Whisper wasn’t much in the mood for following instructions. That was probably why, despite being tied to the bed and under supervision, she was sitting on her pillow, twisting and working the knots from her wrists.
Nicole was lying in the bed beside her. Much in the same position, the woman had her wrists tied to the headboard. So much for trust in the McDade family.
The young guy Shyla had called Fish was sitting in a chair that had been brought in and angled to face the bottom corner of the bed. His job was to watch the women as they slept. Not an exciting mission or a riveting one. The poor guy would probably have his ass handed to him, but he’d fallen asleep before Whisper was sure Nicole was slumbering.
Still, he’d done her a favor, which was appreciated. With him and Nicole asleep and night shining from outside the massive windows, Whisper planned to split as soon as she could get out of the bindings. Giving Score credit, she acknowledged that he had skill. Men like him had no doubt been tying up prisoners for a long time. Whisper came from the other side of those knots. Since her toddler years her father and brothers had been tying her up to keep her in place… or out of the way.
When it suited her, Whisper knew exactly how to manipulate her hands and the ropes to free herself. It was especially easy when attached to a padded headboard. The padding offered more leeway and meant she got out of the ropes in under three minutes.
Slipping off the bed was easy enough, moving without making a noise was another talent she’d picked up young. As a teen, she snuck out almost every night. Every night her father had grounded her anyway… which, yeah, was basically every night. Thinking back, Whisper couldn’t deny she must have been a nightmare adolescent. Like she’d said to Zay, her father put up with her shit for twenty-nine years. It was no wonder he’d turned to violence.
Creeping to the door, she hunkered down to look at the lock. Her brother-in-law had credited her with the setup. The ropes, the guard, the locked door, the combination proved he suspected she could have skill.
That skill took her to the closet area. The evidence left behind suggested a woman must have once slept in the room. Hazarding a guess, Whisper assumed the room had belonged to Shyla before she tripped into Score’s bed. Not bad for such an uncertain woman. Shyla revealed herself with the fidgeting and the way she looked to Score for confirmation on everything. It was incredible to imagine how she must have been before the relationship if she was still so nervous while in a safe place with a man capable of killing for her. Surely being with a man like Score would increase a woman’s confidence. Poor thing must have been afraid of her own shadow before finding her McDade.
Poking around at the leftover knickknacks and toiletries, the bobby pins tucked against the join in a shelf brought a smile to her face. Grabbing what she needed, Whisper dragged the plastic ends off with her teeth and spat them to the floor. Being quiet and careful was inherent, but not that important. The other two people in the room were heavy sleepers. They had zero awareness of what was going on around them.
Hunkering down at the lock, she used her bobby pins to pick it. After just a few seconds, a yelp sounded from somewhere in the apartment. Whisper froze, wondering who was out there and if they’d wake everyone else. When it was followed by a moan and a squeal, her lips began to curve. That was no one breaking in to cause trouble. That— if she wasn’t mistaken— was their hostess.
Returning to her picking, she couldn’t stop smiling. The noises got louder and more urgent and were quickly followed by a rhythm of movement. Damn. Whisper hadn’t really been thinking about her McDade until she heard another woman enjoying theirs. Pleased to have some cover, the lock popped and she opened it an inch.
Fantastic.
Standing up to slip out, she suppressed her snicker at the continued yelping and panting coming from the room opposite the one she’d just snuck out of. Not even remotely modest, she paused to listen for a few seconds. Shyla began to call out her lover’s name with such desperation, Whisper wasn’t sure what she was asking for, mercy or satisfaction.
Much as she’d like to loiter and hear how the story ended, it was a tale she’d heard before.
Their things were in the laundry room; that was where they’d been piled after being brought up by some lackey from the lobby. Living the high life wasn’t so bad. People did things for her family because they were afraid or because they were paid.
Score’s settlement had set him up. Whisper thought about that while changing her clothes and retrieving her backup weapon from a pocket inside her suitcase. It was a smaller piece, a switchblade. One that she didn’t like half as much as her primary weapon. She hadn’t seen where Score had put it. Wasting time looking for it would increase the possibility of being discovered and she wanted to get out of there fast. Once changed, Whisper retrieved some folded bills from another pocket and slipped them into her bra.
Traipsing down the stairs, she didn’t have any fear of being discovered or worry about being on the streets by herself. From a young age, Whisper had known there was always a possibility she’d be targeted. In a new city, far from home, that knowledge was still relevant. Being aware and indifferent at the same time was an engrained trait.
One place called to her more than any other. True, she didn’t know the city, but Whisper trusted herself to get along anywhere. Not with anyone, people were more complicated than bars. Or nightclubs, which was the real goal for her that evening.
It didn’t matter that she didn’t know where McDade’s club was, she hailed a cab and asked the driver to take her to Score McDade’s club. The guy started driving without asking anymore questions. Why the destination was so straightforward became clear when she departed the cab.
“Score” was the name emblazoned above the wide entrance. Maybe she should’ve realized that, but the obvious wasn’t always her first thought. The McDades had a name and had similar protection to the Dohertys. Still, putting your name on the place was sort of asking for trouble. She couldn’t imagine things were so different just because he was in another state.
