his rugged, unshaven face. “You really should take her up on her offer next time, man. She’d rock your world, I fucking swear it.”

“Maybe,” Warren said in the most non-committal voice that he felt he could get away with.

“Anyway,” Ace said. “I have a job for you. It’s easy, but it’ll take a few days.”

Thrilled to be getting away from the topic of the club pass-arounds, Warren tilted his head at his President. “OK.”

“It’s in here,” Ace said.

Warren picked up his coffee, followed Ace into one of the back rooms. It had obviously been used the night before: it reeked of sex and perfume. He slapped on his ‘I don’t give a flying fuck about anything’ face, glared around the room, trying to spot this mysterious ‘it’ that Ace had referred to. He saw nothing at all and he stared at Ace, waiting for his instructions.

Just then, the second door swung open, and his cousin stood there grinning at him.

“Hey, Derby,” he said.

“Joker,” Warren said. “How you doing?”

“Great.” He glanced over at Ace. “Now?”

“Yeah.”

Joker nodded, turned, went back into the attached conference room. Silence, then a dragging sound.

Warren stood up straighter, every instinct in his body on red alert. Yeah, he knew that sound, knew it intimately. It was the sound of a person actively resisting being moved. His heart sank, though his face remained totally disinterested.

Joker reappeared now and sure enough, he was grappling with someone. Warren couldn’t see who it was, since their head was covered with a black hood, but he knew it was a woman – and not just because of the long, slim figure. She was sobbing, sobbing wildly, and his stomach clenched at the thought that she may be hurt. He saw that her hands were bound together, so tight that he saw bloody marks and purple bruises on her wrists. The sight of that damage on her pale skin kicked him in the chest, for some reason, before he took command of himself again.

“Shut up,” Joker hissed at her, giving her a shake. “Shut up or I fucking smack you.”

Right away, she went silent and slumped in his grasp, and Joker bodily dragged her the last few feet into the room. He gave her a rough shove and down she went, landing on her hip on the floor.

She cried out, a sharp sound of pain and surprise, and Warren had to fight to keep his feet in place. No way he was making a move to help her, since it was clear that whoever she was, she was trouble. She was also his job, whatever the hell that meant, and after eight months he knew better than to make any assumptions about anything. Especially a job.

Ace stepped forward and without a word, he tore the hood off her head. She cried out again, then shut her eyes against the light coming in through the window.

“Shut up,” Joker repeated. “Fuck, Ace, she’s been bawling for a fucking hour, man, and the Vegas boys said she cried like a bitch the whole drive down here. They got here an hour earlier just to get rid of her.”