M.J. was puzzled as she inspected the joint. Her rescues had made it sound like it was a gritty shithole with an abusive clientele. From what she could see, the black, purple, and chrome décor alluded to power, royalty, and masculinity. It was elegant, even with the half-naked women writhing around steel poles.
She walked over to the bar and took a seat. The male bartender, who wore a collarless tuxedo, approached with a smile and placed a coaster in front of her. “What can I get for you?”
She took out her wallet and thumbed through her money. She handed him a ten. “This is for a bottle of water.” Then she handed him a fifty. “This is for anything you can tell me about Dominic Isbecky.”
“You a cop?”
“Only if you’re a priest,” she quipped.
He smirked and licked his lips as he glanced her over. “Nah, baby. I’m no priest.”
She slid the money across the bar. “Then let’s talk about your boss.”
Dominic Isbecky controlled every aspect of his kingdom from his modern office on the second floor of Slick. His antique ebony chair, with its ornate design and dark red velvet upholstery, felt like a throne on the marble flooring. In contrast to the house music downstairs, classical music was piped through the sophisticated office. Fine art adorned the black walls, and an ornate stone chess table stood next to a window overlooking the Sunset Strip. The pieces, medieval in design, sat on the marble top with its gold filigree inlay, an unfinished game in play.
Behind his desk was a large painting with a depiction of Satan from Paradise Lost. Bronze busts and stone statues of demons and angels battling were placed around the room, completing the aesthetic.
Dominic raised his head when he heard the knock. “Enter,” he said, as he continued signing off on the paperwork on his desk. His doorman, who wore a tailored black suit with a black collarless silk shirt, poked his head through the door. “She’s here.”
He smiled. He loved it when things fell smoothly into place. “Thank you, Frederick.” The doorman nodded and departed. Dominic buttoned his own charcoal-gray suit as he stood. He headed down the long hallway, which led to a grand carpeted staircase that went down to the lower level.
He passed many doors as he advanced. Behind those doors were his real moneymakers. Unlike the downstairs area, where the girls were carefully vetted to be of legal age and clean of drugs or disease, the upper floor housed younger girls who traded life on the streets for a ten-by-ten room with a double bed, a TV with carefully selected programming, and a little fridge stocked with bottled water. There was little else, even clothes. Each girl was presented with a wardrobe of costumes to wear in the sanctity of the private rooms. None of it was decent enough to wear outside their rooms, and that was quite by design.
Those rooms had the same black walls as the rest of the building, with mirrors on the ceiling and closets filled with various toys and swings and bondage equipment, all tailored to fit the young occupant of each room. A customer who was given access to the Upper Rooms could pick whatever experience he wanted, and was given a key to the room’s closet. The girl was forced to comply or else would face Dominic’s wrath, which included a week-long stint in the Magic Room in his Hollywood home. After being deprived of food and sleep for days at a time, they tended to be a lot more accommodating.
Each room had a specific color, which was reflected in the art, on the beds, and in the lighting, and he handpicked each girl to fit the scheme. He was preoccupied with perfection. There was a brooding goth girl in the Black Room, an eager whore in the Red Room. Wholesome girl-next-door types occupied the Green Room, while more submissive girls were featured in the Blue Room. The White Room was for girls of color, and the Purple Room featured the King’s Experience: two or three of his best, most accommodating and adventurous girls and a round king-size bed covered in dark purple silk and velvet. His selected his choicest meat to fetch the highest dollar.
The sounds of sex filled the hallway, from passionate grunts to terrified screams. All was permissible in the Upper Rooms. For the right price, anyway.
He had a special affection for wealthy fetishists. Thanks to their generous contributions, he could pay off certain authorities and fend off any raids. It didn’t hurt that several of his customers held very high-powered positions within the city government. A cop or two here, a city council member there, congressmen, federal agents, and a long list of attorneys on his client list proved the old adage true: it’s not what you know, it’s who you know.
In the last ten years he had opened other nightclubs in New York, Las Vegas, Miami, and even Amsterdam and Bangkok, but Hollywood would always be his crowning achievement. It was where he had clawed his way from the streets to become king of all he surveyed.
And it was good to be king.
He was feared every bit as much as he was respected. He hobnobbed with celebrities, dined with presidents, and dated some of the finest women in the world. Most of this success was possible because he kept his legitimate businesses squeaky clean and above reproach. But he was also charming, powerful, and compelling. He was elegant, handsome, and suave. He may have been a spider luring victims to his web, but he was a spider most people wanted to get close to.
It made him all the more powerful. At forty-eight, he was at the height of his successful reign. There was no limit to what he could do.
He wore a confident smile as he sauntered down the stairs. Those sharklike dark eyes spotted the redhead immediately. She sat at the bar, enjoying her drink. Her back was to him, so she wasn’t aware of his stealthy approach. Or at least that was how it appeared. After the way she had finished off his boy in that alley, he knew better than to underestimate her. He parted the crowd that was writhing on the dance floor as he walked toward her, coming to a stop right behind the stool where she was perched.
