The Greatest Risk

  DM number one was trying to get to his feet, but Diesel wasn’t a fan of that so he planted a cowboy boot in his ass and sent him lurching into the group on the floor of the passageway.

  Barclay Richardson at this point stepped over a pair of legs on the floor, walked between Sixx and D without looking at either of them, and slid open the door to station seven, moving to stand in it.

  Sixx turned and saw the girl now seemed more alert, so she was also now freaked.

  But the john looked terrified.

  “Your pimp is out of business,” Barclay said in a low, infuriated voice, his gaze aimed at the man. “After I deal with this nightmare, I’m calling the cops. So my suggestion is, get out of my house and do it fast. And my requirement is, do not ever come back.”

  The guy took off quickly, though he had to slow and suck his gut in to glide sideways by Barclay, who did not move except to turn his head to stare him down as he went. But once free of the door, he raced down the passageway.

  Barclay then looked to the girl, and his tone was far more gentle, but still ticked.

  “I’m sorry you’re in this situation. If you need help getting clean, come to the front desk and ask for Clay. If that isn’t something you’re ready for, fine. But now I need to ask you to get anything you have here and get gone. I won’t call the police on you. But as I told that man, I’m going to be calling the police. So I suggest you leave, do it quickly, and unless you come at some other time for help, please don’t come back. I can’t have you doing what you do here. Any of it,” he told her.

  She nodded and moved to where a bulky black purse sat on the floor in the corner.

  Barclay moved out of the doorway, eyes to Dillinger.

  “This one?” he asked, pointing to station six.

  Dillinger nodded.

  Sixx looked that way to see the girl now out of her robe and dressed in street clothes in the doorway, cradling her purse in her hands.

  “I heard you, buddy,” she said quietly to Barclay before she skedaddled on scuffed, high-heeled red pumps down the passageway.

  Barclay turned to Diesel and Maddox. “Can I ask you boys to help me and my boys get these assholes up to my office?”

  “Absolutely,” Maddox rumbled.

  He and D moved toward the body pile.

  Barclay turned his attention beyond them, so Sixx did too.

  There were two DMs there, in polos and everything, both who had not yet been on that night, though one of them had been on last night.

  “You’re on duty,” Barclay told him.

  Not that there was anything to be on duty to do at that present moment. All the players in the play areas had ceased their play and were watching, including some who had gathered around and others who were standing at the windows and open sliding doors of the rooms.

  But Sixx thought this, as well the DMs being ready to take over, and Dillinger, that black dude and Stellan there, meant they’d somehow had this takedown planned. Before she and D and Maddox had made their move, they’d had this planned and ready to be executed.

  It was just that Sixx, Maddox and Diesel had forced their move.

  But …

  How?

  And why was Stellan involved?

  She looked to her man.

  He was in his casualwear, linen shirt, sleeves rolled up to under his elbows, hem untucked, faded jeans, a pair of smart but casual brown suede oxfords on his feet.

  “Baby, what are you—?” she started.

  He shifted cold eyes to her, and witnessing that look in them, she shut her mouth.

  “Not now,” he said low.

  He turned and moved behind the men who were manhandling their human take down the passageway, and she noted both Maddox and Diesel, each with hands curled in the back collars of shirts, looking at her.

  Baby? Diesel mouthed, his brows high, his gaze shifting back and forth between Sixx and the in-motion Stellan.

  “D, focus,” Maddox ordered, and D did that, shoving a stumbling DM in front of him, following the others down the passageway.

  Sixx watched them go, feeling ice start to invade her veins.

  Not now.

  She looked high around the room.

  There weren’t many cameras, but a couple of them were roving.

  As well as remotely movable.

  She located the one aimed directly into the room she’d been in with the trio.

  He’d been watching.

  Not now.

  But why?

  Why was he there?

  Why had he been watching?

  He couldn’t possibly think …

  She shoved her phone in her cleavage, turned her attention to the now-empty passageway, and hustled down it, through the door, around the dancefloor, and to the reception area where she knew the narrow flight of steps behind the front desk led up to the management office.

