‘Just one drink,’ the man said. ‘And just for Danny.’
‘For Danny,’ Julian said tapping the flask in his pocket against his chest.
The man was just about to open the door wide enough to let Julian through when he stopped and his expression changed like angry thunderclouds that appear out of nowhere. ‘How did you say you know Mr. Da Luca?’
‘I didn’t.’
Venom scribbled across the man’s face as he attempted to slam the door. But Julian quickly slid his foot into the gap.
‘What about my drink?’ Julian said.
‘Mr. Da Luca’s not here today,’ the man said pushing the door so hard against Julian’s foot that it was cutting off the circulation.
‘What are you, his fucking mother? I know he’s not here. I haven’t been talking to the poor bastard in months. Not since he got locked up.’
The man relaxed his grip on the door.
‘So did Danny take all the hot pussy into the joint with him? Or you gonna move aside and let me in?’
‘I think you better go home and sober your ass up.’
Julian swayed his upper body in circles while keeping his feet locked on the ground. ‘You think I’m zrunk? How the fuck zo you think you are? Maybe you’d like to be the one zo tell Danny why you wouldn’t let Julian Harte in.’
Julian thought about using an alias, as his real name left him open to all sorts of trouble following him, but if the brute decided to search him, Julian needed his ID to check out. He’d worry about later, later.
‘Well, Mr. Harte, Mickey’s upstairs, how ‘bout we ask him what he thinks about a visit?’
‘You wanna wake up Danny’s brother, you go ahead, but I ain’t sticking around for the shit that kicks off. Mickey’s not exactly no mornin’ person, eh.’
Julian held his breath, hoping his bullshit fit the bill. Vertigo was a family run business, but that wasn’t well known, and Julian had noticed the curtains on the upstairs windows were drawn. He hoped Mickey was either sleeping or fucking, and either way, he wouldn’t appreciate being disturbed.
The man let go of the door and walked back down the hallway inside. He turned around after a second or two. ‘You coming or what?’
Julian closed his eyes and an image of Eva’s smile came into his head. ‘It’s like you read my mind,’ he said sarcastically and followed the brute inside, closing the door behind them.
Julian knew from the outside the place was big, but it was deceptively huge inside. The narrow corridor led to a monstrous open room inside. Fluffy purple couches dotted against a backdrop of deep crimson walls. The black marble floor was so finely polished you could practically skate across. The tiny specs of silver granite sparkled like diamonds in the overhead ceiling, which was simply one giant-ass mirror. Hoops and large silk scarves hung from the ceiling in various random locations. Some couches had cameras set up beside them and others were almost completely hidden by drapes. For the exhibitionists and the shyer among perverts, Julian decided.
Julian scanned the rooms as well as he possibly could, given the dim lighting. He didn’t spot any security cameras here. People must like to have a little privacy when they’re having sex in public. He tried not to smirk at the irony and remain in character.
‘Jesus, I’m not sure where zo start,’ Julian said sitting down on a nearby couch.
‘Not here, for fuck’s sake,’ the man said looking at Julian like something he had scraped off his shoe.
Julian threw his hands over his head. ‘Sorry, sorry. Where, zen?’
The man threw his head to the side, and Julian’s eyes followed to a narrow stairwell.
‘Most of the girls are sleeping off the last of last night’s dose. Some of them should be good to go in an hour or two. You can have a drink in the meantime Mr…eh?
‘Harte?’ Julian said. ‘But Julian is fine. Just call me Julian.’
Everything about this place made Julian’s blood boil. He knew the girls were here against their will. He hadn’t known they were drugged up to their eyeballs. Melissa was two years older than Eva. He imagined they’d probably been very close as kids. Played dolls together and all that stuff girls do. It hurt his heart to think of someone who was a part of Eva being hurt like that.
‘So, you got like a menu or something?’ Julian said leaning back further into the chair and throwing his feet up on a small coffee table in front of him, trying desperately to ignore the nail scrapings and splash of blood on the side.
The man tapped his temples with two fingers and looked like he was about to shit a cucumber or something. ‘We’re fucking closed. The guy who does the cocktails has gone home. Have a beer, for fuck’s sake.’
