Chapter 2

Bennett

Over the past week, I'd followed Richard Dalton to Parkston's seven nights in a row, usually late, around ten o'clock. I'd researched Parkston's On the Hill after the first time he led me there, but so far, I hadn't attempted to go inside. All I knew was that if Richie was hitting the place up every night, there was a good chance he didn't just appreciate the caliber of bourbon they served.

No, it had to be something else. Something that smelled a lot like business.

Mob business. And I wanted in. I'd made a few phone calls after the third day in a row following him here and secured a guest pass from a member who owed me a favor.

At nine-thirty, I watched the club"s entrance from my rented Ferrari on the other side of the street. I loved my truck, but it didn't fit in at a fancy place like Parkston's. As soon as Richie's driver pulled up in front of the club, he rushed around the black town car to let him out of the backseat. After the pair exchanged a few words, Richie headed inside with his big-ass bodyguard, Jake, in tow. I knew the goon's name because he followed Richie almost everywhere.

Although, I wasn't sure if the two were friends or if Richie was just too oblivious to notice that his primary muscle was constantly checked out and too far away to make a difference if shit were to go down. I figured he was more like decoration, a giant, muscle-bound fuck off sign. His driver took off, and I took a long, slow breath and swung the car around.

I pulled up to the valet parking, gave myself one more glance over, and stepped out of the car. "All right, Eric, showtime."

I'd fit right in inside the swanky club, but it didn't feel right to me. A suit and tie weren't my thing. Instead, I liked steel-toed boots, worn jeans, t-shirts, and my black leather jacket. Give me a ball cap and a pair of shades, and I was good to go.

However, for Parkston's On the Hill, I couldn't walk in looking like FBI agent Bennett Marshon. That look wouldn't fly. I was undercover now and needed to go as unnoticed as possible. I wasn't there to make a splash or a scene. My goal was simple. Contact Richie and strike up a relationship so I could shut his operation down.

I glanced down at my shiny wristwatch and smiled. "Just the ticket." I was betting on this baby getting me entry into places where my badge would only get me shot.

With another long breath, I squared my shoulders and set off inside the club.

I wasn't exactly sure what I expected. In my research, I hadn't been able to find images on the web of what the club looked like inside. It was all very private—almost like they didn't want you to know. But even pictures on the internet wouldn't have prepared me for what I found on the other side of the iron gates.

Parkston's On the Hill was a beautiful mansion sitting in the middle of seven perfectly manicured acres in the Hollywood Hills. The long driveway leading up to the cobblestone half-moon driveway made it clear that this place was not only upscale but very private. It took me fifteen minutes to check in, but it was a formality. But what I found on the other side of the door was far from formal.

The lights were low around the outskirts of the place, providing plenty of cover and alcoves for the guests. A dance floor filled the space, and lights flashed and popped over the people on the floor. The beats of the music—provided by an in-house DJ perched on a platform above—were sultry and seductive, practically piping sex into the room.

Surprisingly, every woman in the room was in a state of undress. I wasn't sure if they came that way or got half-naked after arriving, but a bare-skin buffet was on full display, and no one batted an eye. Hell, I had a hard-on by the time I got three feet inside the door.

From my research, Parkston's was a sex club with a swimming pool, a dance floor, and private rooms that could be used for whatever purposes a couple—or more—could dream up. I learned that at one point, a group of human traffickers ran girls through the place, but that had been cleaned up since then. Though looking around, it was still plenty dirty.

Just the right kind of dirt. My kind.

I'd never been to any place quite like it. Clubs, in general, weren't my scene, but as I made my way around the fringes of the club, I spotted a couple of half-naked chicks making out on the dance floor and decided that maybe I was missing out.

If I wasn't on the clock, I would've been content to blend in, watch, and zero in on the hottest girl. The one that had all the other guys watching her shake her ass. And I would've taken her home, fucked her silly, and left her alone just like I did Harlowe. I wondered if rich debutantes were as wild and free as pool hall chicks. The ones I let beat my ass at the table, so it wouldn't hurt them so bad when I let them down.

It would be a fun change of pace from the usual pool hall banter, flirting over a trick shot demonstration. Not that there was anything wrong with that. Worked like a charm.

As I circled the floor, I glanced around and noted that most people not on the floor were having hushed conversations in dark corners. I didn't spend too much time gawking over every detail. I snapped back into work mode and pushed down my own agenda. Maybe I'd come back someday. Tonight, I couldn't let myself get distracted.

A bar dominated a section opposite the dance floor, and I made my way over. Halfway there, a dark grin spread across my face.

Bingo.

Richie was chatting up the bartender at the bar—a pretty young thing with long dark hair, dark skin, full curves, and a killer smile. She clearly knew Richie and the two were carrying on like long-time pals. I wondered what she'd say if she knew who she was talking to. She deposited a bourbon in front of him—Richie's drink of choice, the higher the price tag on the bottle, the better, and I strolled over to the empty bar tool beside him.

Game on.

