The Punishment: The Downing Family Book 3

by Wild, Cassie

  Duardo likely had his own code, and once he gave his word, he intended to honor it. But that code might be a bit more flexible than I’d assumed. Or maybe it wasn’t Duardo at all.

  Maybe it was Marcos or Basilio.

  I just didn’t know.

  I didn’t have enough information to even start guessing.

  That was the first order of the day. Getting information.

  With that in mind, I settled back into the plush leather of the padded seat and turned my gaze to the window, watching as we started to descend through the clouds.

  I’m coming, Daria

  * * *

  Several hours later, I was once more seated in the backseat of a beautiful black BMW M6, cruising through the downtown traffic. We’d already hit one of the clubs—the one where Daria had previously worked.

  But neither Marcos nor Duardo was there, and when I asked if Daria was there, I was given a puzzled look.

  Earlier, my driver had introduced himself as Antoine. He’d assured me that he was at my disposal for the duration of my stay, and if I had any requests, I shouldn’t hesitate to let him know.

  He was the well-trained, discreet sort of employee who was used to catering to the very rich, emphasis on discreet.

  I had to avoid several other popular car services because I knew from my research into the Castellanos family that those particular companies had ties to their business. Although I couldn’t be a hundred percent certain, I was pretty sure that Antoine of Élégant Services didn’t operate under the Castellanos umbrella.

  As he came to a stop in front of the next address I’d given him, I passed him a one-hundred-dollar bill. Last time, he’d been able to secure street parking a few businesses down, and I’d walked, but that wouldn’t be the case here.

  “Keep the car close,” I told him. “I’ll call when I’m ready.”

  “Should I make use of the private parking area, sir?” The hundred-dollar-bill had already disappeared inside his jacket.

  “No.” I shook my head and gestured for him to remain in the car as I opened the door. “People get…talkative there. I’m looking for discretion.”

  Antoine nodded, and I knew he’d gotten my meaning. I didn’t want him talking about my unexpected appearance. I doubted he needed the warning, but I gave it anyway.

  “I doubt I’ll be here too long,” I said before climbing out.

  “I’ll stick close, Mr. Downing.”

  The club wasn’t open yet, but that didn’t keep somebody from appearing at the locked door when I knocked.

  “Sir, we’re…”

  He went silent as I offered cash, another hundred-dollar bill.

  He took it, but his professional smile never wavered. “We’ll open for members of the club in two hours or—”

  “Tell Duardo or Marcos that their brother-in-law is here,” I said, cutting him off. I didn’t really like using the personal connection between us, although I assumed it was the accurate description since my brother had married his sister. Using it, though, was one way to cut through the bullshit the doorman would have used to delay me.

  The big, burly man gave me an appraising look, then nodded. “If you’ll wait here, Mr.…?”

  “Downing. Brooks Downing.”

  Left to cool my heels in front of the door, I went through my approach one more time.

  How I handled this depended on which brother I was talking to. I hoped it would be Duardo. He was a little more…predictable. Business was first, last, and foremost with him.

  I knew men like him. Although their personal lines were pretty damn far apart, Duardo wasn’t much different from my older brother, Declan. Or my father, for that matter.

  Marcos was a different type altogether.

  His personal code was simple—Marcos, first, last, and foremost.

  In a way, that made handling him simple. Or it would have, had it not been for the connection between our two families. Giving him something he’d deem worth his attention more than Daria was an easy enough way to solve this.

  But I already knew too much about the lines he was willing to cross, and although I had every intention of saving Daria, I refused to use the same methods that Marcos might use to get what he wanted.

  The door opened, and I looked up to find the same guard there. He gave me a polite nod. “Mr. Downing, Mr. Castellanos said you’re welcome to join him. He’s overseeing the rehearsals at the moment.”

  “Which Castellanos?”

  “Marcos is overseeing the club today, Mr. Downing.”

  Shit.

  I’d make the best of it, though. I had no choice. Somebody in the Castellanos family would know where she was. I wouldn’t leave until I found her.

  Once we were inside, the doorman/bodyguard turned me over to a female hostess who wore a surprisingly classy dress, considering most of the typical clothing normally worn by the female employees of the Castellanos clubs.

  The knee-length black sheath fit like it had been made for her, showcasing a lush body. She gave me a polite smile. “Will you follow me, Mr. Downing?”

  I fell into step behind her, eyes scanning the short hallway and lingering on the large entryway that opened up into the club.

  The last club had been a pretty classy joint, but compared to this one, the previous one seemed like a mom-and-pop dime store.

  On the stage, a curvaceous redhead with a heart-shaped face moved to the cues of the music playing over the speakers. It was loud, but not so loud that it would make conversation impossible.

  I lingered in the entryway, my eyes on the girl dancing.

  She looked…young. Too young. Disgust twined through me, and I made sure to compose my features before continuing on behind the hostess. She had almost reached a table in the middle of the floor. Most of the tables had been pushed aside or stacked on top of each other, and one side of the floor gleamed wetly. A uniformed janitor stood at the far end, passing a mop over the floor. Over to the right where the VIP section was cordoned off, another janitor was running a vacuum back and forth over the plush carpet that padded that particular part of the club.

