"SOME MEN CREATE HELL AND CALL IT HOME."
My eyes viciously swept across the space. Where are those wrinkle bags?
They couldn't have left the club—I was seated in the only direct path out. If they had walked past, I definitely would've seen them. Right?
I rushed out of the building, heading to where I knew they had parked their car.
Still there.
They were still in that club, probably with whoever—or whatever—they were waiting for. And that drunken fool made me lose sight of them before they left.
Ugh.
Hurrying back inside, I shoved down the thoughts clawing at my brain, daring to question my actions. I should be texting Omari right now; we should be on our way home, brainstorming our next move.
Yet here I was—chasing after boring old men over some stupid intuition.
I'm going to fucking hate myself if I find out they just went to the bathroom.
I headed straight to the men's room, barging in and kicking open the stalls without a shred of shame.
All the stalls were empty—except two. In one, a guy sat on the seat with a girl straddling him. In the other, a man was bent over with another slamming into him from behind.
Fucking gross.
"There's a goddamn hotel right across the street, you pieces of shit," I said as they all stared at me, jaws dropped.
I didn't spare them another glance. Just stormed out of the bathroom and paused in the hallway to recollect myself.
The old men weren't gone. They weren't in their seats. And they weren't in the bathroom.
That could only mean one thing—they were upstairs. In the VIP lounge.
I headed across the dance floor. My eyes locked on the elevator door that led up to the private floor where only VIPs were allowed.
I wasn't a VIP. Yet. But I sure as hell was getting on that lift.
Lucky for me, there was only one person guarding the door. A husky man in sunglasses so dark I wondered if he could even see.
He needed to see me—at least my eyes—if I was going to get past him.
The guard wasn't my problem. His glasses were.
I needed to get them off. Distraction.
I scanned the club for a target—and then my gaze brushed past a group of teenage girls seated around a table. I'd noticed them earlier when they walked in. I knew exactly how to use them.
There were six girls—and one sleazy man twice their age, seated among them, flashing charming smiles and offering to buy drinks. The bastard had clearly done this before.
I walked up to the table, grabbed the pervert by his shirt, and yanked him up.
"No teenage pussy for you tonight, asshole. Scram." I shoved him aside.
He tried to say something, but one look from me shut him up.
"Hi girls," I said with a wide grin. "Who here wants to make a quick buck?"
They all glanced at each other, unsure, until the leader spoke up, raising her voice over the music. "What do you want, lady?"
I didn't have time for a speech. "Here's what's gonna happen. I know you're all of age to be here. At least, all of you except her." I pointed to one of the girls.
Their eyes flew open.
The girl had been fidgety since she arrived, scanning the club like undercover cops would burst out any minute.
"Now, if you pretty things want to enjoy your night—or walk out of here without handcuffs for aiding underage drinking—you'll do exactly as I say."
"And if we say no?" the leader shot back, still trying to front.
"Then you'll be sleeping behind bars tonight, while we call your parents. That's right, I'm a cop." I lied smoothly.
They glanced at each other, silently agreeing to cooperate.
I laid out my plan, and they got to work immediately.
Just before they left, I grabbed the leader's arm.
"One more thing—once it's done, grab your friends and leave. Got it?"
The other five might be of legal age, but they were clearly naive. I wouldn't want them ending up straddling some random pervert in a bathroom stall.
I watched them blend into the dance floor, now acting drunk—moving like intoxicated puppets through the crowd. They did a damn good job of making it look natural as they drifted toward the elevator.
Then one of them "accidentally" stumbled into the guard, swiping his glasses away. Another girl stepped on them, smashing them before the poor guy could react.
Perfect.
They shrieked and laughed, pretending to be drunk out of their minds while the guard stood frozen, confused and annoyed.
That was my cue.
I let my hair down and strutted over to him.
"Hi cutie," I yelled over the music. He didn't hear me. Still staring at the door in frustration.
"Look into my eyes, motherfucker." I grabbed his chin and turned his face toward me.
Confusion flickered in his expression, but the second our eyes met, it vanished—replaced by that glazed, trance-like look I recognized.
Just like the cashier at the bank.
Good. It still works.
"Be a good boy and let me in." My voice was firm, commanding.
He stepped away from the door without a word.
I grinned, stepping into the elevator.
I didn't know how long this ability would last or how far I could push it. Maybe I'd ask Cindy. Eventually.
Ugh. Just thinking about asking her for help made me gag. I'd rather figure it out myself.
The elevator dinged as it reached the only floor in the building. It was high up—of course. Rich assholes always wanted to watch the common folk from above.
A long hallway stretched before me, leading to a wide veranda overlooking the dance floor. On either side were doors, probably to private VIP rooms.
But which room were the old men in?
I walked slowly down the hall, briefly considering kicking in every door.
Yeah, no. That wouldn't exactly help me catch them in the act.
What the hell was I even expecting to find? The two old men getting laid?
That's not exactly a damnable offense.
My phone buzzed in my back pocket.
OMARI: Where the hell are you, Vel?
I sighed.
ME: Upstairs. Wait for me in the car. I'll be down in a jiffy.
Just as I stepped into the elevator to leave, I heard a door open.
I rushed back out.
An old man holding a cane stepped out of a room, shut the door, and crossed to the last door before the veranda. He entered that one and shut it behind him.
I crept toward it, pressing my ear against the wood.
Voices.
Faint—but audible.
"Chairman Vitale!" a voice that sounded like James's—the old man we'd been stalking—said eagerly. "Always a pleasure to see you!"
Wait.
Did he just say Chairman Vitale?
As in Chairman Vitale of Yosemite Corp?
I'll be damned.
"I'm a busy man, James. You know why I'm here," came a smoother, calmer voice.
"Of course, of course," James replied. "The cargo is ready. Everything you requested. Except… we want double what you offered."
Silence.
"You're asking for too much. In business, one shouldn't make unreasonable demands."
"Unreasonable? Ha!" James snapped. "Old friend, do you know how dangerous it is to smuggle organs out of the country every month without getting caught? The least you could do is compensate us properly."
Another long silence.
I could feel the tension from the hallway.
"Fine," Vitale finally said. "Get this batch out safely. I'll consider your… raise."
"We won't fail you!" the two voices chimed eagerly.
"Oh, for your sake, I hope not," Vitale said, rising from his seat. "One more thing, James. I heard you applied for a job at the company. Good luck."
Footsteps approached.
I ducked back toward the veranda and watched Vitale head to the elevator.
Took everything in me not to follow him.
Soon, Vel. Soon.
The thrill of the hunt is in the wait. Besides, I'm not in a rush to return to Hell.
As soon as the elevator doors closed, I walked back to the room and kicked the door in.
"Hello, boys," I said with a wide grin, staring at their shocked faces. "Let's have some fun tonight, shall we?"
Before either could respond, I grabbed two bottles from the table and smashed them on their heads.
They dropped like sacks of potatoes.
The grin faded from my face.
"Shit," I muttered, staring down at the unconscious bodies. "Maybe I shouldn't have knocked them out. How the fuck do I carry them now?"
"What the fuck is going on here?" a deep voice snapped behind me.
Omari.
Thank fuck.
"You're here! Help me drag these fleabags to the car," I said, already walking out and leaving the entire job for him.