Page 7 of Forbidden Deviant Games

I lift my menu with a smirk and arch a brow at her. “Do you speak like this to all of your bosses?” I ask in lieu of an answer.

“Only the ones who drag me away from my life and go out of their way to frustrate me,” she admits as she snaps open her own menu. “Besides, in case you haven’t noticed, we’re not at the club. You have no jurisdiction here. You’re only my boss when I’m in uniform or at Club Outsider.”

Her pretty blue eyes spark with irritation. I can’t say why that amuses me the way that it does, but her anger makes me think of passion and passion makes me think of … other, more sensual things. Things I should really have no right to think about a young woman who has no business stepping into my world. Yet, here I am—taking her out to lunch with the excuse of asking her questions regarding the drug going around both the club circuit and campus.

There’s a reason it has to be her, of course. Haley Montgomery is one of the few scholarship students given the privilege of attending an elite university such as Eastpoint. Though her major may be in the fine arts department, her talent one of beauty and creation and not of suspicion and truth seeking, she’s intelligent. In fact, according to her test results and her file, she’s got a photographic memory. She’s also connected to both places this dealer I’m seeking has been. If she’s seen or heard something that could connect, I need to know about it.

Haley turns her gaze downward when I don’t respond to her comment, the corner of her mouth tilting up as if she thinks she’s won whatever non-argument we were having. I can’t stop myself from watching her too. The way her eyes flit up and down the menu, scanning. I know what she’s looking for and it’s even more amusing to know she won’t find it. Her lips pinch when she inevitably realizes there are no prices.

“Order whatever you want,” I say, reading her facial expressions more than her mind. “Take it as compensation for answering my questions.”

Her eyes lift once more and meet mine. “Do you take all of the people you plan to interrogate to fancy restaurants?” she inquires.

My lips twitch on their own accord. “I figured it’d be better to sweeten you up since you’re usually so sour to me, sweetheart.”

Her lips clamp shut and she turns her gaze downward once more. Our waitress appears, setting out glasses of water before she takes our order. Once we’re alone again, Haley reaches for her water and sucks back half the glass before pushing it to the center of the table and crossing her arms over her ample chest. I have to force my gaze to remain steady on her face.

“Alright,” she begins, “what’s this about?”

“I have some important questions I need to ask you,” I inform her. “About the patrons at the club and anyone that you’ve also seen on campus.”

She frowns. “Okay…”

I withdraw my cell and pull up a list of dates that I typed out earlier after my second meeting with Cain and Andrei. Though Andrei is Nicholas’ street man, he also holds a powerful position within Eastpoint. Cain, as part of the board of directors, had asked to be involved with the meeting as well. I have a starting point of dates where major events involving the new drug, Haze, have occurred and my plan is to find a correlation with exchanges around then.

“I need you to think back,” I state as I set the phone down on the table and slide it towards her. “To these dates. Do you recall anyone who was at Club Outsider on each of those date?”

“There were a lot of people in the club on these dates,” she says as she scans the list.

“There might have been one or two people who were at the Club each time,” I clarify.

She considers that, her eyes staring down at the dates on the screen for several long moments. As she thinks back, I watch her. Her nose scrunches in concentration and her lashes flutter as her eyes move back and forth over the list. Objectively, she’s not the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. While she has big, wide eyes and full cheeks that are attractive—she’s got small cosmetic flaws that reflect a life that hasn’t been lived with ease.

There are small scars across her knuckles, likely from working with various art tools—I know that part of her instruction includes working with sculpting. Her freckles are light and scattered across the bridge of her nose and as I peruse them, I note a small mole just under one eye—barely perceptible but still there nonetheless. They’re nothing that might detract from her beauty, but had she been born as one of the elite they would’ve been removed by her parents as early as infancy. There is a certain status and look those of the upper echelon require from their offspring. It’s the type of appearance control that doesn’t lead to the same uniqueness that people like Haley Montgomery have. To me, however, her lack of perfectionisbeautiful. It is who she is.

“I can’t tell you names,” she says, pulling me from my thoughts, “but a few regulars come to mind.”

“Would you be able to pick them out of a crowd?” I ask, reaching for the phone as she nods.

I flick through the applications on my screen until I come across the club’s security footage. I click on it and scroll back to the list of dates and timestamps, thankful that I had my IT guy pull some stills of suspicious persons from the club on the same dates. I open the file and hand the phone back to her.

“Go through those,” I say. “And tell me if you see who you’re thinking of.”

Haley begins scanning the images on the screen, swiping quickly through them as the waitress returns, setting down our meals, refilling our glasses, and disappearing once more. Money might come with its own set of problems, but I will admit the ability to afford privacy is a perk I never experienced in my past.

It feels like forever before Haley finally stops and turns the phone my way again. “Him,” she says, pointing to a man on the screen. Unfortunately, he’s got his head down and turned away from the camera and all I can see is the wide brimmed white hat and a hint of dark gray hair peeking out from beneath the edge at the base of his skull.

“He was there on most of those dates you had listed,” she says. “I served him a time or two, but he paid only in cash. I never got a name.”

Despite the fact that this is the furthest I’ve come so far in my investigation, irritation simmers inside of me. There’s no clear picture of the man’s face and other than an average build and hair color, without a name or any other identifier, I’m still back at square one.

“Can you think of anything else about him?” I ask as I take the phone back. “You saw his face.”

“He wore sunglasses inside,” she admits with a grimace. “I thought it was kind of weird, but he’s not the first guy to do that—the dance floor lights irritate some people’s eyes. All I can say is that he was older, like way too old to be hanging out with college kids. Maybe forties or fifties. He was definitely Caucasian.”

Each bit of information is like gold and yet, I’m still not happy. I doubt I will be until I catch the motherfucker and get rid of him for good—just as Nicholas ordered.

“Alright,” I finally say. “Thank you.” I slip my phone back into my pocket.

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