by April Hunt
Tina shuffled through a stack of papers on her desk and opened a manila envelope before scanning the contents, then looked up. “You’re new members? You don’t even live in the area. Why would you spend this amount of money for a once-in-ten-years appearance? More importantly, how can you afford the fees? You work in a freaking bar.”
“Which my fiancé happens to own…and which, despite its country location, keeps quite busy, I assure you.”
“I could revoke your membership right now. I should revoke it.”
Charlie cocked an eyebrow. “And be out the money? I may have been gone a long time, but you haven’t changed so much you’d walk away from something that would make your wallet fatter. Besides, it sounded like you should be focusing more on your security issues and less on my membership.”
Tina tossed the file back onto the desk. “You know nothing about my security issues.”
“No,” she admitted, “but it sounds like you don’t either. I hate to point out that if you have a weakness in one place, there are more than likely a lot more.”
Tina grumbled, obviously knowing Charlie was right. She shuffled a few things around her desk before finally admitting, “It’s the security detail Anthony hired to wire the club. He claims they’re the best of the best, yet we’ve had more problems within the last six months than we’ve ever had before.”
Charlie stepped further into the office and, God help her, sat. “What kind of problems?”
“With our cameras. We don’t have them inside the club to protect our clients’ privacy, but we have them pointed at every exit and around the perimeter. I mean, we’re not exactly located in the ritzy part of town, and we did it for a reason. Our clients want to come here without the threat of being followed and exploited.”
“How smart is it not to have cameras inside the building?”
Tina stiffened in defense, reading Charlie’s neutral expression as doubt. “Our guests come to us for discretion. I can’t have them constantly worried someone is going to ‘leak’ their videos to the press.”
“So the people here are run-of-the-mill sex addicts?”
Tina drilled her with a glare. “They’re not sex addicts. But they don’t relish the idea of having their particular sexual proclivities announced—and photographed—for the world to see. So we have no cameras or video recording within the club. It’s also why we make sure people check their cell phones before entering the building. But we do have cameras on our emergency entrances and exits, and outside the perimeter of the club.”
“And your system’s been shutting down?”
“Repeatedly, and it’s becoming a nuisance. Every time I call the security firm, they send out some pimply-faced kid who ends up making the problem worse. And it keeps happening so he’s obviously not fixing it at all.”
Charlie glanced around the office. “Where’s your security hub?”
Tina nodded toward a small side table, where three fuzzy computer monitors and a single keyboard sat, neglected.
“Everything can be accessed through here. Only a select few people have access to my office, and I’d rather not worry if someone’s doing something they’re not supposed to be doing.” After a few silent moments, Tina let out a knowing sigh. “You want to hack into our security system, don’t you? Don’t I have enough problems without you going in there and doing your techie mumbo jumbo?”
“If I don’t do my techie mumbo jumbo, you’re never going to find out who’s been messing with your system.” Charlie leaned back in the chair, casually crossing her legs. “It’s up to you.”
Tina eyed her suspiciously. “What’s in it for you?”
“Maybe I want to feel good about helping out family.”
“Right.” Tina snorted, gesturing to the laptop. “Fine. Have at it. Although I don’t see how a bartender’s going to be able to fix something MIT graduates haven’t been able to solve.”
Charlie loved proving people wrong and, less than five minutes later, she was doing just that. She shook her head, disgusted at how easily Sinful Delight’s security was breached. “You should tell Anthony a kindergartner can build a better firewall than his people. They suck.”
Tina’s eyes widened as she came around the desk and hovered over her shoulder. “I paid thousands of dollars for that security system.”
“They took you for a ride around the globe, because it’s shite. I’m surprised it ever worked to begin with.” Once Charlie was through the wall, she could’ve done anything she wanted; embedded a virus, hacked into their live camera feeds—and altered them. Anything. Curious, she asked, “Do you have information on all your guests in here?”
Tina’s face couldn’t have gone paler. “Oh my God. Do you think all of our information was hacked?”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Another click, and Charlie saw the virus embedded into the code. The alteration was slight, something even a good programmer could’ve missed easily if they weren’t looking for the specific affected area. “Not only has someone shut off your security feed remotely, but they’ve left behind a back door. They could potentially get all the personal information on your guests—at least, everything they’ve shared. If they’ve linked a bank account to their membership for automatic payment they could drain their accounts dry in a single keystroke.”
Tina hovered closer, crowding. “Please tell me you can fix it. I can’t have everyone’s business out there for any greedy lowlife. I’ll lose everything.”
Of course Charlie could fix it, and as she started mending the system as best as she could, she followed the bad, bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. “How often has your security footage been tapping out?”
“Often enough.”
“A number, Tina.” Charlie fought to keep the snap out of her voice as she continued to work.
“Three in the last two weeks. Before that, it was at least twice a month since we opened in January.”
Two a month, plus the three latest…if each security failure meant another missing woman, they didn’t have three, but twelve abductions on their hands. And that was if the assholes kept to one girl each time.
Charlie’s stomach flipped on its side. Twelve girls. Twelve lives destroyed. Her fingers clacked furiously over the computer. An eternity passed until the security feed popped back up on the monitors.
