Rise Of The King: Checkmate, #5

by Finn, Emilia

  I’m going to sit in these clubs until I find Trenton, then I’m going to find his boss and take him out.

  I’m not playing. This isn’t a fucking game to me. This is my brother’s life, and even if I want to beat the shit out of Kane for being an impatient prick, I still refuse to let him get hurt because I wasn’t paying attention.

  Swinging my front door open, I slam into Sophia in the hall and catch her hand when she bounces off my chest and almost thumps into the opposite wall. “Fuck, Soph!” I bring her back until she crashes against my chest. “I nearly sent you flying, babe. What the hell are you doing?”

  “I wanted to see you.” Breathing heavily, she works to catch her breath and tamp down her own adrenaline surge. “You’re going out to do something dumb right now. I can tell when a man is thinking with adrenaline and not his brain.”

  “I’m okay. I just have to take care of some stuff.”

  “Stay here.” Her dark eyes meet mine. “Stay here for a minute until that wild look in your eyes is gone.”

  “I can’t.” Pulling her under my arm, I step out of my doorway and close up my apartment. Leading her toward the stairs despite her unwillingness, I push her up and don’t stop until we get to her door. “I’ve got work to do, some things to take care of. But I’m not being dumb, I promise.”

  One-handed, I turn her doorknob and raise a brow when it opens up. “You left it unlocked, Soph? Now who’s being dumb?”

  “Don’t be a jackass!” She grabs the doorframe when I try to push her through. “You’re on the fourth floor; nobody would have gotten past us to come up here. Stay here.” She clutches my hand. “I know you think you have to do whatever it is you’re going to do, but nothing bad will happen if you wait ten more minutes and take a breath.”

  “Something bad could happen.” I pry her fingers from mine and grimace when her nails dig into my skin. She’s going to fight me on this. She’s going to kick my fucking ass when she finds out what I’m doing. “Stay here, Soph. I’ll call later and check in.”

  “I can’t stay here. I’ve gotta work tonight.”

  “Work?” My heart gives a one-two thump. “Work from home like you usually do.”

  “I can’t. I have to go on-site for this. Isn’t it better for you to stay here and make sure I get home safe? What if I get mugged in the street? You might never know.”

  “Sophia!” I yank her hand from mine and push her into her apartment. “Don’t make me choose. I don’t play the guilt game. I don’t play any fucking games. Get inside, call in sick. I’ll be back later.” Maybe.

  Growling, her dark eyes twinkle with rage. Holding on to the door, she looks me up and down and stops to stare into my eyes. If she’s waiting for me to change my mind, she’s shit out of luck.

  Sophia is important to me. But Kane is not coming second to a girl. Not a fuckin’ chance.

  When I don’t back down, she growls and slams the door in my face.

  Fine. Whatever. I’ll fix it later.

  Turning on my heels, I jog down the stairs and head for the street.

  First, Mr. Love. I need to end this shit; I need to go home to my brother, and I need to earn a smile from Soph before we’re all dead.

  * * *

  Music booms through Murphy’s Law as I sit on a couch and study the people milling around in the dark. Mr. Love was a bust. Monster Lounge was full of pussies—and not the female variety.

  Making my way to Murphy’s around midnight, I now sip a glass of Coke, pretend it has whiskey in it, and watch women parade themselves on the stage fifteen feet ahead of me.

  The first two clubs didn’t feel right, and though I’m not sure if Murphy’s is right either, I’ve run out of options. If this place is a bust, I’ll try tomorrow night with clubs that use the letters C, A, and B.

  I’m not sure if this place always does fancy dress or if tonight is an anomaly, but most of the dancers wear feathers in their scant outfits and masquerade masks over their faces. Some men and women in the crowd wear similar masks, which makes me uneasy.

  With my beanie still on and my head down, sitting in a club full of people hiding their identity makes my adrenaline run. And being switched on for hours at a time zaps my energy until I’m certain I’ll need more than my usual two hours when I’m done.

