Hard Justice

by April Hunt

  “You’re right. I don’t.” Charlie moved forward until her shoes bumped his. “But I’d bet Gregor they have something to do with your quicksand. Be careful, Navy. While you’re trying to measure how deep mine is, you’re already knee-deep and sinking fast in your own.”

  Boiling point fucking achieved. They moved at the same time, their bodies clashing together in a tangle of mouths and hands. Vince gripped Charlie’s hips, holding her against his as he walked them against the nearest wall.

  “You drive me fucking crazy,” Vince muttered against her mouth.

  “Feeling’s mutual.” Charlie took his lower lip between her teeth in a playful nip.

  Vince growled. His fingers bumped the silver hoop in her bellybutton and glided up her bare torso. Her skin, like silk over his palms, was all beautiful, sleek curves. Her breasts, covered by her cotton sports bra, fit perfectly in his hand.

  “What the fuck are we doing?” Vince stroked his thumb over her hardening nipple.

  “Don’t know. Don’t care.”

  Fuck, neither did he—and that was goddamned dangerous. Shit happened when he didn’t keep a lid on his emotions.

  Vince gripped her hair, holding her still as his tongue slipped into her mouth, but with the release of a breathy moan, she stole his control. He palmed her ass, and her legs, already opening, wrapped around his waist. Hiding his raging hard-on became an impossibility because it pushed through his shorts and rubbed against her abdomen.

  Charlie sucked in a quick breath. “Oh hell. This is a bad idea. A really, really bloody bad idea.”

  “The fucking worst.” Vince dragged his mouth over her jaw. “Goddamn…you smell like fucking flowers and you’ve been down in that gym for hours.”

  Charlie arched, exposing the line of her neck to him even more. He nibbled and licked, enjoying the faint sting of her fingers digging into his shoulders. She anchored her body against his and swiveled her hips. The provocative move brushed her mound against the tip of his erection.

  Vince ran the backs of his knuckles against her stomach and lower, making her tremble, right before he paused at the band of her stretchy pants. “One quick release. We’ll burn this off and let it fizzle out. No discussion or play-by-play. Then we go about our business.”

  Panting, she pulled back just enough to unzip his pants and cup his aching cock. “Both of us.”

  Charlie’s small fist wrapped around him and coaxed out a reflexive thrust.

  Under normal circumstances, he’d fear for his fucking nuts having her this close to his genitals, but what was happening right then was anything but normal, and the only thing on his mind was Charlie’s pleasure.

  He breached her pants and received yet another shock to his system. “What the fuck are you wearing? Silk?”

  A coy smirk pulled up the corner of her mouth. “Just because I don’t like pastels doesn’t mean I don’t like nice things.”

  Vince dipped one finger through the damp folds of her pussy. Drenched. She was soaked through and getting wetter with each stroke of his fingers. When he brushed his fingertip against her clit, she pumped his cock. When he paused, she paused. They brought each other to the brink of their restraint and back, teasing. Tormenting. It was the best goddamned way to lose track of time—and reality.

  Vince pushed his finger deep into her tight sheath, enjoying the way her body immediately clamped down, and pumped once…twice. After her body adjusted, he inserted a second, then a third. For every few thrusts, he gently rubbed her clit, and Charlie, beginning to squirm in his arms, gave the same degree of attention to his throbbing cock.

  Her hand slid up his shaft from root to tip, slickening his rod with pre-come on the downward plunge. So slick. So good…not as good as being buried inside her would be, but they were rocking the goddamned boat of professionalism as it was.

  Vince took her mouth in a kiss. Who needed to fucking breathe? They kept at it, their heavy breathing and damp bodies the only sounds in the room.

  Her body tightened around his fingers, her hips moving faster.

  “I’m not going to last much longer,” Vince growled out against her mouth.

  “Good, because I’m not lasting at all.” On his hand, Charlie erupted. Head falling back against the wall, she rode out her orgasm and took him along with her in two more firm pumps.