  It was all clear except a receptionist and a bouncer against the wall by the door.

  She headed to the stairs.

  “You can’t go up there,” the receptionist called.

  “Stop me,” she replied, not strolling but running up the stairs.

  At the top, she opened the door and went through.

  She found herself in large room filled with bizarre, slouchy furniture that looked like huge, partially molded pillows. It also had a large desk that probably was once stately but now was chipped and nicked all around the edges. And the four men they’d caught were on their knees on the floor in front of the desk, Barclay behind it, Josh off to the side.

  Stellan was across the room, standing in front of some windows with a view to the club. He stood next to Dillinger and the black man.

  D and Maddox were off to the side, just in from the door.

  Stellan spared her barely a glance when she came in, though Dillinger gave her a good long look, the black guy gave her a lips-twitching assessing one, and she noted Coates gave her a scarily apologetic one.

  She moved to stand with D and Maddox.

  “Mistress girl, serious as shit, is that your boy?” D asked under his breath when she got there.

  “He’s my Master,” Sixx replied, also quietly.

  Diesel and Maddox’s brows shot high.

  But she looked right into Diesel’s eyes.

  “I’m a switch,” she told him.

  Diesel stared.

  Maddox did too.

  Then D grinned.

  Maddox did too.

  “Obviously, you’re fired.”

  The words took Sixx’s attention back to what was happening at the desk.

  Barclay was talking to the three DMs.

  “The shit in your lockers has been searched, left where it is, but you can consider it confiscated, including the dope. Doesn’t matter what you left in them, you’re not getting any of it back because once you leave, I’m not seeing any of your asses again, and not only because you’re imminently going to be arrested.”

  There was shuffling around on knees, and the heavy air got heavier.

  That said they’d found a lot of illegal substances in the lockers.

  “Needless to say, you aren’t getting your final paychecks,” Barclay told them. “Vacation will not be paid out. References will obviously not be given. But if you manage to get your asses clear of this mess and think to fuck with me or Josh, don’t. Trust me. As you can see, I have good friends. Now pull your pockets out.”

  No one moved.

  Dillinger and the black dude, which triggered D and Maddox, all took a step toward the quartet.

  “Now!” Barclay bellowed.

  The DMs emptied their pockets.

  “You too,” Barclay demanded of Beardsley.

  “Fuck you,” Beardsley snapped.

  Sixx didn’t even catch how he got there. She just saw that suddenly, Dillinger was on Beardsley, bent over him, shoving his cheek viciously to the carpet with a single hand on the back of his neck. Beardsley’s labored breaths could be heard trying to power out.

&
nbsp; Impressive.

  With icy calm, Dillinger stated, “He asked you to empty your pockets.”

  Moving awkwardly since Dillinger didn’t release him, Beardsley complied.

  Not surprisingly, of the four of him, old Pete had the most dope.

  After he did as instructed, Dillinger let him go and stepped back.

  Sixx took that opportunity to look at Stellan, who was standing with his arms crossed on his chest, studying Pete Beardsley like he was a particularly grotesque specimen pinned to a board.

  Josh moved forward, ignored the number of little packets of white powder and money clips filled with bills scattering the floor in front of the men, and took up only keyrings. The rest of their possessions he left on the floor.

  Josh twisted off what were probably keys to locks somewhere at the Bolt, and once these were freed, he tossed the keyrings randomly to the floor at his side.

  Barclay kept talking.

  “Josh and I gave you our trust. We needed you to hold that sacred, especially in this house, where the people in it need to understand you, above all others, have their backs. And you sold junk to pollute their bodies and just…” he started losing it, leaning forward, “sold bodies.”

  It looked like he had to force himself to lean back, visibly deep-breathed, got his shit tight, and only then carried on.

  “You disgust me. I can barely fuckin’ look at you. The state of those girls…” He trailed off, deep-breathed again, then went on, focusing on DM one, the guy who was keeping guard on the rooms. “And you. Standing there. Standing right outside those rooms, letting them be used. How can you fuckin’ sleep? How can you even look at your own face in the mirror?”