Black and white images, no better than distorted white fuzz, flickered to life. Six cameras in total and, as Tina said, two were angled at a fire exit, with the remaining four located around the street surrounding the club. Charlie did a quick scan, pausing at the last monitor.
Two oversized men ambled toward the exit, their backs toward the camera—except she counted six legs.
Charlie jumped up from her seat. “Where’s that camera located?”
Chapter Twenty
Vince weaved his way through the dance floor, keeping back far enough not to be seen. Both women and men approached Brock as he walked deeper into the club, but with a slight shake of his head, he kept walking until he stopped on the outskirts of the dancing action.
The undercover DHS agent pulled something from his pocket.
Well, well. Looks like someone doesn’t abide by the club’s no-cell-phone policy.
Brock read something off his screen, typed a reply, and then the man without a mission hustled as if flames licked at his heels.
“Fuckin-A.” Vince pushed people aside to keep up before he lost the slick bastard again.
Now less than three feet away, Brock nearly collided with Charlie at the mouth of a corridor. Vince temporarily banked his confusion and joined in on the party.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Sunshine?” Brock masked his own shock at their appearance with a demand: “You need to get out of here. Now.”
“That’s just what I’ll do.” Charlie grabbed Vince’s hand and tugged him closer to the hall. “We’ll be going. Good seeing you.”
Brock stepped in their way, nodding toward where a long line of guests stood to
check in their unauthorized cells—on the other side of the building. “The exit’s that way.”
“And there’s another one down here. I’m allergic to long lines and I’d rather not stand in it.”
Vince watched as they butted heads. He didn’t know what the fuck was happening, but he knew Charlie wanted down that corridor for a reason, and he’d make it happen. Taking a menacing step forward, Vince distracted Brock. “You heard my lady. She wants to go out a different way. If you want to stop that from happening, you’re going to have to go through me.”
Charlie took the hint. Releasing her grip, she skirted past them and sprinted at a dead run. Brock turned to follow. Vince grabbed his arm and spun him around, planting him face-first into the nearby wall, but Torres flung his head back, his skull connecting with Vince’s face in a loud crunch.
Vince shrugged off his star-vision.
“You have no idea what you just fucking did, asshole,” Brock growled, twisting out of Vince’s hold. “Get out of my fucking way. I need to get down that hall.”
“Like fucking hell,” Vince growled back, plow-driving his fist right into Torres’s left flank. The fuckhead cursed and swung back, catching Vince in the midsection.
Evenly matched, they traded blow for blow, pounding on each other in a flail of fists and grunts—until they both heard a shout—Charlie’s shout. And judging by the string of British curses, she was not a happy camper. Both he and Torres stopped swinging long enough to decipher the sound of fists hitting flesh—this time, not theirs.
Vince abandoned the bastard in front of him and took off down the hall, not caring that Torres was right behind him. All he wanted was to get to Charlie and get there yesterday. He turned a corner as she went flying through the emergency exit and into the alley behind the club.
Vince burst through the doors right behind her and immediately dodged an incoming fist. He tossed his assailant aside like a rag doll. A van hovered nearby, its engine rumbling and the side door hanging open. An unconscious woman lay slumped on the gravel. They needed to get her the hell out of there. He took his first step to do just that when Charlie’s curse drew his attention to his right.
Locked in a fight with another goon, she circled her masked assailant, her eyes narrowed in concentration as they tracked the knife in his hand. Vince turned to intercede, but stopped at her bare shake of the head. “I got this. Get the girl back inside the club.”
Fuck it all. This had been what she’d meant. The job. She’d taken down all of the men at Alpha at one time or another. She could handle a lone punk, and she would. He slashed out with his knife and Charlie spun, narrowly dodging the point as she strategically placed herself at her attacker’s back. It was a slick move, clearly giving her an advantage against the bigger—and slower—man.
Vince ignored his visceral reaction to intervene, skirting past Brock and the thug who’d sucker-punched him moments before. The two appeared evenly matched.
Charlie shouted. “Vince! Hurry!”
Vince’s gaze whipped toward the young woman now being dragged into the idling van by a third thug. He stepped once, then froze at the sound of a cocked gun.
“Move a fucking muscle and get another hole blown in your head,” the owner of the gun threatened. “Seriously, man. Move and make my fucking day.”
“Who the fuck are you, Dirty Harry?” Vince quipped, remaining still. Brock’s thug somehow managed to free himself up.
“I’m the one with the fucking gun. You hear that, sweetheart?” he called out, flicking a glance to Charlie.
Breathing heavily, she delivered one last punch to her attacker before pulling back.
“Smart girl.” The armed thug nodded. He stepped around Vince, keeping his gun directed at his face as he and his friend backed up into the van’s side door—with the girl. The van’s engine revved, and they took off in a squeal of tires.
No plate. No identification.
Charlie sucked in a hiss. Wetness coated the right side of her torso, and when she took her hand away, Vince saw red—literally. Blood coated her palm and dripped down her side.