  Goddamn, he didn’t think he could come this much, or this long. As he continued to empty himself, Charlie’s body trembled in his hands. He rubbed her clit in soothing circles as they both road their highs back down to earth.

  “Holy hell.” Vince dropped his forehead to the wall just above her shoulders. Her heavy pants pushed her chest against his, and when he regretfully removed his hand from her panties, her moan made him go half-hard all over again.

  It took everything in him not to carry her into the bedroom, where they could keep exploring this very bad idea.

  “Well”—Charlie smirked, still breathless—“I’m not an expert or anything, but I think that was more stress-relieving than tai chi and running any day of the week.”

  It was. And that was going to be a huge fucking problem.

  Chapter Twelve

  Charlie had found it impossible to sleep the night before. She’d tossed and turned, her mind too busy worrying that Vince would have another nightmare to truly fall into a deep sleep. And in the scant few seconds she managed to stop distressing about that, her thoughts leaned in the direction of their argument—and the wall interlude.

  She still wasn’t sure how that had happened, or how she’d managed to stay conscious after what was easily the best orgasm she’d ever had. The best, and it was handmade—pun intended. Now that the memory was hers to tuck away for cold, lonely nights, she and Vince could get back to business—and coffee.

  Luckily for her, this morning linked them both together.

  Sarah Yingst, the young twenty-two-year-old Miami barista who’d witnessed her friend’s kidnapping the night before, was, curiously, already back at work.

  Catering to both tourists and the social elite, Brewed Awakenings boasted not only the best domesticated coffee in the city, but international roasts too. The line escaped the shop’s front door, making those at the end stand out in the ridiculous Miami heat.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Vince adjusted his sunglasses, and glared at the long line. “There’s a million coffee shops around here. What makes this place so freaking special that half the goddamned city’s here?”

  “They serve kopi luwak coffee.”

  Vince aimed his sunglasses her way. “Did you just fucking swear at me?”

  “Do you know what kopi luwak is, Navy?” She couldn’t help but tease.

  “Coffee, I’m guessing.”

  “Expensive coffee. Coffee made from a bean that’s partially digested by an Asian civet.” At his continued blank stare, she added, “It’s a catlike weasel.”

  “So basically, the coffee here is literally shit coffee and everyone’s insane.”

  Charlie laughed at his horrified expression, linking her arm through his. It was an automatic reflex and, as soon as she started to pull away, he locked it in place by pulling her closer. At her questioning look, he shrugged one broad shoulder. “We’re on constant display. Eyes everywhere.”

  Right. Their cover. They needed to touch, sometimes to an extensive degree. But one thing that didn’t necessarily need to happen was the ease with which it came. Leaning against him and joking around felt…comfortable.

  But she couldn’t afford to dive into hidden meanings.

  “When we get up there, let me talk to Sarah,” Charlie requested. The line moved another couple of feet.

  “Okay…but why?”

  “Because I’m me and you’re…” She ran her gaze up and down his massive body, pausing at the tattoo-covered arms she secretly lusted over. “Well, to put it bluntly, you’ll scare the girl mute.”

  Vince bristled. “I’ll have you know that I’m a very approachable person.”
<
br />   Charlie’s laugh ended with a snort. “Approachable like a skunk. Wait, no. You smell too good to be a skunk. A cobra maybe. Or a rattlesnake.”

  “You think I smell good?” Vince’s lips twitched.

  Yes. “No,” she lied before shutting her mouth and pretending not to hear the jerk chuckle.

  With twelve baristas manning the counter, the line moved fast. Thirty minutes after their arrival, Charlie placed their orders for two coffees—sans Asian civet droppings. Sarah Yingst stood at the register, her long, dark hair and blue eyes identifiable from the photo Logan had emailed the night before.

  “That’s twelve-fifty.” Sarah extended her hand for the money, not even looking up.

  Charlie handed over the cash and waited a beat. “You’re Sarah, right?”

  Sarah’s attention finally lifted. Dark rings circled her blue eyes as she gave Charlie, then Vince, a wary appraisal. “Yeah. Do I know you?”