  The guy opened his mouth to say something, but Barclay wasn’t interested.

  “Josh is right now making a call,” Barclay shared, and he wasn’t lying.

  Josh had moved to a corner and had his phone to his ear.

  “He’s phoning the police,” Barclay continued, setting the room to wired, but he was opening a drawer in the desk, moving casually like he didn’t feel the vibe.

  Using a white handkerchief he had in the drawer, he pulled out a heavily used black notebook and tossed it on the desk. He also pulled out two large money rolls and tossed them to the desk. And last, he pulled out a short stack of eight-by-ten, black-and-white pictures, and they slid across the desk.

  The revelation of all this made Beardsley look even less happy.

  Sixx couldn’t see all of the photos, but what she could see was what she’d already seen the likes of in the pictures on her phone that Tucker took. Snaps of Beardsley out and about in Phoenix being given bills.

  And there it was.

  It appeared someone had been on the job, and they had a lot more time for it than her.

  “My man here,” Barclay said, nodding toward Stellan, Dillinger and the black guy, “is good with facial recognition shit. Those pictures correspond with a lot of footage in stations six and seven, Pete. And he’s gone the extra mile, matched it all up.”

  Beardsley, and Sixx, looked to the men standing by the windows, and the black dude raised his hand.

  “That would be me,” he said boastfully, having his own merry grin that was quite like D’s, and just as appealing.

  “By matching, I mean those men who you’ve met to take money from the last few days to men using your girls the last few nights,” Barclay shared, and got all attention back to him. “We’re handing it and all footage we have of those rooms to the cops when they get here. They’re also getting this book, which matches girls to johns to times to rooms. This money. And those pictures. The drugs will be self-explanatory. And from what we’ve got here. And what we found in those boys’ lockers. And what Branch left in your house for the cops to find. With all that, you’re not gonna plea out of an intent to distribute this time, asshole. And just so you know, my man here also rigged this room, and all of this is being recorded.”

  Beardsley’s bruised jaw was working, but he didn’t speak.

  “Now here,” Barclay said, putting his hand in his pocket and pulling something out.

  He clapped it on the desk in front of him and slid it over with just one finger.

  When he lifted that finger away, Sixx saw it was a penny.

  “And here,” Barclay carried on, sliding some papers that had been on the desk across it, toward Beardsley.

  He also picked up a pen and put it on top of the papers.

  “That’s your buyout of the club,” Barclay shared.

  A penny.

  Nice touch.

  Sixx grinned as she heard D and Maddox both fail at swallowing back chuckles.

  “Fuck what you say,” Beardsley sneered.

  “Sign it,” Barclay demanded.

  “No fuckin’ way,” Beardsley snapped.

  Barclay slapped a hand on the desk, leaned into it and shouted, “Sign it, motherfucker!”

  “You gonna have one of your pieces of meat make me?” Beardsley asked.

  “No.” Barclay leaned back. “If you don’t take that penny and sign those papers, I’m going to sue you for every fucking thing I can get an attorney to sue you for in civil court for what you’ve used our club to do. And I’ve spoken to an attorney, Pete. Josh and I have a variety of grounds for a suit. So you won’t just be facing jail time for distribution of narcotics and pandering. In the end, I’ll have the damned club anyway, but I’ll also have everything else you own. So save yourself at least some hassle, asshole. And sign the goddamned papers.”

  Beardsley glared at him.

  “That kind offer is off the table the minute either one of us walk out of this room. I have all night,” Barclay told him. “But you don’t.”

  After a little more glaring, Beardsley moved to get up but thought twice when Dillinger murmured, “Keep your knees.”

  He shot a scowl at Dillinger, reached out, grabbed the pen, flipped a page, and signed a line.

  “Lucky I have a number of witnesses,” Barclay muttered.

