Poker Face (Masks #4)

by Melissa Pearl

  It made me sick. Caity was not the kind of girl to flaunt it, and that outfit had to have her internally squirming for sure. Her blonde locks were piled onto her head, drop earrings tickling the tops of her shoulders. Her slender arms were covered in black leather, making me wonder what bruises lay beneath. I should have taken a better look at her in that bathroom stall. Her eyes were dark with black makeup and fake lashes, and her stoic mouth was painted blood red.

  “That’s your girl?” Dad asked out of the corner of his mouth.

  “No.” Rhodes and I answered in unison.

  I shot him a hot scowl. He cleared his throat and looked away from me, focusing back on the staunch party that was passing us. Caity kept her eyes straight ahead. I had a feeling that maybe she’d spotted me, but if she did, she wasn’t going to show it.

  She looked sad, defeated. A sick horror ripped through me as I tried to guess why.

  What had they done?

  My hands curled into fists and I made a move to go after them. Dad planted his hand on my shoulder, keeping me in place while Rhodes moved in front of me, blocking my view.

  “Get the hell out of my way,” I growled.

  “You can’t take off with her when she’s surrounded by three armed men, you idiot.”

  I sniffed in a hot breath, wishing Rhodes didn’t have his back turned to my lethal glare.

  “Come on.” He flicked his head. “We can at least follow her.”

  We ambled out of the club, even though I wanted to run. We stopped outside the main doors and watched as a limo pulled away from the curb. I wanted to jump on the back of it, like they do in the movies, punch a hole through that roof and carry Caity away to safety. But unfortunately, I wasn’t the Hulk or Superman. Damn I wished superheroes were real.

  A taxi pulled up and Dad nabbed it as the passengers were getting out. I jumped in the front seat and pointed. “Follow that limo.”

  It felt so Hollywood, except there was no thrill, just a sick foreboding. Where was Santiago taking her, and why was she dressed like a hooker?

  I squeezed the fabric of my jeans, picking at the hole that was forming on the knee. We drove for about five minutes, reaching the northern end of the Strip. The limo pulled to the curb, stopping outside a thumping club with the word Impulse written in blue neon.

  “Keep driving,” Dad instructed. “Eric, you’re not going in there, buddy.”

  “Excuse me?” I whipped around to face him.

  “That’s Marchant’s place. There’s no way I’m letting you in there.”

  I turned to the driver. “Stop the car.”

  “Keep going.” Dad tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Stop. This. Car.” I gritted out.

  The driver braked.

  “Keep going!” Dad shouted.

  The driver accelerated.

  “The club might be the perfect place to sneak her out,” Rhodes spoke before I lost it completely. “It’s dark, plenty of people. It might be an easy place to snatch her away.”

  I fought a grin. I liked Rhodes when he played my side.

  “We don’t know any of the exit routes in that building. We know nothing!” Dad argued.

  Rhodes shrugged. “So, we’ll scout it out.”

  “No! I am not putting my son within a breath of Marchant.”

  “Then leave him in the car! We can’t waste this chance!”

  “Marchant knows me, too. Neither of us can be seen inside that club.”

  “Then I’ll go alone.”

  “Like hell you’re getting my girlfriend out of there!” I whipped around to face him.

  “Seriously, now is not the time to be a princess,” Rhodes spat. “Who cares who gets her out, as long as she’s out!”

  “Stop the cab,” I spoke to the driver.

  “Don’t stop!” Dad barked.

  The cabby hesitated, looking at me sideways.

  “Stop the fucking cab!” I shouted.

  He slammed on the brakes and I threw open the door before Dad could grab me. Dodging traffic, I dashed across the road, ignoring my father’s irate shouts.

  Scraping past a group of girls, I narrowly missed knocking one of them over and ducked into the shadows. I’d been taking orders from those two all afternoon and Dad didn’t have the right to boss me around. He forfeited that chance when he left me at that Dodgers game eight years ago. And as for Rhodes…I shook my head with a dark mutter.