  “Nope. We were hoping to talk to you—about last night.”

  Sarah glanced around the room, her anxiety skyrocketing. “I can’t talk about last night. Who are you? Cops? I already told you everything I know.”

  “We’re not cops. But if you can take a break or something, I really think you can help us.”

  Sarah bit her lower lip, looking nervous. When Charlie thought she’d tell them to take a hike, she gave a faint nod and headed toward an older woman stocking supplies. They talked for a minute before Sarah headed out from behind the counter, her purse in hand.

  “Not here.” Sarah gestured toward outside.

  “Show us the way,” Charlie agreed.

  Sarah led them across the street to a small urban park. People ran by on the trail and, off to the left, a group of kids tried to erect a kite into the breeze. The young woman settled on a park bench, her purse tightly clenched in her hand. Charlie sat next to her, but Vince, ever watchful, remained standing, no doubt keeping an eye on everything around them.

  “You’re not cops?” Sarah asked again.

  “We’re not. But we are interested in what happened to your friend Tiffany. Your statement said you saw a pair of men throwing her into the back of a van, but that you couldn’t remember what they looked like, or anything about the van.”

  Sarah’s blue eyes narrowed as she fidgeted in her seat. “How do you know what I said in my statement if you’re not cops?”

  Vince dropped to his haunches and pushed his sunglasses onto his head. “Sarah,” he said in a surprisingly soothing voice, “we’re not, but we are trying to help. Your friend isn’t the first girl to go missing from the Ocean Drive clubs, and if we don’t find the people responsible, she’s not going to be the last.”

  Sarah went back to biting her lower lip.

  “Sarah.” Charlie dropped a gentle hand on the young woman’s arm. “We’re just trying to help.”

  She seemed to contemplate her choices before nodding. “We weren’t at Hot Lips like I told the detectives.”

  “Why did you tell them that you were?”

  “I mean, we were there earlier, but then we went…” Sarah nervously played with her hands. “Part of the membership agreement is we don’t talk about it to anyone outside of the club—unless we’re sponsoring that person to become members themselves. That includes law enforcement. Any issues that pop up are supposed to be handled exclusively by the club ownership.”

  “What club is this, Sarah?” Charlie asked, supportively squeezing the girl’s arm. “You can tell us. I promise we’ll make sure no one knows you went back on the agreement.”

  “It’s called Sinful Delights. It’s a…” She cleared her throat, giving Vince an embarrassed glance before turning back to Charlie. “It’s a fantasy-fulfillment club. It’s all aboveboard. I mean, they’re not doing anything illegal. Everyone there is there willingly. Heck, they pay outrageous membership fees to make use of the place. It’s extremely exclusive.”

  “I’ve never heard of it and I used to live in Miami.”

  “It’s fairly new, and it’s not like they advertise. They get business by word of mouth. You have to know a member to get invited.”

  “And you’re a member?” Charlie asked carefully.

  “Me?” Sarah’s eyes widened. “No. There’s no way I could afford it. I’m a bartender there three nights a week.”

  “Did Tiffany work there too?” Vince asked. “I thought she was here on vacation.”

  Sarah nodded. “Visiting me. Even though I’m not a member, I’m given four free passes a year. They’re only good for one night. I haven’t used them. Truthfully, it’s not my scene, which is why I stick to working behind the bar, but the pay’s great. I was working last night, so I gave Tif one of my passes.”

  “So you weren’t with her when she was taken,” Charlie guessed.

  Sarah’s eyes welled with tears. “No. We were supposed to go together but then my manager called to ask if I’d work because one of the other bartenders called out sick. And the pay’s so good. If they let me pick up extra, I can’t say no.”

  “So she was by herself,” Vince added.

  “Yeah. It’s normally a safe place, but I still asked a few of my work friends to look out for her. And before you ask, no, Tif isn’t the type of person to go home with someone she doesn’t know—and I found her cell phone in the back alley, smashed.”

  “And you reported her missing to your boss?”