“Mr. Isbecky,” she greeted without turning around. It made him smile. She was going to be fun to break.
“Miss Bennett. We meet at last.”
She spun the stool around to face him. She wore a black cotton and lace camisole that revealed the tip of a climbing rose vine sleeve that crawled up her arm and around across her chest. He barely contained his contempt, seeing how she’d sullied her body with such a thing. It made her uglier to him, as did the casual jeans and the dirty biker boots, and that infernal American flag she had tied around her wrist. “Perhaps next time you visit my club, you can dress more appropriately for the occasion.”
She smiled. Like she cared. From what she had seen, the dress code for females in this establishment was the more naked, the better. Yet the men, the ones in power, remained fully clothed. “I’ll try to remember that.”
“I’ve asked that they open a tab for you. My treat, of course. I recommend the champagne. Imported straight from France. It’s the finest in the city.”
She held up her bottled water. “Thanks, but I’ll stick with the water. It’s good to stay properly hydrated.”
He chuckled. “As you wish.” He nudged his toned body in between her and the other patron at the bar. His hard contours laid flush against her leg as if they belonged there. The look in his eyes defied her to challenge him about it. She simply uncapped her water and took a sip. She could feel how his stare lingered on her mouth. “So what is there to do in this joint?” she asked finally.
He straightened and offered her his hand. “To start, we dance.”
It wasn’t a request so much as a demand. M.J. acquiesced wordlessly and allowed him to lead her to the dance floor. He gripped her body close against his own, and his eyes darkened as they engulfed her. The music pounded around them like a heartbeat. When the music changed to a slower, more seductive song, he skillfully led her through a close dance. Their eyes remained locked as their bodies spiraled around each other like coiled snakes poised to strike.
His hand slid down the curve of her back toward the swell of her ass. Her jaw clenched as he cupped one cheek, the tips of his fingers brushing in between her thighs. He smiled wider
. Whether she was interested or disgusted didn’t really matter: the results were the same. He’d wanted to touch her and he had. She hadn’t stopped him, and in his mind she’d lost all right to do so moving forward.
Like every other human with a pussy, she belonged to him. Now they were simply negotiating on price.
“What do you think of my place?” he asked softly in her ear.
She glanced around. “Just as I expected. A gentleman’s club with absolutely no gentlemen.” Her eyes once again pierced his. “And by the way, your invitations suck.”
He chuckled. “Ah, but look how effective they are.” His eyes fell once again on her mouth. “Perhaps we could discuss it more in private.”
She shrugged. “Your dime.”
Again he chuckled, and he squeezed her ass. “I’d pay more than a dime, Miss Bennett. A lot more.”
He stepped away, curling his fingers around her hand as he pulled her from the dance floor toward the spiral staircase. The music still thundered in her ears as she hit the second-floor landing, but despite it she could hear what was going on behind all those closed doors along the long hallway. Those brutal sounds sounded more like what she had expected to find downstairs. There were gang members in matching dark clothes and expensive sneakers standing guard at either end of the hall, just like her rescues had said there would be.
“What are these rooms for?” she asked. He curled his hand around the back of her neck and pressed her forward.
“That, my dear, is on a need-to-know basis. And frankly, you don’t.” They reached the door to his office and he shoved her inside. He locked the door, lowered the lights, and kicked on the sound system with the touch of a button. “Make yourself comfortable, Miss Bennett.”
He assumed his position behind his desk, so she walked to one of the chairs on the other side. She flopped down and kicked her boots up on his expensive ebony desk. He immediately scowled, which made her smile. “You wanted me here and I’m here. So what’s up, buttercup?”
“You’ve been interfering with my business, Miss Bennett. And I don’t take kindly to that.”
“I don’t take kindly to your business,” she told him bluntly.
He leaned across his desk. “Too bad there isn’t a damned thing you can do about it,” he said. “Slick operates as a legitimate business. According to the law, and a litany of lawmakers, I am above reproach.”
Her eyebrow arched. “Even the second floor?”
“The second floor is not part of Slick. It includes private residential quarters for a few close friends. And I am a man who takes care of his friends.”
“Unless they’re female and underage, right?”
He shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t make a practice of hanging out with underage girls. But I’m sure you can tell me all about it. How is your young friend from the alley?”
It was her turn to shrug. “Dunno. Got her on a bus and got her the hell out of here the very night I met her. Just like I’ve done for at least two other girls who’ve spent time within these hallowed walls.”
He chuckled as he leaned back in his chair. “It’s amusing that you think I don’t know.”
“I figured you knew,” she corrected. “Come on. A smart guy like you? You just never cared until now. Which makes me even more curious why you’d care about this last girl at all. She was on the streets for a day, so she couldn’t have been one of yours. Unless it was some initiation gone awry,” she added, scouring his face for any tell. He was stoic, and his smile never changed.
M.J. stood from the chair and sauntered around his office, taking in the details of his décor. “So of course I have to ask myself what makes this girl different. Why is she suddenly so important?”
