Page 3 of Cruel Debts
I lifted the corner of my shirt and showed him the pistol tucked in my waistband. “If I wanted to shoot someone, I’d have brought my other gun.” When he flinched back and moved to reach behind the counter, I shook a single finger at him in warning. “Now, now, your boss knows I don’t go anywhere unarmed. You’d do well to watch yourself around an original Guild member.”
He really looked at me like he thought I was kidding. I might have a good sense of humor, but I most certainly was not joking tonight.
When the security guard stepped in between me and the office door, I’d had enough.
“Tell your boss to come get me herself, before I kill you and step over your bleeding husk of a body on the way in.”
He puffed up his chest, acting tough. Maybe he thought that because I was leaner than him, I was a pushover.
I was not.
In about ten seconds, I had him on the floor, his arm bent up behind him as he groaned from the pain. My knee pressed insistently into the curve of his spine, and I leaned over him, snarling with the pent-up anger from standing in line for over two hours just to put my foot in the door. “You are messing withthe wrong fucking man, you half-rate rent-a-cop. Now pull your nightstick out of your twat and step the fuck back.”
The office door swung open, and out strode the shortest, most lethal little firecracker imported straight out of the East.
“Are you making a mess in my club, ?”
With her hands on her tiny waist, Minnie Huang stood at a whopping five feet, her jet-black hair filled with streaks of pink and red done up into an intricate braid she’d wrapped around her head like a halo. Her eyes, however, were filled with the devil incarnate, and she glared at me like I was a puppy who’d just pissed on her favorite designer rug. Reluctantly, I released her man, letting him rise from the floor as he winced and flexed his sore muscles.
I jerked my body in his direction, earning a flinch as Minnie stood there with a disappointed look on her face. Her thin lips drew down in a moue of disapproval at the scuffle, and just like that, I was being dragged into the office by a woman half my size, the door once again slamming shut behind me.
She stormed over to her desk, sat on the edge, and crossed her arms pointedly. “Why is it that every time one of you fucking Guild-ies comes in here, you make a mess of things?”
She gave me the boyish urge to rub my neck in shame. Thankfully, I’d had that bred out of me years ago. Instead, I stood my ground, like I knew Lilly expected of me. People like Minnie only respected strength and determination. Well, that and utter disregard for the law.
“You know why I’m here. We’re trying to track down a group of men responsible for human trafficking and the sale of stolen body parts.”
Her eyes narrowed. “And you think they’re holed up in my house?”
“No.” From the inside of my jacket, I pulled out a letter from Lilly detailing the contract we were considering taking on. It hadcome from someone way up the chain, someone who couldn’t afford to be outed. But people like Minnie understood discretion and confidentiality.
Well, that and blackmail.
“The mayor of Nocturna Beach put out a wanted list for every man in that file. They’re solely responsible for the missing girls from his Red Light district, one of whom was a relative of his. He can’t actively order the death of the people responsible, but hecanpay us to take care of it.” I handed her a second file, with intel on her business, and the illegal shit I knew she was doing behind the scenes. Nothing serious, just some tax evasion and blackmail of clients for cash. “I could hand over the things we know about you to the authorities, though we both know you’ve likely already paid them off. But some people might not take too kindly to knowing their information isn’t entirely safe in your hands.”
Now she wasreallyscowling. “So you’re here to blackmail me.”
“Not at all. I’m here to encourage you to let us plant a few informants in the club, on a nightly basis, to report back on movements of these targets of mine.” I slipped the files back out of her hands, unwilling to let her keep her sharp eyes on them a second longer. “Lilly St. Clair is asking for full cooperation, and in return, she’ll offer any services you might need, within reason.”
Minnie’s brows rose. “If I need someone killed?”
I pretended not to care. “Those details are between you and my boss. I’m just the messenger boy tonight.”
“Okay then, messenger boy,” she huffed, pulling three colored silicone bands out of her back pocket. “You and your buddies are welcome to enjoy the special feature on the house tonight, provided you stay out of trouble. I’ll be in touch with your boss soon to discuss the arrangement.”
I tipped my head to her with a wink and a smile, playing nice guy now. “Of course, Miss Minnie. We appreciate your cooperation.”
“Yeah, yeah, now get out of here,” she grumbled, waving me out the door. “Ugh, should have never gone out drinking with fucking St. Clair.”
The club was setup quite nicely, with a main floor for people who wanted to dance and mingle, and a basement, where the space was divided up into several rooms. There was a hallway to the back where I found none other than Liam and Hawke, their noses practically touching the glass that offered them a view of a feature room—the one, from what it looked like, that these special wristbands would get us into.
“What are you idiots gawking at?” I asked as people moved out of my way, subconsciously reading me for the dangerous man I was on vibes alone. “Didn’t your mothers teach you it’s rude to stare?”
Hawke shook his hair from his eyes, a hand reaching down to readjust himself. “Their feature performance is a girl doing full-body latex painting.” He jammed a finger against the glass, and I turned my attention to the woman in question, my eyes widening as I took in the scene.
A gorgeous, short, petite girl in what had to be five-inch heels marched around the room with a paintbrush between her teeth, her long, vibrant-colored hair tied up in a messy bun that already showed splotches of paint here and there among the strands. She was dressed in nothing but her own artwork, skin dotted with every color of the rainbow as she circled her current canvas—a tall, muscular man whose cock stood at anattention that would have made my old drill sergeants proud. He was dotted with lazy whorls and swoops of blue and green, and around the base of his cock, she’d started drawing what looked like a kraken, complete with tentacles and a set of jet-black eyes.
That was some impressive art. Not that I cared for the canvas, but the skill in the painting itself was commendable.