  Marchant was a dangerous man; his goons had killed Gramps. I wasn’t stupid, but I also wasn’t going to sit by while a prime chance to get Caity back slipped through my fingers. Dad and Rhodes wouldn’t be far behind me. I peeked out of my hiding place and couldn’t spot them right away. My guess was they’d assumed I dashed straight into the club, which meant they’d probably follow me in there—a risky move on Dad’s part. My guess was he wouldn’t take it. He’d no doubt search the perimeter for his stubborn son while Rhodes took the heat inside.

  Wiping my nose with the back of my finger, I crept down the alley, all senses on full alert as I made my way around the building. Climbing onto a stinking dumpster, I pulled myself over the high fence and dropped down the other side. The wire fence rattled and shook, sounding way louder than it should have in the dark alley. I winced and crept forward.

  Staying close to the brick wall running the length of the backstreet, I took in the lines of trashcans, steam oozing out from under the doors and the occasional bang of metal or hollering calls. It made sense that the kitchens exited out onto the back alley; that was one way in for me. I just had to wait until the right door popped open and then saunter through. I stopped to study the buildings, trying to figure out how big Club Impulse was. It looked to take up about half the block from what I’d seen of the front. I jogged down a little further and snuck across the alley, checking labels on trashcans and doors.

  A slow smile grew on my face when I reached the end of the row.

  Impulse was stamped clearly on the back door. I tried the handle, but it was one of those open from the inside only type ones. I stepped back, wondering how to play it. Did I knock and fake being the delivery boy or something?

  I looked at my empty hands and shook my head.

  “Come on, think!”

  My brows bunched together as I stepped back, hoping my brain would come up with a flurry of ideas. I had to think of something good. My girlfriend was in that club and I had no idea what was happening to her.

  “I’m coming, Caity. I swear.”

  Running down to the edge of the building, I found another narrow alley. My eyes saw the old, rusting fire escape. Jogging to it, I leapt high and caught the bottom rung, pulling it down and quickly ascending before someone saw me.

  Who said I had to enter this club on the ground floor?

  29

  Caitlyn

  The club was a dramatic insult on the senses. A throbbing beat pumped through the cavernous room. The dance floor was packed with gyrating bodies. I glanced down at it as we ascended the glass stairs to the upper rooms. Blue lights illuminated the curving walls and with dry ice machines puffing out murky clouds every few minutes, it was like looking down into a huge witch’s cauldron. Massive birdcages hung from the ceiling on chunky metal chains. Inside them were girls in fishnet stockings and bone corsets with their breasts popping out the top. Their hips swayed hypnotically, enchanting the drooling men below.

  I slowed my pace, staring at the girl closest to me. Her lips were turned up with a sexy smirk, but beneath that smile was a desolate face. Although she felt a certain sense of empowerment bringing men to their knees this way, it was tainted by an overwhelming shame and lack of worth.

  If only she knew she was so much more than a pretty bird locked in a cage. She deserved more than ogling eyes and constant catcalls. Didn’t every girl deserve a man who looked at her like she was a precious gift to be treasured?

  I thought of the pain on Eric’s face as he took in my beaten body, as if the wounds hurt him just as much as they d
id me. I thought of his promise as he kissed me goodbye.

  Bruno nudged me from behind, making me pick up my pace.

  My ankle curled in the high stiletto. I yelped.

  Snatching my arm, Bruno pinched tight, a silent warning to act like the hooker I was dressed as.

  I glared at him, trying to wriggle my arm free, but it was no use.

  Resigned, I put my poker face back on and followed Santiago up the stairs without a fuss.

  May as well get the torment over with.

  I had no idea what Marchant would want with me. The fact that I was dressed this way was damn unnerving. If Marchant was after my sight, why did I need to look this way? Was Santiago simply keeping his options open in case Marchant wanted more?

  I shuddered.

  I didn’t want to meet him. Since Monique told me where Santiago was taking me, I’d been whispering a constant prayer in my head.

  Please don’t let Eric follow me tonight. Please don’t let him follow me!