  This club is classy, with leather couches and sexy dancers. The women aren’t fifteen; if anything, they’re probably a decade older and happily collect bunches of cash as they move. Other dancers mill among the crowd; they seduce rich men, slide around in their laps, and lead them away to private rooms to earn a little more.

  Just like in Pete and Abel’s clubs, a second story stretches high above my head, and the office overlooks the club. It’s like a requirement of being part of the network I plan to take down: build a club, buy and sell women, have an office overlooking your employees.

  The deep bass of something new and seductive plays through the darkness. It changes the tone and draws eyes as the dancers back away and make room for just one on the stage. Maybe she’s the boss, the most experienced, the most expensive. Or maybe it’s just a new routine, and they’re putting on a show.

  Sipping my Coke, I study the woman with a tight body, a skirt made of feathers, and heels that sparkle. Her shoes are several inches tall and make her tower above her colleagues. But it doesn’t matter, because they don’t have to share a stage with her. They back away as the deep thump-thump-thump makes the club vibrate beneath my feet.

  Pulling my foot up and resting my ankle on my knee, I spin my half-full glass in my hand and watch the dancer move. She seduces every man within a fifty mile radius, slides around the stage like she was born to dance, and accepts large sums of cash when bills are tossed on stage. She wears an elaborate mask like so many others, which covers half of her face and both of her eyes.

  Spotlights shine from above her, shadowing what features I can see, and creating seductive shadows on the stage that follow her every step and send the men wild.

  She’s beautiful. She’s like an enchantress who drags the attention of every patron away from the front doors.

  But not me.

  Turning my eyes only, I watch an entourage of men enter. They wear expensive suits, shined shoes, and heavy guns beneath their coats. Most people wouldn’t notice the guns, but I’m not most people, and I notice everything.

  Dropping my head a little lower, I stay hidden and watch the men make their way toward the dancer and take seats among the commoners. She’s like a snake charmer. She draws them in, seduces them, and makes it so the guys who should be heading upstairs now sit among the clubgoers.

  They’re a party of five. One just like Abel and Pete, and four soldiers who watch his six and try hard to ignore the seductive dancer. Their job is to take care of the guy they call boss and to make sure no one sits across the club with a Coke in his hand and a promise to take him out.

  They don’t see me here, and thus, they’ve already failed.

  My gun sits against my back, the cold steel a stark reminder of why I’m here. Kane’s knife presses against my hip. And the memory of Sophia’s enraged eyes sits on my chest.

  I can’t choose her over this. I can’t choose a girl over my brother. I have a mission to speak to the man I believe to be Trenton Neal, to take what information he has to give, and to take him out for his part in the trafficking of women, guns, and drugs. Removing him removes one more layer of protection from the guy who holds the gun against Kane’s head.

  Until I find that man, Sophia can’t come first. It’s just the way it has to be.

  My job should be to detain, hand these men over to the authorities, and to let the courts deal with it. But I don’t. I’m taking it upon myself to judge and execute in one fell swoop. It’s a powerful position to be in—and one I don’t intend to give up.

  Jay Bishop is dead, and as his ghost, I can do whatever the fuck I want.

  The dancers who were here minutes ago are forgotten as the new one seduces ever
y man and woman in the club. She moves her trim hips, slides her hands over her bejeweled chest, and bites a thick bottom lip.

  She wears nothing more than a thong bikini and feathers. Long blonde hair hangs to the middle of her back, and high heels give her no trouble at all as she moves. It’s obvious she’s trying to be sexy; she’s trying to charm her audience, but every now and then, her sexiness makes way for something else. Something classier. Her sex-hips turn to something a little more fluid, and her long legs become longer as she stretches up and turns.

  The man I believe to be Trenton doesn’t need to say anything. He just gives a flick of his wrist to summon the woman, and when she’s helped from the stage and set on her feet, she doesn’t stop dancing as she moves forward and slides her body over his. From sex, to class, back to sex, she moves around him and separates his faction of soldiers. She slides her fingertips over the back of his neck, over a square-cut jaw, then slides her ass into his lap and smiles when his large hands grab on.

  My Coke tastes bland now.

