Read an excerpt from Inferno

In Inferno, passion burns hotter than hell…

“I wept not, so to stone within I grew.” – Dante Alighieri

Step inside Inferno and meet Dante Jardine, six feet four of satanic beauty indulging every vice at his disposal.

An ex-cop, injured on the job, Dante has buried all the grief and torment of his dark life in fire and ice. He lives in a twilight world of sordid encounters that leave him cold.

When a notorious rent boy is murdered in his nightclub, Dante finds his hellish world pried open by in-the-closet Moonlight Cove cop Zack Stewart and his partner Angela Keaton, his carefully constructed fa?ade ripped away.

Zack loathes the arrogant nightclub owner from the moment he sets eyes on him. Dante is obstructive, disdainful and, he is sure, frozen all the way to the core. As he investigates, all roads lead back to Dante and he becomes Zack’s chief suspect.

“You don’t want to see what sort of man I am in the dead of night when I’m all alone.”

Soon it becomes apparent the cops are looking for a serial killer targeting gay men and Zack’s priorities become more muddled the longer he is around Dante. He finds himself walking a dangerous road between being a good cop and giving in to his growing desire…

“I don’t know what I’m going to do with you, Detective Stewart. You’re a thorn in my side but I’m not sure I want to try and dig you out.”

Warning: Scenes of violence and murder. Historical child abuse. Drug abuse. Strong language and sexual scenes.

Detective Zack Stewart slammed his car door, not bothering to lock it. He crossed the parking lot, avoiding a puddle of vomit and a couple of used rubbers, and held his badge up at the uniformed officer guarding the door, grunting, still groggy with sleep. The cop waved him past the police tape and into the dark, sweaty club.

For a moment he stood blinking, staring into the depths of Inferno, the premier—and indeed, only—gay nightclub in Moonlight Cove.

That a town the size of Moonlight Cove—nestled somewhere between Dana Point and San Clemente on the southern stretch of the Orange County coastline—had a gay village at all was a source of great pride to its LGBTQ inhabitants. Sure, it consisted of little more than five bars but it was their own space, flying the flag for their sexual identity.

Inferno closed at five a.m. most nights. It operated a strict door policy and often ran men-only nights. Famous celebrities appeared there and competition nights gave away fabulous prizes. The place was the talk of the town.

It looked like Saturday night was still in full swing. The place was outfitted like a version of hell itself—all black and red, flames licking around the edges of the walls and up the spiral staircase, a mural depicting the nine circles of hell with quotes from Dante’s Inferno. Other landscapes showed naked men with men and women with women, entwined in a variety of sensual and explicit poses that made Zack’s blood run hot.

The front door might have been cordoned off to prevent anyone leaving or entering, but it was business as usual inside—heaving dance floors, half-naked podium dancers and gratuitous sexual displays around each corner. Zack swallowed and tried to remain calm and detached as he saw his partner with relief and hurried to greet her.

“Angela, it’s four in the fucking morning.”

“The night’s young,” the attractive blonde detective said with a wry smile. “Homicide in the alleyway outside. White male.”

“Lead the way.”

He weighed up the options as he followed Angela past the dance floor and restrooms, down a long corridor and out of a fire exit. Lover’s tiff, drinking gone wrong, jealous bar-fight, that kind of thing.

Zack squinted into the spotlights set up. The crime scene was taped off and scenes of crime in white suits meandered around.

“Angela, Zack,” said the pathologist, straightening up. He was a rugged man in his sixties, brusque and to the point, but good at his job. Suspicious deaths weren’t frequent in Moonlight Cove and he made no secret of the fact he loved to get his teeth into a good homicide.

“Eric.” Zack’s gaze strayed to the thin, blond-haired figure on the ground. “What can you tell us?”

“Preliminary: white male, approximately five feet nine, one hundred and twenty pounds. Been dead around two hours. Driver’s license id’s him as Corey Breton, age twenty-seven. Money in his wallet, watch still on his wrist, one cell phone, switched off.”

Zack crouched down at the victim’s head, looking at the swollen, congested features and staring eyes.

“Ligature mark around the neck. Strangled from behind,” Eric said. He nodded at a torn pair of briefs discarded on the ground. “The murder weapon.”