Julian slowly took his flask out of pocket and made four attempts to take the lid off before finally achieving success. He tilted the flask to his lips and gulped a large mouthful of fresh air and swished it around his mouth before swallowing hard. Then he laughed loud and hard. ‘Not for drink, mate. For the girls. Jesus.’
‘What do you think this is? A fucking buffet?’
Julian shrugged his shoulders.
‘Have you got the money to put where your mouth is?’
Julian slid forward to the edge of the couch and pulled a five hundred dollar bill out of his back pocket and placed it on the coffee table. The man smiled.
‘Fifteen minutes it is.’
‘Fify-een-mini-its? Julian slurred.
The man laughed and Julian could see a mouthful of gold teeth. It turned his stomach. Julian pulled out a handful more bills, and this time he slammed the money on the table. ‘I want an hour, at least.’
The man counted the cash mouthing each round figure and Julian stopped following when they reached five thousand.
‘Okay, you’ve got an hour, Mr. Harte. But with the amount you’ve had to drink, you’ve just bought yourself some very expensive impotence.’
Julian slid right to the edge of the chair, and almost falling off, steadied himself by the arm. The man laughed again. So far, so good.
‘I’m going upstairs. Don’t move.’
‘Get a brunette. Blondes give me the creeps,’ Julian said, clawing his way to sit back upright. Julian’s real life preference was a cute little brunette, but this scenario was about as far from his preference as it got. But without knowing what Melissa looked like, Julian was going with the nearest match he had, Eva’s hair colour. It was a long shot but worth a try.
‘I’ll get whoever is conscious and not too badly bruised after last night?’
‘Bruised?’ Julian repeated, the word sticking in his throat like a bad taste.
‘Yeah, some of the older guys get a little rough. You wouldn’t think the old dogs have it in them, but it’s actually very entertaining to watch them go at it like rabbits.’
Julian wanted to jump off the couch and punch this asshole in his steroid injected chest but he had to control his temper, even if it was going against every instinct he had.
‘You can get yourself warmed up while I’m gone.’ The man glanced at Julian’s crotch again and shook his head, laughing some more.
Planned reaction or not, this guy was pushing Julian’s last button. ‘Not down here. Jesus,’ Julian said.
‘What? You gone all shy now, Mr. Harte?’
Julian stood up. ‘I’m not shy; I just don’t need you staring at my cock when I’m fucking. There must be private rooms upstairs.’
‘They’re for VIPs.’
‘I’ve paid VIP rate, I want a fucking room.’ Julian’s voice was raised now and he almost forgot his signature wobble.
‘Okay, okay, calm down.’ The man glanced upstairs and Julian knew he was worried about waking his boss.
‘You get a room, but I’m cutting your time to half an hour.’
Julian extended his hand and the man shook it. ‘Deal.’
Upstairs was just like any exclusive hotel—thick crimson carpet, cerise walls, and oversized neon pink chandlers. If the look they were going for was ve
ry expensive canary vomit, they’d certainly pulled it off. Julian waited in the corridor for the man who’d gone to find a girl up for the job. Julian stayed well back, one hand behind his back holding the lift door open just in case it suddenly became very important to get the hell out of there quickly.
The man reappeared a few moments later and tossed his head toward one of the closed doors at the end of the long corridor. ‘Tamara is in there. Play nice, Mr. Harte. You have a half an hour.’
Chapter 17
The room was smaller than he’d anticipated, and it smelled delicious. Like lime and fresh cotton. Even in the confined space, the girl who lay sprawled on her back on the bed seemed so tiny and fragile that just looking at her might break her. She was definitely underweight, which was a stark contrast to her perfectly golden hair that fell in soft curls around her shoulders and her perky double D tits that spilled out over the top of her emerald green corset. Her weary body needed a good breakfast and some hydration, but her beautifully manicured exterior advertised ready for business.
Julian closed the door with his back, but he didn’t step any deeper into the room. She sat up, obviously hearing the gentle slam, and smiled. Julian smiled back.
‘Hi,’ Julian said only barely above a whisper.
She sniffled and wiped under her nose with her finger and Julian suspected she had either just snorted something or she’d been crying. He hoped it was the latter, but the spec of whitish residue just above her top lip told him otherwise.