  The gun on my back goes forgotten when she stands from his lap and takes his hand.

  Adrenaline pumps through my blood when Trenton stands, gives the signal to his men to back the fuck up, and follows her through the crowd. He palms her tits, nibbles on her neck, and laughs when she leads him through a doorway and out of sight.

  Like the spell she cast is broken, the crowd shakes their heads, drops back to Earth, and goes back to talking amongst themselves.

  She’s magical. She controls a whole room and separates a man from his soldiers when he knows it’s dangerous to do so.

  Suits me.

  Setting my glass aside and standing, I fix my beanie, pat my coat down, and move toward the doorway Trenton passed through. I have no blueprints for this club like I usually do. Ace tends to give me maps and blueprints of every club we’re moving through, but he doesn’t know I’m here.

  He told me to find ML; I believe I found it.

  Murphy’s Law, the club where you swear nothing could possibly go wrong, only to be proved wrong at the worst possible moment.

  Trenton’s soldiers remain in the chairs in front of the stage. The women from before have returned and work hard to take control of the room even half as well as the seductress before them. They come down from the stage one by one and slide into laps, but I see none of them as I move into the dark hall and catch a glimpse of the dancer’s feathers moving into a private room just seconds before the door closes.

  I should back up and tell Ace where I am. I can ask for intel and find this club’s weak spots. I should let Trenton enjoy his dancer, for she’ll be the last he ever gets. I should go home, slide into bed with Sophia, and wait for Ace’s instructions now that we know two of the three mysteries: ML is a club, and Trenton Neal is right here.

  There are a lot of shoulds at play tonight, but I do none of them. Instead, with a last glance along the hall to make sure none of Trenton’s men have followed me, I slide my miniature tools into the lock of the door the dancer escaped behind and feel it snick open. The music is loud, so I don’t hear the lock, but thankfully, that means Trenton won’t hear it either.

  One last glance along the hall, I pull my gun from the back of my jeans, then push through the door to find the dancer in his lap and his pants down around his ankles.

  I’m struck frozen for a moment as she gives him a lap dance like none other. Her long arms slide through the air, almost like she’s plucking grapes from a vine, and her toes point, the way I’ve become accustomed to seeing in Soph’s apartment this week.

  My heart bounces in my chest, does somersaults that hurt my diaphragm and push the oxygen from my injured lungs. The dancer twirls without noticing me. Trenton doesn’t notice me because his face is in her cleavage and his hands clutch at the globes of her ass so hard I’m sure they bruise. One tiny little thong and a bunch of feathers are the only things that separate Trenton and his dancing girl while he brings a hand between them to work on pulling her panties down, and my head swims with uncertainties.

  Have I lost it?

  Am I imagining it?

  What the fuck is going on?

  She grabs the leather belt from the loops of his pants and snaps it until it makes the cracking sound.

  “Sophia?”

  Gasping, her head snaps up and around the way a pointer dog’s does when they catch the scent of their prey. Her long blonde hair throws me off, but her dark eyes meet mine and draw me back in. “Fuck. Jay?”

  Trenton Neal’s instincts kick in a moment too late. He reaches to his hip for his gun, but his pants are around his ankles. My Glock is cocked and loaded and pointing directly at Trenton’s forehead, but my heart gives a painful splat when Trenton stands and attempts to throw Soph away.

  Agile as always, feathers plume from her outfit as she swings her arm around his throat the way a child might go for a piggy-back ride. Before either Trenton or I realize what’s going on, she has the leather belt fastened around his neck and cinched in until his eyes bulge. Her legs wrap around his broad hips; the end of the belt in her left hand, and a blade similar to mine, to Kane’s, in her right presses against his jugular. “Goddammit, Jay! Why the hell did you follow me here?”

  “Follow you? What?”

  Trenton’s face turns from pink to dark red in the space of a few breaths. He tries to pull the dancer off his back; he tries to yank her hair, but all he gets is a handful of blonde wig and a trickle of blood sliding over his throat when she digs the blade in. “Keep still, Neal, and answer a few questions.”

  “Fuck you, whore!”