  Sarah nodded. “But I kept worrying about Tif’s family—which is why I called the MPD. I’ll get fired if my boss finds out I did that, but it’s Tiffany. She’s like my sister. I couldn’t sit back and do nothing.”

  Charlie gave her arm a supportive pat. “No, if you can do something, you should do it. Which is what we’re going to do. You said you had free passes? How would you feel about giving them to Vince and me? So we can check things from the inside?”

  Sarah glanced at their surroundings before digging through her purse and pulling out a pair of black business cards. “These will get you the one free night’s admission, but you won’t get in after that without being ridiculously vetted—and able to flash the money.”

  Charlie picked up the card so that Vince saw silver embossed lettering. SINFUL DELIGHTS. That was the only thing on the card, except for an elaborately designed watermark.

  Vince took the pair and put them in his pocket. “How much does a membership at an exclusive sex club go for these days?”

  “Ten grand.”

  Vince’s eyes grew to the size of saucers. “Ten grand a year? To get laid?”

  “Ten grand a month—to have your fantasies brought to life,” Sarah corrected.

  Charlie grinned at Vince’s look of mystified horror. “So where is this place? There’s no address on the card.”

  “No address, no paper trail. But it’s on Pier 28, the old Stone Work warehouse on Wharf Street.”

  Charlie froze, her smile slipping away just as her heart skipped a beat. It stumbled over a second before slowly easing into a somewhat normal rhythm. “It used to be something else. A long while back.”

  Sarah shrugged. “I heard it was another club back in the day, but I have no idea. That was way before my time.”

  Vince watched Charlie carefully, and when she didn’t say anything, turned back to the young woman. “Thanks for helping, Sarah. We’re going to do everything we can to find your friend. In the meantime, be careful, okay? Clubs aren’t a safe space right now.”

  “It’s not much safer out of them.” Sarah stood, and after thanking them again, hustled back across the street to work.

  Charlie and Vince waited by the bench.

  “Are you asking yourself the same question I am?” Vince asked cryptically once the young woman was out of earshot.

  Charlie dragged herself out of her funk. “What?”

  “Sarah lied about where her friend was abducted because of her employer’s rules.”

  “Yeah? So?”

  “So aren’t you curious if there are any others out there who
may have lied about their activities that night to cover up what they were really doing?”

  “You mean, maybe the other girls didn’t actually disappear from the mainstream clubs after all? You’re right…that does make me curious,” Charlie agreed.

  Also on her mind: whether there were truly such things as coincidences.

  Because Sinful Delights—in its previously owned form, Illusions—was the very club she’d been abducted from twelve years ago.

  * * *

  Vince read people better than they could read themselves. Usually. But when he’d met Charlie a year ago, she’d fritzed out his magic power with a single bat of her brown eyes, and it hadn’t been working the same since. Okay, so not a bat—a glare. A sharp, calculating, and pain-promising glare.

  But sitting on that bench, she’d dropped the armor she’d toted around since they’d met, and he’d read something in her eyes that was pretty damn close to uncertainty—and it had happened around the time Sarah told them Sinful Delight’s location. A blink later, the old Charlie had returned, dragging him to the car and to a store that had more leather than a motorcycle shop.

  Vince cringed at his reflection in the dressing room mirror, thankful he was alone. No. Fucking. Way. Not in this time zone, hemisphere, or fucking universe.

  “It’s not happening, English,” Vince rumbled, knowing Charlie stood on the other side of the door, waiting for his leather-clad ass to come out. “I’m wearing something I brought. End of fucking story.”

  “Come out and let me see.”

  “I’m not letting anyone fucking see me in this goddamned getup. They’re uncomfortable. They’re fucking tight. And we’re in fucking Miami. I’m going to sweat my fucking ass off and then I’ll need to be cut the fuck out of them.”

  “That’s a lot of fucking happening—which I suppose is pretty apropos, considering where we’re going tonight.” The humor in her voice was impossible to miss.

  “Glad you find this funny,” Vince grumbled. “But you don’t see these goddamned pants.”