Page 17 of Betrayed

She looked up at him, her brows gathering in confusion. “Double-oh-seven, sir?”

He titled his head, his turn to be surprised. “Yes, like Bond, as in James Bond?”

“Um...” She hesitated, tilting her head to the same side he did.

“Hannah isn’t big on pop culture, I’m afraid.” A tall, T-shirt clad man came up behind the bartender and put an arm around her shoulders. He offered his free hand to Arturo. “I’m Ben, the bar manager. You’re new, yeah? I saw you the last couple of times, but you were involved in a scene, or the crowds didn’t allow time for introductions.”

“Arturo Durand,” he said as he shook his hand.

“Are you enjoying our little club? Anything come close to it in your neck of the woods? You’re French, right?”

“Yes, but I call London home for now.”

“For now? Are you considering a move to the great state of Texas? That’d be quite a culture shock, I imagine.”

“Moving from one city to the next doesn’t sound so shocking to me,” Hannah murmured softly.

“You would know, wouldn’t you, baby?”

Arturo watched as Ben kissed her temple, noticing the matching wedding bands they both wore and figured there was a story here. Everyone he’d met at the club seemed to have a compelling history, especially the six owners, but getting to know the natives in detail would have to wait until after his mission, so he didn’t push for more.

“I’m in town on business,” he said evasively, as he took a sip of his martini.

While he did, he surveyed the lounge area and dance floor in the wall-to-ceiling mirror behind the bar. Decorated in rich burgundy and gold, the furnishings were plush and plentiful, and arranged closely, which was conducive for intimate conversations despite the noise level. The dance floor beyond the bar was large enough to permit couples to sway close or to writhe and gyrate to music supplied by the top-notch band performing live on the stage on the far side of the enormous room. Again, it surprised him that its opulence and style rivaled that of Baroque, in Lisbon, with its 500-euro minimum, the ultra-exclusive Silencio Club in Paris, and the hedonistic escape that was Insomnia in Berlin.

A half-naked nymph leashed and being led across the room by her clamped and chained nipples caught his attention. Surveying the rest of the members, the array of attire ranged from full body latex, skimpy club wear, and the requisite leather to designer evening wear. Seeing a woman in a champagne silk gown perched on the thigh of a man in an Armani suit and matching silk tie looking like they could walk a red carpet anywhere, he knew nothing in Europe had anything on Club Decadence.

“To answer your other question,” Arturo continued, “although the clubs in Europe are more prevalent and may boast royals on their guest lists, I’ve never been to one with quite the, uh, shall we say panache and vibrancy of your charming club.”

A hand clamped on his shoulder as he finished speaking. “I like panache, but would you say it’s decadent? That’s what we were shooting for when we opened.”

Twisting on his stool, he looked up at the mountain of a man who towered over his own above-average six-foot-two-inch frame. A grin splitting his face.

“Cap,mon vieux!” he exclaimed as he rose and clasped his old friend’s hand. Ordinarily it would end with a handshake, but they were in Texas, so he returned his friend’s shoulder bump and a firm slap on the back.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes, Arturo.”

“Where have you been?” he asked. “I’ve looked for you but haven’t seen you once since you arranged my temporary membership.”

“I’m well aware,” Cap said, shaking his head. “Between the day job, the club, a wife, and twin boys, I think I had more downtime in the Army.”

Cap was former Special Forces Captain Tony Rossi; a man he’d first met twelve years earlier in Afghanistan while they each served their country. Arturo, who had dual citizenship, also had the same rank in the UK Special Forces and was leading a Special Air Service—SAS troop. As part of the coalition forces, he’d teamed up with Cap and his crack unit of highly skilled Green Berets. Many had followed him to San Antonio, to work security and open the club, including Dex Russell, which was an enviable “retirement.”

“I hear you’re here for other than recreation. The general filled me in on what he knows. You have all the resources Rossi can provide should you need it.”

“Which is much appreciated and something I’ll readily take you up on.” Their eyes met, Tony reading the seriousness of his situation easily, and nodded.

“I don’t have an office here, but there’s a conference room where we can speak privately in administration. I’ll gather the members of my team who are here, and you can fill us all in at once on exactly how we can be of help.”

“I was told you have an excellent computer man.”

“Yes, Jonas Mitchell.” Cap glanced down at his watch. “I haven’t seen him tonight, but he should be along any moment. He’s scheduled for a demonstration later tonight.”

“Of what?” Arturo asked after he tossed back the rest of his drink.

“Shibari. He’s our resident rope master. He has a book on the subject you’d be interested in. A pictorial—the beauty of rope bondage rather than a how-to.”

“Indeed.”

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