Page 9 of Room One Hundred and Seven: Catch and Claim

The self-satisfied smile on Wolfe’s face has me rethinking the option to spar. It probably would do both of us good for me to get a few shots in at his head. It might knock something loosefor him and it would temper my restlessness. At least for a little while.

“Go out where?” I find myself asking the question even though I’m not entirely sure I’m up to go out.

I’m not exactly the one in our group that enjoys being around people. I find that they expect too much from me; far more than I’m willing to give for sure. The worst is when they want me to talk to them. I’m perfectly fine enjoying the quiet and doing it by myself.

Even when I’m with the men I consider my brothers, I’m more than happy to have them do most of the talking for me. That doesn’t mean I’m some pushover or unwilling to express my thoughts or opinion, but you better believe it matters when I do. I see no reason to waste my time, energy, or breath otherwise.

“You can’t be thinking of someplace like Second Circle,” Wolfe throws out knowing damn well we’ll never set foot inside of Amato’s club. Okay, club is a stretch. It’s a brothel.

It’s a damn good thing that whenever we’ve looked into it, that it’s not a trafficking front. The women there choose to be there and are very well taken care of. Amato might be taking advantage of the oldest known profession, but he’s not a pimp. I can’t really fault him for creating a business around something that would be happening in the city anyway. At least this way the women are being taken care of, are kept safe and everyone’s health is monitored.

“You know we can’t enter Amato’s business,” Hendrix growls and with a glance at him I can tell just how hard he’s fighting rolling his eyes.

“Then where?” Wolfe’s question is curious, but there’s a bit of censure in his tone that I don’t fully understand.

He doesn’t meet my eyes when I look at him, choosing to stare up at the ceiling instead. It’s odd. He’s not one to try and hide his feelings or reactions, at least not when he doesn’t need to. We’re probably the only people in the world he lets down his guard around, even though part of his guard is being the comic relief amongst us.

“You’re onto something though,” Hendrix muses and I find myself perking up. He studies me closely as his words come out slowly, his words measured, “We can go to Club Sin. It’s neutral territory and we have memberships, even though we’ve never used them.”

“And that’s where Spark, Rites, and Crucify tracked down their woman.” Wolfe’s eyebrows are so high on his head that if he had hair then they would be pretty much at his hairline. He shrugs. “Might do you good,” he eyes me while he throws his two cents out there.

Hendrix doesn’t respond, but it’s clear that he agrees. The need to get moving, and possibly never stop, is almost overwhelming. At this point, I really don’t care where we go.

I’m thankful my brothers aren’t stupid enough to suggest some sort of club with dancing and shit. That would be way too much for me and wouldn’t be anything close to relaxing. Hendrix does bring up a good point too; we’ve had memberships to Club Sin for a while just in case we ever needed to get in. Our business requires us to be able to get into restricted places.

And it’s not like we haven’t found our targets in places like Club Sin before, even though they try to keep it as safe and regulated as possible. People with money can be into someshady shit. It’s not like people who don’t have money can’t be criminals, they absolutely can, but the kind of entitlement I’ve come across when it comes to the rich makes them think they’re untouchable.

I don’t respond to my brothers. Instead, I stride out of the room to take a shower and get dressed. They won’t leave without me. The entire time I’m getting ready, I try to ignore the itchy feeling, but it’s not easy.

It takes far too long for us to walk through the doors of Club Sin, and I’m struck by the clean lines and understated opulence of the place. Everything about it fits into the feel of The Centennial building and Seattle. I had forgotten how nice the lounge is decorated. I’m sure the rooms are even more impressive.

The buzzing under my skin doesn’t go away when I walk into the club, but I didn’t expect it to. Hendrix is a step ahead of us while I flank him along with Wolfe. My eye sweep through the room, something I always do no matter where I am or what I’m doing.

Call it a hazard of the job if you must. I know where the exits are, the layout of the room, and how many people are mingling in the main area of the first floor of Club Sin. Knowing that shit with a glance has kept me alive more times than I want to think about.

Something feels…off, though, here. It’s a strange feeling and one I haven’t experienced before. It’s almost like that feeling you get right before the sky opens up and it starts to rain. It’s an impending feeling and I can’t seem to shake it.

“Maybe I can find a sub,” Hendrix murmurs more to himself than to either of us.

Still, I understand what he’s saying. We’ve been friends for long enough that we know what we’re into. We’ve never shared a woman together, but we haven’t been shy around each other either. We share a few likes when it comes to the bedroom which isn’t too surprising considering our need for control and something more feral.

A woman on the submissive side has worked for each of us in the past, but that’s not the same as someone who likes to be prey to our predator. That’s a slightly different dynamic and one that requires a different understanding.

One day, maybe, we’ll find it.

Honestly, the more I’ve thought about it since Spark, Rites, and Crucify started sharing Navy together, the more I’ve thought about whether that would work for us. It would take a damn special woman to be comfortable between the three of us.

It would have to be someone who isn’t intimidated by us and can trust us implicitly. I’m not sure that woman is out there, but you never know.

“Shit,” Wolfe breathes out, “she’s here.”

My head snaps around to look at him, but his gaze is locked across the room. When I turn my head, I find a woman sitting with her back against the wall, her shoulders pulled back and her head held high. Her hair is light brown with golden highlights and cascades around her in beachy waves.

The best inside of me perks up and takes notice as I look at her. I want to stomp over to her and pull her into my arms before urging her to run, but my feet are locked in place, and I can’t move.

Not because I’m scared or don’t know, without a doubt, that she’s exactly what I’ve been looking for. No, that’s not what has me standing still. It’s the fact that she’s sitting across from a man who is talking with his hands, his face a mask of eager sincerity.

The longer I watch her, the more something niggles at the back of my mind. It’s not just the fact that something isn’t quite right about the scene in front of me, even though that is part of it. She’s clearly annoyed and no longer engaged in the conversation, if she ever was.

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