She stopped in front of his marble chessboard. Dominic watched as she studied the pieces thoughtfully. Finally she reached down and moved a piece before turning toward the window.
It took a minute or two, but finally Dominic slid from his chair and walked over to the chess board. He spotted her move almost immediately, as this particular game had been at a stalemate with his latest opponent. He grinned as he took the piece with ease. “It’s amazing what one day can do,” he commented. “Just one day in this jungle and that pristine young girl will be a tatted-out junkie giving blowjobs at chain restaurants near freeway on-ramps. Call me a romantic, but I thought I could help.”
“Help,” she repeated. “That’s a nice word for it. Do you have an upstairs room set aside for her, too?” His eyes glittered, and he let the comment slide. She glanced down at the chessboard. Within a minute or two, she made another move. Again, he took it with ease.
“But you were right about one thing,” she said. “A lot can happen in a day, an hour . . . or even a minute.” She quickly moved the knight into position. “It can even dethrone a king.” Her eyes met his. “Checkmate.”
There was a flash of irritation in his eyes and the barest hint of a scowl as he realized what she had done. She had set a trap that he had overlooked, simply because her original move had been so easily conquered. He scanned the pieces on the board to figure out how she had unlocked a previously unwinnable game so quickly. He crossed his arms and stared at her, trying to figure her out. Was this another game? Another trap?
If so, he had to sniff out her vulnerabilities. Where were her weaknesses? What mattered to M.J. Bennett?
She made her way to the door, and he crossed the two feet between them. “Impressive,” he said softly. “But no matter how clever you think you are, if you are hiding this girl here in Los Angeles, I will find her.” He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “We have unfinished business, and I am a stickler for loose ends. That means no matter where you send her, I can find her.”
Her eyes gave nothing away as she stared back at him. Finally he bent forward. “The same way I’ll always be able to find you.” He sniffed the air around her. “I’ve got your scent now, Miss Bennett. Believe me when I tell you that you don’t want me on this hunt. I won’t stop until I take it all.” His hand slid down the side of her face to grab her throat. The tighter his grip became, the bigger his smile grew. “Think about that the next time you put your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
She broke the hold easily, almost too easily. He laughed. “You entertain me, Miss Bennett. Such fire,” he murmured, touching the wild red curls that fell over her shoulders. “Now that I’ve met you, I might even consider a trade.”
“Bad move for your business,” she replied.
He stepped closer. “And why’s that?”
Her voice was smooth as silk. “Your clients can’t afford me.”
He trailed a finger along her arm and over her chest, just above the lace trim of her shirt. “And how much are you worth, M.J.?”
“I’m priceless, motherfucker,” she answered, her hand landing on the button on the side panel that controlled the door. It unlocked with an audible click.
He made no move to stop her as she left his office. But he followed her, and stood, arms crossed, at the end of the hallway and watched her depart, ensuring that the mysteries of his private rooms remained undetected by the meddlesome troublemaker. He didn’t go back into to his office until she had disappeared from sight.
When he finally returned to his desk, he called his doorman. “I want to know everything M.J. Bennett does and everywhere she goes. Got it?”
“Already on it, sir,” he promptly replied. “Sent our best guy.”
“Good. Very good.”
“Is there anything else you need, sir?”
Dominic grinned. “Which room is free?”
“Green,” Frederick answered. “For the next hour.”
He smiled. “That should be plenty of time.” He reached into a drawer for his key ring. There was a key to every room and for every closet. They jangled in his hand as he walked down the hallway, getting pumped by the sounds of sex he heard coming from behind all the closed doors.
He opened the door to the Green Room, where a young
dishwater-blonde girl lay curled up in a tight little ball on top of the dark green comforter. “Good evening, Tammy,” he said with a sick smile. “Have you been waiting for me?”
Tammy uncoiled her body, which still bore bruises and welts. “Yes, sir,” she said meekly. She was delirious from exhaustion and was fairly sure she had a concussion, maybe even a broken rib or two.
He walked to the closet to get a few toys, choosing ones that had inflicted the most pain on her in the past. He needed to hurt her. He wanted to hear her cry out in pain.
Though he planned to fuck Tammy like the dirty, filthy little whore she was, he knew he’d be thinking of a fiery redhead who would fight each and every thrust, and any restraints, like a wildcat. Breaking M.J. Bennett was going to be a lot of fun. He would take his time until she was nice and ripe, and then he’d exact his revenge for all the things she had done to his empire . . . just like he had done to her grandfather.
He had waited more than a decade for this day, but at long last Molly Joanne Bennett would be his to destroy from the inside out, while her grandfather spun in his grave. Best of all, her father, that bastard Dick Bennett, would be a witness to it all.
He grinned wide. It was so very good to be king.
He pocketed the keys as he approached the bed where his newest prisoner waited. “Good girl,” he crooned, caressing her face. His features hardened as he withdrew the whip. “Now bend over.”
11. CAN’T YOU SEE
“I’m not getting this,” Baby said, wobbling on the skateboard. She clutched Kid with both hands. “Maybe it’s time we admit I can’t do it.”
Chasing Thunder Page 12