“His own?” Angela asked, glancing at the white material.

“I’d say so. Slight marking around his hips from elastic indicate he’d been wearing underwear.”

“Was he raped?”

“I’m hesitant to say. There’s some blood. I’ll do a proper examination downtown but the killer wore a condom and there’s evidence of lubricant around the anus. Not usually the actions of a rapist and not just that, but there’s semen on the wall.”

Angela and Zack looked at each other. “He came before he died?” Angela asked.

“Yes. Brick dust under his nails consistent with being held against the wall during sex.”

Zack stared down at the corpse. “Rough sex gone wrong? Trying to get off with some asphyxiation and his partner accidentally kills him?”

“Possibly,” the pathologist said.

“I’ll run a check.” Angela straightened up and walked away, talking into her phone.

Zack glanced around the crime scene. Dry ground, no footprints. He leaned closer to the wall, wondering if the rough bricks might have snagged some fibers from the murderer’s clothes. All in good time. Let the crime scene unit do their job and he’d do his. Hard enough at four in the morning.

Back inside the club by the restrooms, a uniformed policewoman was comforting a crying young man.

“I take it you found the body?” Zack asked.

The man looked up, blue eyes swollen. He was about twenty years old, attractive in a gauche kind of way. He straightened up, checking Zack out, giving a wan smile. “Yeah. The bathroom was heaving so I ran outside to take a leak. Almost tripped right over him.” He sniffed and wiped the back of his hand across his nose. “It’s so horrible.”

“Did you see anyone?”

“No.”

“All right. Give the officer your details and we’ll be in touch if we need you again.”

The man nodded and Zack wandered back outside. He blinked as he walked under a spotlight. He looked up and spotted a camera above the fire exit.

He’d managed to get his hands on a cup of coffee and was standing watching the body being zipped into a bag when Angela joined him. “He’s got a rap sheet,” she said. “Two arrests for drug possession—crystal meth—with intent to supply. Three arrests for soliciting. Suspended sentences or a fine every time.”

Zack sipped his coffee. “So, robbery wasn’t the motive unless our killer took his stash. But they had sex. Maybe it was consensual. Perhaps things just got out of hand?”

“Maybe,” Angela said. “You spotted the CCTV?”

“Yeah. Let’s go see who’s in charge here.”

The bar manager, Anthony, escorted them up the stairs. Men walking down eyed Zack and he flushed, feeling hungry stares checking out each part of his anatomy. As they reached the second level balcony, Angela grinned at him. “You’ve got a few admirers.”

Zack worked out three times a week and kept himself well-groomed, his dark hair regulation short, his face closely-shaved, but all his efforts were wasted: he was married to the job. He found some of the men looking at him attractive and had to fight the urge to stare right back. This was one secret he had yet to share with anyone at work. He suspected Angela knew but was waiting for him to say something. He wouldn’t be coming out any time soon. What was the point in stirring up trouble for himself when he was virtually celibate anyway?

Anthony led them along the next landing and up a second flight of stairs marked Private. Staff Only. He knocked on a door and opened it when a deep voice bade them enter. Angela thanked him. As he walked away, he glanced back over his shoulder and winked at Zack.

Angela rolled her eyes. “Every guy in this place is falling over themselves for you.”

Zack said nothing. He straightened his tie, grasped the handle and pushed open the door.

The owner of Inferno rose from behind a mahogany desk and Zack instantly forgot any of the men who had just looked at him. His glance turned to a stare.

The guy was in his late thirties or early forties. He was taller than Zack, around six feet four with a broad-shouldered, worked-out physique that filled his tailored black suit. His hair was jet black and slicked back from his satanically handsome face. A stark black beauty mark stood on one cheek, drawing the gaze.

Zack couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t look away. He couldn’t think of a more fitting person to own Inferno. The man looked like Lucifer himself.

The fallen angel walked around the desk—with a slight limp, Zack noticed—and his big body dominated the room. He looked the two of them over, his gaze lingering on Zack. “Dante Jardine,” he said.

“I’m Detective Keaton, this is my partner Detective Stewart,” Angela replied.

Dante shook their hands. His grip was firm and solid, his hand large. His eyes were a startling violet, at odds with his black hair and pale skin. He appraised Zack with a cool gaze.