  I wasn’t sure how he spent his day, but I was certain that it would have been planning my rescue. Working with Rhodes was a good sign. Eric could be a little impulsive and Rhodes would be a logical, calming factor in the equation. He wouldn’t just rush in gung-ho. Hopefully between the two of them they could get me out of here, but not this night. Not when the risk was so incredibly high.

  Santiago paused outside a bright blue door, tapping his large signet ring on the wood. He caught my eye and seared me with a do as you’re told look. I gave him a stiff nod and he turned with a grin as the door opened.

  A curvaceous girl dressed in a blood-red bone corset stood before us. Her luscious locks of dark, wavy hair covered one of her ample breasts. I glanced away from her when I noticed I could practically see her nipple on the other side. My cheeks no doubt flamed with color when they dragged me past her. My breasts were just as exposed as hers; well, one of them was anyway.

  Holding my head high as Bruno pushed me into the center of the room was an effort. I felt like a model, thrust onto a catwalk, completely naked.

  Every eye in the room ran up and down my thin frame, but the only eyes that drew me belonged to a man in a white suit. He was on the round couch, his arms stretched wide with two little birds perched either side of him. They were also dressed in corsets that looked damn uncomfortable. I wanted to run my hand up my arm and cover my body, but that would just give away my fears.

  Instead, I threaded my fingers together and tore off the man’s mask.

  I had to assume it was Marchant. His greedy eyes only grew with fervor as he stood from his place and slowly approached me, pulling his jacket straight. His suit was super-fitted, his pointed shoes shiny. He looked like a middle-aged man of infinite class and dignity, his fine features and sharp blue eyes actually making him quite handsome. But I knew better.

  Behind that charming, cool facade was a darkness that surpassed Santiago’s...heck, even Bruno’s.

  I couldn’t hide my shiver when he circled me. His eyes soaked in every curve of my body. I could feel him mentally undressing me, and it took all my willpower not to run for the door.

  “Hmmmm.” He stopped in front of me, crossing his arms. His unmasked face told me I was pretty enough. He obviously had a thing for blondes and he really liked my blue eyes. My flat chest and pencil figure didn’t bother him. He’d take me.

  I swallowed, hating the lusty look in his eyes.

  “I can do better.” He was French. I could hear the accent straight away.

  “No, you can’t, Lucian.” Santiago moved from his place against the wall, a sick smile on his face. Placing his hands on my shoulders, he gave them a little squeeze and whispered, “This one’s special.”

  I swallowed.

  “Look into those blue eyes of hers and you’ll see.”

  With a skeptical frown Lucian Marchant leaned toward me, gazing straight at my face.

  “Show him.” Santiago tapped my butt and stepped back.

  I cleared my throat. “On the outside, you look skeptical. You don’t want Santiago to see just how curious you are about me. You play your cards close to your chest. That’s a strength you rely on.” My eyes bulged and I took a step away from him.

  A sharp wrath, spawned from insecurity, flashed across his face. He didn’t want his secret weapons to be revealed to the room. The fact I’d stepped back in fear confirmed to him exactly what he’d been guessing. I was seeing things others could not.

  “Leave us,” he snapped over his shoulder.

  His minions and flightless birds shuffled out of the room, throwing me odd looks as they left.

  Within a minute the crowded room consisted of five people—Santiago, Bruno, Marchant, his bodyguard and me. I felt like a zebra who’d just been dropped into a lion enclosure at some wildlife park.

  “How do you do it?” Marchant crossed his arms, his right eyebrow arching.

  I cleared my throat and glanced at Santiago before answering. “It’s a gift. I pull down a mask and I see what I see.”

  His jaw worked to the side and he pointed at his bodyguard. “Does he like me?”

  “Excuse me?” I frowned.

  Pinching my chin, he forced me to look at the large man standing by the door. “Is he loyal? Does he like me?”

  The guard’s mask came off easily. He was nervous. His unmasked eyes bulged wide, begging me to say the right thing.

  “Tell me the truth,” Marchant barked.