Only one way to find out, Whisper figured. Paying her way inside, she took the place in. Not bad. Not Scooby’s, but tolerable. The bar stretched along the right hand wall, tables were spread out in front of it. At the back was a stage where women strutted and danced, tempting the revelers. They weren’t stripping, but they weren’t covered up either. Above was some kind of second floor that overlooked what went on beneath.
Getting there was most of the battle won. She’d have time to explore and figure things out after downing a few drinks. The locals were friendly enough. Even over the loud music and the humidity, more than one guy tried to pick her up. Whisper knew exactly how much to flirt to get herself a drink and exactly how to shut a guy down before he started to think she owed him something.
On her third drink, Whisper was moving to music, settling into the rhythm of the place when someone snatched her arm. Her glass dropped as she swung around, ready to thrust the heel of her hand upward. At the last second, she stopped herself making contact when she registered the guy’s identity.
Whisper exhaled. “You made me spill my drink!” she called over the music.
The guy Shyla had identified as a lawyer, named… Beeks or something, didn’t know her well. He couldn’t know that he’d taken his life in his hands grabbing her like that.
He probably didn’t hear her. He shook his head before tipping it sideways and giving her arm a tug, implying he wanted her to follow. Curiosity took Whisper in the direction he’d nodded. Seemed this Beeks was a quick learner because he didn’t let go of her arm. Bolting would be easy with the crowd around for cover.
How someone like him got mixed up with a McDade was a mystery. Delving into that mystery would have to wait for another time. She still didn’t understand what kept her husband and his best friend together or how their paths had crossed. Beeks would have to take a number.
With his hand firm on her arm, he guided her through the throngs of danc
ing partiers and past the stage. In the corner was a dark door that she hadn’t registered before. Whisper hadn’t got to exploring or even thinking much about the layout. There was usually an office for the boss somewhere and it seemed that was where Beeks was leading her.
Once they were inside, he closed the door behind them. The low ceiling and dim lighting gave the room more of an ominous feel than an intimate one. It was a decent sized space with a solid desk at one side of the room and a long couch at the other. Black blinds hung above the couch. Closed black blinds.
“How did you know I was out there?” she asked, following him when he passed her to go to the desk.
“We have cameras all around.”
“Huh,” she said. “Wouldn’t think you’d notice me mixed in with all those people… How can you see in the dark?”
There were flashing lights around the club. The bar area was dark. It caught only glimpses of the light that swung around the busier dance areas.
“We can switch to night vision if we have to.”
“And you recognized me on night vision?” she asked, sitting on the desk when he descended into the chair.
Wearing a look of incredulity, Beeks studied her, probably perturbed that she was so entitled in a new place. What he didn’t understand yet was that fitting in meant faking it. Not that she was uncomfortable. Nightclubs were sort of her home from home.
Even being ensconced in the office didn’t ruffle her. As she’d almost proven at the bar, she could take Beeks down if necessary. Unless he gave her reason, she’d leave him be. Another sign of growth, Whisper thought. Not so long ago, she’d have flattened him just for sport.
Pulling himself closer to the desk, Beeks moved the mouse to bring up a box requesting a password on the black screen. He typed in his password: Lobby2926. Watching his hands was habit. Still always looking for the upper hand. Whisper didn’t need to log in to Score’s system, but the lawyer had given her a way in if the need ever arose.
When he glanced over his shoulder at her, she tipped up her chin to look the other way. He didn’t need to know that she’d been paying attention.
“See.”
Beeks’ word brought her focus back to him. On the screen were a bunch of little boxes. He clicked on one to show her the bar area, after a second, he minimized it to show her another from a different angle.
“Cool,” she said, thinking it could probably be a lot of fun to watch people when they had no idea they were being scrutinized.
Gave her an insight into Score’s mind too. Most bars and clubs around the country would have some form of closed circuit system. Whisper could tell from the images and from the number of boxes that clubbers that came to Score were always being eyeballed.
Power. Men just couldn’t resist.
“What are you doing here?”
When Beeks posed the question, Whisper had just noticed text in the corner indicating that the screen filled with camera-feeds was just the first of twelve.
Her first instinct was to ask where else she should be, but the answer to that one was obvious.
“Wasn’t tired,” she said, pushing her shoulders up in a shrug when she clutched the edge of the desk beneath her thighs to push herself up and off the desk. “This is a decent place.”
Whisper wandered around the desk, taking in the features of the room. Nice rug here, some kind of art there. Somehow, even though everything was where it should be, she didn’t feel like any of it was accidental. Score could just be a fastidious guy, yet it didn’t feel like that. Whisper couldn’t put her finger on what she was feeling; something about the space just screamed contrived.
“I’m surprised that Score let you leave the apartment… alone. Are you alone?”
“Wasn’t alone at the bar,” she said, stopping in front of a black and red canvas on the wall, trying to figure out what the image was supposed to be. “Guys around here are real friendly.”
“Have you called Razer?”
Whisper winced. “You all call him that. Does Score call him that? Is that why?”
“I… never thought about it.”