Zack made sure to draw his hand back as soon as he could without appearing rude. He felt intimidated and didn’t much like it. “You know about the murder?”

“Please have a seat.” Dante gestured to the two chairs in front of his desk and waited until they’d sat down before he settled back into his own chair. “Yes, I know. Dreadful business.”

“I’d expect you to be down there in the alleyway, not hiding up here in your office,” Angela said.

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t trample all over your crime scene. I’m safer up here.” Dante’s tone was smooth and calm. He smiled from rather cruel, if sensual lips, the beauty mark stretching, the smile not reaching his eyes

Something about his aloof manner made Zack bristle. Before he could speak, Angela stood and leaned across the desk with her phone. “This is the victim. Do you know him?”

Dante glanced at the photo. “Not exactly. He was a regular. I’d seen him around the club.”

“Do you know anything about him?”

Dante arched a sardonic eyebrow. “About his lifestyle you mean? He was a whore who sold drugs.”

Zack glowered at him. “You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.”

Dante looked chastened. “Forgive me. He didn’t deserve to come to such a nasty end.”

Angela took over again. Maybe she sensed Zack’s antipathy. “So you allowed him to sell drugs and solicit for business in your club?”

“Of course I didn’t. He was frisked every time he came in. He hadn’t been caught with anything on him for a while.”

“Why didn’t you just ban him?”

Dante shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Like fuck you don’t. There was more to this than met the eye. Zack stared at him.

A small TV on a table in the corner of the room showed a black and white image of the activity in the alleyway downstairs. “Who watches your CCTV? Just you?”

“Usually, yes.”

“You mean you don’t have your security people keeping an eye on it during the night?”

“I don’t find that necessary.” The club owner’s tone was blasé, almost bored.

Zack clenched his teeth. “I don’t think much of your security precautions here at all. Perhaps I’ll have a word with a few people I know.”

Dante paled, his eyes narrowing.

“Where were you this morning at around two o’clock?”

“Here,” Dante said between his teeth, his expression stony now, his gaze fixed on Zack.

“Can anyone vouch for that?”

“Plenty of people. I had phone calls. The bar manager came up. Then the door manager. I was called around three-thirty when the body was found.”

“You’ve been up here all night?”

“No, I was down at the bar till about midnight.”

The two men stared each other down until Angela broke the silence. “We need to see the CCTV footage from the time the club opened.”

Dante pushed his chair back and stood. “Knock yourself out.” He moved to the desk where the TV sat and rewound the tape. “It starts at ten p.m. Shall I get some popcorn?”

Zack ignored him and focused on the circle of light outside the fire exit door. From time to time, crime scene investigators walked past, their white outfits glowing.

“Doesn’t it pan down the alleyway?”

“No. That’s it.”

“Your camera is fixed above the door and just films that spot?”

“Yes. It does the job, doesn’t it? It’s supposed to capture the face of anyone breaking into the club. I’m sure it will show the face of your murderer. If there’s nothing else, I’ll leave you to it.”

“Oh no,” Zack said, rising to his feet. “You can stay here while we watch.” He crossed the room and put himself into the club owner’s personal space.

Dante stared down at him. He was around four inches taller. They were so close Zack could smell the spicy, intoxicating scent of his cologne. Despite himself, he felt a stirring of arousal. “Take a seat, Mr. Jardine,” he said before he turned his back on the club owner.

Angela took charge of forwarding the tape. Zack leaned on Dante’s desk and watched, stifling a yawn. The tape wound on at a good speed but it still made for tedious work watching four hours’ worth of the small circle of light.

Angela perked up when a black shape slinked up to the door, nosing around. “Cat burglar?” she joked over her shoulder to Zack who glared and said nothing, not in the mood.

As the time on screen clicked around to nearly two a.m., something happened. Angela stopped, rewound, then played the tape. But it was just as obvious in play mode what was going on. A shadow fell over the circle of light before the camera went black.

“Son of a bitch put something over the lens. He knew it was there.” Zack turned around to look at Dante.

Dante frowned. “And you’re looking at me, why? Am I being accused of something here?”

“Is there a fire escape down to the alleyway from this floor?”