  None of them looked at me.

  I doubted I was the only person to visit a Castellanos here in the middle of the day, well before opening time to discuss…business.

  Marcos looked up only when I took the seat across from him. He gave me a wide smile. “Brooks. Lovely to see you here. Can I offer you a drink?”

  I wasn’t particularly interested, nor was I thirsty, but there were rules when it came to people like Marcos and me.

  “I’ll take whatever Scotch you have on hand.”

  His eyes gleamed. “We’ve got several varieties. How about a bottle of twenty-three-year-old Pappy Van Winkle? It’s bourbon, but a pleasure—a rare one. Shall we share a glass? My treat.”

  “Sounds good.” I leaned back in the chair, studying him as he told the hostess to bring out the bottle. “So…how is business going here?”

  “Quite well.” He rubbed his jaw. “I’m looking forward to expanding our interests in the Philadelphia area.”

  “Yes…you’re planning on opening a few high-end strip clubs, if I remember correctly. That’s the focus, right? Using the clubs as a shield for your father’s…business.”

  “Hmm. My father and I both have interests we wish to expand. This union of our two families could prove to be very profitable.”

  “I’m hoping you’ll recall my father did have guidelines when he agreed to allow the Castellanos to set up shop in our area.” I stared at him for a long moment before shifting my attention to the girl on stage—the one I knew had to be too young to be here legally. “Certain areas are off-limits.”

  “I’ll honor the agreement…to the letter.” His smile hadn’t so much as wavered, but the glint in his eyes appeared sharper. He slanted a look at the girl. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

  “I can’t really offer much of an opinion. I try to avoid ogling girls who should still be in high school.”
/>
  The bastard’s smile wavered. He steadied it, and his expression took on a harder set. “What brings you in here today, Brooks?”

  Just then, the hostess returned, placing a bottle between us. “Shall I pour?” she asked softly.

  “Yes.” Marcos reached out a hand and caressed her butt through the material of her dress.

  The woman acted as if she didn’t even notice. She pushed a glass to me after pouring, then readied another one for Marcos. She placed the bottle between us, then walked away.

  Marcos lifted his glass and tipped it in my direction.

  I echoed his actions, then lifted the bourbon to my mouth. It was pure gold, a silken river down my throat with hardly any burn at all. “Excellent choice, Marcos,” I told him.

  “I thought you’d approve.” He took a slow, appreciative sip then focused back on me. “I believe you were about to tell me what business brings you in today.”

  “I’m looking for Daria,” I said simply. He appeared to be in the mood to play nice, so I’d indulge. For now.

  He gave me a puzzled look, one that was believable enough that he was either telling the truth, or he was an excellent liar.

  “I haven’t seen her since the wedding,” he said softly.

  “She spent several days stripping here in this club, Marcos. I know that for a fact.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “This particular club is more Duardo’s baby than mine. I’m only in a few times a week. As I said, I haven’t seen Daria in weeks.”

  “Where can I find Duardo then?”

  He sipped his bourbon, shrewd eyes locked on my face. “He won’t be in here until tomorrow. I can’t say where he might be today.”

  I fought the urge to grit my teeth and managed to return Marcos’ empty smile with one of my own. I tipped my glass toward him and lifted it to my lips, draining it. The bourbon was too good to waste. I poured myself another and leaned back in my chair.

  Marcos continued to sip at his, swirling it in the glass.

  “Any chance you could contact him?” I asked, already knowing the answer. “I’d like to speak to him as soon as possible.”

  He blew out a heavy breath, although I suspected it was nothing more than an act. “I can try, but Duardo is taking a rare day off. He doesn’t tend to respond to anybody’s calls on his off day. Well, of course, except for my father. Do you wish to go see Basilio? Should I call to let him know you’re coming?”

  He was playing games with me. I could see it as clearly as I saw the nose on his face.

  “I’m good for now. If I need to speak with your father, I can contact him myself.”

  “As you wish.” He tossed back the rest of the bourbon, then poured another.

  When I started to rise, he held up a hand, halting me. “A minute more, if you would, Brooks.” He reached inside his suit jacket and pulled out a thin white card. “I’m having a party tonight. Since you’re in town, maybe you should stop by. There hasn’t been much time for you to…socialize with our people. They have connections that will come in handy.”

  I wanted to say no.

  Marcos was just playing a game.

  But I knew how to play too. I accepted the white card and studied it, noting the address. If memory served me correctly, it was the one for Marcos’ personal estate.

  “I’ll try to drop by.”

  His eyes gleamed with a light that left me unsettled. “Do that, Brooks.”

  * * *

  The estate where Basilio lived had been opulent, but in an understated manner.

  That wasn’t the case for the home Marcos had selected for himself.

  It was opulent, yes. But like a frowsy whore who mistook sparkle for polish, the extravagant house looked more tacky than tasteful. It was a mishmash of styles, turreted roofs combined with Grecian columns, a fountain outfitted with ornate swans that spat water from the mouth, while behind the swans, light from the house poured from windows that ranged in size and shape.