  Beardsley tossed the pen moronically, sending it skidding across the desk to land on the floor opposite, like it was going to hurt Barclay to remember it was there eventually and pick it up.

  The room descended into silence until Barclay asked his ex-partner, “Do you have anything to say?”

  “Just fuck you,” Beardsley spat.

  “Anything other than that,” Barclay invited.

  “And fuck Josh,” Beardsley added.

  “Is that all?” Barclay asked.

  “Got him,” he jerked his head backward to Maddox, Diesel and Sixx, “on assault.”

  “I’m sorry, didn’t I tell you?” Barclay asked. “When I heard what was happening, I hired Maddox and D as undercover security. They know you and your boys were under suspicion and were instructed to keep you under their watch and act if needed, with force if necessary. The altercation was also filmed, and you were clearly the aggressor. D was just doing his job.”

  Sixx looked to D.

  He was grinning, felt her eyes, turned his to her and shook his head almost imperceptibly, once.

  So Barclay was lying.

  He did it well.

  When Beardsley fell silent, Barclay looked to Sixx.

  “Ms. Marchesa. Thank you for participating in this investigation. After the imminent situation is dealt with, we’ll settle your fee and reimburse expenses. I’ll be in touch.”

  She decided not to share she hadn’t exactly earned that fee since someone else did a whole load of the work. Though she and her crew did get their man, in a way, not to the extent the police were going to have their men due to what appeared to be Dillinger and his buddy horning in.

  Instead she just lifted her chin slightly and said nothing.

  Josh was back at the desk. Barclay shot him a glance, then moved it through the room.

  “I think we’re done here,” he said.

  Dillinger and the black guy were settled in and didn’t move, so as Sixx had guessed, they’d done
the legwork and would be talking to the cops.

  Stellan did move.

  He did it sauntering across the office right to the door.

  “Hey,” Sixx called, moving to him.

  He stopped at the door and looked down at her.

  “We’ll speak at home.”

  With nothing more, he opened the door and moved through it, leaving her behind.

  Leaving her behind.

  Her first thought was to run after him.

  Her second thought was that if she did, once she caught him, she might do something really stupid.

  Because it was clear he was pissed.

  But she was working.

  Sure, it was in a sex club.

  But she was working.

  So why, exactly, would he be pissed? Act that way? Treat her that way? Cold. Remote. Like he was a frustrated parent dealing with a wayward child.

  Not now.

  We’ll speak at home.

  Fuck …

  That.

  Sixx looked to Josh, and he scrunched his face at her in apology, telling her he knew in whatever way her man was on board in this situation that her man was on board but Josh hadn’t told her when he should have told her that her man was on board.

  In other words, before Stellan got pissed at her.

  She decided not to broach that now, or maybe ever. Josh had enough to deal with.

  She just nodded to him then hit the door, yanking it open angrily and stomping out.

  She heard big bodies clomping down behind her, and when she hit the reception area, Maddox caught her elbow.

  She whirled on him.

  He held on.

  “That okay?” he asked, meaning Stellan.

  “Is everything all right?” Molly called, rushing into reception toward them.

  “It’s all cool,” D told her, stretching an arm out her way, an invitation Molly didn’t hesitate to accept, burrowing under it and right into him as he curled it around her shoulders.

  “Is it?” Maddox asked Sixx quietly, regaining her attention.

  “I don’t know,” she replied. “I’ll find out when I get home.”

  Maddox let her go, but continued studying her.

  “Your dude is some serious good-lookin’, and he’s as classed-up as you are, when he isn’t busting some asshole’s face in,” Diesel declared. “But, Sixx, babe, you’re the fuckin’ shit. The way you marched up with your phone all good to go. No offense to my Molly here,” he gave her a squeeze, “or my boy who’d just pumped a huge load outta me and into me,” he tipped his head to Maddox, “but I got hard, watchin’ you do that. And I think I mighta even popped a bead of precum at your move with the stiletto. Man’s got a woman like you in his bed, whatever’s buzzin’ him, he’ll get over it.”