I reached the bar and cleared my throat. "Anyone here?" I asked, shooting a sidelong glance at Richie. I made a show of pushing up my sleeve and checking the pricey timepiece on my wrist.

"Damn! That's a nice piece," Richie commented, an air of respect in his voice. "Go on! Have a seat."

"Thanks." I grinned. I knew the watch would work. Damn, sometimes I was so good I scared myself.

"Yeah, it was my granddaddy's. He bought it after getting home from the war. After that, it went to my dad, then to me." I shifted my wrist in the glittering lights of the bar area, showcasing the vintage piece to perfection.

The whole story was a load of shit. I bought the damn thing on eBay. Cost me a mint, but it served its purpose. Richie was a sucker for vintage watches. The more history, the better. I took the seat, and the hot little number of a bartender turned her attention my way. "What can I get for you?"

"Bourbon."

Richie glanced over and gave me an appraising look. "Bourbon and that stunning timepiece? A man with great taste." He picked up his tumbler and chuckled. This was going to be easier than I thought.

"Yes, sir."

"Sir?" He laughed and raised an eyebrow at me. "Where you from? I hear a drawl in there. Kentucky?"

"Two for two." I grinned. The bartender poured me a glass that matched Richie's, except he was a swig or two ahead of me. "Cheers."

Richie lifted his glass and took another drink.

"Damn, that's good." I leaned back, casually spinning the glass on the bar as I looked around, taking everything in.

"First time here?" Richie asked, mimicking my posture.

I flashed him a smile. "Sure is. Helluva place. Nice looking crew, too." I flashed a sly wink at the bartender. She smiled and then rushed off to tend to people at the other end of the bar.

Richie watched her round ass as she went. "How'd you hear about the place?" he asked, not bothering to remove his eyes from the bartender as she leaned over the bar to talk to her customers.

"Couple of friends came here a week or so ago. They couldn't shut up about it. I was in town for business and figured, what the hell."

Richie chuckled and tore his eyes away. They landed on me, and he gave me another long appraisal. "Business, huh? Well, I don't think you'll be disappointed. They did tell you what goes on here, right?"

I nodded. "I hope the stories are true."

"You bet your ass." Richie rolled with laughter, the sound deep and foreboding, like thunder. "Ahh, well, you know if there are two people to give you a grand welcome, it's these two."

I looked over my shoulder to where his eyes went and spotted a couple coming our way. The man was tall, maybe had an inch or two on me, setting him in the 6'4 range. He had the broad shoulders to match, and while he looked relaxed, there was something about how he carried himself that immediately let me know he wasn't someone I'd want to meet in a dark alley. I mean, I could probably take him, but he'd get in a few good punches.

Dangling from his arm was a petite little spinner with golden curls and an easy smile. A black cocktail dress hugged her curves, and a flashy necklace dripped diamonds down her chest, the last of which settled right between her breasts. The man said something in her ear as they crossed the room, and she looked up at him, giggling, with a sparkle in her dark eyes that most men would kill for. A glance at her hand also showed a sizable diamond. Engaged. Married.

Whoever they were, they were loaded.

Richie flagged them over. "Reed, Paige, you have a new customer here."

Reed extended his hand and I shook it, his grip confirming my earlier suspicions. He gave me a warm smile. "Welcome to Parkston's On the Hill. This is my wife, Paige."

"Nice to meet you," the blonde said, shaking my hand once she untangled herself from her husband.

"Thank you. Eric Starr."

Reed nodded. "Well. Mr. Starr, if you need anything, please don't hesitate to ask. We cater to just about anything you can dream up."

Paige looped her arm back through his. "We do have some business to attend to, but again, let us know if there's anything we can do to make your visit a memorable one."

"Will do."

Reed gave a slight nod, and his wife looped her arm back into his, and they walked away.

"Nice people."

Richie nodded, his eyes still following them until they rounded the corner, out of sight. Then he turned back to me and downed the rest of his drink. "What kind of business brings you to our fair city?"

I turned in my seat, inclining my body towards his ever so slightly. I met his sharp eyes over his drink. "I'm a security consultant."

Richie smiled, the edges sharper, and his eyes narrowed like a cat on the hunt. "Security, huh? You say that like it's important. Or it's a cover for something…else, Mr…what was it again?"

"Starr," I replied, coolly offering him my hand. He was trying to ruffle my feathers, but I wouldn't let him. "Eric Starr."

He took my hand, shaking it firmly. "Richie?—"

"—Dalton," I interjected.

Richie's eyes flashed, and the muscles in his jaw twitched. I'd hit a nerve.

"I assure you, Mr. Dalton, my business and title are all legit."

He leaned back and signaled the bartender to bring him another round. "Hmm. So what is it that you do?"

"I solve problems."

The bartender swooped in and delivered another drink with a smile and a generous view down the front of her top. She wasn't wearing a bra. I tore my eyes from her before the sight of her rock-hard nipples got me twisted up. I was on the cusp. There wasn't any room for mistakes. Distractions.

One wrong move could prove to be deadly.