  The double doors were thrown open, but two uniformed and armed guards stood there, checking off the names of those who entered.

  I gave mine and was ushered in before being turned over to a tall woman clad in a dress that revealed more than it covered. When she looked at me, it was out of eyes fogged, likely by drugs.

  She sniffed discreetly before bestowing a dazzling smile on me. “Marcos wanted me to escort you inside once you arrived.”

  I nodded and followed her through the mingling partygoers out to a deck that seemed to sprawl out for acres onto the back lawn. The lawn itself was lit with delicate lights and strategically placed torches. There looked to be as many people outside as there were in the house.

  Not all of them were guests at the party, though.

  Both men and women, clad in everything from abbreviated cocktail dresses or dress pants sans shirt to G-strings and pasties. They carried trays, and one paused by me when I looked at her. “Care for anything?” she asked, an overly bright smile on her face.

  The tray she carried held an assortment of pills and powders, the finest in club drugs, I had no doubt.

  “No, thanks.”

  She nodded and moved off into the crowd. As she walked by one man, he slid his hand over her butt. She held still, a stiff smile on her face as he leaned in to whisper something in her ear.

  Various similar displays played out all around me. Some of the people working the party had smiles as stiff as the woman who’d approached me, while others looked a little more…interested.

  As I passed by another woman, two people stopped her, the woman helping herself to a couple of pills while the man shoved a hand into the girl’s long hair and yanked her back, kissing her roughly. The woman swallowed the pills then went around the server and slid her arms around the girl’s waist, rubbing against her.

  “Quite the spread, isn’t it, Brooks?”

  I looked over and found Marcos watching me from just a few feet away. He smiled at me, then glanced at the woman I’d seen just a few seconds earlier. I looked back at her just in time to see a shirtless man in tuxedo pants relieve her of her tray.

  The man and woman then guided her out of the room.

  “See anything you like?” Marcos asked softly.

  I looked back at him and simply stared.

  His smile widened. “If you see anything that interests you, it’s on the house…for tonight.”

  From the corner of my eye, I saw a woman who’d stopped one of the bare-chested male servers, and she was talking to him, rising up on tiptoe to whisper in his ear while she stroked his penis through his pants, apparently not concerned with the audience.

  The man said something that made her laugh, and in that brief moment when she was distracted, he slipped away with a practiced move that likely came from experience.

  Marcos started my way, and once he reached my side, he clapped a hand over my shoulder. I wanted to break his arm at the wrist, but just stood there.

  “Really, Brooks. If you see…anything you like, help yourself.”

  I swallowed back the disgust I felt as he passed on by and stared at the floor for a few seconds as I debated on whether I should make a diplomatic exit in about thirty minutes—or just get the hell out now.

  I’d settled on getting the hell out now when I saw her.

  She had her back to me. The woman dressed in an abbreviated plaid skirt that did little more than cover the cheeks of her ass, and a black bra that made her pale skin gleam.

  Long blonde hair was twisted up into an elegant knot, baring her long, slender throat.

  Blood roared in my ears.

  She turned, and I caught sight of the stiff smile on her lips as one of the men near her helped himself to a glass of champagne from her tray.

  Daria.

  In the next moment, her head turned my way, and she saw me.

  Twelve

  Daria

  Marcos had called earlier and told me that I should arrive dressed to dance.

  He hadn’t given any
more specifics than that, so I’d chosen the short schoolgirl skirt, a black G-string and bra, paired with the tight-fitting white button-down blouse designed to tie just under my breasts.

  Marcos had shaken his head when he saw me and told me to lose the shirt. After a couple moments of staring into his hard eyes, I’d done so, turning it over to one of the uniformed servants who assured me she would place it with my bag.

  That had been nearly two hours ago, and my feet, clad in the heeled Mary Janes I’d gotten to wear with this stupid get-up, were killing me. I’d rather spend eight hours in my ballet slippers than wear those insane heels.

  My mind was whirling with all the names, the faces.

  Needing a break, I ducked out of the main room where the party was taking place and leaned against the wall. I’d managed to empty my tray, and I knew I needed to get back out there and get a fresh round of champagne to pass out, but my legs were trembling, my face aching from the fake smile I’d kept plastered in place.

  Hearing somebody approach, I moved farther down the hall, hoping to avoid being noticed for a few more minutes.

  The lights here were off, making it clear that the party was supposed to be out in the other part of the house.

  After a few more minutes, I took a deep breath. I had to get back out there. My feet were killing me, the arches screaming.

  I had no doubt that I was expected to be on my feet for a while yet. Despite the fact that I was miserable, I pasted a smile on my face.

  That smile felt more and more plastic with every passing moment.

  I was about ready to return to the party when a couple of voices caught my attention. My heart lurched up to race in my throat, and I squeezed my eyes closed. It was Marcos.

  Desperately, I looked around, searching for someplace to hide.

  I had my pick of any number of doors, but what if he went into the room I chose?

  My eyes landed on the two huge potted ferns at the end of the hall. They flanked the window, and both of them looked to be nearly six feet tall.

  I swallowed and hurried in that direction as the voices grew louder.