“I used to call him meathead,” she said and spun around, giving up on the canvas. “To myself anyway.”
“I haven’t met him.”
“You will,” she said, sauntering toward the desk again. “Providing he doesn’t get himself killed.”
Beeks pushed himself back in the chair to regard her progress toward the door. “I don’t think you have to worry about that. When Parker wanted Score out of the way, he went to great lengths to do it. I suspect it would’ve been easier just to kill him, but he chose not to.”
Whisper stopped between the end of the couch and the door to open two slats of the blinds and peek out at the stage. “Score seems like an easy going guy,” she said, without believing the words. “Not hot headed or quick to temper.”
“Most of the time.”
Withdrawing her fingers from the blinds, she twisted on the spot to glance his way. “My husband is less restrained.”
“You call him your husband a lot.”
“Helps to remind me I’m not single,” she said, strolling past the couch toward the painting again.
Like an animal in a cage, Whisper’s subconscious seemed aware of her limitations in the restricted space. It wasn’t a small room, yet it was contained in an inconvenient position. Figuring there had to be a way out, a back door, some kind of exit that she couldn’t see, Whisper became more particular about eyeing the walls and the lines of the art pieces.
A man like Score, one who’d spent time in prison, and spent his life involved in criminal activities, wouldn’t leave himself cornered. If he did, that would be another strike against his brother’s perception of his smarts.
“Do you have an issue with that regularly?”
Regular was a relative word. She and Zay had been married for less than two months and already they’d both confronted each other in the midst of potential infidelities.
“Bet Score gets plenty of pussy down here,” she said, ignoring the direct question. “I’d think a guy like him wouldn’t need to open a club to get it. But, hey, guess we all have our weaknesses, right?”
Beeks frowned just as she redirected to check out the walls behind the desk.
“He would never touch a woman here,” Beeks said. “He’s devoted to Shyla.”
Whisper smiled, unsure if he was naïve or the couple were really that entwined. “You shouldn’t tell someone like me something like that.”
“Why not?” he asked, turning the chair to follow her movements as she ran her fingertips along the wall.
“Because I’m the type of person who won’t hesitate to do whatever I need to. Hell, sometimes I hurt people just because I can.”
Though she hadn’t done that for a long time. It was more a feature of her youth. The only time Whisper saw her father’s pride was when she displayed sadistic tendencies. It had never been one of her favorite things to do and often devastated her mother. But back then, Whisper had wanted to be in with the cool kids. That meant her father and brothers.
All she’d wanted to do was prove herself a worthy Doherty. Funny how things turned out. Now she couldn’t imagine anything worse than being compared to her father.
Beeks spun his chair back to face the desk. She paused at the sight of him reaching for the phone. Before he could get past the first number, Whisper leaped over and pressed the button to disconnect the line.
The lawyer hadn’t expected to be interrupted. When he blinked up at her, there was enough surprise in his eyes to give her an impression that he wasn’t entirely at ease anymore.
“I have to call Score,” Beeks said. “Let him know you’re okay.”
“He was getting his when he left,” she said. “Don’t think he gives a shit where anyone is. Anyone except the woman under him.”
Thinking of that took her train of thought to Zay. If she could, Whisper might have called him, just to keep the cavalry from c
harging at her. But she’d learned her lesson about carrying her phone when she wanted to go off McDade radar.
Something flashed across Beeks’ expression. “Fish was watching you, wasn’t he?”
“And you’re only now wondering if I did something to hurt him. Damn, I can tell you’re not a McDade by birth. No, the idiot was asleep before Nicole. I couldn’t have hurt him to get out, Nicole would’ve screamed her head off. There’s no discreet bone in her body.”
From her revelation about Score getting his, Beeks was probably reassured that Shyla wasn’t hurt either. Score could’ve taken her down, but Whisper wasn’t lying about his level of awareness as she snuck out. Zay would never be that distracted, even if they were in the midst of sex.
“I can’t lie to him,” Beeks said. “I’ll have to let him know you were here.”
“Were,” she said and shrugged, retrieving the phone from his hand without meeting any resistance. “Past tense is fine by me. Nobody cares about getting in trouble after the party is over.”
“Your husband must be very different to his brother.”
“Why? Because I don’t bend to his will like Shyla does to Score or because I might be somewhere without his permission? Just what is the deal with that? Score can’t be the insecure type. And if he’s jealous, well, he’s a McDade, he knows what to do with the competition.”
Zay sure had when he’d found her pinned to the wall by the Scooby’s guy.
No sooner had Whisper put the phone down than it began to ring, saving Beeks from answering the question. The lawyer reached for the handset, but her hand got in the way, blocking him from picking it up.
Beeks looked up at her. “It’s an internal line. Look at it.”
Doing as he suggested, she read the digital display, which said “internal.” That didn’t really mean anything. A phone could be programmed to display anything. The joy of the night was gone. Whisper couldn’t go out to enjoy the music and alcohol knowing Beeks could call his McDade master any time.
Relaxing her arm to take her hand out of his way, she watched him pick up the receiver and slowly raise it to his ear. Only once it was there did he lower his attention.
Only Yours (A McDade Brothers Novel Book 2) Page 25
