Page 9 of Tortured Eyes
Four
This place is all sorts of wrong. Women draped across the bar, scraps of material as clothes, and everywhere I look, men of power or influence are having fun. It makes me sick. The level of corruption in this city is only rivalled by New York. Although, that might be about to change with Vico’s death.
I sip my beer, taking solitude in the familiar taste, but resist the urge to down it. I need time and finishing two beers in thirty minutes doesn’t give me that.
After deciding to look into Logan Cane, the scarce information pulled me into a fact-finding hunt. No reports from the police in the last ten years. The information I’ve gathered is all old. Old leads, old rumours and old crimes. He used to be some kind of playboy punk, up to no good in all the usual places. All the latest stories have me looking at New York for Logan and not Chicago, which doesn’t make any sense, but he does still have this business in Chicago according to the state property records. A few grainy surveillance photos and some tabloid shots from years ago don’t give me a complete picture of who he is, but it's a new start, and I need to follow this through.
The fake squeals of a woman at the bar pierce through me like a gunshot, and I raise my bottle of beer and take a long draw in response. All of this makes my fucking skin crawl. I’ve been to Cane’s casinos and other establishments over the years. Everything about them screams wealth. They want people to know they provide the best, and so you're expected to spend in order to receive. This place is nothing like the glitz and glam of those.
This place is designed for sin.
Whatever your poison, this place provides it for you in abundance. A strip club doing just enough to keep from being a sleazy whore house. And that’s me being generous. Perhaps I should have been looking at the youngest Cane all along. But despite that, there’s no guarantee he’ll be here. All I can hope is that he’ll show up soon. Two nights in this dive and I want to burn it to the ground. Logan Cane be damned.
I keep to the far end of the bar at the back, away from the booths focused on the small stage to watch whichever whore is performing. The girls in this place look at me with disdain, but I don’t give a fuck. They can look all they want. They're not why I'm here.
“I'm thinking that mouth would look a damn sight better wrapped around a Champagne bottle, but if beer's your choice, let me get you another.”
I pick up my beer and drink it down, making eye contact with the asshole at the same time. Although, he doesn’t look like the asshole I was expecting. A guy in a smart suit leans on the table. He has a serious look about him, and I know he’s going to be trouble. There’s something about him, a familiarity to him that I can’t quite place. Doesn’t help that he's easy on the eye, either. Tall and broad. I bet under that shirt he's well built with solid muscles, and a happy trail I wouldn't mind licking all the way down.
Fuck. Not what I should be thinking.
“I’m good.”
“Yeah, I can see that. But I was hoping you’d have a drink with me rather than discussing anatomy.”
“And why would I want to have a drink with you?” I ask, halting the smile from tugging at my lips.
“People usually come here looking for a good time. I know that’s why I’m here.”
“Well, sorry to disappoint. Why don’t you run off to Little Miss Performer over there? She looks like a sure thing.” I nod in the direction of the stage and the table of guys all having fun.
He doesn't turn back to look, just keeps his gaze directed at what he seems to want: me.
“Well, as much fun as Becca is, she’s not the one I’m interested in. I’ve not seen you before.” He boldly slides into the space next to me at the table, forcing me to back up. It’s an aggressive move and one that should piss me off, not spark my interest.
“Make yourself at home,” I jest, rolling my eyes.
“Well, considering I own everything in this place, I will. Thank you.”
His comment stops my hand from grabbing for my beer. This is Logan Cane? I turn and look at him again, this time with eyes searching for the man I saw in the photos. All I see staring back is a sexy stranger with dark hair and a grin that tells me he can show me a good time. Totally fuckable.
“Baby, if you’re going to look at me like that, we better move this along to somewhere more comfortable. Or not. Choose a surface.”
I don't answer as his eyes travel brazenly over my body, mainly because I can’t find the words to complain. After all, that’s what I was doing a few moments ago. Logan Cane is bigger and older than I was expecting. Wider too. Tall, cocky and annoyingly handsome. He probably has all the girls dropping their panties in a heartbeat. Hell, he’s probably fucked all the girls here already.
“So, how about that drink then?” he asks, his eyes lingering on my mouth. I give him what he wants and slowly lick my top lip with my tongue, making sure he’s got nothing but the idea of me sucking his cock on his mind.
“Alright. I'll take another beer.” I could do with a second to gather my thoughts, but instead of stepping up to the bar, he just waves over a waitress to the booth.
“Martie, two beers.”
“Of course, Logan. Anything else?” She bats her exaggerated lashes so fast it’s like she’s trying to cool him down. I can’t keep my small chuckle to myself, which earns me a death glare from little Martie. Boohoo.
She breezes back off and returns in record time, slamming our beers down and sneering. Apparently, she doesn't like me. What a shame.
“You sure know how to make friends,” he says,laughing as he turns back to me.
I look away and focus on the bottle of beer I do not want. “I’m glad I amuse you, Logan.” I make sure my eyes lock with his, grim determination refusing to let him see the attraction hidden within.