‘My name is Julian. What’s yours?’
She licked her bottom lip and tossed her hair to one side. ‘What would you like it to be, Julian?’
Julian walked slowly toward the bed, gauging her response. He’d slept with more women than he could possibly count, sometimes more than one at a time, but he’d never forced himself on a woman. The thought of her thinking that was what was about to happen made him sick. He was seriously struggling to control his temper. His primal instinct told him to chase Mr. Skinhead downstairs and choke some sense into the sick motherfucker, but thankfully his common sense prevailed. He knew no good would come of him flipping out and certainly wouldn’t lead him to Melissa.
‘No need for games.’ Julian shook his head at the irony of his words.
The girl looked Julian up and down, and he could tell that she was surprised by his appearance. He’d dropped the drunken act since walking into the room, and he was his usual self now.
‘Okay, Julian. No games. My name is Tamara.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Tamara.’ Julian extended his hand. He was going to help her up but instead she shook it and laughed.
‘You’re a businessman, Julian,’ Tamara said, finally getting to her feet.
She was petite; the top of her head didn’t reach his chin, even in heels.
‘Yes, Tamara. I am.’
‘And you’re here to work off the stress of a busy working life.’
‘Not quite.’
‘Drink?’ she said walking with a slight limp over to a dresser that was higher at one side than the other and Julian noticed one of the legs had been broken. He didn’t ask how it got that way, but his imagination was running wild. He knew the damage was recent, this wasn’t the type of place to neglect maintenance and repairs, and Tamara had a nasty gash above her left eyebrow that she couldn’t fully conceal with make-up.
‘Let’s just get to it; I’m paying by the hour.’
Julian could see her whole body become a fraction heavier.
‘Of course, Julian. Let’s see what you’ve signed up for.’ Tamara turned around, took Julian’s wrist in her hand and twisted it toward the light. ‘Where’s your stamp?’
‘Stamp?’
‘Yeah, your stamp. How am I supposed to know how much you’ve paid for if you don’t have a stamp…I don’t know what package to offer you…’ Tamara stopped mid-sentence and a look of horror splashed across her face, but only for a second before she inhaled deeply and got back to the task at hand. ‘VIP?’
Julian nodded and Tamara dry wretched.
‘BDSM,’ Julian said, suddenly understanding that VIP status offered free rein. He didn’t like to think how freely that rein had been exercised in the past.
Tamara smiled, but it wasn’t hiding the sadness in her eyes.
‘Good,’ Julian continued. ‘I’m not into anything weird, but I do want to tie you up. Let’s start now.’
Tamara pulled the chair out from under the desk and sat down. ‘Do you want me to take this off first?’ she asked sliding her fingers under her bra strap.
‘No. Leave it on. Green is your colour. I presume you have something we can use?’ Julian was conscious of the time ticking by. He didn’t want to arouse Tamara’s suspicion by rushing, but he needed her restrained in case she decided to make a run for it as soon as he started asking questions.
Tamara tilted her head toward the top drawer. Julian pulled it open to find it full to the point of overflowing with condoms, sexy toys, whips, and chains but nothing actually useful.
‘Handcuffs?’
‘Broke last night, sorry. Did you bring your own?’
Julian snorted and shook his head, suddenly wishing he were wearing a suit, his tie would have been very useful.
‘I’ve changed my mind. Show me your tit,’ Julian said.
Tamara didn’t flinch at the request. She slowly slid one strap down her shoulder, ran her fingers across her chest, and attended the other strap. It was all very seductive and everything but really rather time consuming and inconvenient.
‘Here. Let me help’
Julian caught the front of her corset and ripped it off in one go. Tamara gasped. Julian took a sneaky glance at his watch. He’d been in the room for ten minutes already. That was nine minutes too long. He pulled off her stockings and she had to hold onto the side of the chair to make sure he didn’t pull her off along with the silky nylons.
‘Put your hands behind your back.’
Tamara did as she was told. She was shaking a little now, and Julian knew his sudden aggressive approach was scaring her. ‘I won’t hurt you, okay?’
