Page 2 of Maid of Dishonor
2
DEAN
Redheads have always been my weakness. And the fiery beauty that I crossed paths with at the club door is no exception. She didn't even blink when I threw the toughest look I could throw at her. I don't need my cover to be blown, not after the months I’ve put into earning Gio’s trust. And I must have earned his trust because he sent me in here to pick up the payment that the club owner, Thatcher Maitland, owes tonight.
A young kid, who looks like he’s desperately trying to look older than his age, greets us when we are ushered into Maitland’s office.
“Gentlemen, please take a seat," he says, pointing to the couch against the wall.
Frankie and Lorenzo, the muscle that Gio sent with me, drop onto the leather cushions, but I choose to stand. I’ve worked plenty of cases undercover, but this one could really make my career if I don’t mess it up. I need to make sure that everything goes smoothly tonight.
“We had an appointment with your boss,” I say, trying to sound annoyed. “I don’t like to be kept waiting.”
The kid glances between me and the muscle sitting on the couch, and from the sweat on his upper lip, he’s doing everything in his power not to piss himself right there.
“Mr. Maitland will be along in just a moment. He’s out on the floor speaking with—” the kid pauses like he’s suddenly realized he’s said too much.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Speaking with who?”
The kid swallows so hard it’s almost audible even with the muffled hum of the club music. Frankie leans forward in his seat and cracks his knuckles like he's ready to start throwing punches, and this kid is going to be his punching bag.
“I suggest you tell Mr. Maitland that we don’t appreciate being kept waiting,” I say.
Get out of here, kid.
Almost as if he’s heard my thought, he nods and moves quickly to the door and out of the room.
Frankie chuckles to himself and looks over at Lorenzo, who laughs too.
“What’s so funny?” I ask.
“Doesn’t matter what excuses this guy Maitland comes up with,” Frankie says. “The boss already gave us our instructions. He wants his money back, and he isn't going to wait around for this rich boy to cough it up any longer.”
Uneasiness hits my stomach like one of Frankie’s punches to the gut. I don’t know what he’s talking about—and I should. Maybe my position in the crew isn’t as secure as I was led to believe, but I can’t let them know I’m concerned. I need to find out what they are talking about without directly asking them.
“You sure that’s what the boss still wants to do? It looks to me like Maitland's found himself the money.” I point to the security camera screens, where Thatcher Maitland is talking with some guy at the bar.
“How do you know?” Frankie asks.
“Maitland may be stupid when it comes to losing his money at the gambling tables, but he must have a big fish with deep pockets on the line if he’s keeping us waiting.”
The two of them exchange glances like they aren’t so sure what to do now.
“The boss said light it up,” Frankie says to Lorenzo.
Fuck.
They’ve been told to burn this place to the ground for the insurance money, so if Maitland doesn’t have the money now, he will soon enough, and Gio will send Frankie and Lorenzo to collect.
I glance over at the security screens and see the redhead from earlier standing and arguing with a tall blonde at one of the tables. The sudden need to protect her, along with everyone else in the club, is now my only priority.
I know how Gio’s mind works and what he’s told Frankie to do. To avoid suspicion from the insurance investigator, Gio will have instructed him to start a fire in the club while people are still inside. They wouldn’t think twice that Maitland would do that for the money. He’d only do that if he waited until the place was empty to avoid any additional felony charges if people would get hurt or even die.
I need to get in touch with my lieutenant and let him know what’s going on, so they can clear this place out and avoid massive panic. But it’s going to be nearly impossible to slip away and get them a message in time, with Frankie and Lorenzo acting like two giant shadows with ears following me around. I’m going to have to find a creative way to send the message.
“My apologies, gentleman," Maitland says, walking into the office. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting for too long. I can have some drinks brought up—”
“Cut the shit,” I interrupt, not wanting to waste time with pleasantries. “You know why we’re here.”