  I don’t know what the fuck to do. Who to help. Who to point my gun at. So I stand at the door like a redundant dummy with a loaded gun in my hand and no fucking clue what my job is.

  “No, fuck you,” she hisses in his ear. “My name is Sophia Asa Solomon, and you’ve become the next target on my mission to make things right. You buy girls. You sell them. I need to know who sends you the texts.”

  “Sophia!”

  Her furious eyes come back to mine. “Shut. Up. Jay. Fuck! Sit down if you’ve gotta sit, just shut up for a sec before this asshole dies from lack of oxygen and we get no answers.”

  “I don’t know what the fuck is going on right now!”

  “I told you to stay home! I told you to stop and take a breath. I warned you!”

  “You warned me, what?” I surge forward until I stand five feet from a naked Soph while she piggy-back rides a pants-less thug. “That you’re a stripper? That you like to choke men during sex? Is that a fetish? Is that what is happening right now?”

  “You’re so stupid sometimes, I swear.” Still on Neal’s back, she shakes her head and comes in close enough it almost looks like she’s going to nibble on the skin behind his ear. “I was going to do this much kinder. You’d still die, but it would be a smoother transition. Now Jay’s here, and he ruined my intro.”

  “Sophia!”

  “Here.” She tosses a phone across the dark room until it slams against my chest, and I’m forced to catch. “Put that in your pocket. I’ll check when we get home. Wait. Actually.” She pulls Neal’s belt tighter. “What’s the code to get into your phone?”

  “Fuck you, mongrel whore.” His words are choked, broken, and despite my confusion, piss me off enough that I step closer and bring my gun up.

  “Call her a whore again, motherfucker. I dare you.”

  With a knife to his throat, a gun pointed at his chest, and his pants around his ankles, he can’t do anything but stand in place and try to breathe. “I’m not saying shit.”

  “It’ll take me three seconds to get into your phone once I get home,” Soph says. “It won’t hurt me to put that three seconds in, but you could secure yourself an easier death if you cooperate.”

  “I’m not doing shit.” He spits in an attempt to look bad, but it pathetically lands on his own chest and makes me feel sorry for the asshole. “I don’t know who you think you are, but my men are
outside that door. One peep, and they’ll siege this room and end your miserable lives.”

  “My life ain’t miserable.” Shrugging, Soph looks up at me with a lifted brow. “I got laid today. He ate my pussy and made me come three times before he took his own.”

  I flash an arrogant grin and nod. “Yeah I did.”

  “And his life ain’t miserable either, because he just got answers to questions he didn’t even know he had.”

  “Well, I still don’t know shit, actually. But I got laid today, so…”

  Yanking the belt tighter with a grunt, Soph secures the pin so it doesn’t loosen. Trenton’s eyes bulge red. He wants to act like he’s in charge, but his body knows better, and his chest is starting to spasm. “You have about thirty seconds left. I don’t need you to speak, but if you do, I’ll go easier on you.”

  “Release the belt,” he chokes out. “Can’t breathe.”

  “I know you can’t breathe, dumbass. I put the belt there. What’s the passcode to your cell?”

  “One-two-three-four.”

  “You’re kidding me, right?” Her eyes come to mine as I type the code in and gain access. When I nod, she shakes her head with disappointment. “They don’t tell you in gangster school that passwords should be something a little more inaccessible?”

  “Let me go. I answered your question.”

  “You didn’t answer shit.” Her muscles bulge when she tugs the belt tighter. “Who sends the texts about the girls? Give me something to go on.”

  “I dunno. I just get the order, then I fill it.”

  “Who do you hand the girls over to?”

  “Some dude.” Red tears spring from his eyes and spill over his cheek. “Some Army dude. I dunno.”

  “Name?”

  “I don’t know! We call him CAB. That’s all I know.”

  Soph’s eyes come to mine. “There are those letters again.”

  “You know Ace?” I drop my gun hand when realization smacks me in the face. “You’re on the inside? You knew who I was all along?” I’m partly mad, but partly relieved, too. “You know all my secrets? You know everything?”