  “Um.” I swallowed, giving the guard an apologetic look. “He will do what you say, because you pay him, but...he does think you’re a jerk sometimes.”

  Marchant’s eyes narrowed and he turned to the brute. “Still angry over your sister, aren’t you?”

  The guard responded by casting his eyes to the floor.

  Marchant turned to me, his eyebrows arched even higher.

  I cleared my throat. “I don’t know the reason for his resentment, but if you did something bad to his sister, I can understand his feelings.”

  It was a damn ballsy thing to say and I don’t know why I did it. Marchant was an arrogant asshole. No one dared to question his decisions.

  Nerves skittered through me. His mottled expression grew darker, his pinching fingers on my chin that much tighter.

  “Hurting me won’t make you feel better.” I blinked.

  “Yes, it will.” His smirk was hideous.

  Flicking the layers of his mask back and forth, I could see that actually, underneath a very fine layer of self-loathing, was a metallic layer of self-satisfaction.

  Awesome. Another sadist.

  “You’re right,” I eventually mumbled, knowing the blatant truth would be the only chance I had to save my ass. “Other people’s suffering gives you relief, but it will never fully wipe away the past. No matter how hard you fight it, that thread of self-loathing that you can’t seem to cut will always be with you, and it will only grow thicker and stronger with each human you harm.”

  After an agonizing breath, he let me go, bursting into a hearty laugh. “Santiago, she’s like Sigmund Freud.” His laughter died down to a snicker.

  “I told you she was talented.” Santiago’s smirk was so damn irritating.

  “I don’t need a therapist.” Marchant threw his guest a dry look.

  Santiago pasted on a charming smile. “Lucian, of course you do not. What you need is a girl who can sit by you in business meetings, who can help you negotiate the right price.” He sounded like a snake as he hissed the last word.

  That caught Marchant’s interest. He tipped his chin at me. “How much?”

  Keeping my lips together and my horrified gasp in check was basically impossible. I couldn’t be sold to Marchant. I couldn’t! Eric would die trying to get me out and that would kill me.

  Santiago moved back to my side, skimming his hands down my body and resting them on my hips. I wanted to flick them off, but all my numb mind could manage was frozen terror.

  Please don’t say a price, Santiago! Please!<
br />
  “She’s not for sale.” He rested his chin on my shoulder. “But I will hire her out for business meetings and any negotiations you might have in the pipeline. She can also be used for interrogation.”

  Marchant liked that idea, his unmasked face gleeful. I shoved his mask back on, hating the malicious expression. His calm facade was a touch better, but not by much. Any normal girl in my position would still find him uber-creepy.

  “What are the terms?”

  “Ten-thousand an hour. You can do whatever you like with her in that time, but she must be returned to me in one piece. She’s no use to any of us if she can’t see straight. That means no substances.”

  “Sex?”

  Santiago shrugged. “If you must, but be aware there will be a guard with her at all times.”

  Marchant made a face that told the room an audience during sex didn’t bother him in the least.

  It was impossible not to react.

  “I’ll see nothing if either of you touch me.” I didn’t have the courage to shout the words like I wanted to, but they were loud enough to be heard.

  Both men smirked.

  “That is her constant threat.” Santiago smiled, brushing my hair over my shoulder and skimming his knuckles down my cheek. “You may want to conclude your business first, if you get my drift.” He winked.

  I opened my mouth to protest, but Santiago clamped his hand around my upper waist and squeezed. My bruised ribs screamed in protest, cutting off my words. I bit my lips together and he released me.

  Tears threatened, my throat thickening. I bit the inside of my cheek, warning myself not to lose it.

  I looked between the men. Unmasked, I could see their banter at my expense was covering up a thick layer of animosity. Santiago was out to make some big money off me and Marchant was his first client. Marchant would happily hand over ten grand for one hour of my time, but he had no intention of giving me back.

  “Okay.” Marchant slid his hands into his pocket. “I have a meeting here tomorrow night. Let me have her for two hours. If she delivers, I’ll use her again next week.”