Page 3 of Love In The Shadows

CHAPTER TWO

Bennett

Over the past week, I’d followed Richard Dalton to Parkston’s seven nights in a row, usually late, around ten o’clock. I’d researched Parkston’s On the Hill after the first time he led me there, but so far, I hadn’t attempted to go inside. All I knew was that if Richie was hitting the place up every night, there was a good chance he didn’t just appreciate the caliber of bourbon they served.

No, it had to be something else. Something that smelled a lot like business.

Mob business. And I wanted in. I’d made a few phone calls after the third day in a row following him here and secured a guest pass from a member who owed me a favor.

At nine-thirty, I watched the club's entrance from my rented Ferrari on the other side of the street. I loved my truck, but it didn’t fit in at a fancy place like Parkston’s. As soon as Richie’s driver pulled up in front of the club, he rushed around the black town car to let him out of the backseat. After the pair exchanged a few words, Richie headed inside with his big-ass bodyguard, Jake, in tow. I knew the goon’s name because he followed Richie almost everywhere.

Although, I wasn’t sure if the two were friends or if Richie was just too oblivious to notice that his primary muscle was constantly checked out and too far away to make a difference if shit were to go down. I figured he was more like decoration, a giant, muscle-bound fuck off sign. His driver took off, and I took a long, slow breath and swung the car around.

I pulled up to the valet parking, gave myself one more glance over, and stepped out of the car. “All right, Eric, showtime.”

I’d fit right in inside the swanky club, but it didn’t feel right to me. A suit and tie weren’t my thing. Instead, I liked steel-toed boots, worn jeans, t-shirts, and my black leather jacket. Give me a ball cap and a pair of shades, and I was good to go.

However, for Parkston’s On the Hill, I couldn’t walk in looking like FBI agent Bennett Marshon. That look wouldn’t fly. I was undercover now and needed to go as unnoticed as possible. I wasn’t there to make a splash or a scene. My goal was simple. Contact Richie and strike up a relationship so I could shut his operation down.

I glanced down at my shiny wristwatch and smiled. “Just the ticket.” I was betting on this baby getting me entry into places where my badge would only get me shot.

With another long breath, I squared my shoulders and set off inside the club.

I wasn’t exactly sure what I expected. In my research, I hadn’t been able to find images on the web of what the club looked like inside. It was all very private—almost like they didn’t want you to know. But even pictures on the internet wouldn’t have prepared me for what I found on the other side of the iron gates.

Parkston’s On the Hill was a beautiful mansion sitting in the middle of seven perfectly manicured acres in the Hollywood Hills. The long driveway leading up to the cobblestone half-moon driveway made it clear that this place was not only upscale but very private. It took me fifteen minutes to check in, but it was a formality. But what I found on the other side of the door was far from formal.

The lights were low around the outskirts of the place, providing plenty of cover and alcoves for the guests. A dance floor filled the space, and lights flashed and popped over the people on the floor. The beats of the music—provided by an in-house DJ perched on a platform above—were sultry and seductive, practically piping sex into the room.

Surprisingly, every woman in the room was in a state of undress. I wasn’t sure if they came that way or got half-naked after arriving, but a bare-skin buffet was on full display, and no one batted an eye. Hell, I had a hard-on by the time I got three feet inside the door.

From my research, Parkston’s was a sex club with a swimming pool, a dance floor, and private rooms that could be used for whatever purposes a couple—or more—could dream up. I learned that at one point, a group of human traffickers ran girls through the place, but that had been cleaned up since then. Though looking around, it was still plenty dirty.

Just the right kind of dirt. My kind.

I’d never been to any place quite like it. Clubs, in general, weren’t my scene, but as I made my way around the fringes of the club, I spotted a couple of half-naked chicks making out on the dance floor and decided that maybe I was missing out.

If I wasn’t on the clock, I would’ve been content to blend in, watch, and zero in on the hottest girl. The one that had all the other guys watching her shake her ass. And I would’ve taken her home, fucked her silly, and left her alone just like I did Harlowe. I wondered if rich debutantes were as wild and free as pool hall chicks. The ones I let beat my ass at the table, so it wouldn’t hurt them so bad when I let them down.

It would be a fun change of pace from the usual pool hall banter, flirting over a trick shot demonstration. Not that there was anything wrong with that. Worked like a charm.

As I circled the floor, I glanced around and noted that most people not on the floor were having hushed conversations in dark corners. I didn’t spend too much time gawking over every detail. I snapped back into work mode and pushed down my own agenda. Maybe I’d come back someday. Tonight, I couldn’t let myself get distracted.

A bar dominated a section opposite the dance floor, and I made my way over. Halfway there, a dark grin spread across my face.

Bingo.

Richie was chatting up the bartender at the bar—a pretty young thing with long dark hair, dark skin, full curves, and a killer smile. She clearly knew Richie and the two were carrying on like long-time pals. I wondered what she’d say if she knew who she was talking to. She deposited a bourbon in front of him—Richie’s drink of choice, the higher the price tag on the bottle, the better, and I strolled over to the empty bar tool beside him.

Game on.

I reached the bar and cleared my throat. “Anyone here?” I asked, shooting a sidelong glance at Richie. I made a show of pushing up my sleeve and checking the pricey timepiece on my wrist.

“Damn! That’s a nice piece,” Richie commented, an air of respect in his voice. “Go on! Have a seat.”

“Thanks.” I grinned. I knew the watch would work. Damn, sometimes I was so good I scared myself.

“Yeah, it was my granddaddy’s. He bought it after getting home from the war. After that, it went to my dad, then to me.” I shifted my wrist in the glittering lights of the bar area, showcasing the vintage piece to perfection.

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