Tamara’s eyes rolled and her body was becoming noticeably floppy. The drugs were kicking in. Julian had no idea how much she’d taken or what the hell it actually was. He hurried as he tied a knot in her stockings, securing her hands behind the chair and her ankles to the chair legs. He slapped her cheeks and her eyes focused on him again. It was doubtful the club had an exchange policy, but Julian imagined the fine print would read something like fuck the wasted chick or piss off home.
‘Too tight?’ Julian asked.
Tamara wriggled her wrists. She was still listening, she was still conscious. Julian pulled the duvet off the bed and quickly laid it flat on the floor. He dragged the chair and Tamara into the centre of the duvet; if she decided to kick and freak out, the duvet would muffle the thud if the chair fell.
Tamara’s chin dropped against her chest, and her head swayed from side to side. Julian looked at his watch again. Thirteen minutes now. Julian slipped his hand under her chin and pushed her head back up. Her eyes were completely rolled back and her jaw dropped open letting a deep throaty croak come out with every breath.
Julian had wondered how they managed to keep their girls here. It wasn’t as if it was some seedy underground secret society, with girls in dungeons shackled in chains. But it was just as twisted and fucked up, maybe even worse—this place actually masqueraded as classy. So, the girls had soft beds and fancy lingerie, but they didn’t have their freedom. At first, Julian thought the girls stayed for financial reasons because they had nowhere to go as an alternative. But he was seeing a much seedier side to this operation. Girls dosed up on fuck knows what and confined to a beautifully furnished bedroom cell all day. Stoned by day to be abused by night.
Julian loosened the stockings around Tamara’s hands and took the time to examine her wrists. Gaudy circles wrapped around her slender wrists. Some were old and faded to a dusty bro
wn, some fresh and red, and some that had broken the skin and bled, leaving new scabs behind. It was highly unlikely that every client Tamara had liked to play rough; these wounds were most likely from being tied to something for hours and hours on end. The black end post, on one side of the wrought-iron headboard, was chipped and sanded away to a dull grey. And all the pieces fit together. The handcuffs hadn’t been broken last night; they’d most likely been pinched off with pliers in the absence of a key just moments before Julian walked into the room. The hint of coke under Tamara’s nose was probably an ill thought out attempt to counteract whatever sedation had been pumped into her earlier.
Julian couldn’t leave her here. She needed to see a doctor. He looked at his watch. Fifteen minutes. He only had fifteen minutes left.
Red…orange…grey…
Red…orange…black…
Memories of the fire flooded Julian’s head. He could almost feel the heat, the smoke. The sensation was so vivid he wanted to double over and cough. He looked back at Tamara, mostly naked apart from a tiny black thong. He didn’t stand a chance of finding Melissa now, and he couldn’t leave this girl here. He was failing again, failing, and people’s lives were in his hands.
He was about to untie her feet when he noticed a tiny birthmark that look remarkably like a butterfly just above her left ankle. Fuck! He recognised the pretty marking straight away. He’d seen it before…on Eva’s shoulder. He’d never asked Eva about it, but it had obviously been there since birth. Something genetic that ran in her family. Melissa! Coincidences were not something Julian believed in. His eyes darted around the room, scanning all corners, but his head stayed still as if admiring the beautiful perky breasts on display. A blinking green light winked at him from one of the surround sound speakers in the corner. But there was no television or music system in the room. He was being watched, they had been waiting for him. This had been a death trap for them both from the moment he stepped inside.
Chapter 18
Julian took the flask out of his inside pocket and pretended to take another swig. His mind was racing to hatch a plan. He took off his jacket and hung it over the back of Tamara’s chair making sure the tail fell completely to the floor like a tent. He dropped to his knees and slowly ran his tongue across Melissa’s nipple. His hands reached around as if to grab her arse, but he dropped them behind her and out the gap in the back of the chair. He fished blindly for his phone in his jacket pocket, all the time paying attention to her beautiful breasts. She didn’t react. Julian could hear her breathe, but her breaths were becoming worryingly shallow and uneven. Finding his phone, he pushed his chest a little closer to her body. He needed to make sure his hands were hiding between the tail of his jacket and her ankles, his broad shoulders providing camouflage from the angle behind.
Change of Harte (Harte, #2) (Harte Series) Page 9