“Yes. At the end of the corridor.”

“Ever been down it?”

Dante’s face was like ice. “I don’t know. Maybe. I own the place, don’t I? I’m getting tired of the interrogation, Detective. Should I call my lawyer?”

Zack shrugged. “If you feel you need one.”

The two men eyeballed each other.

Angela stepped in. “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Jardine, we’re just asking questions, that’s all.” She shot a warning look at Zack. “Why don’t we see what time the camera was uncovered?”

Zack turned back to look at the TV. Angela forwarded the tape again until the item blocking the lens was removed at two-fifteen.

“Okay, so our murderer went back into the club at two-fifteen. Someone must have seen him come back in.”

“Not necessarily,” Dante said. “There’s an entrance on the corridor to the fire exit from the back room. If he went back that way, nobody would have noticed. It’s kind of, er, dark in there.”

Zack regarded Dante for a long moment. “The back room? Do I want to know what goes on in there?”

Dante smirked. “I don’t know. Do you?”

Zack clenched his jaw. “Do you have CCTV in there?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“In the corridor to the fire exit?”

“No.”

“All right, that’s it.” Zack marched to the door and wrenched it open. “Jerk us around as much as you want, Mr. Jardine, that’s fine by me.”

Angela ran after him. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for witnesses.” With his jaw set, Zack set off down the stairs. He glanced back to the third floor landing to see Dante standing at the railing, pale and angry.

“Detective, if you lose me business, I swear I’ll sue you for every penny you’ve got.”

“Expect around fifty dollars then,” Zack said. He charged down the next flight to the ground floor and stood looking over the dance floor a moment. “There,” he shouted to Angela over the ear-splitting dance music, pointing to a black door.

Zack banged the door open. The first thing that hit him was the dark, then the heat and the smell of sweat. The next thing was the noise. Without warning, the hair on the back of his neck stood up and his cock stirred. He pulled a small flashlight from his pocket and switched it on, surveying the darkness, raising his voice.

“My name is Detective Stewart from Moonlight Cove PD. There’s been a murder outside this club in the alleyway behind this room. We are looking for witnesses. Nobody is to leave until they have been questioned.”

His jaw dropped at the scenes his torch lit up.

“For fuck’s sake, Zack,” Angela muttered behind him.

In every corner, against every wall, couples and multiples were entwined, sucking and fucking. Zack thought he had stepped into a Roman orgy. He had never seen anything like it in his life, but then he had never frequented anywhere like Inferno before.

“Detective, have you seen enough or should I snap a few photos for you to take home?”

Zack wheeled around. He grabbed a handful of Dante’s jacket and propelled him back, pinning him against the wall. “You and I are going to go back up to your office and have a nice chat, starting from the beginning,” he hissed, flashlight shining full in Dante’s face. “And you can give me a reason not to close you down right now.”

Dante stayed still in his grip, his eyes flashing—startlingly violet, like jewels—pupils constricted to pinpoints. “I’ll be calling that lawyer after all.”

“You do that.” Zack let him go and stalked out of the back room.

Angela caught up with him by the dance floor. “What the fuck are you doing?” she shouted above the music. “Do you seriously like him for this?”

“I don’t know.” Zack ran a hand through his hair, unsteady with the after-effects of adrenaline. Christ, the things he’d seen. “Don’t you?”

“Not really. He’d have to have one hell of a good motive to start murdering his clientele.”

“Look, someone’s been murdered and he doesn’t give a fuck.”

“He’s just a cold fish. Doesn’t mean he did it. You were out of line back there, you know that.”

Zack stared at her a moment. He didn’t bother to deny the accusation.

“You should go home. I’ll wrap up here for tonight.”

“No.”

“Yes. The guy’s going to be all lawyered up and what will we achieve? Nothing. I’m going to do some damage limitation and you’re going to go back to your beauty sleep.”

Zack sighed. “I want a background check on the bastard. I want CSU to go over the fire escape leading from his office to the alleyway, got it? Let the fingerprints and fibers do the talking. And I want every dumpster in that alley and every inch of this club checked for the killer’s condom.”

“Okay, fine. Now go.”

Zack glanced up the stairs. Dante stood on the third floor landing looking down at him with an unreadable expression on his face.