He was on her in three long strides. “Let me see the damage.”
“It’s fine. Just a scratch. I dodged when I should’ve weaved.” But no way in fucking hell was he backing down now. She must’ve read it in his eyes, because she sighed and removed her hand for his inspection. “I told you. It’s a scratch.”
He lifted the edge of her shirt. It was a scratch, albeit a long one. “It doesn’t look too deep, but we still need to get that cleaned. Pronto.”
“What we need to do is find these bastards before they take any more girls!” Her chest heaving, Charlie kicked a half-broken bottle, and it smashed against the brick wall in a spray of glass. “We were right there!”
“Relax before you start bleeding again.” Vince stepped close, refusing to let her pull away this time as he tugged her chin up and murmured, “We have a hell of a lot more to go on now than we did before. Keep your head on straight, okay?”
Easier said than done. It hadn’t gone without his notice that the man Brock had been one-upping had somehow ended up not only free, but with a gun practically pressed against Vince’s head.
Tina, leather-clad and spewing flames, burst through the back door with two security guards on her flank. Her glance darted both ways before pausing on Brock and eventually sliding to Charlie.
“You’re bleeding.” Tina almost sounded a bit worried before she backtracked. “You better not get any of that inside my club. It’s enough of a pain to keep clean, but blood’s almost impossible to get out of the leather once it soaks in.”
Charlie rolled her eyes. “Thanks for the concern. It’s heart-melting.”
“What happened? Where’s the girl?”
“Gone,” Brock finally spoke up.
Everyone looked his direction. He didn’t appear concerned or pissed. He seemed…blank.
“You didn’t want me following Charlie.” Vince turned toward Torres, his anger rising notch after notch as he thought about what could’ve happened if he hadn’t stumbled into Charlie heading to that alley. “Why?”
“This area’s closed for guests. You didn’t belong.”
“We’re not the only ones,” Vince sneered.
Brock took a step forward, practically putting them nose to nose. “I’m not sure I like what you’re insinuating.”
“Funny how I don’t give a fuck what you like or don’t like.”
Charlie inserted herself between them and pushed them apart. “Why are you here, Brock?”
Brock slid his gaze her way. “Are we going to do this again? You ask me a question, I throw it back, neither of us getting the answers we want?”
“Then why don’t you break the bloody cycle and give me an answer.”
“This is a sex club. Why would any red-blooded male be here?” Brock questioned. “What I’m interested in knowing is what you’ve really been doing for the last twelve years, Sunshine. Because when you left Miami, you couldn’t have wrestled off a penguin, much less fend off a man with a knife.”
“I work in a bar. Self-defense is key.” Charlie didn’t bat an eye.
“Test that excuse on someone who didn’t teach you how to lie convincingly.” Brock’s lips pressed into a fine line, his body posture rigid.
“You’re right. And I trusted you because you were my friend. But that mistake was all mine, wasn’t it? Thinking you cared for anyone but yourself.”
Tina scoffed. “You’re calling someone else conceited? That’s rich coming from someone who slunk away like a thief in the night, not bothering to even leave a note.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Tina.” Charlie spun toward her cousin. “None at all.”
“Yeah?” Tina stepped forward, locking her cousin in her sight. “I know, to Daddy, you could do no wrong. I was his flesh and blood, but you’re the one he always saw as indispensable. And you repaid him by sauntering out of town without so
much as a good-bye.”
Charlie’s glare could’ve frozen lava. “You have no idea why or how I left—which, by the way, was not at a saunter. Ask Arturo. And if he tells you anything other than that I had to blackmail my freedom out of him, he’s lying.” She cocked her head toward Brock. “You could also ask your boyfriend, since he was there for all of it. Or, better yet, spend your time worrying about something important, like a young woman getting kidnapped from your club. It’s the second abduction I can link to Sinful Delights right now, but I bet if I dig deeper, I’m going to find a hell of a lot more. How many times did you say your video system has fritzed out?”
Tina’s face paled as she seemed to consider her dilemma. “Disappearances? What are you talking about?”
“Missing girls, Tina. Kidnappings. Abductions. Someone is very possibly using your club to go human-shopping.”
Tina went from pale to green. Clutching her stomach, she breathed deep. “Oh, my God. I…I didn’t…I didn’t know. If I seriously do have some kind of weakness in-house, I can’t keep Sinful Delights up and running. And before you get all holier-than-thou, it’s not my reputation I’m worried about. Their safety is the last thing my clients should have to worry about when they walk through our doors. What do I do?”
Surprising to everyone, it was Charlie to whom she’d directed the question.
“I’ll be back tomorrow morning,” Charlie volunteered. “I’m not promising any miracles, and the damage may already be done, but I’ll try to patch things up as best I can. As for the security firm Anthony hired for you? Fire them. They’re not worth two pennies to rub together.”
“But the owner is one of Anthony’s friends.” Tina worried her bottom lip.
Vince couldn’t take the whining anymore. “Do you want to have more abductions on your doorstep? Or want your guests to be blackmailed for all they’re worth? Who do you think they’re going to come after if that happens?”