Page 76 of Dangerous Men
Nothing sells better than sex.
From the outside, the Second Circle is a five-star splendor. Rivaling any high-end hotel in the country, this place is the epitome of class, luxury, and impeccable service. The manager, Francesca, runs the Second Circle like a well-oiled machine, catering to anyone willing to shell out several thousand dollars a night for a lavish hotel room and treating them all like royalty.
There’s truly nowhere better in all of Fortune City to rest your head for the night.
A select clientele know the Second Circle for more than its opulent rooms, perfect service, and world-class spa, though. Francesca handles that side of the business too, and she’s one of the few employees on our payroll that Alec trusts without question.
He should. Francesca has never once given us reason to doubt her. And she has always been more than accommodating on days like today, when any of us needs a little extra attention. Days when I need to get out of my own head for a few hours.
“Master Sterling!” the concierge greets me when I enter the hotel lobby, beaming at me. It’s not my last name—not my real last name, anyway. But we’re a family, and Alec insists on the staff greeting us as such. “What a pleasure to see you! What can we help you with today?”
“I’ll take this, Jonathan.” Francesca’s voice is cool and professional as she approaches. Her high heels click against the marble floor. She touches him on the arm gently. “Why don’t you go to the kitchens and see about rustling me up a nice cup of tea, hm?”
“Of course!” Jonathan inclines his head, stepping back from his station. “With a splash of bourbon, maybe?”
Francesca’s lips twitch. “Naturally.”
As the eager young man bounds away, Francesca turns to give me her undivided attention. At sixty years old, most of her peers are enjoying their retirement, spending time with their children or grandchildren, learning to knit, hosting book clubs, and complaining about the weather.
While Francesca has made a name for herself as the most successful Madam in the region. Hell, maybe even the country.
I ran an extensive background check on her when she was hired for this role, but it wasn’t necessary. Francesca has been an open book since we found her. Born into an even shittier situation than most of my brothers, she had to steal and fight for everything she ever earned. She started as a sex worker when women in this city were forced to work the corners and parking lots of cheap motels, hiding whenever a cop car drove by. And when she finally reached the top, she made it her mission to ensure no one else in her profession ever had to suffer the way she had.
Sex work is work. Hard work. But thanks to people like Francesca, and places like the Second Circle, it’s far less dangerous than it once was.
When we first approached her with our plans for this brothel, she came back to us with a lengthy list of demands. And the first, most important rule for her was this: anyone working in her hotel had to be there of their own free will and would never be pressured to do anything they didn’t feel comfortable doing.
It was the same rule we’d decided on amongst ourselves when we’d come up with the idea. A rule we refused to break.
“What can we do for you tonight, Mr. Sterling?” Francescaasks me, clasping her hands in front of her. The gemstones on her rings alone are worth more than most high-end houses. She wears luxury well.
“Is Vicky working tonight?” I ask, sliding my hands into my pockets. I don’t need to specify why. And Francesca would never need to ask.
Francesca inclines her head ever so slightly. “I can inquire if she’s available to see you. In the meantime, we have a few viewing rooms open, if you would enjoy that?”
I shake my head quickly. I don’t want to watch tonight. I need something more. I need something to stop myself from thinking, to get me out of my own head.
“In that case,” she waves a hand toward the elevators, “you’re welcome to wait in your penthouse. I’m sure someone will be available to join you shortly.”
The penthouse suiteof the Second Circle is by far the most opulent of Alec’s rooms throughout the city. A private elevator takes me up to the room, and without thinking, I find myself heading over to the bar, taking my gun out of its holster on my back, and setting it on the glass tabletop.
I don’t enjoy drinking. Even when I’m dragged to Alec’s stupid fucking charity events and business parties where the bottles of liquor cost more than most people’s rent, drinking is a rarity for me.
I like my control. I don’t often give it up willingly.
But I’m feeling unsettled enough tonight that I don’t stop myself when I reach for a bottle of scotch and pour myself a good two fingers into a crystal glass. I swallow it without even tasting it, feeling it burn all the way down my throat.
Dull little Sydney has a dark side. It’s all I can think aboutas I pour another shot and bring the glass to my lips. Maybe she’s not such a perfect little angel after all. That little flash of anger, that spark of something more?
That was unexpected.
I’ve caught a few glimpses of it before. But this afternoon was something different. Not irritation, not anger.
Violence.
Sydney has a violent side.
The sound of the elevator doors opening makes me look over, just in time to see Vicky step into the room. She keeps her eyes on the plush crimson carpet at my feet, the picture of decorum.
